Christopher S. Butler Structure and Function A

<DOCINFO AUTHOR ""TITLE "Structure and Function: A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional Theories: Volume 2: From clause to discourse
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Structure and Function

A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional Theories: Part 2
Studies in Language Companion Series (SLCS)

The SLCS series has been established as a companion series to Studies in Language,
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Volume 64
Structure and Function: A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional
Theories: Part 2: From clause to discourse and beyond
by Christopher S. Butler
Structure and Function:

A Guide to Three Major
Structural-Functional Theories
Part 2: From clause to discourse and beyond
Christopher S. Butler
Honorary Professor, University of Wales Swansea
John Benjamins Publishing Company

Amsterdam/Philadelphia
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Butler, C. S.
Structure and function: a guide to three major structural-functional
theories / Chris Butler.
p. cm. (Studies in Language Companion Series, issn 01657763 ; v.
6364
In English, with examples in Dutch, English, Gunian, and Spanish.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Contents: v.1. Approaches to the simple clause -- v.2. From clause to
discourse and beyond.
P146.B88 2003
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2003040397
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Table of contents
Acknowledgments
Preface
ix
xi
Chapter 1
Illocution and related phenomena
1.1 Introduction 1
1.2 Illocution in Functional Grammar 1
1.2.1 Diks view of illocution 1
1.2.2 Alternative views of illocution in FG 8
1.3 Illocution in Role and Reference Grammar 29
1.4 Illocution in Systemic Functional Grammar 30
1.4.1 Speech function and mood in the Sydney grammar 30
1.4.2 Mood and speech function in languages other than English 43
1.4.3 Illocution and mood in the Cardiff grammar 45
1.4.4 Other systemically-oriented approaches 52
1.5 Comparison of approaches 56
1.5.1 Basic and non-basic illocutions 56
1.5.2 Illocution and layering 56
1.5.3 The treatment of indirect illocutions: The contributions of
grammar and pragmatics 57
1.5.4 Typological perspectives 59
Chapter 2
Information structure
2.1 Introduction 61
2.2 Information structure in Functional Grammar 61
2.2.1 Diks account of pragmatic functions 61
2.2.2 Other accounts of pragmatic functions in FG 80
2.2.3 Voice in FG 99
61
Table of contents
2.3 Information structure in the simplex clause in Role and Reference

Grammar 101
2.3.1 Introduction: The nature of informativity 101
2.3.2 Pragmatic presupposition, topic and focus 102
2.3.3 Types of focus 103
2.3.4 The coding of focus 106
2.3.5 Focus and the scope of negation and quantification 107
2.3.6 Focus and pronominalisation 107
2.3.7 Focus structure and linking 108
2.3.8 Voice in RRG 110
2.3.9 Problems and extensions 111
2.4 Information structure in Systemic Functional Grammar 113
2.4.1 Information structure in the Sydney grammar 113
2.4.2 Information structure in the Cardiff grammar 150
2.5.1 Topicality and focality 157
2.5.2 An alternative perspective: The importance of position in the
clause as an indicator of informational status 171
2.5.3 Information distribution and the structure of texts 180
2.5.4 Information structure and layering 180
2.5.5 Voice 180
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
183
3.1 Introduction 183
3.2 Complex sentences in Functional Grammar 183
3.2.1 Introduction: The semantic basis of complex sentence formation 183
3.2.2 Coordination in FG 184
3.2.3 Embedding in FG: (i) Verbal restrictors 187
3.2.4 Embedding in FG: (ii) Complex terms 199
3.2.5 The semantics and syntax of complementation in the Functional
Lexematic Model 213
3.3 Complex sentences in Role and Reference Grammar 214
3.3.1 Nexus, juncture and their relationships: A brief overview 214
3.3.2 Types of juncture 215
3.3.3 Nexus relations 218
3.3.4 Clause-linkage markers 229
3.3.5 The Interclausal Relations Hierarchy 231
3.3.6 Focus structure in complex sentences 235
3.3.7 Clausal postmodification in noun phrases 236
Table of contents
3.3.8 Linking algorithms in complex sentences 241

3.3.9 Descriptions of complex sentences in particular languages 259
3.4 Complex sentences in Systemic Functional Grammar 259
3.4.1 The Sydney grammar account 259
3.4.2 Complex sentences in the Cardiff grammar 291
3.5.1 Units and layering in complex sentences 293
3.5.2 The nature of the relationships between the units 296
3.5.3 The relationship between syntax and semantics in complex
sentences 299
3.5.4 Some final examples 300
Chapter 4
Discourse, text and context
4.2 Discourse, text and context in Functional Grammar 306
4.2.1 Introduction 306
4.2.2 A classification of approaches 308
4.2.3 Modelling discourse by analogy with grammar 308
4.2.4 Modular approaches 318
4.2.5 Reconciling the upward layering and modular approaches 321
4.2.6 Models oriented towards processing 325
4.3 Discourse, text and context in Role and Reference Grammar 331
4.4 Discourse, text and context in Systemic Functional Grammar 335
4.4.1 Introduction 335
4.4.2 Texts and cohesion: An initial orientation 335
4.4.3 Discourse and text in relation to metafunction 337
4.4.4 Discourse, text and context 373
4.4.5 Discourse, text and context in the Cardiff grammar 390
303
Chapter 5
Learning and applying the grammar
5.2 Language learning 399
5.2.1 Functional Grammar and language learning 399
5.2.2 Role and Reference Grammar and language learning 402
5.2.3 Systemic Functional Grammar and language learning 413
5.2.4 Comparison of approaches 427
5.3 Applications 430
399
Table of contents
5.3.1
5.3.2
5.3.3
5.3.4
5.3.5
Computational linguistics 430

Stylistics 443
Translation and contrastive studies 448
Language pathology 448
A (semi-) final word on applicability 448
Chapter 6
Functional Grammar, Role and Reference Grammar and Systemic
Functional Grammar: A final assessment and some pointers to the future
6.1 Assessment of theories in terms of their own goals 451
6.1.1 Functional Grammar 451
6.1.2 Role and Reference Grammar 465
6.1.3 Systemic Functional Grammar 467
6.2 The limitations of individual theories 475
6.3 Criteria for a more comprehensive model 477
6.3.1 Descriptive adequacy: The nature of the data 477
6.3.2 Explanatory adequacy 485
6.4 Towards an integrated model 489
6.4.1 Language and conceptualisation 490
6.4.2 Modelling the grammar 494
6.5 Envoi 499
References
501
Name index 537

Language index 545
Subject index 549
451
Acknowledgments
I am very grateful to to the many colleagues and students with whom I have had discussions about functional linguistics over the years. My particular thanks are due to Angela
Downing, Louis Goossens, Lachlan Mackenzie, Jan Nuyts, Robert Van Valin and Alison
Wray, all of whom read quite lengthy parts of this book in draft and offered extremely valuable suggestions for improvement. For comments on particular points I am grateful also to
Dik Bakker, Annerieke Boland, Francis Cornish, Kees Hengeveld, Antonio Moreno Ortiz,
Anna Siewierska and Luis Pars. I should also like to thank Kees Vaes and Lisl Haldenwang
of John Benjamins and Michael Noonan, the series editor, for their help in the production
of the book. All remaining deficiencies are, of course, entirely my own responsibility.
I would also like to thank the following publishers and authors for permission to
reproduce copyright material:
Mouton de Gruyter:
From Dik. S. C. (1997) The Theory of Functional Grammar. Part 1: The Structure of the
Clause, K. Hengeveld (Ed.), example (41) (p. 266), reproduced as Figure 2.2 of Chapter 2.
From Hengeveld, K. (1997) Cohesion in Functional Grammar. In J. H. Connolly, R.
M. Vismans, C. S. Butler, & R. A. Gatward (Eds.), Discourse and Pragmatics in Functional
Grammar, Figure 1 (p. 4), reproduced as example (2) of Chapter 4.
Cambridge University Press:
From Van Valin, R. D. Jr. & R. LaPolla (1997) Syntax: Structure, Meaning and Function,
Figure 5.2 (p. 205), reproduced in slightly modified form in Figure 2.3 of Chapter 2; Figure
8.7 (p. 458), reproduced in examples (176) and (178) of Chapter 3; Figure 8.18 (p. 481),
reproduced in an expanded form in Figure 3.1 of Chapter 3.
SLCS[v.20020404] Prn:25/02/2003; 9:35
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Preface
In Part 1 of this work I set out to establish criteria for a truly functional approach to language, and then successively narrowed down the focus, first delineating a set of structuralfunctional approaches which give due weight to both structure and function in theory
and description, then recognising, within these approaches, a smaller set of structuralfunctional grammars which attempt to formulate a set of rules by means of which the
structure of any stretch of language can, at least in principle, be generated. I argued that
three theories were central to this set: Functional Grammar (FG), Role and Reference
Grammar (RRG) and Systemic Functional Grammar (SFG).
I then went on to present overviews of each of these theories, concentrating on their
aims, assumptions, methodologies and overall structure, within the context of the simplex
clause. There followed a chapter in which the theories, as presented up to this point, were
explicitly compared and contrasted.
The last three chapters of Part 1 were devoted to particular areas of the grammar of the
simplex clause: the structure and meaning of phrases, the ways in which the theories accounted for situation types as represented in language, and their accounts of tense, aspect,
modality and polarity.
Part 2 of the work moves from the analysis of individual clauses towards the study
of discourse, and then situates the previous material in the context of wider issues by
discussing approaches to language acquisition and to the application of linguistic descriptions, before rounding off with a review of the three theories discussed in Parts 1 and 2,
and suggestions for the development of an integrated model.
Part 2 starts with three chapters which deal with aspects of clauses of particular significance for their role in discourse. Chapter 1 is concerned with illocution, discussing the
ways in which FG, RRG and SFG approach the structure and meaning of clauses in their
function as speech acts, and how speech acts fit into the overall discourse. Chapter 2 is
devoted to the area of information distribution in the clause or units of similar size, and
discusses the concepts of topic and focus, given and new information, theme and rheme,
etc., and their contribution to the analysis of discourse. Chapter 3 deals with ways in which
clauses can be combined into larger units, and so covers not only coordination and subordination (e.g. Halliday on the clause complex), but also work within a more strongly
typological perspective which seeks to show that this dichotomy is too simple (e.g. RRG
on cosubordination, etc.).
SLCS[v.20020404] Prn:25/02/2003; 9:35
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Chapter 4 then covers further perspectives on discourse. Here, I summarise the recent
proliferation of models of discourse structure in FG, relationships between focus structure
and syntax in RRG, and the wealth of work in systemic linguistics on cohesion, on discourse and text in relation to metafunction, and on the relationship between discourse and
the social contexts in which it is embedded, involving the concepts of register and genre.
Chapter 5 looks at structural-functionalist accounts of language acquisition and at the
work done in systemic linguistics on language in education. I then consider applications
of structural-functional descriptions of languages to computational linguistics, stylistics,
translation and contrastive studies, and language pathology.
Chapter 6 presents a final evaluation of the three theories with respect to the standards of adequacy they set for themselves, and then discusses the limitations of individual
theories, pointing out the dangers inherent in simply accepting a partial set of standards
of adequacy. The work ends with a discussion of criteria of discoursal, sociocultural, psychological/cognitive, acquisitional, typological and possibly computational adequacy in
relation to a more comprehensive model, the implications of such criteria for the shape of
the model, and how the theories reviewed in the two books might contribute to such an
integrated approach.
As in Part 1, the discussion is illustrated throughout with authentic examples taken
from corpora of English and Spanish, with occasional material also from Dutch and
Gooniyandi. The Gooniyandi examples are taken from taped narratives in the material
collected by McGregor and published as McGregor (1990), which is not, to my knowledge, available in computer-readable readable form. Details of the corpora used in Part 2
are given in the table below.
Examples in this work taken from the British National Corpus cite their source by
means of a three letter code and the sentence number within the text. The source texts are,
for the most part, copyright and may not be cited or redisseminated except as a part of
the corpus. Full bibliographic details of the source concerned are available from the BNC
project, or on the world wide web.1 For the London-Lund corpus, the reference consists
of the text category number, text number (and subtext identification where present) and
tone unit numbers. For the HCM corpus, the number of the text and the page number in
the written version of the corpus (Esgueva & Cantarero 1981) are given. For the Corpus
de Referencia and the ECI Dutch corpus, the filename only is cited, since no other suitable
reference categories are given in the texts.
. For example, to find the source for text ABC, consult the URL http://sara.natcorp.ox.ac.uk/
BNCbib/AB.html#ABC. For further information about the British National Corpus, consult its website at
http://www.natcorp.ox.ac.uk.
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Preface
Corpora used to provide examples

Corpus
Language
Approximate
size (words)
Brief description
British National
Corpus (BNC)
English
100 million
London-Lund Corpus
(LLC)
El Habla de la Ciudad
de Madrid2 (HCM)
English
million
Spanish
150,000
Spanish
1 million
90% written, 10% spoken.

Mainly from 19751993.
Tagged with part of speech for
each word.
Spoken, 1960s/1970s. Has
prosodic annotations.
Spoken, in conversations with
interviewer, also spontaneous
recorded conversations. 4
generations of speakers.
Collected 1970s.
Spoken, various subgenres.
Early 1990s
Large number
of languages
represented.
Used in this
book for Dutch
data.
98 million in
all
Corpus Oral de
Referencia de la Lengua
Espaola
Contempornea
(Referencia)
European Corpus
Initiative Multilingual
Corpus on CD-ROM
(ECI)
Wide variety of material,

mainly written. Dutch
component used was from the
Leiden Corpus of Dutch,
consisting of newspapers,
transcribed speech, etc.
. This is a computer-readable version of the materials in Esgueva & Cantarero (1981). I am indebted to the
editors for permission to convert these materials into computer-readable form.
Chapter 1
Introduction
In this chapter, I shall discuss the ways in which aspects of utterances related to their
function as speech acts are handled in Functional Grammar, Role and Reference Grammar
and Systemic Functional Grammar. This will involve consideration of the extent to which
illocution is treated as part of the grammar; how it is proposed to handle any aspects of
illocution which are not regarded as part of the grammar itself; the relationship between
illocution and categories such as declarative, interrogative, imperative and exclamative;
and the relationship between illocution and intonation.
Illocution in Functional Grammar

In this section, I shall expand considerably on the very brief picture of illocution in FG
given in 3.2.2.7 of Part 1. I begin with Diks view of illocution, and then move on to
critiques of his position and alternative proposals.
..
Diks view of illocution

Dik proposes an illocutionary variable, E, at Level 4 in the hierarchy of clause structure, to
account for cases such as that in example (1) below, where that refers anaphorically to the
speech act the previous speaker has just produced.
(1) A. if we do it alternate days youre going to finish up not really having done anything special
B. (laughs) no but [a] (laughs) thats not fair (LLC 4 1 640644)
Dik (1997a: 301, 1997b: 231) differentiates three types of illocution: that which is intended
by the speaker (IllS ), that which is encoded in the clausal expression (IllE ), and that which
is interpreted by the addressee (IllA ). Where fully successful communication is achieved,
IllA is identical to IllS , but in cases where IllE does not encode IllS very explicitly, there
are, as Dik points out, many instances where the interpreted illocution differs from that
intended by the speaker: for instance, a statement intended simply as an observation might
be misinterpreted by the addressee as a warning. Dik makes it clear that it is the illocution
as coded in the expression which is of central interest in FG:
. . . from the point of view of grammar we are primarily interested in IllE : the illocution to the extent that it is coded in linguistic expressions. IllE will on the one hand
have some kind of reflection in the formal (including the prosodic) structure of the
linguistic expression (if not, it could not be said to be coded in that expression); on
the other hand, it is an integrated part of the semantic structure of the expression. For
these two reasons, IllE is a property of linguistic expressions that a grammar will have
to account for. (Dik 1997b: 232)
Dik (1997a: 300301) comments that many attempts to set up speech act typologies have
paid insufficient attention to grammatical coding, and have approached illocution mainly
from the viewpoint of the speaker, rather than as an aspect of a communicative relationship between speaker and addressee. He also takes issue with the tendency to regard
the final interpretation of the utterance as the basis for the assignment of its primary
illocutionary force.
Dik (1997b: 232236) rejects, for a number of reasons, the type of analysis which postulates, for all clauses with illocutionary force, an underlying structure containing a performative verb. Explicit performative clauses are very rare in authentic interaction; furthermore, when they are used, they are clearly marked versions of the corresponding implicit performatives (i.e. clauses which use grammatical devices to indicate illocution),
often employed as emphatic repetitions: it therefore seems unwise to postulate performatives as the basic structure. In any case, the performative analysis has run into many
problems, which are extensively discussed in the literature. Moreover, FG does not permit
the kind of deletion operation which would be needed in order to get from the underlying
performative structure to the structure of the actual utterance.
In view of the concentration on IllE , it is natural that Dik should approach the description of illocution by asking what speech act values are universally encoded in the
grammars of languages. He recognises several basic sentence types:1
In all languages we find special sentence types classifiable as Declaratives, Interrogatives, and Imperatives, and in most languages we find a special sentence type for
Exclamatives. (Dik 1997a: 301)
Each of the four basic illocutions, as coded in sentence type, can be interpreted in terms of
the ways in which the speaker wishes to change the pragmatic information of the addressee
(Dik 1997a: 301302, 1997b: 239). The glosses given for each sentence type are as follows:
. This claim is perhaps somewhat exaggerated: for instance, McGregor (1990: 369, 382383) claims that
Gooniyandi has no morphological, syntactic or even prosodic means for indicating that an utterance is to
be taken as a question or directive. Clearly, an extensive typological survey of this area would be of interest:
Dik (1997b: 238) offers data from just seven languages to make his point. His assumptions are nevertheless
reasonable as a working hypothesis.
Chapter 1
Declarative: S wishes A to add the content of the linguistic expression to his pragmatic
information.
Interrogative: S wishes A to provide him with the verbal information as requested in
the linguistic expression.
Imperative: S wishes A to perform the controlled SoA as specified in the linguistic
expression.
Exclamative: S wishes A to know that the content of the linguistic expression impresses
S as surprising, unexpected, or otherwise worthy of notice.
(Dik 1997b: 239, his (12) and (13))
Each of these basic illocutions is incorporated into the grammar as an operator at Level 4.
The operators Decl, Int and Excl take the proposition in their scope, while Imp takes the
predication directly, in view of the fact that an Imperative clause is not used to get someone
to entertain some proposition, but rather to get them to effect the SoA referred to by the
predication (see also Hengeveld 1989: 154). Note that in the case of the Imperative, the
fact that the SoA is to be carried out after the time of utterance is indicated by means of
an operator, Post(erior), at the predicational level. Examples from English are given with
skeletal analyses below.
(2) . . . his leg broke in two places. (BNC GVL 3671)
(3) Decl E: X: Past e: break [V] (his leg)Proc (two places)Loc
(4) Is the doctor treating the condition rather than the symptoms? (BNC CE1 1617)
(5) Int E: X: Pres e: Prog treat [V] (the doctor)Ag (the condition rather than the symptoms)Go
(6) Pass me the can. (BNC KCW 1405)
(7) Imp E: Post e: pass [V] (you)Ag (the can)Go (me)Rec
(8) What a surprise hes going to get. (BNC FRS 2577)
(9) Excl E: X: Pres Prosp e: get [V] (he)Proc (a surprise)Go
Not only independent clauses, but also embedded ones, can have an illocutionary operator, to handle the differences between embedded statements, questions and commands.
As we saw briefly in 3.2.2.7 of Part 1, illocutionary value can also be specified or
modified lexically, through 4 satellites. Dik et al. (1990: 54), cite Greenbaums (1969) observation that illocutionary satellites such as seriously can occur in front of questions and
many (e.g. honestly) also in front of imperative or optative clauses, whereas propositional
(3 ) satellites such as hopefully or probably cannot. Dik et al. (1990: 3839) also point out
that the functions of many illocutionary satellites are the same as those of satellites at lower
levels, the difference being that the illocutionary ones modify the speech act rather than
the SoA. Thus illocutionary satellites can express the manner of the speech act (see examples (10) and (11)), a Beneficiary of it (e.g. (12), interpreted as I am saying this to you
for your own sake rather than try for your own sake), or aspects of the communicative
setting, such as reason (13), condition (14) or position in a temporal sequence of speech
acts (15).
(10) Frankly, I dont know why I am here. (BNC CCK 814)
(11) Briefly, the principle states that physics appears the same to any observer in free fall
whatever the magnitude of the gravitational field. (BNC H8K 67)
(12) Just try not to do anything silly please, for your own sake. (BNC JXU 877)
(13) Anyway, since you ask, the rings were black and there were ten of them, all on her
right hand. (BNC AR2 566)
(14) So in case any of you are worried about, you know, inappropriate headings, ignore
them, ... (BNC K6V 500)
(15) For the last time, Harriet Shakespeare is not here! (BNC AC4 2170)
Dik also assumes that the basic illocution of an expression can be converted to other values. In TFG1 (Dik 1997a: 302) he proposes three different types of conversion: pragmatic,
lexical and grammatical. By pragmatic conversion is meant the construction, by the addressee, of an interpretation which is not coded in the expression, but must be inferred
from aspects of co-text and/or context. For instance, the expression in (2) above could be
used, in conversation, as a warning to the addressee to be careful when operating in circumstances similar to those which caused the persons leg to break; or it could even be used
as a threat that the speaker will break the addressees legs just as (s)he did with the other
person. As expected from Diks concentration on coded illocution, such interpretations
are regarded as beyond the concerns of the grammar:
This type of conversion will not be handled in the linguistic description, but in a
wider, pragmatic theory of verbal interaction. (Dik 1997a: 302)
Lexical conversion is concerned with the use of a performative verb to make the illocution
more explicit, as in (16), with the analysis in (17):
(16) I tell you I did not go. (BNC H7V 1049)
(17) Decl Ei : Xi : Pres ei : tell [V] (I)Ag (you)Rec (Decl Ej : Xj : Past Neg ej : go [V] (I)Ag )Go
In TFG2, Dik no longer makes use of the concept of lexical conversion: his interpretation
(Dik 1997b: 252254) of examples of the type shown in (16) is that since the content of the
embedded clause, with its illocutionary operator, is enough in itself to add the required
pragmatic information to the addressees store, the additional pragmatic information that
the speaker is telling the addressee the assertion acts as a reinforcement of that assertion.
Grammatical conversion refers to the situation in which a language has conventionalised devices for converting a basic illocution into a derived one. Such conversions are
thus within the scope of the grammar itself. Dik (1997b: 249250) concedes, however, that
it is sometimes difficult to draw a borderline between grammatical and pragmatic conversion. For English, Dik (1997b: 243) gives examples of the grammatical conversion of Decl
to Int and Imp to Req(uest) by means of a tag; Decl to Req and Int to Req by means of
Chapter 1
please; Int to Rhet(orical question), Int to Excl and Imp to Excl by means of intonation.
Some examples are given in (18)(23) below.
(18) You arent bored, are you, Liz? (BNC FSG 10) [Decl > Int]
(19) Can you just put that orangejuice somewhere for me please. (BNC KCT 1002)
[Int > Req]
(20) Please ring soon. (BNC A6J 1719) [Imp > Req]
(21) Stop worrying will you? (BNC ACB 1348) [Imp > Req]
(22) Who would want immortality? (BNC BN3 2069) [Int > Rhet]
(23) You want our money? (BNC CSA 263) [Decl > Int]
In addition to the above types of grammatical illocutionary converter, Dik mentions
modal particles, such as unstressed nou in Dutch or mal in German, which can unambiguously convert Interrogatives into Rhetorical Questions. He also treats mechanisms
for the mitigation or reinforcement of illocutions in terms of grammatical illocutionary
conversion: for instance, the reinforcing que of Spanish (see Haverkate 1979; Hengeveld
1989), which is non-specific for sentence type (see (24), (25), (26A)), is treated by Dik
as a modifier of the basic illocutionary operator. He comments (Dik 1997a: 304) that 4
operators may have a rich internal structure, but gives no further detail on what this rich
structure might consist of.
(24) Que no me extraa! (Referencia CCON034A.ASC)
that neg me surprise-pres.3sg
It doesnt surprise me!
(25) . . . que no me pregunte! (Referencia CCON018B.ASC)
that neg me ask-imp.2sg.polite2
. . . dont ask me!
(26) A. Que si lo quieres
con mantequilla.
that if it want-pres.2sg with butter
Do you want it with butter?
B. Me
parece
que s. (Referencia BCON043B.ASC)
to-me seem-pres.3sg that yes
I think so.
Dik (1997b: 257289) presents a more detailed analysis of interrogative illocutionary force,
on which the following summary is closely based. He notes that although questions are
marked in some way for their interrogative nature, the answers which questions request
are not marked by specific grammatical devices. Dik suggests that this is because questions
. Formally, the negative imperative in Spanish is expressed by means of the subjunctive (in this case pregunte), so that it would also be possible to analyse this example as being declarative, the subjunctive following
from the use of que in this type of construction. Nevertheless, since the clause would be clearly imperative
without the que, it seems legitimate to interpret que as a reinforcer here.
are initiating in discourse, whereas answers are reactive, acting as the second member of
an adjacency pair, so that they fit into a communicative slot whose characteristics are already established. Dik (p. 260) distinguishes yes/no, disjunctive and Q-word types of question, the first two corresponding to a closed predication with non-specified or specified
alternatives, respectively, and an answer set limited to Yes and No and modalised versions of these, the third corresponding to an open predication and a potentially unlimited
answer set.
The bulk of Diks discussion (pp. 263289) is devoted to Q-word questions, on the
grounds that these show the most interesting typological properties. Such questions imply a presupposition on the part of the speaker that there is some correct answer which
will supply the information requested. If the addressee fails to provide this information,
any other response is seen as a non-answer. An important property of Q-constituents (i.e.
constituents containing a Q-word) is that they are assigned the pragmatic function Focus.
The devices for marking Focus in Q-constituents turn out to be similar, or identical, to
those for indicating Focus in non-question environments: emphatic accent, Focus markers, placement in a special position for pragmatically salient constituents, or placement
within a cleft construction.3
In the representation of Q-word questions, Dik (pp. 265266) uses the Int operator to
indicate that the expression as a whole counts as interrogative, and the operator Q to show
that part of the expression which is being questioned. The basic structure of the English
example in (27) is thus as in (28).
(27) When did you plan all this? (BNC G04 275)
(28) Int E: X: Past e: plan [V] (you)Ag (all this)Go (Q xi )Temp
Q-constituents in the clause can contain three kinds of information, relating to the fact
that a questioned constituent is involved, the type of entity being questioned, and the
functional status of the constituent in the predication (p. 268). These pieces of information
may be expressed synthetically, as in (27), or analytically as in (29).
(29) . . . at what time did all this take place? (BNC EF7 249)
Dik (p. 269) proposes a fuller representation for Q-constituents than the simplified one
given in (28), in which the type of entity questioned is specified. In the case of an analytic
expression, the predicate representing the entity type is itself included in the representation; if the expression is synthetic, the entity type appears as a kind of selection restriction. Using this fuller form of representation, the structures of (27) and (29) are as in
(30) and (31).
(30) Int E: X: Past e: plan [V] (you)Ag (all this)Go (Qxi : <time>)Temp
(31) Int E: X: Past e: take place [V] (all this)Proc (Qxi : time)Temp
. Focus and other pragmatic functions will be discussed in Chapter 2.
Chapter 1
In cases such as the above, the fuller representations appear to be somewhat redundant. In
the case of nominal Q-constituents, however, they will allow the expression rules to generate the correct forms: who(m) if the Q-constituent is (Qxi : person) or (Qxi : <person>),
what if it is (Qxi : thing) or (Qxi : <thing>).
Dik (pp. 270276) discusses the types of constituents which can be questioned, and
the conditions under which accessibility to particular constituent types obtains. In principle, any term can be questioned by means of a Q-constituent. Most languages also permit
the questioning of constituents within terms. For instance, Dik (p. 271) assumes that in
a clause such as (32) in English, the Q operator applies to an underlying demonstrative
constituent, as shown in (33), while in example (34), it is the possessive that is questioned,
as shown in (35).
(32) Which newspaper do you take regularly . . . ? (BNC BM5 375)
(33) Int E: X: Pres e: take [V] (you)Ag (Qdem 1 xi : newspaper [N])Go
(34) Whose nose did you rub in the dirt . . . ? (BNC CE5 460)
(35) Int E: X: Past e: rub [V] (you)Ag (d1xi : nose [N]: {(Qxj )Poss }) (dxk : dirt)Loc
Cross-linguistically, predicates are much harder to question, and Dik takes this to be because the predicate is the specified element in the predicate frame, while a wider range of
terms could fill the argument slots in that frame.
As far as the placement of Q-constituents is concerned, Dik (276ff.) contrasts two
possibilities: pattern position (that is the position which would be occupied by the corresponding non-questioned constituent) and the special position(s) available for constituents with Focus function in the language at issue. In many languages, including English, this special position is the initial position in the clause. Even in languages with other
positions for Focus (e.g. Aghem, Turkish, Hungarian, Basque) this position is used for Qconstituents unless these remain in pattern position. In some languages, including English,
both Focus position and pattern position are possible, as illustrated in (36) and (37).
(36) What did you see? (BNC BMN 1352)
(37) You saw what? (BNC B0B 1412)
The position of the Q-word in (37) is the same as that in the corresponding declarative.
In English and some other languages, the version with the Q-constituent in pattern
position is pragmatically marked: in the case of English, it can be used only for echo
questions. In some other languages, the two positions for the Q-constituent are in free
variation.
Dik (pp. 282283) enumerates the advantages and disadvantages of the two strategies.
The Q-Pattern strategy has the advantages of minimising differences in structure between
declarative and interrogative and making the relational structure of interrogatives transparent; the disadvantages are that the Q-constituent does not attract great prominence,
and that if it comes late in the clause, it may be some time before it becomes clear that the
clause is interrogative. The advantages and disadvantages of the Q-Focus strategy are more
or less mirror images of these. In terms of typological distribution, languages using QFocus are in the majority (ca. 70%), only 30% using pattern position for Q-constituents.
Within Q-Focus languages, Q-initial types are strongly correlated with VSO/SVO orders,
while the majority of SOV languages are of the Q-Pattern type. The overall generalisation
is that Q-constituents overwhelmingly come before the verb or, in terms of the nomenclature used in FG (see 3.2.3 of Part 1), Q-constituents normally occur in the Prefield.
Dik suggests that this may be because the predicate, as the central element in the predication, is the linear limit for determination of the main features of the expression, and
because pragmatically specialised positions are found the Prefield region, even in Postfield
languages.
Dik (p. 284) remarks that it is strange that languages do not, in general, adopt a
strategy which would combine the advantages of the two types: an interrogative particle in initial position, with the questioned constituent in pattern position, but marked
in some way.
Some languages (including English) allow questions with more than one Q-word, as
in (38).
(38) Why did what go wrong? (BNC KD0 3703)
Dik (p. 287) hypothesises that the respective placements of the Q-constituents depend on
the ease or difficulty of placing the same kind of constituent in particular positions in
a non-interrogative clause. For instance, it is easier to put Objects in initial position in
Dutch than in English, and correspondingly, a Q-word question with the Object in first
position is more marked in English than in Dutch. Some languages allow more than one
Q-word in the first slot in the clause, and these again tend to be those in which more than
one item can be fronted in a non-interrogative clause.
.. Alternative views of illocution in FG

A number of alternatives to Diks account of illocution have been proposed. The main
issues, which are interrelated, are whether the underlying representation should contain
an illocutionary variable or an illocutionary frame, what the status of the E variable is, the
relationship between illocution and layering, and the treatment of indirect illocutions,
which in turn raises questions regarding the relationship between grammar and pragmatics in the area of illocution. I shall deal with each of these in turn, and then look briefly at
work on exclamations and at some speech acts which are not treated as illocutions in FG.
Finally, I discuss proposals for a more cognitively-oriented view of illocution.
... Operator or frame?

As we saw briefly in 3.3 of Part 1, Hengevelds model of illocution differs from Diks
in that it handles illocutionary force in terms of an illocutionary frame rather than an
operator. This frame is of the general form shown in (39), where ILL represents an abstract illocutionary predicate, together with arguments S (speaker), A (addressee) and X1
(proposition).
Chapter 1
(39) ILL (S) (A) (X1 )

Hengeveld (1990: 6) claims that this proposal not only emphasises the relational nature of
speech acts, but that the postulation of an abstract illocutionary predicate also explains
why, for example, the illocution can be modified by adverbs such as frankly.
Dik (1997b: 236) rejects this proposal on the grounds that it is a version of the performative hypothesis, against which he has argued, though Hengevelds proposal does avoid
any undesirable deletion phenomena. Furthermore, Dik points out that since variables for
the speaker and addressee are present for all utterances, by default, they do not need to be
stated as part of the structure for each utterance. Some scholars (e.g. Rijkhoff) have taken
up and expanded Hengevelds proposal, while others have rejected it. The reasons are to
do with matters which will be taken up in later subsections.
It should also be noted that Hengeveld regards illocutionary mitigation and reinforcement markers as the expression of operators at the illocutionary layer. Thus examples
(24)(26), given above, would have an underlying structure with a 4 operator with the
value reinforcement, rather than being the result of grammatical illocutionary conversion
as in Diks account.
... The status of the E variable

Bolkestein (1992a: 390) has pointed out that the status of the E variable in the accounts of
Hengeveld and Dik is equivocal: it is said to represent a speech act expressed by a clause
(e.g. Dik 1989a: 248), but is also referred to as if it stands for the clause itself. Bolkestein
observes that regarding E as standing for a speech act is confusing with regard to the claim
that the complements of linguistic action verbs are of the E type for direct speech, but
of the X (propositional) type for indirect reported speech. What the complement actually represents is the utterance, or product of the speech act, and this is what Bolkestein
suggests E represents. She provides further evidence from the fact that independent utterances can be expanded using satellites such as briefly which give information about the
properties of the message, but not by satellites such as suddenly which qualify the speech
event itself. Furthermore, complements of speech verbs can be specified as true or false
(what he said was true), but it is odd to specify them as corresponding to reality or not
(?what he said was real), again suggesting that they represent messages rather than events.
A similar point regarding direct speech complements is made by Vet (1998a: 8). Speech
acts are not themselves said: what is said is an utterance, the product of a speech act.
... Illocution and layering
Bolkestein (1992a) has discussed a number of problems with regard to the relationship
between illocution and the layering hypothesis in FG. Firstly, she observes that in Diks
account the illocutionary operator has scope over illocutionary satellites, whereas in fact
a satellite such as frankly, used as an illocutionary modifier, takes the whole of the rest of
the clause in its scope.
Secondly, Bolkestein (1992a: 392398) shows that there are problems with the claim
that illocution should be represented only at the topmost layer of the hierarchy. She
demonstrates that in classical Latin verbs taking indirect speech complements can be classified according to the illocution(s) they allow in their complement clauses. Furthermore,
in indirectly reported rhetorical questions in Latin, the conversion of question to rhetorical question leaves an imprint on the complement clause in the form of its mood. The
upshot of these facts is that illocution will have to be represented in the structure of the
complement clauses themselves, as well as in the main clause. This is obviously a problem
for the view, current at the time of Bolkesteins article, that indirect speech complements
are at the propositional level. We saw in 3.3 of Part 1, however, that Dik (1997b: 102)
later proposed a different analysis, in which both direct and indirect speech complements
are full clauses, the difference between them being captured by placing direct speech complements directly into the complement slot, while indirect speech is embedded within a
clausal term which acts as complement to the verb of saying. Dik (1997b: 250251) summarises Bolkesteins claims, and agrees that even converted illocutions must be available
in indirect speech complements: his new proposal, of course, makes this possible.
Rijkhoff (1995) proposes to add to the model proposed by Hengeveld for the illocutionary area, by making a distinction between the speech event (concerned with the
purpose of the utterance in the discourse, and with the participants relevant to the interaction) and the speech act (concerned with the illocutionary frame and the mapping
of individual participants on to specific roles of Speaker, Addressee and Bystander), and
allocating the act and the event to different layers in the structure. The motivation for this
proposal will be discussed in the next subsection.
... The treatment of indirect illocutions

Much of the work modifying the proposals of Hengeveld and Dik on illocution has been
in the area of how FG should handle cases where the illocution intended by the speaker
and/or interpreted by the addressee does not correspond straightforwardly to that encoded in the value of one of the illocutionary operators (Dik), or the illocutionary predicate (Hengeveld), i.e. DECL, INT, IMP or EXCL. This work raises a number of important
questions concerned with the notion of illocutionary conversion and the respective roles
of grammar and pragmatics in illocution, as well as more general issues such as the status
of operators and satellites in FG.
.... Vet on illocutionary modifiers. We start with a series of papers by Vet (1990, 1997,
1998a, 1998b) concerned with both illocution and modality, in which he proposes a number of modifications to previous treatments of illocution. Vet (1990) discusses some cases
where the combination of present tense and a first person Subject creates meanings which
are not available in other tenses and/or persons. One such case is exemplified in (40)(43).
(40) I hear youre planning to retire so you can concentrate on writing . . . (BNC A0F 42)
(41) I heard youre planning to retire so you can concentrate on writing.
(42) He hears youre planning to retire so you can concentrate on writing.
(43) He heard youre planning to retire so you can concentrate on writing.
Chapter 1
In (40), the speaker indicates that s/he acquired the knowledge through hearing about
it, and it is very similar in meaning to (41), while (42) cannot be used in a similar way
and is quite different in meaning from (43). Furthermore, (40) and (41) have different
behaviour with respect to negation: I heard in (41) can be negated, while I hear in (40)
cannot. Vet (1990: 129) takes these facts to indicate that I hear in (40) is outside the scope
of both tense and negation. He analyses phenomena such as these in terms of a model of
the underlying structure of the clause in which the propositional variable X is bound by a
complex illocutionary operator ILL , in which each of the two parts, and ILL, can take a
range of values. ILL takes values such as DECL and INT, and if is not further specified,
DECL produces a straight declarative and INT a straight interrogative, for example. I hear
in (40) is taken as a hearsay marker specifying the position in DECL .
Vet also uses the component of his proposed operator to account for French peuttre (perhaps) and for certain uses of the future tense in French, where this tense does not
indicate future time, but rather the suspension of a judgement about the truth value of the
proposition, or mitigation of the speech act in the direction of politeness. In view of these
analyses, it would seem that Vets ILL takes over not only the illocutionary (mitigating
and reinforcing) operators of Hengevelds scheme, but also what would be considered by
Hengeveld and by Dik as operators (in the case of the future indicating a suspension of
judgement on truth value), and even satellites (e.g. peut-tre), at the propositional layer.
In Vet (1997), the non-temporal uses of the future tense in French are analysed in
somewhat similar terms, but now within a more finely differentiated model of the underlying clause structure, in which propositional and clause layers, as well as the extended
predication layer, have separate variables, each provided with a specifier, or modifier, as
set out in Vet (1992). The propositional variable X takes a 3 modal modifier representing
degree of commitment to truth value, while the speech act variable E takes a 4 modifier representing variations in the force with which the illocution is presented. The use of
the future tense to indicate suspension of commitment to the truth value of the proposition can therefore now be located at the propositional level as a 3 modifier, while the
mitigation use of the future tense is a 4 modifier of the illocutionary force DECL.
As noted briefly in Chapter 9 of Part 1, Vet (1997: 2227) also argues that the expressions je crois (I believe/think), je sais (I know) and the epistemic use of the verb devoir
(must) show asymmetries between first person present tense use and use in other tenses
and persons, as previously discussed for I hear, as well as differences in behaviour in interrogative and conditional clauses. Je crois and devoir represent 3 modifiers, while je sais
is analysed as a 4 illocutionary modifier, since unlike the others, it cannot be constructed
with oui/non (Je crois/*sais que oui/non) so is not an assessment of truth value.
Vet (1998b) extends the analysis to the expressions peut-tre and peut-tre que (perhaps), il se peut que and il est possible que (it is possible that). Vet shows that only the
last of these can occur within the scope of a negative and an interrogative operator. Vet
takes this to indicate that possible is the predicate of the main clause, but that the other expressions lie outside the predication. Peut-tre is treated as a modal satellite at the propositional layer (cf. the very different 1990 analysis outlined earlier). Vet points out that il se
peut que and il est possible que take the subjunctive, while peut-tre que takes the indica-
tive. He interprets this as reflecting a difference between being part of, or modifying, the
propositional content, in the case of the first two expressions, and modifying the illocution, in the case of peut-tre que, regarded as a mitigator indicating that the utterance is
being presented tentatively as a contribution to the ongoing discourse.
It should be noted that, as indicated very briefly in Chapter 9 of Part 1, the proposals
summarised above raise the important issue of the status of operators in FG, in that Vets
account of illocution and modality proposes operators which arguably have a lexical rather
than a grammatical realisation. Yet, as Vet (1997: 25) points out, we cannot readily analyse
the relevant expressions as satellites, since many of them (e.g. je crois, je sais, I hear) have
predicate-argument form, rather than being adverbial in nature.
.... Risselada on alternatives to illocutionary conversion. We turn now to the work of

Risselada (1990), in which she reviews and criticises Diks concept of illocutionary conversion as a way of handling lack of congruence between the illocution as coded in the illocutionary operator and the illocutionary value intended by the speaker and/or interpreted
by the addressee.
Risseladas aim is to provide at least a partial answer to the question to what extent
illocutionary force can be considered as actually encoded in linguistic expressions and at
which point a pragmatic analysis should take over the job (Risselada 1990: 1). She points
out that in the accounts of illocution given by Dik and Hengeveld, elements located within
the proposition cannot contribute to illocutionary force. She sees this as problematic in
the case of elements which are integrated into the predication, but nevertheless affect the
illocution, examples being explicitly performative matrix predicates or lets in English first
person imperatives.
Risselada (1990: 4) notes that in both Diks and Hengevelds proposals, illocution is
primarily connected with sentence type. She points out that it is not totally clear whether
Dik intends a general or a more specific value for his four primary illocutions: his discussion of examples suggests that the imperative sentence type is associated specifically with
orders, while his definitions of the four basic illocutions are more general. Risselada advocates associating only a very general illocutionary value with sentence type, in view of, for
example, the wide range of illocutions which can be expressed by imperative sentences.4
She also suggests that we should not automatically regard the sentence type as the most
important factor in determining the illocutionary force, since other lexical, semantic and
intonational properties may in some cases carry heavier weight.
Risselada (1990: 78) observes that the distinction made by Hengeveld and Dik between illocutionary conversion and illocutionary modification (by mitigation or reinforcement), although potentially useful, is by no means clear-cut, since elements such as
the Dutch particle even (literally for a moment), English please, or a question tag (e.g. isnt
it) can be seen as modifying the force of the illocution, as well as converting one illocution
into another. She also points out (1990: 9) that the concept of illocutionary conversion
. And, we might add, the even wider range of illocutions expressed by declaratives.
Chapter 1
is not consistent with the declared aim of FG to account for the ways in which speakers
express what they want to say, since it is unlikely that a speaker wanting to convey a particular illocutionary intention will first select a different, basic illocution which then has
to be modified. We can, however, dispense with the concept of illocutionary conversion
if, as Risselada suggests, we treat sentence type as only one of the ways in which illocution
can be expressed grammatically. Risselada (1990: 919) illustrates this thesis with an analysis of explicit performatives and metadirectives, can you requests, and proposals with lets
in English.
(44) I promise you Ill never see him again. (BNC GV7 1173)
(45) Tell me what you did. (BNC CM7 1301)
(46) Can you lend me a fiver? (BNC KB1 3985)
(47) Lets go and see. (BNC FPF 2202)
In the case of an explicit performative such as (44), the illocutionary interpretation is
the result of an interaction between the declarative sentence type, first person agent and
present tense. In a metadirective such as (45), the illocutionary interpretation required
from the addressee (in this case that of a question) is a function of the imperative sentence
type, the lexical meaning of tell and a second person agent.
In the case of can you requests such as (46), regarded by Dik as interpreted through
pragmatic illocutionary conversion unless they contain an unambiguous marker of requestive status such as please, Risseladas view is that they unambiguously express a request and so are direct expressions of illocutionary intention. Since requests inherently
offer the addressee the option of refusal to comply, and since the imperative sentence type
cannot signal this, an interrogative sentence type is used (an alternative is to tag an imperative with will you). The optionality meaning of the interrogative combines with that of
the predicate and the second person agent to give the intended force. Risselada points out
that can you requests are differentiated from straight questions using can you, in that the
former must refer to specific actions or behaviour. Furthermore, the request type, unlike
the question type, is not asking about the ability of the addressee to perform the action,
but rather about whether it is possible for the addressee to comply, as indicated by the fact
that in English possibly, and in Dutch misschien (perhaps) can be added as a mitigation
marker. This explains why can you, but not are you able to, is an appropriate conventionalisation for requests. Risselada also notes that if we change the modal from can to could, this
mitigates the request illocution, not the interrogative illocution which would be regarded
as basic in the Hengeveld and Dik proposals. She finds further confirmation of her position in data from Classical Latin, where similar requests are expressed not by posse (can,
be able to), but by potin (est) (it is possible), which, like directive verbal predicates, is
followed by a clause with ut and the subjunctive, rather than by the infinitive as with posse.
Proposals such as (47) are like suggestions in that they attempt to get the addressee to
do something, but they have the added meaning of including the speaker in the commitment. Risselada (1990: 17) observes that in many languages they are expressed using first
person plural forms. In English and Dutch, we have a grammaticalised lexical expression
(lets, laten we), which can also be used adhortatively in other persons. This particular use
of these verbs is marked grammatically by Subject-verb inversion,5 and also in English by
the contraction of let us to lets. An alternative expression for proposals in English is how
about plus gerund.
Risselada (1990: 19) concludes that an approach in which sentence type is seen as providing only a very general illocutionary meaning, which may be combined with meanings
from other grammatical and lexical devices, allows us to minimise the extent to which we
need to postulate illocutionary indeterminacy and indirectness. Although the final arbiter
of illocutionary assessment is the pragmatic theory of verbal interaction, this component
will have less work to do, and will have a greater chance of success, if the information
provided by the grammar itself is as detailed as possible. Risselada notes that her proposals raise a number of problems for the representation of illocutionary phenomena in
the grammar, in view of the greater indeterminacy of the distinction between illocution
and proposition in her model, the variation in the role of the sentence type depending on
the presence of other illocutionary indicators, and the need for certain conventionalised
expressions such as can you, lets and how about to be listed in the lexicon.
In Risselada (1993) the ideas summarised above are developed in the context of a
study of directives in Latin. This work makes considerable use of the concept of prototype,
and so can be regarded as leading in the direction of the strongly cognitive approaches
of Ruiz de Mendoza and Prez Hernndez which will be discussed in 1.2.2.7. Risselada
(1993: 3336) proposes a typology of illocutions according to three types of criteria, each
of which is scalar rather than all-or-none: the aims, intentions and other psychological
aspects of the speaker; factors related to the addressee, such as his or her reaction; and
characteristics of the speech act per se, including whether it is concerned with facts, emotions or actions. In line with her earlier work, Risselada rejects the strong version of the
literal force hypothesis according to which an utterance has a basic illocutionary force corresponding to its sentence type, but may also have a further force derived from the basic
one through inferential procedures. Instead, she adopts a weaker version of this hypothesis, in which a rather general illocutionary value is proposed for each of the three basic
sentence types: declaratives simply present a proposition; interrogatives present a proposition as (partially) open; imperatives present the content of a proposition for realisation
(Risselada 1993: 71). Each of the three sentence types is thus compatible with a range of
illocutionary forces, and the actual illocutionary value of an utterance will be a result of
the combination of the contribution from sentence type with those from other indicators
such as specific lexical items, intonation, and so on. This view is able to dispense with the
dichotomy of direct and indirect illocutions, replacing it with the idea that a varying number of linguistic devices may be used to guide the interpretation of illocutionary meaning,
and that the larger the number of devices used, the greater the degree of explicitness, or
codification, of the speech act concerned.
. As Risselada observes, the Dutch pronoun we is the normal Subject form, and Quirk et al. (1985: 829)
argue that us in the English construction is a Subject, though in the objective case.
Chapter 1
The work of Togeby (1994) reaches very similar conclusions to those of Risselada, in
that he advocates the taking into account of all the various indicators of illocutionary force,
including performative verbs, tense, person of Subject, modals, as well as sentence type.
.... Moutaouakil on implicated illocutionary force. A number of modifications to

Diks model are suggested in the work of Moutaouakil. Since his earliest work, which predates the publication of TFG1 (e.g. Moutaouakil 1986), Moutaouakil has emphasised the
importance of accounting not only for the literal illocutionary force of an utterance, but
also for any secondary illocutionary forces which are implicated contextually, including
those which are not coded in any way in the clause itself.
Implicated illocutions can become progressively more salient in relation to the literal
illocution, by means of the process of grammaticalisation. Moutaouakil (1991: 4) proposes
that this occurs in two major stages, which he relates to the principle of markedness shift
discussed by Dik (1989a: 239ff.). First the implicated illocution becomes conventionalised,
acquiring at least as important a status as the literal illocution, and having a generalised
meaning in all contexts. At a later stage the original implicated illocution may totally displace the original literal force, itself becoming literalised. As an example of a conventionalised illocution, Moutaouakil gives the use of can you to signal a request in English; as an
example of a literalised illocution, he cites negative interrogatives with the force of a positive assertion, giving an example from Arabic and glossing it in English as Havent I warned
you?.6 Moutaouakil (1991: 68) presents a number of reasons for his claim that implicated
illocutionary force, as well as literal force, should be accounted for within a linguistic theory such as FG, which has pretensions to pragmatic and psychological adequacy. Clearly,
as an important aspect of the pragmatics of the utterance, the total illocutionary potential
should be described somewhere in the theory. Furthermore, Moutaouakil gives examples
which demonstrate that literal and implicated illocutionary forces can co-determine the
form of linguistic expressions: the negative particle min in Standard Modern Arabic occurs
only in interrogatives which have the implied force of a denial; certain adverbial expressions, such as an Arabic phrase glossed as please, modify the implicated, not the literal
force; although some of the illocutionary force indicating particles of Standard Modern
Arabic are determined by the literal force, there is one particle which can occur only in
interrogatives conveying a reproach; again in Arabic, a negative interrogative, interpreted
implicationally as a positive assertion, can be coordinated with a clause which has the
literal force of an assertion; and finally, Moutaouakil claims that the intonational contour of an utterance with a literal and an implied force is co-determined by these two
types of force.
. Both examples seem somewhat dubious. It is certainly not true that can you? interrogatives are interpreted
as requests in all contexts: it is perfectly possible to imagine a context in which Can you open the window? is
purely a question (e.g. a doctor asking about a patients arm injury). Similarly, in English at least, it is not
the case that negative interrogatives are interpreted as positive assertions in all contexts: Oh, havent I warned
you? I certainly should have done can be taken as a straight question. It could be, however, that Moutaouakils
claim relates specifically to the Arabic construction.
Moutaouakil (1991: 1118) discusses the relative merits of three possible approaches
to the problem of representing both literal and implied illocutionary forces in FG. Firstly,
one could attempt to account for all illocutionary phenomena outside the grammar itself,
in a wider pragmatic theory of verbal interaction. In Moutaouakils view, an appropriate
location would be the Functional Logic component of Diks Model of the Natural Language User, mentioned briefly in 3.6 of Part 1, in which inferential phenomena are to
be modelled. One of the sub-components of Functional Logic is illocutionary logic, dealing with the logical properties of illocutionary operators (Dik 1989b: 23). Moutaouakil
outlines the kinds of reasoning which could account for, for example, the calculation of
an implicated illocutionary force of reproach from an utterance with interrogative literal
force in Arabic, the implicature process proposed being basically that familiar from the
work of Grice and others. However, as Moutaouakil points out, such a scheme would imply that all implied illocutions are to be accounted for in terms of inferential calculation,
and therefore cannot account for those cases where the implied illocution has become
conventionalised.
On the other hand, adopting the position that all illocutionary phenomena are to be
accounted for within the grammar itself runs into the problem of handling highly indirect
illocutions in which not only the illocutionary force but also the propositional content is
changed. It is difficult to see, for example, how the grammar could handle the interpretation of a declarative clause stating that it is cold in a particular room, as a request to close
the window.
The most attractive position, then, would appear to be that the responsibility for accounting for illocutionary force is shared between the grammatical and the Functional
Logic components of the overall model of the Natural Language User. The grammar would
deal with all literal illocutionary forces and with those implicated forces which have a reflex in form, while the Functional Logic component would handle those cases where an
implied force can be calculated, but where the expression itself contains no indication of
this interpretation. As Moutaouakil (1991: 1718) notes, this mixed option is in accordance with the modular nature of Diks model of the Natural Language User; it provides
this model with a way of calculating implied force on the basis of inferential rules, but postulates the involvement of the logical component only when such inference is necessary, so
contributing to the psychological plausibility of the model; and finally, the dual solution
avoids the over-burdening of the grammar which resulted in the past from attempts to
deal with these phenomena within, for example, generative semantics.
Attractive as it undoubtedly is, the dual mechanism itself faces certain problems, foremost amongst which is the need for expression rules to have access to information within
the logical module in order to generate the correct output. Moutaouakil (1991: 18) sees
this as a rather ad hoc and probably costly procedure.
Moutaouakils proposals, then, move tentatively in the direction of a division of
labour, in the illocutionary area, between a grammatical and a pragmatic component.
This concept has been strongly advocated, though in a somewhat different form, in recent
work in FG, to which I now turn.
Chapter 1
.... Illocution and discourse pragmatics: Recent modular approaches to illocution. Vet
(1998a), as we saw earlier, agrees with Bolkesteins (1992a) view that the E variable should
refer to the utterance, the product of a speech act, not the act itself. The utterance is a message or part of a message that is transmitted in a communicative situation (Vet 1998a: 12).
The underlying structure of the utterance is concerned only with the linguistic properties
of the message: Vet (1998a: 13) regards attempts to build speech act theory into the underlying structure as methodologically unsound, and proposes to deal with the speech act
itself in a separate, pragmatic module. He relates his proposals to the distinction made
by Dik between illocution as coded in the expression (ILLE ), and the illocutionary intention of the speaker (ILLS ) and interpretation of the addressee (ILLA ). For Vet, as indeed
for Dik, only the first belongs in the grammatical module, the others being handled in
the pragmatic module. As Vet observes, the question is how the two modules should be
related. Vets model contains an interface consisting of the speakers unconscious or conscious decisions as to the linguistic form (Vet 1998a: 16): so far, however, the details of
this interface component have been left unspecified.7
It is the relationship between the pragmatic and grammatical modules in Vets model
that deals with what Dik calls illocutionary conversion. For example, consider (48):
(48) A. its gone very cold hasnt it
B. [mm] its freezing (LLC 1 3 4245)
It would be quite possible for A to intend his or her utterance as an indirect request for
B to put on a fire in the room. In such a case, the pragmatic module would specify that
the speech act for As contribution is one of the Speaker requesting the Addressee to put
on the fire. The interface rules would then determine that the form of the utterance would
be a declarative with the utterance content its gone very cold, plus a question tag, plus
the appropriate intonation patterns. The sentence type of the utterance is chosen to be
compatible with the speakers communicative intentions (see also Risselada 1993: 7173).
The relationship between the requestive speech act and the declarative form is thus one of
mapping, rather than one of conversion: Vet (1998a: 15) points out that it is implausible
that in the production of language in real time, speakers start off with a declarative illocution and only then convert it to a request. Although Vet does not discuss forms which
have become more conventionalised for the performance of particular speech acts, such
as can you? as a standard request form in English, his argument would apply even more
strongly to such cases. As we saw earlier, a similar argument has been put forward by
Risselada (1990).
Liedtke (1998) reviews the work of Hengeveld, Risselada, Moutaouakil and Togeby,
and concludes that the distinction between linguistic indicators and the illocution itself
is crucial, since sentence type does not determine strongly the illocutionary reading, but
only constrains the addressees interpretation. His model proposes a grammatical module
to deal with the various possible grammatical and lexical indicators and a pragmatic mod. Vet also claims that his two-module model can give an insightful account of discourse relations. This
aspect of linguistic patterning will be discussed in Chapter 4.
ule dealing with the sentence as the realisation of a specific speech act. Liedtke (1998: 118)
proposes a set of six illocutionary types, based on Searles (1975) classification, but splitting Searles Directives into Petitives (orders, requests, commands) and Quaesitives (questions). He points out that there are correlations of varying strength between the illocutionary categories and sentence type: declaratives can be used for a wide variety of illocutionary purposes (Declarations, Commissives, types of Directive) in addition to the realisation
of Assertives; imperatives correlate more strongly with Directives, though they can be used
rhetorically for other purposes; interrogatives are prototypically correlated with Quaesitives, but can be used for other illocutions such as requests. Even where the correlation is
strong, it is not deterministic: illocutionary force is interpreted by the addressee on the assumption that speakers use the form which best expresses their communicative intentions.
Within the pragmatic module, speaker intention, social context, discourse context and
conventions for performing illocutionary acts all play a role. Liedtke (1998: 121125) discusses Austins (1962) distinction between locutionary and illocutionary acts, and within
the locutionary, between phonetic, phatic and rhetic acts. He suggests that the division
between grammatical and pragmatic modules coincides with that between the rhetic act
(i.e. using words and constructions with a particular sense and reference) and the illocutionary act. He proposes to replace the illocutionary operator of Diks account by a rhetic
operator, determining mood within the grammatical module.
Van den Berg (1998) makes the important point that the bottom-up approach of FG
in modelling structure runs the risk of paying insufficient attention to the processes of language production: FG is system-oriented and not user-oriented (van den Berg 1998: 77).
His own model takes as its starting point the work of Berger & Luckmann (1971) on the
social construction of reality, and that of Searle (1995) which is also concerned with social
and institutional facts. The brief summary of this work which follows is based on van den
Berg (1998: 7885).
Berger & Luckmanns theory is based on the concepts of habitualisation and typification: actions which are frequently repeated take on particular forms and become part
of routines in our knowledge. Reciprocal recognition of these routines leads to reciprocal
typification. When habitualised actions, carried out by certain types of specific actors, are
reciprocally typified, institutions arise, allowing us to anticipate typical activities occurring within them. The actors in typifications correspond to roles played in institutions
(e.g. the role of mother in the home, teacher in the school, judge in the courtroom): people share goals and standards of performance, and performance of the roles enacts the
actions of the institution. Language is necessary for the development and transmission of
institutions across generations. Roles become linguistically objectified as types of actor,
routines as types of action. Van den Berg (1998: 80) gives the example of a shop transaction, where both customer and salesperson know what sequence of actions, and what types
of linguistic behaviour, to expect. Van den Berg regards Searles work as complementing
that of Berger and Luckmann, in its emphasis on the relationship between social reality
and the assignment of functions, such that, for example, a stone can act as (count as, in
Searles formulation) a paperweight, or pieces of specially printed paper can be agreed, in
the social system, to count as money in a particular country.
Chapter 1
The linguistic structures composed of action types and their corresponding actor types are used in discourse, of which conversation is the prototype. Van den Berg
(1998: 82) focuses on two functions of discourse: the recreation of social relationships
(what Berger & Luckmann refer to as universe maintenance) and the ability of interactants to create relevance.
Van den Berg relates Berger & Luckmanns action types to the predicate frames of FG,
in which argument positions can be filled by names for natural or social objects. In cases
where selection restrictions are violated, clues for interpretation will often be found in the
institutional context. It is therefore necessary to create links between social institution, the
background to the interaction, and the lexicon. The activation of a particular institution,
such as when entering a shop, creates anticipation of routinised event sequences, and of
other relevant social facts and objects:
It is the social context that accommodates a predicate frame and not a predicate frame
that requires a coding that is independent of the social context.
(van den Berg 1998: 84)
Van den Bergs own model of a pragmatic functional grammar postulates three modules,
each provided with one or more managers which regulate what happens within the module, as well as the interaction between modules. The pragmatic module is provided with
a social context manager which has the task of constructing reality and a move manager
which plans the relevant moves in discourse. The message module has a message manager which constructs the message. The grammar module has a predicate frame manager
which is involved in the assignment of the predicate and terms. Van den Berg (1998: 85)
recognises that this model is an expansion of that proposed by Vet (1998a), the message
module being a more highly articulated version of Vets interface component.
The pragmatic module (van den Berg 1998: 9195) is the central controller, sending
both information and instructions to the other two modules. First, the social context manager constructs a social reality which includes a specification of the institution and roles,
the type of discourse and the status of move sequences. All this information is passed
to the move manager, which is the central processing unit of the pragmatic module. Its
role is to construct moves (in principle, both verbal and non-verbal), and to translate the
speakers intent into appropriate semantic content, including the choice of a suitable illocutionary act. A call for this content is made to the grammatical module, which sends
the appropriate illocutionary operator (DECL, INT, IMP), as well as the relevant action
type (as embodied in a predicate frame), to the message manager for placement in a message frame. The predicate frame manager also has access to information regarding the
social context, through its connection with the message module, and so can make any
adjustments which may be required by the most recent contextual information available.
The message manager, as well as gathering content from the grammatical module,
receives input from the social context manager (on institution, role, and the type, time
and location of the discourse) and from the move manager (on the kind of move being
planned and types of discourse acts within the move). The message manager then coordinates the construction of a move which is in line with all these pieces of information. This
process involves the setting up of a deictic centre and the distribution of responsibilities
through the selection of names, pronouns, kinship terms or specifications of role type. It
also involves the placement of focus, generally on the new information being transmitted.
The movement of elements from the grammatical component into the message frame is
handled by specification rules in the message manager, which formulate constituents according to the requirements of the message. Finally, the expression rule component reads
the message frame and converts the specification into the final form of the utterance.
As we saw in 3.7.1 of Part 1, Hengeveld (forthcoming a, forthcoming b) has recently put forward a Functional Discourse Grammar model which attempts to integrate
the underlying structure of the clause with that of the discourse. In the latest version of
this model, any stretch of language can be analysed in terms of three linguistic levels:
the interpersonal level, at the top of the hierarchy of levels, is intended to model language as a communicative process, while the representational level models language in its
content-carrying function, and the structural level is concerned with the realisation of the
semantics in form. Furthermore, the linguistic component is supplemented not only by
an acoustic component dealing with the ultimate representation of meanings in sounds,
but also by a conceptual component concerned with the development of the speakers intentions and their combination with appropriate conceptualisations, and by a contextual
component. Within such a model, it would appear that there is ample opportunity to deal
with indirect speech acts in terms of non-canonical mappings between the linguistic levels,
motivated by information in the non-linguistic components of the model.
Finally, as we shall see in 2.2.2.2.1, the work of Bolkestein (1998) on the treatment of
topicality and focality within FG also leads in the direction of a modular approach, as does
that of Kroon (1995, 1997) on Latin connective particles (see 4.2.4), so strengthening the
arguments from the area of illocution.
... Exclamations
In recent work, Moutaouakil (1999) has proposed that what is regarded by Dik as exclamative illocutionary force should be reanalysed as a kind of modality. He points out that
while declarative, interrogative and imperative constructions have formal features which
allow us to recognise them across languages, exclamations can take a wide range of different forms in different languages, and indeed often within a single language. In English,
for example, exclamations can borrow declarative, interrogative and imperative syntax, as
shown in (49)(51) below.
(49) Thats fantastic! (BNC JYE 75)
(50) Isnt that lovely! (BNC AEB 908)
(51) Look at that view! (BNC AT3 2518)
Moutaouakil (1999: 36) goes on to argue that exclamation is not itself an illocution.
It does not appear in the speech act typologies developed by Searle and others. Unlike Searles expressive category of speech acts, exclamations do not necessarily involve
a propositional content which is itself related to the speaker or addressee. The fact that
Chapter 1
exclamations express a relationship between the speaker and the content of the utterance,
rather than an interactional relationship between speaker and addressee, is also untypical
for speech acts as a whole. Moutaouakil notes that although, in Diks account, declarative, interrogative and imperative constructions can undergo illocutionary conversion,
there is no mention of any such conversion from exclamatives to another type. Furthermore, although adverbs related to exclamative meaning do exist (Moutaouakil mentions
surprisingly, wonderfully and amazingly), they modify the propositional content, not the
illocution, as witness the strangeness of *I tell you amazingly that ... It is also claimed that
exclamations have different degrees, while a speech act is either performed or not. Finally,
exclamatives have an illocutionary force, normally that of assertion, independently of their
exclamative status, as demonstrated by the facts that they can be conjoined with declaratives, can occur in because clauses (unlike interrogatives and imperatives), take tags typically added to declaratives, and are appropriately reacted to by the same type of expressions
as declaratives.
Moutaouakil (1999: 78) argues that exclamative meaning fits well into Diks category
of subjective epistemological modality, since it involves the speakers attitude towards the
proposition. He also offers (pp. 812) a typology of exclamative modality. He first distinguishes between appreciative and depreciative types, which are formally distinct in Standard Modern Arabic and also in French, where it is claimed that only depreciative exclamations can have a fronted adjective (Sotte/*gniale que tu es! (lit. Stupid/*(full of) genius
that you are!), Moutaouakils example (36)). Moutaouakil (1999: 9) motivates the distinction between appreciative and depreciative exclamatory modality in English in terms
of a purported difference in intonation contour. Reliable measurement of such contours
in connected discourse will be needed if this claim is to be upheld.
He also proposes degrees of exclamative modality which can be expressed lexically
(e.g. through adjectives and adverbs in English) or grammatically (e.g. though predicate
forms in Standard Modern Arabic encoding weaker and stronger types of exclamation). It
is further claimed that some languages, including French and Arabic, have means for the
reinforcement of meaning expressed by a particular exclamative construction, usually by
iconic addition of material as the strength of the exclamative meaning increases.
Moutaouakil (1999: 1215) suggests that exclamative modality is not confined to the
proposition, but extends also to the term and to whole stretches of discourse. In (52)
we have an example, from Spanish, of what Moutaouakil would regard as exclamative
modality within the term.
(52) Qu falda ms mona llevas. (HCM 21, 402)
What skirt most pretty wear-pres.2sg.familiar
What a pretty skirt youre wearing
Just as propositional exclamative modality is represented in the underlying structure of
the clause by a propositional operator or satellite, so constructions such as that in (52)
can be represented by the addition of a layer of modality term operators to the layers of
localising, quantifying and qualifying term operators proposed by Rijkhoff and taken over
in Diks model of the term (see 7.2.1.3 of Part 1). Exclamation at the level of discourse
episodes is postulated in order to account for sequences of exclamations in panegyrical

discourse.
Finally, Moutaouakil suggests that subjective modality distinctions in general, including exclamative modality, should be part of a pragmatic module such as that suggested
by Vet (1998a) for speech acts (see 1.2.2.4.4) and by Bolkestein (1998) for pragmatic
functions (see Chapter 2). Under such a proposal, the derivation of (53) would involve
underlying structures within the pragmatic module (shown in (54), where DEPR EXCL
is the operator for depreciative exclamation) and the grammatical module ((55), where U
represents the utterance).
(53) How silly I am! (BNC ANL 961)
(54) ASS Ei : [DEPR EXCL Xi : [ei : fi (xi )Top ]Foc ]
(55) DECL Ui : [Xi : [Pres ei : silly [A] (I)Subj ]]
Clearly, the interaction between the two modules needs to be spelt out explicitly if this line
is to be followed.
... Some speech acts not treated as illocutions in FG

Greetings (e.g. Hello in English), leave-takings (e.g. Goodbye), summonses (e.g. Hey there),
the direct expression of emotional states through interjections (e.g. Ouch!, Hurray!) and
minimal responses signalling agreement or disagreement, are not integrated into the picture of illocution in FG, but are treated, together with vocative forms of address, as extraclausal constituents concerned with interaction management (Dik 1997b: 384386).
It is, however, by no means clear why they should be treated in this way rather than as
separate clauses with a much reduced structure, but with their own illocutionary force.
This alternative would be much more attractive under the proposals, reviewed earlier, for
taking fuller account of the role played by lexical phenomena in illocution.
... A cognitive perspective on illocution in FG
The recent work of Ruiz de Mendoza (1999) offers a critique of Diks proposals and recasts
illocution within a framework which, while still integrated within FG, builds in a strongly
cognitive perspective. This work builds on earlier studies by Ruiz de Mendoza (1994a,
1994b) which proposes the integration of ideas from the theory of speech acts and Relevance Theory into FG. As the 1999 paper subsumes, modifies and elaborates the earlier
accounts, I shall take it as the point of departure for the following summary.
The primary thesis of Ruiz de Mendozas (1999) account of illocution is that a theory
of verbal interaction needs to be situated within the more general dimension of how human beings act in accordance with their cognitive systems: in other words, pragmatic adequacy is subsumed under the overarching requirement of cognitive adequacy. In this respect, the Relevance Theory of pragmatics propounded by Sperber & Wilson (1986/1995)
is of interest, since it models communication in terms of the speakers attempts to affect the cognitive environment of the addressee. Ruiz de Mendoza imports two concepts
from Relevance Theory into his own model of illocution in FG: the difference between
Chapter 1
explicatures (generated from the logical form encoded in an utterance) and implicatures
(generated by processes of inference based on condition/consequence relationships); and
the concept of mutual manifestness, where a phenomenon is manifest to a person if that
person can form a mental representation of the phenomenon.
A second way in which Ruiz de Mendoza wishes to make the FG account of illocution
more sensitive to cognitive concerns is by introducing the concept, taken from Lakoff s
(1987, 1989) version of cognitive linguistics, of Idealised Cognitive Models (ICMs), conventional mental representations of the world which act as templates for the interpretation
of reality. A particularly important ICM for Ruiz de Mendoza is the cost-benefit model
studied by Leech (1983) in connection with the notion of politeness. At the centre of this
model is the politeness convention, according to which if it is manifest to A that some
aspect of a state of affairs is not beneficial to B, and A has the ability to alter that state of
affairs so that it becomes beneficial for B, then s/he should do so. This basic principle is
modified, in Leechs account, by other factors relating to social distance and power. On the
basis of these principles, we can explain how certain interrogatives come to be interpreted
as requests: for instance, if the addressee thinks that the speaker needs a state of affairs to
be altered so that it becomes beneficial for him or her, and if the speaker asks about the
nature of the state of affairs, this will ordinarily be understood as a request to the addressee
to bring about the required alteration (Ruiz de Mendoza 1999: 112).
Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 118) proposes that the criterion of psychological adequacy
in FG be reformulated in terms of what Lakoff (1990) calls the cognitive commitment,
which entails, among other things, that our descriptions and theories of language be in
accordance with empirical studies of categorisation, and with what they tell us about, for
instance, prototype effects.
Against this background of a more cognitively-oriented approach, Ruiz de Mendoza
(1999: 126133) presents a critique of Diks concept of grammatical illocutionary conversion. He argues that the phenomena analysed by Dik in terms of grammatical conversion actually have a specifying effect, similar to that of Hengevelds mitigation and
reinforcement operators. In the examples given by Hengeveld, the illocutionary force is
not changed, but in the case of imperatives to which a mitigator is added, the force does
indeed change, and we must then decide whether to propose two sets of illocutionary operators, one modifying, the other converting, or just a single set of modifying operators,
with the conversion being a secondary, and perhaps only apparent, effect. Dik appears to
opt tentatively for the first solution, while Ruiz de Mendoza argues for the second.
Ruiz de Mendoza first argues (1999: 128131) against the interpretation of please in
English as an illocutionary converter, as postulated by Dik. He points out that utterances
which, when please is present, are interpreted as requests, can also be so interpreted even
when please is absent, although with varying degrees of ease: for example, a straight imperative or a Can you ...? interrogative are very easily interpreted as requests even without
please, while a straight declarative is less obvious as a request, and may require a specific
context which, on the basis of inference (i.e. pragmatic conversion) allows the construction of the request interpretation. On the other hand, declaratives whose content does not
lend itself to a request interpretation do not easily take please (as in example (56) below).
Furthermore, please does not always mitigate, since it can be added to utterances whose
form and intonation are consistent with a firm order, and then actually serves to accentuate the brusqueness of the order (57) or the speakers irritation (58). These considerations
lead Ruiz de Mendoza to propose that the function of please is not to convert one illocution
to another, but to modify an illocutionary interpretation which can already be obtained
either through a grammatical construction (see further below) or through inference.
(56) Water boils at 100 C at one atmosphere pressure (*, please). (BNC HSD 2578)
(57) Stand back, please back you get, sir madam let me get by. (BNC CK0 1641)
(58) . . . oh look stop sniffing please. (BNC KBG 3737)
Since please effects semantic specification within a certain range of application, Ruiz de
Mendoza regards it as the expression of an underlying illocutionary operator.8 There are
other expressions which have much the same semantic effect, among them the tag will
you, which can also alternate between mitigation and reinforcement. The question posed
by Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 132) is whether please and will you are alternative realisations
of the same operator, a question which is further complicated by the existence of other
tags such as can you, cant you, would you, wont you, not to mention the use of these
forms as part of the body of an interrogative. The answer proposed by Ruiz de Mendoza
is to regard each of these various forms as the expression of an illocutionary operator
within a system which he calls MDIR, which operates not on the basic IMP illocution,
but on the interpreted illocution DIR (for directive). The behaviour of these operators is
conditioned not only semantically, by other elements of the underlying structure, but also
syntactically, within the expression rule component.
Differentiation between speech act types and specification of the MDIR operator values relate to the cognitive models embodied in the cost-benefit scale (founded on the
principle that we should act in order to maximise the benefit, and minimise the cost, to
others) and the related scales of optionality, indirection, power and social distance. In accordance with Leechs original proposal, the greater the power of addressee over speaker,
and the greater the social distance between them, the more the speaker needs to offer options, and this in turn correlates with the production of indirect rather than direct speech
acts. Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 136) postulates that the cost-benefit scale is the central one,
since the others work through it.
Various combinations of the variables [ benefit to speaker], [ benefit to addressee],
[ costly to speaker] and [ costly to addressee] allow us to distinguish among various
classes of speech act, such as orders, offers, suggestions and advice. The effects can be
modified by intonation, so that, for example, a strong tone can override other indicators
and block an interpretation as a request, offer, suggestion or piece of advice, whereas a mild
tone can modify the force towards these four categories (Ruiz de Mendoza 1999: 137).
. We may ask, then, if please is also regarded as a grammatical rather than a lexical element. This is another
illustration of the problem of differentiating between operators and satellites, which has arisen in earlier
discussion.
Chapter 1
The subsidiary scales of optionality and indirection are what give rise to the MDIR
operators: seven values are recognised, corresponding to the expressions please, will you,
can you, wont you, cant you, would you, could you. Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 140141)
also postulates an operator IMPref, realised by do, which acts at the opposite end of the
scale from MDIR, its function being to restrict the options available to the addressee.
This operator applies only to imperatives, which may, however, have various illocutionary
interpretations, as orders, offers, requests, etc.
Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 141144) also criticises Diks interpretation of tags on declaratives as expressions of grammatical conversion to interrogatives. According to Ruiz de
Mendoza, in an example such as (59) below, as well as in the corresponding negative interrogative, the speaker is indicating a high degree of certainty with respect to the truth of
the proposition, and his or her surprise that this may be mistaken.
(59) But then, that is what you want them to do, isnt it? (BNC JY7 704)
Ruiz de Mendoza postulates an operator COL19 for such cases, the function of which is
to ask for confirmation from the hearer of an assumption held by the speaker. A second
operator COL2 is postulated for cases where the tag has the same polarity as the main body
of the utterance, and has the function of asking the hearer to confirm a conclusion which
the speaker has reached, but for which s/he takes no responsibility. The superimposition
of question intonation on a declarative, regarded by Dik as a kind of conversion, is again
treated by Ruiz de Mendoza in terms of a specialised construction which modifies the
directive force of the illocution.
Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 146157) analyses a number of expressions, related to illocution, which he takes to be at various points on a scale of functional specialisation. For
instance, why not plus bare infinitive is highly specialised for the function of indicating
a suggestion, while why dont you is less specialised, being conventionalised, at the same
level, for the expression of both suggestions and questions about reasons. Similarly, modal
tags such as can you are specialised, while the full interrogative equivalents are less so, again
being susceptible to different interpretations according to the context. Ruiz de Mendoza
(1999: 152157) criticises Risseladas account of can you interrogatives which, as we saw in
1.2.2.4.2, postulates that this expression is taken as an indicator of a request if it is combined with a propositional content representing a specific action, while it is more likely to
be interpreted as a question if the action is of a general kind. Ruiz de Mendoza demonstrates that it is possible to make the action more and more specific without necessarily
leading to a request interpretation. His own account of can you interrogatives is predicated
on the cognitive model embodied in the politeness convention: interpretation as a request
or a question depends primarily on whether the action is possible for the hearer, and if so,
how costly it would be. Asking the hearer if s/he can do something which is easy to do will
generally be interpreted as a request; on the other hand, asking someone to do something
. COL here stands for coletilla, the Spanish term for a tag.
which is impossible or even very difficult breaks the politeness convention, so that such an
utterance would be more likely to be interpreted as a question.
At the heart of Ruiz de Mendozas analysis of illocutionary indicators is the concept
of the construction, interpreted in the sense in which it has come to be used in cognitive
approaches to linguistics, as the pairing of a form with a meaning, which may be complex. For example, Ruiz de Mendoza gives the following definition of the construction for
requests with will you:10
An Int utterance of the type will you constitutes a request to the extent to which, by
means of the explicatures generated on the basis of the expression, it is manifest to the
hearer that:
(i) It is manifest to the speaker that the state of affairs designated by the predication is
beneficial for the speaker (or for a third person whom the speaker wishes to receive
the benefit) and costly for the hearer.
(ii) It is manifest to the speaker that the hearer has the ability to bring about the state
of affairs designated by the predication.
(iii) The speaker wants the state of affairs designated by the predication to come about.
(iv) The speaker gives him/her the freedom to refuse to bring about the state of affairs
designated by the predication. (Ruiz de Mendoza 1999: 158)
The conditions which form part of constructions are not absolute, but capable of gradation, and they are based on the assumption of mutual manifestness, that is, they are
instantiated to the extent to which the hearer thinks s/he is able to make a mental representation of the state of affairs as manifest to the speaker. They also, as will be obvious,
relate to the politeness convention.
Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 163165) notes that illocutionary satellites, as classified by
Dik et al. (1990), can have not only an external effect, but also an effect on the internal
semantic structure of the utterance. For example, the presence of an illocutionary satellite
encoding a Beneficiary (e.g. for your own sake) gives an explicature which triggers the
interpretation of the utterance as a piece of advice. Similarly, frankly, as an illocutionary
rather than a predicate satellite, signals not only the manner in which the speech act is
being performed, but also a high degree of commitment from the speaker, so making the
utterance into a firm statement.
Finally, Ruiz de Mendoza (1999: 167170) observes that an explicit performative,
making clear the speakers illocutionary intention, has the effect of giving a more emphatic interpretation than other conventionalised forms (e.g. I suggest is more emphatic
than why not).
Ruiz de Mendozas proposals regarding the integration of prototype effects and ICMs
into the FG account of illocution are taken further in the work of Prez Hernndez
(1997, 1998/1999, 2001; Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza 2001). Prez Hernndez
(1998/1999) argues that neither Diks account of illocutions, in which conventional speech
acts are a matter for a theory of verbal interaction rather than for the grammar, nor
. Translated from the original Spanish by the present author.
Chapter 1
Risseladas account, in which conventional illocutions are built into the grammar itself,
is adequate from a cognitive viewpoint. She shows that in the analysis of the speech act
of promising, a clear-cut division between grammatical and pragmatic illocutions is not
feasible: rather, there is a continuum of more and less canonical promises, as predicted
by prototype theory. She points out, for instance, that in declaratives with simple future
tense (e.g. Ill buy a computer), the inclusion of a reference to the addressee ((for) you) motivates the preferred interpretation of the utterance as a promise, while with a reference to
a third person beneficiary ((for) her), or none at all, the utterance is less straightforwardly
interpretable in this way: in other words, the cognitive processing effort required is smaller
when the addressee is mentioned. Prez Hernndez suggests that the categories of coded
and inferred illocutions proposed in Diks account need to be supplemented by a third
category, the conventions, highlighted in the work of Ruiz de Mendoza summarised earlier, which account for their preferred interpretations, and involve formal, semantic and
pragmatic distinctions. Fulfilment of the conditions specified in these rules of convention
is, of course, itself a matter of more or less, so emphasising once more the importance
of prototype effects in this area. Prez Hernndez goes on to formulate an ICM which
specifies the ways in which promises can be characterised, and the ways in which they can
vary, according to the scales of cost/benefit, optionality, indirectness, social power, social
distance and directivity.11
The book-length treatment in Prez Hernndez (2001) builds on her previous work
and on that of Ruiz de Mendoza, presenting a study of ten directive and commissive speech
acts based on authentic materials including the British National Corpus, film scripts and
magazines. After reviewing the literature on the roles of lexicogrammatical codification
and inference in the interpretation of indirect speech acts, she presents her own cognitive model in which both codification and inference are seen as categories at opposite ends
of a continuum. She points out (2001: 75) that the proposals of Risselada (1993)12 effectively constitute a constructional account, since they pair linguistic features with speech
act types. Prez Hernndezs own proposal, like that of Ruiz de Mendoza, consists in the
elaboration of constructions comprising illocutionary Idealised Cognitive Models (ICMs)
and procedures which realise the meanings contained in these ICMs. She proposes a set
of ten scalar parameters for the classification of directive and commissive speech acts
(2001: 8084): the type of agent (speaker, addressee, third party); the time of the action
(past, present, future); the degree of the agents capability to carry out the action referred
to in the speech act; the degrees to which the speaker and the addressee wish the action to
occur; the degree of cost or benefit to speaker, addressee and/or a third party; the degree of
optionality which the agent has in deciding whether to carry out the action; the degree of
mitigation of the speech act; the degree of power relations between speaker and addressee;
the degree of social distance between participants; and the degree of formality of the con. Directivity refers to the extent to which the participants in the interaction desire the achievement of their
goal (see Verschueren 1985).
. See 1.2.2.4.2.
text. Prez Hernndezs realisation procedures (2001: 8486, 8792) are based on the categories and relations of Diks FG, and include not only sentence type (declarative, interrogative, imperative) but also a wide range of other grammatical and lexical properties
of the clause, and even of suprasegmental configurations in discourse. Prez Hernndez
devotes separate chapters to detailed accounts, within this framework, of acts of ordering, requesting, advising, warning, begging, suggesting, threatening, inviting, offering and
promising.
In Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza (2001), previous work is elaborated in the
context of a sketch for a pragmatically-oriented cognitive Functional Grammar. This
model, like those discussed in 1.2.2.4, is modular and intended to take into account the
need for FG to develop in directions which will enable it to give an account of discoursal and pragmatic phenomena. As might be expected, however, this new model focuses
much more than the others on the cognitive aspects of communication. Prez Hernndez
& Ruiz de Mendoza (2001: 189195) offer a brief critical review of previous modular accounts. They point, for example, to the lack of specification, in Vets (1998a) model, of
how speaker intentions, situational and social information are integrated within the pragmatic module, and also to Vets preservation of the clear-cut division between the areas
of pragmatics (inference) and grammar (codification) which, as discussed above, needs
to be replaced by an account based on prototypes. Van den Bergs (1998) model, while
recognised as being the most highly developed so far, is criticised for its bias towards language production to the detriment of language understanding, and for its inability, in its
present state of development, to explain how the pragmatic module acts upon the grammar to produce a series of subtly differentiated variations on the theme of, for example,
the speech act of requesting.
Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendozas own model (2001: 195201) is intended to
remedy some of these deficiencies by building in not only the cognitive concepts of prototype and ICM, but also principles of social interaction and the effects of the current
situational context. This model has four modules: pragmatic, semantic, grammar and
expression rules.
The pragmatic module includes the universal principles of relevance and the strategies which constitute the underlying basis of communication. These principles and strategies, it is claimed, allow speakers to decide what their next conversational move will be, and
how to formulate it, for instance in terms of degree of indirectness, in line with the current
context. The general strategies adopted in communication are divided into information
strategies, which act in language production, and text-context strategies, relevant to comprehension (see Ruiz de Mendoza & Otal 1997). Information strategies are of two opposed
kinds: the explicit information strategy maximises explicitness of assumptions, so tending
to lead to unambiguous messages, while the implicit strategy prioritises implicitness of
assumptions. The balance of these two strategies is influenced by a complex of factors including the nature of the code and the system of conventions in the culture within which
the communication is embedded, as well as the universal quest for relevance. Similarly,
strategies for language reception divide into a text strategy, in which there is maximum
reliance on features of the text itself, and a context strategy, where there is more reliance
Chapter 1
on contextual features than on those which can be gleaned from the textual record. The
semantic module contains information about social relationships and correct interactional behavior for a given cultural community (Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza
2001: 200), expressed as ICMs stored in long-term memory. The authors maintain that
the inclusion of this information in a semantic rather than a pragmatic module is motivated by the fact that such information is an aspect of our knowledge of the world. The
grammar module corresponds more or less with an FG grammar of the Dik type, while the
message module is taken from van den Bergs model. The expression rules module constructs the final form of the message in accordance with information passed from other
modules, and uses realisation procedures which are the expressions and resources of a
particular language which instantiate the message frame.
Within this general model, Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza (2001: 201211)
develop an account of illocution in language production and reception. In production,
speech acts are taken to be motivated by the intentions or goals of the speaker, characterised not only by their degree of directivity (the degree to which the speaker wishes a
particular state of affairs to obtain) but also by cost-benefit factors involving the effects
on the addressee. These intentions and their motivations are systematised in the ICMs for
particular speech acts. The non-communicative goal represented by the speakers intention is converted into an actual communicative goal by means of procedures which guide
the production of particular subtypes of speech act, in accordance with the social conventions specified in the ICM: for instance, if the intention is to get someone to perform an
action, a decision will need to be made as to whether the appropriate speech act is one
of ordering, requesting, begging, or whatever. At a second stage, the communicative goal
of, say, requesting, is further specified for the appropriate degree of explicitness by the
selection of an appropriate information strategy, again constrained by principles of social
interaction and general knowledge, as activated by the kind of intention and the current
contextual properties: for example, if there is a high degree of directivity, the speaker may
wish to select an explicit information strategy, but other factors such as social distance and
power may require the use of a more implicit strategy instead.
In language reception, the processing of an utterance begins with recognition of the
realisation procedures involved. The extent of implicitness in the message will determine
whether a text or a context strategy is most appropriate. Conventionalised pairings of
form and illocutionary meaning will facilitate retrieval of the intended speech act, while
the absence of such conventionalised forms will require greater cognitive effort in interpretation. Where all attempts to determine a relevant speech act interpretation fail, the addressee may resort to negotiation strategies involving attempts to get the original speaker
to clarify the status of his or her utterance.
Illocution in Role and Reference Grammar

There has so far been no detailed work on the illocutionary area within RRG. In Chapter 4 of Part 1 we saw that illocutionary force is a clausal operator, with scope over other
clausal operators (for evidentials, tense and status). It is the only operator, except for negation, which RRG claims to be universal: because language is a means of communication, it
must have means of conveying the three basic communicative functions of making statements, asking questions and issuing commands (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 4142). To
avoid confusion, it is important to note the nomenclature employed in RRG: the labels
declarative, interrogative, imperative and optative are used to refer to different illocutionary forces, and not to the grammatical constructions by which they are realised.
Indeed, it is recognised that there is a range of types of realisation of illocutionary force
in the worlds languages: there may be special sentence types, with particular constituent
orders, as in English or Spanish, but this is not seen as a universal; other languages, such as
Lakhota and Finnish, use force-indicating particles; prosody may also be involved, often
in combination with other devices, as in English or Spanish.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 58) point out that there is a parallel between illocutionary
force in the clause and locality operators in the noun phrase, in that both are concerned
with the discourse-pragmatic properties of the respective units.
RRG does not use mood as a theoretical term to describe oppositions such as indicative vs. subjunctive: it is pointed out that such moods result from the interaction of
illocutionary and status factors (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 42).
Illocution in Systemic Functional Grammar

As in other chapters, I shall first summarise the account of illocutionary and related phenomena presented by Halliday and others within the Sydney grammar, and then look
briefly at the treatment proposed by the Cardiff grammar.
..
Speech function and mood in the Sydney grammar

... Hallidays account
It will be noticed that the heading for this subsection does not make use of the term illocution: as the reader may by now have come to expect, Halliday prefers to avoid the
use of this term, presumably because of its association with the more philosophicallyoriented theories to which his own proposals provide a more sociologically-based alternative. Instead, Halliday (1994a: 6871) relates speech function to the speech roles which
are set up in dialogue, forming the basis for the interactive nature of the speech event.
He proposes a split into two fundamental types of speech role: giving and demanding.
Cross-cutting this distinction is one concerned with the nature of what is given or demanded, either goods-and-services or information. These interacting systems give rise
to four speech functions: [giving, goods-and-services] characterises offers, [giving, information] statements, [demanding, goods-and-services] commands, and [demanding,
information] questions.
Chapter 1
Each of these four speech functions is initiating in discourse, and is paired with
an expected (or at least desired) response, and also with what Halliday labels a discretionary alternative: for offers, the expected response is acceptance, with the discretionary
alternative of rejection; for commands we have undertaking vs. refusal; for statements
acknowledgment vs. contradiction; and for questions answer vs. disclaimer.13
As mentioned in 8.3.1.2.2 of Part 1, Halliday (1994a: 7071) refers to the semantic
function of a clause based on the exchange of information as a proposition, while that of
a clause based on the exchange of goods-and-services is referred to as a proposal.
The semantic categories of statement, question and command are typically expressed
in the grammar of English through the resources of mood, which were illustrated briefly
in 5.3 of Part 1, where we saw that there is a basic choice between [indicative] and [imperative], and if [indicative], between [declarative] and [interrogative], the latter splitting up into [yes/no] and [wh-] types. Mood choices are available to every independent
clause which is major, i.e. has a verb (Halliday 1994a: 43). Clauses concerned with the
exchange of information are typically indicative, statements being, in the unmarked situation, declarative, and questions interrogative (Halliday 1994a: 74). Polar questions are
normally realised as yes-no interrogatives, and content questions as wh-interrogatives. I
shall deal with imperatives and exclamatives later.
The realisation of the mood features is through the configuration of the Mood element, as introduced in 5.3 of Part 1. This element consists of the Subject and the Finite
element of the clause, with the possible addition of modal Adjuncts. The remainder of the
clause is labelled Residue, and can contain a Predicator, Complement(s) and Adjunct(s).
Since the presence and configuration of Subject and Finite elements define mood choices,
and since the latter are interpersonal, the layer of grammatical functions consisting of
Mood and Residue, and their component functions, is also regarded as belonging to the
interpersonal component.
The Subject of a declarative clause is recognised by being picked up by a pronoun in a
question tag. The Finite element is the verbal operator which carries tense or modality, as
explained in Chapter 9 of Part 1. Sometimes it is fused with the main verb: this is the case
in the present and past tenses where the clause is active, positive and without any contrast
within the verbal group (otherwise we get a form of do as the Finite14 ). The Subject and its
corresponding tag pronoun are indicated in bold type, and the Finite element in non-italic
type, in the second version of the following pairs of examples.
(60) Norman was about to make a very obvious remark . . . (BNC HR2 25)
(61) Norman was about to make a very obvious remark, wasnt he?
(62) Beatrice and Benedick can speak verse, . . . (BNC CRV 192)
(63) Beatrice and Benedick can speak verse, cant they?
(64) Claire collects shoes. (BNC HAE 4668).
. The area of discourse structure within SFG will be taken up in Chapter 4.
. This does not apply where we have a form of be (and, in some varieties of English, have) as main verb.
(65) Claire collects shoes, doesnt she? (Finite fused with main verb)
It is the presence of a Mood element which realises the feature [indicative], while the order
of the Subject and Finite elements distinguishes [declarative] clauses (Subject ^ Finite)
from interrogative ones (Finite ^ Subject, except where a wh-element is the Subject, in
which case the order is Subject ^ Finite). Some examples are given below.
can
speak
(66) You
Subject Finite Predicator
in total confidence
Adjunct
Mood
(67)
Could
Finite
Residue
it
Subject
have driven
Predicator
Mood
(68)
What
Complement
Who
Subject
up the turn-off?
Adjunct
(BNC ARK 2272)
Residue
did
Finite
Residue
(69)
to the Editor.
Adjunct (BNC CS4 1261)
you
Subject
buy
Predicator
Mood
would
Finite
want
Predicator
Mood
him? (BNC KB7 11013)

Complement
Residue
immortality? (BNC BN3 2069)
Complement
Residue
Halliday postulates that both Subject and Finite can be allocated a consistent meaning
within the clause. On the Finite, he writes as follows:
The Finite element, as its name implies, has the function of making the proposition
finite. That is to say, it circumscribes it; it brings the proposition down to earth, so that
it is something that can be argued about. A good way to make something arguable is
to give it a point of reference in the here and now; and this is what the Finite does. It
relates the proposition to its context in the speech event. (Halliday 1994a: 75)
This anchoring to the here and now can be either in terms of tense, seen in terms of
temporal relation of the event to the moment of speaking, or modality, through which
the speaker presents the proposition as probable, necessary, etc. The Finite also expresses
polarity, since in order to be able to argue about a proposition, it must be specified as
positive or negative.
On Subject, Halliday has this to say:
The Subject supplies the rest of what it takes to form a proposition: namely, something
by reference to which the proposition can be affirmed or denied. (Halliday 1994a: 76)
Consider examples (70)(73) below:
Chapter 1
(70) The European Regional Development Fund gives money to depressed areas ...
(BNC ABJ 2012)
(71) To depressed areas the European Regional Development Fund gives money.
(72) Money the European Regional Development Fund gives to depressed areas.
(73) Money depressed areas are given by the European Regional Development Fund.
In (70), the European Regional Development Fund is both Subject and Theme. As Theme,
it represents the starting point of the message (1994a: 77).15 As Subject, it is the entity in
which is vested the success or failure of the proposition, and which is responsible for the
functioning of the clause as an interactive event (1994a: 76) and the resting point of the
argument, which is made to sustain the validity of the statement (1994a: 77). In (71),
the Theme, or starting point is to depressed areas, but the European Regional Development
Fund retains its role as Subject, with the same responsibilities. Similarly, in (72), money is
Theme, the European Regional Development Fund Subject. In the passive example (73),16
however, with money as Theme, the Subject has been changed to depressed areas, so that
it is now this entity which is claimed to be responsible for sustaining validity, the resting
point of the argument, and so on.
We saw in 9.4.1.3 of Part 1 that Halliday recognises a category of Adjunct which is
related to mood, modality, temporality and polarity. Such modal Adjuncts (which, as we
have seen, Halliday divides into mood Adjuncts and comment Adjuncts) are part of the
Mood element of the clause, not the Residue, as shown in (74).
(74) Maguire
Subject
will
Finite
surely
Modal Adjunct
be
Predicator
Mood
champion jockey
Complement
Residue
in due course ... (BNC K97 6934)

Adjunct
The Residue (Halliday 1994a: 7881) consists of one Predicator, between zero and two
Complements and potentially up to about seven circumstantial Adjuncts. All clauses except those without a main verb (minor clauses) contain a Predicator, which, as can be
seen from examples (66)(69), consists of the verbal group minus the Finite element. Indeed, there exist non-finite clauses with a Predicator but no Finite, as with smoking in (75):
(75) Inside I would sit on the dirt floor smoking cigarettes stolen from the drawing room.
(BNC FPF 2623)
. Hallidays concept of Theme will be discussed in detail in Chapter 2.
. Clearly, (73) is highly marked, and needs to be read with intonation patterns which make it contrastive
(e.g. with other kinds of help given by other organisations).
As we have seen in Part 1, the Predicator specifies secondary tense, aspects and phases (see
Chapter 9), also the Process predicated of the Subject (Chapter 8). We shall see in Chapter
2 that it also specifies active or passive voice. The Complement, as we saw in Chapter 5
of Part 1, is a clause element which could have been the Subject, but is not, whereas an
Adjunct is an element which does not have the potential to be Subject. Note that vocatives
and expletives are regarded as outside the mood structure, though they are relevant to the
structure of the clause as a unit for the exchange of information or goods-and-services
(Halliday 1994a: 85).
In wh-interrogatives, the wh-item is typically thematic and is conflated with the Subject (see (69)), or with a Complement (see (68)) or Adjunct (in questions with when,
where, why, how), though not with the Predicator: if we want to question the Predicator
we need to use What did X do? or What happened?
In unmarked positive imperative clauses there is no Mood element, since there is no
overt Subject and the verb is Predicator only, without any Finite element. The negative
equivalent has dont as the Finite element, and there are also forms which are marked for
person or polarity, and so have a Subject, a Finite or both, as shown in (76)(81), where
only the relevant parts are analysed.
(76) Please give
generously. (BNC K98 172)
Predicator [positive, unmarked for person and polarity]
(77) Dont delay
me, darling. (BNC H7H 650)
Finite Predicator [negative, unmarked for person and polarity: stressed dont]
(78) You
go
and have your lunch now, and your rest. (BNC AN8 1002)
Subject Predicator
[positive, marked for person: stressed you]
(79) Dont you
speak to me of contradictions! (BNC HTT 197)
Finite Subject Predicator
[negative, marked for person: stressed dont and you]
(80) Do
go
ahead. (BNC C8D 220)
Finite Predicator
[positive, marked for polarity: stressed do]
(81) Do
not
go
for lonely walks while I am away.
Finite Neg Modal Adjunct Predicator (BNC HGD 3132)
[negative, unmarked for person, marked for polarity: stressed do and not]
Any of these can be followed by a tag (wont you? for positive imperatives, will you? for
negative ones), and Halliday (1994a: 87) takes this to indicate that imperative clauses are
themselves finite.
The above are all examples of jussive imperatives, realising commands and prohibitions. Halliday also points out that there is a parallel paradigm for first person, you and
me imperatives, of the type lets look, dont lets look, etc. Halliday also mentions optative
imperatives of the Lord save us! type.
Chapter 1
Halliday (1994a: 86) also offers a very brief discussion of the mood structure of exclamative clauses, although he does not make it clear how exclamative mood fits into the
general pattern, in terms of the underlying relationship postulated between grammatical
mood and speech function. The normal order of Mood constituents is Subject ^ Finite,
and what conflates with Complement (as in (82)), while how conflates with an Adjunct
(as in (83)).
(82) What a dynasty of beautiful, beautiful ships he
started. (BNC B1N 100)
Complement
Subject Finite/Predicator
(83) How easily we
were misled. (BNC ANU 1011)
Adjunct
Subject Finite Predicator
Various elements can be, and in spoken language often are, absent from the modal structure itself, but recoverable from the previous discourse or from the context of interaction.
For instance, in (84) the whole of the Residue is ellipted, while in (85) it is represented by
the dummy do.
(84) A. please give my love to Dan.
B. yes I will. (LLC 7 1a 601602)
(85) A. you could always ring us up you know ((67 sylls))
B. I could do couldnt I (LLC 2 5b 11891191)
Halliday (1994a: 9295) also discusses ellipsis of the Subject, pointing out that in a declarative clause the missing Subject will be interpreted as referring to the speaker, and in an
interrogative to the addressee. Examples are also given (1994a: 9698) where the Subject
of a clause is itself a clause, either finite (with that) or non-finite (infinitival or participial). Clauses with anticipatory it and the embedded Subject clause at the end (i.e. those
usually labelled as involving extraposition) are treated as having a discontinuous Subject,
consisting of anticipatory it and the Subject clause itself.
Halliday deals briefly with the structure of minor (verbless) clauses, expressing the
speech functions of exclamations, calls, greetings and alarms (1994a: 9596). It should
also be noted that yes and no are taken to express the speech function of statement when
acting as responses and phonologically salient, as in (86) (underlining indicates intonational prominence), while they are regarded as part of the Theme when non-salient and
serving to indicate the beginning of a new move, as in (87) (Halliday 1994a: 92).
(86) A. its for five pounds right
B. yes (LLC 1 1 716718)
(87) A. well I mentioned it to you if you remember ((1 to 2 sylls))
B. yes I know. I know you did (LLC 1 1 256260)
Let us now return to the issue of the relationship between speech function and mood.
Halliday (1994a: 95) recognises that although there is an unmarked correspondence
between statement and declarative, question and interrogative, there are alternative pairings, and furthermore that the situation is even more complicated for offers and com-
mands, which have a variety of possible realisations. Halliday (1994a: 363367) deals with
non-congruent expression of speech function in terms of interpersonal grammatical
metaphor,17 though he recognises that in many cases it is by no means easy to decide what
are metaphorical and what are congruent forms (1994a: 365). Some types of example
which Halliday regards as clearly metaphorical are illustrated in (88)(90).
(88) I wouldnt be so sure about that if I were you! (BNC B1X 1359)
(89) Ive a good mind to push your face in. (BNC FRR 2570)
(90) Still, hed better go into hospital. (BNC ABS 1936)
(88) is congruently dont be so sure about that, acting as a warning; (89) is congruently
maybe Ill push your face in, typically acting as a threat; (90) is related to he should go into
hospital, functioning as advice.
Note, however, that the various types of speech act are themselves regarded by
Halliday (1994a: 363) as constituting a complex system of semantically differentiated
rhetorical modes. For instance, threats, like offers, are analysed as having the features
[give, goods-and-services], but they are differentiated from offers as being [oriented to
addressee] (as contrasted with [oriented to speaker] or [neutral]) and as [undesirable]
(as contrasted with [desirable]), while promises have the same feature specification except
that they are [desirable]. Interpretation of, say, a declarative as a threat is influenced by additional factors such as lexical connotations and syntagmatically associated grammatical
selections, as well as by paralinguistic and behavioural features. A further crucial factor in
the interpretation of speech function is intonation, and it is to this that I now turn.
Halliday (1994a: 305306) summarises the effects which intonation choices can have
on the meanings encoded in mood choices. A much more detailed account can be found
in Halliday (1967a) and a brief critical overview in Butler (1985a: 140144). In Hallidays
account, choices of intonational pattern as such are located at the rank of tone group in the
phonological rank scale. In the unmarked case, tone groups are claimed to be coextensive
with clauses, though it is perfectly possible for them to correspond to more or less than
a single clause. It is said that the tone group constitutes (realizes) one unit of information (Halliday 1994a: 59). Although this formulation is somewhat unclear, in that being
(constituting) a unit of information is not the same as realising such a unit, Hallidays
later discussion of the information unit (1994a: 296) suggests that it is the latter which is
actually meant. This, of course, leaves open the question of where such a unit might fit into
the overall model of the grammar, since it clearly does not form part of the grammatical
rank scale.
Choices of tone in the tone group realise, among other things, meanings concerned
with key which are related to the mood choices I have already described. In Hallidays
account (1994a: 302304), the basic distinction in tone is between falling pitch, which in
English is taken to mean polarity known, and rising pitch, signalling polarity unknown.
. The concept of grammatical metaphor was introduced in 5.6 of Part 1 and explored further in 7.2.3.6,
where I discussed the treatment of nominalisation in terms of ideational grammatical metaphor.
Chapter 1
The fundamental opposition is thus between a simple falling tone (numbered as Tone 1)
and a simple rising tone (Tone 2). The falling/rising opposition may, however, be neutralised, giving what in terms of the system of values is a level tone, though in phonetic
terms this turns out to rise to varying extents in most cases. It is usually known as low
rising tone (Tone 3), and signals not (yet) decided whether known or unknown. Combinations of falling and rising tone, in either order, also occur: falling-rising tone (Tone 4)
is interpreted by Halliday as meaning seems certain, but turns out to be uncertain, while
rising-falling tone (Tone 5) means seems uncertain, but turns out to be certain. Halliday
also recognises two compound tones, Tones 13 (one-three) and (53) (five-three), which
consist of a falling or rising-falling tone followed by a low rise.18 Further secondary tones
deal with variations in the extent of pitch changes and variations in the pretonic part of the
tone group, within the context of a particular primary tone. Table 1.1, derived from the
summary in Halliday (1994a: 305306), indicates the effect of particular tone choices in
combination with mood selections in major clauses that is, the modifications to speech
function which Halliday terms key. Tone with minor clauses varies with the speech function: greetings usually have falling or falling plus rising tone, exclamations rising-falling
tone, whereas calls can take any tone, with resulting differences in meaning.
It is important to note that Hallidays view, at least in 1967, was that all contrast in
meaning can be stated either in grammar or in lexis (1967a: 10), so that intonationally
realised contrasts, since they are clearly not lexical, must be included in the grammar itself. Even in his later work, Halliday writes of the meaning of the tones and the role of
tone systems in the grammar (1994a: 302). Thus, though the contrasts between the tones
themselves are at the phonological stratum, those of key are conceived of as grammatical.
... Systems and expansions

Matthiessen (1995a) sets out the systemic options involved in the areas of mood and
speech function, and also amplifies certain parts of Hallidays account. His treatment is,
as always, quite detailed and profusely illustrated, and so I can only summarise here the
main points at which he adds to the picture presented by Halliday.
Matthiessens basic network for mood type (1995a: 392) distinguishes between [indicative] and [imperative], and within [indicative] between [declarative] and [interrogative]. He also adds a system [tagged] vs. [untagged], dependent on the choice of either
[declarative] or [imperative]. Simultaneous with the choice of mood type is a system
dealing with clausal ellipsis, either [full] or [partial]. In further discussion, Matthiessen
distinguishes between [exclamative] and [non-exclamative], treating these as sub-types of
declarative on the grounds that the order of Subject and Finite is the same as that of declaratives (see (82) and (83) above). Matthiessen (pp. 422425) also formalises Hallidays
(1994a: 87) claim that the system of person differs in imperative clauses from that in in. The reason for the postulation of compound tone groups rather than just a succession of two independent ones is that in such cases the second tone group does not have any independent options available to it
within the pretonic element, that is the part of the tone group before the syllable on which the main pitch
movement occurs. I shall not pursue this matter further here.
negative
imperative
peremptory
prohibition
command
(unmarked)
positive
imperative
marked
positive
imperative (+
do)
content
question
(unmarked)
whinterrogative
peremptory
polar question
polar question (unmarked)
yes-no
interrogative
tentative content
question (but echo
question if tonic on
wh-element)
statement +
contradiction or
protest
statement
(unmarked)
declarative
2
(rising)
1
(falling)
Tone
Mood (+
polarity)
Table 1.1. Key choices according to Halliday
prohibition
invitation
(unmarked)
statement +
modality
(possible/
unimportant)
at least
statement +
reservation
statement +
assertion
unmarked (with fall

on do)
statement with
contingent
information (e.g.
clause-final Adjunct)
3
4
5
13
(level/low rising) (falling-rising) (rising-falling) (falling + level/low
rising)
statement + assertion
with contingent
information (e.g.
clause-final Adjunct)
53
(rising-falling +
level/low rising)
Chapter 1
dicative clauses: in indicatives there is a choice, for Subject, between an interactant in the
discourse (leading to first and second person pronouns) and a non-interactant (leading
to third person pronouns or full nominal groups); in imperatives, however, the possibilities for Subject are restricted to interactants. For imperatives, we have a further choice
between [jussive] (commands), [oblative] (offers of the let me type) and [suggestive] (lets
type). Again following a suggestion of Halliday (1994a: 87), Matthiessen treats let + me/s
as the Subject of the clause.
Matthiessen (pp. 426432) also offers an analysis of mood tag options, recognising tags with the same polarity as the main clause ([constant]) and opposite polarity
([reversed]), and discussing their functions.19
Minor clauses get their own network (p. 434), in which a distinction is made between
an [enactment] type (the ones already discussed by Halliday) and a [continuity] type,
exemplified by Oh, did they? in response to a statement. [Enactment] minor clauses are
divided into [reactive] and [dialogic], and the former of these into [exclamation] and
[alarm], the latter into [call] and [greeting].
Matthiessens (pp. 436444) account of speech function systems is also closely related
to Hallidays distinctions. Choices in speech function are assigned to the move, as this is
claimed to be the basic dialogic unit from a semantic viewpoint. The initial system is between [role-assigning] and [non-role assigning], the latter corresponding to minor clauses
and being divided into [self-oriented] (exclamation type) and [other-oriented] (subdivided into the calling and greeting types). [Role-assigning] moves select for orientation
([giving] or [demanding]) and for commodity ([information] or [goods-and-services]).
There is also a system, simultaneous with these last two, which distinguishes between [initiating] moves, realised by a full clause, and [responding] moves, realised by a minor or
elliptical clause. Matthiessen (pp. 439440) also gives examples of the ways in which combinations of mood type, person, modal options and choices involving verbal group complexes and clause complexes, can realise the category of command defined by the combination [demanding, goods-and-services] in the speech function network, through the
operation of grammatical metaphor. He also provides examples (p. 441) of how the basic
mood types of declarative, interrogative and imperative can be used to realise, again by
grammatical metaphor, speech functions other than those with which they are linked in
congruent situations.
Matthiessen (1995a: 450462) offers a number of networks systematising the effects
of intonational choice on speech function. He points out that there are two ways in which
we can approach the relationship between mood and key: either as two sets of largely separate but interacting systems within the grammar, the coordination of which is left to the
speech function systems of the semantic level; or as integrated within the grammar itself,
such that key systems are dependent on mood systems, as proposed in Halliday (1967a).
Matthiessen (p. 454) notes that if we adopt the former procedure, we can allocate key
choices to the information unit rather than to the clause, which is a potential advantage,
. For a rather different view of tags, in which the tag is seen as a kind of operator modalising the main
clause, see McGregor (1995).
since we have seen that the two units may not be coextensive. This, however, raises once
more the problem I referred to above, namely that the information unit, if it is realised by
a tone group, must itself be part of the grammar, yet does not appear to occupy any clearly
defined position within the overall model of the grammar. Matthiessen (p. 603) suggests
two possibilities: to posit a second grammatical rank scale in which the information unit,
specific to spoken language, is the only unit, being as it were borrowed from the phonology; or to say that the information unit lies completely outside the set of ranked units. He
does not argue for one or the other solution. Both seem somewhat unsatisfactory, in that a
one-member rank scale is almost a contradiction in terms, while leaving the information
unit as a separate entity does not help us to locate it within the overall model.
Although Matthiessen (pp. 453455) does indicate how one might try to deal with
mood and key as simultaneous sets of systems, he devotes more attention to the attempt
to integrate the two (pp. 456462), presenting sub-networks (with partial overlaps where
appropriate) for mood and key in declaratives and interrogatives. This, of course, runs up
against the problem that some of the choices within this single network properly pertain
to the clause, others to the information unit: the networks are in fact presented as applying
to the independent clause. I shall not deal here in any detail with these networks: in effect,
they convert into network form the distinctions made for declaratives and interrogatives in
Table 1.1, plus some finer distinctions taken from Hallidays more detailed early accounts
of intonation.
We have seen that mood choices of the kinds discussed above are available only to
independent (or free) clauses. Bound clauses do not directly contribute to the development of exchange (and discourse, in general) (Matthiessen 1995a: 467) and so do not
have available to them choices which are concerned with the allocation of speech roles.
Nevertheless, Matthiessen does make provision for a choice of indirect mood type in
projected clauses (i.e. in reported speech), between [indirect proposition] and [indirect
proposal].
Mention should also be made of Martins (1992a: Chapter 2) model of speech function and mood which, although it takes as its basis the account given in Halliday (1985a),
enriched somewhat by the material in Martin (1981) and later explored systemically in
Matthiessen (1995a), nevertheless offers some differences of perspective. We saw in 5.6
of Part 1 that Martin argues for stratification into a level of lexicogrammar and a higher
level of discourse semantics. With respect to speech function and mood, the former belongs to the level of discourse semantics and the latter to the lexicogrammar. His network
for speech function (1992a: 44) includes categories of move which are realised by both major and minor clauses. The network consists of two simultaneous sets of choices: moves are
either [initiating] or [responding to], and also either [attending] or [negotiating]. Attending moves are either [calling] or [greeting], while negotiating moves can be [reacting] or
[exchanging]. The last of these features is the point of entry for the simultaneous systems
[giving]/[demanding] and [goods-and-services]/[information] familiar from Hallidays
proposals.
The relationship between these speech function categories and those of mood is a
realisational one. Nevertheless, Martin (1992a: 40) claims that both the grammar and the
Chapter 1
discourse semantics make contributions to the meaning. He cites Levinsons (1983: 290)
comment on the example given as (91) below, that the first move acts as both a question
and an offer:
(91) (=Levinsons 5)
A. Would you like another drink?
B. Yes, I would, thank-you, but make it a small one.
Martins analysis of this example is that
[g]rammatically the first move is a demand for information (interrogative) while semantically it offers goods (Offer); both mood and speech function contribute a
layer of meaning to the clause. (Martin 1992a: 40)
It seems inappropriate, however, to conflate demand for information (surely a speech

function) and interrogative (a grammatical mood category). The fact that the first move
is both a question and an offer certainly needs explaining, but the explanation offered by
Martin is far from convincing. I shall not go further into Martins account here since, as
noted in 5.6 of Part 1, it is integrated into a model of discourse which will be discussed
in more detail in Chapter 4.
Finally, it should be noted that Hasan and her colleagues (see Hasan 1992, 1996; Hasan
& Cloran 1990; Cloran 1994) have taken Hallidays twofold distinction of [give]/[demand]
and [information]/[goods-and-services] to greater degrees of delicacy. As an example
of the approach, Hasan (1996: 120124) outlines the systems available to messages with
the features [demand, information], distinguishing first between an [apprize] type and a
[confirm] type. The [confirm] type is split into [verify] and [inquire]. Messages with the
feature [verify] can be further differentiated into [probe] and [reassure]. Messages with
the feature [inquire] are either [check] or [ask]. Those with the feature [apprize] are either
[vague] or [precise], and if the latter, then [explain] or [specify]. Messages with either the
feature [inquire] or [explain] are either [assumptive], meaning that the speaker has views
on what the state of affairs should be but leaves these as an unuttered assumption (as
in Hasans (1996: 121) example (1) didnt you see me?) or [non-assumptive] (e.g. Hasans
(3ii) you ate it didnt you?) in which case if there is an assumption at all it is made explicit.
Realisation statements for the feature combinations can be found in Cloran (1994).
... Problems and defences

Huddleston (1988), in his review of the first edition of IFG, calls into question Hallidays
claim that we can recognise a single meaning for the Subject function, even if we limit ourselves to English. What he is objecting to is the generalisation of the idea that the Subject is
responsible for the functioning of the clause as an interactive event (Halliday 1985a: 76,
repeated in 1994a: 76), from proposals, where one can see that the (explicit or implicit)
Subject might be characterised as responsible for carrying out an offer or command, to
propositions. Huddlestons view is that this generalisation stretches the concept of re-
sponsibility far beyond its normal sense (1988: 163).20 He points out that in an offer or
command (even when passive) the Subject is associated with a feature of agentivity, and
it is this which allows the interpretation of responsibility. On the other hand, the Subject of a proposition is not necessarily associated with agentivity. Huddleston agrees with
Halliday that the category Subject, like many others, has its origin in the semantics, but
does not agree that we can associate one invariable meaning with that category:21 indeed,
as he observes, this would be inconsistent with the many-to-many relationship of form to
meaning which is found throughout the grammar, and which is remarked on later in IFG
(Halliday 1985a: 106, repeated in 1994a: 112).
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 50), in their response to Huddlestons review, list a number of questions which, they claim, must be answered in an account of the Subject: why
Subject + Finite is used to realise mood selections, why this combination is picked up in
tag questions, why ellipsis operates in terms of Mood and Residue, why modulations and
interpersonal Adjuncts orient towards the Subject in particular, and why Subject is related to the selection of polarity in the way it is. They claim that Hallidays account can
provide answers to these questions, and comment:
Huddleston does not seem to recognize the significance of Hallidays dialogicinterpersonal angle on Subject as a complement to the recent monologic-textual
angle. (Matthiessen & Martin 1991: 50)
Huddleston (1991: 107108) observes that this response is unhelpful, not showing how
Hallidays account answers the questions they pose, or clarifying the notion of modal responsibility. A little more helpful, perhaps, is Hasan & Fries explanation of this concept,
again in terms of dialogic exchange:
So long as the experiential meaning of the (declarative) clause initiating a dialogic exchange remains constant, any subsequent dialogic move e.g., acknowledging, contradicting, accepting, rejecting, or enquiring into the why, how, when of the
case, if realised by a major clause, will involve invoking the same entity as Subject.
(Hasan & Fries 1995b: xviii)
A corpus example similar to the illustration given by Hasan & Fries is shown below:
(92) A. Andrew the eldest still keeps his Butchwana [sic] passport
B. oh does he (BNC KB0 457)
Hasan & Fries point out that replies using the same Subject, such as the one in (92B)
and also (93a and b), are natural, whereas ones with a change of Subject, such as (93c
e), are not.
. Hudson (1986: 799), too, in his review of IFG cites Subject as one of the key categories which he could
make sense of, and apply to text description, only by trying to work out his own rules from the examples
provided by Halliday.
. Likewise, Huddleston (1988: 165) finds it hard to discern any constant meaning for the category Complement. I shall not pursue this further here.
Chapter 1
(93) a.
b.
c.
d.
e.
no he doesnt
why does he?
oh is it (kept by him)
no it isnt (kept by him)
why is it (kept by him)?
According to these authors, then, modally responsible means interactionally central. The
moral they wish to draw attention to is that
. . . the semantic value accorded to Subject is made tangible not by considering single
isolated clauses on their own but by examining snatches of dialogic exchange.
(Hasan & Fries 1995b: xix)22
We shall see in 1.4.3 that objections very similar to Huddlestons have been voiced within
SFG by Fawcett, and it will be seen that Fawcetts concept of Subject Theme is claimed to
be capable of accounting for the above type of phenomenon.
.. Mood and speech function in languages other than English

Matthiessen (1995a: 462466) makes some brief, but useful, comments on typology in
relation to mood. He claims that all languages seem to differentiate mood categories like
declarative, yes/no interrogative and imperative (p. 462), and that wh-interrogatives are
also usual, but cites Sadock & Zwicky (1985: 184) as saying that some languages might lack
this mood type. According to these authors (1985: 170171) the imperative is particularly
variable in value across languages, and Matthiessen sees this as unsurprising, in view of
the fact that imperatives characteristically involve the securing of goods-and-services from
the addressee, so making them especially prone to the effects of politeness and formality.
Some languages have congruent systems for encoding these aspects of the relationship
between speaker and addressee, and in many (and, Matthiessen conjectures, perhaps all)
languages use is made of interpersonal grammatical metaphor in the expression of these
relationships.
Matthiessen (p. 463) also claims that there is variation in how languages group their
mood categories into less delicate ones: for example, for some, such as English, there is
grammatical evidence for grouping yes-no and wh-interrogatives together, while for others wh-interrogatives may be a separate type or be grouped with declaratives. Imperatives, the Subject of which can normally remain implicit, are often differentiated from
other mood types in terms of their smaller range, or even total lack, of variability with
regard to tense, aspect, modality, number and person. Languages are also said to vary in
the more delicate distinctions they may make within the major mood categories. Mood
and negation may interact in various ways: for example, some languages (including English), but not all, use negative yes-no interrogatives to indicate a bias towards a positive
. We shall come across similar argumentation in our discussion of Theme in Chapter 2.
response; negative imperatives in some languages are formally unrelated to their positive
counterparts.
In line with the claims made by Halliday (1979a) and reviewed in 6.4 of Part 1,
Matthiessen asserts that mood, as an interpersonal resource, tends to be realised prosodically, not only through intonation, but also through grammatical devices such as mood
particles which can occur at different places in the clause. He recognises that some languages have mood particles which occur initially (e.g. Arabic, Hindi, Indonesian) or finally
(e.g. Mandarin, Korean, Japanese and Thai), but interprets these as juncture prosody. As
pointed out in 6.4 of Part 1, it is difficult to see how one could make a principled distinction between this type of phenomenon and others which are taken by Halliday to indicate a
realisational association between culminative elements (those at the boundaries of units)
and the textual, rather than the interpersonal, metafunction. Matthiessen (p. 465) presents
a table showing the various types of realisation of mood across a selection of languages.
Caffarel (1995) reports on a study of mood and related topics in French. She makes
the point (1995: 12) that although one might expect, because of the nature of human
dialogue, that the primary systemic choices in the area of speech function will be similar
across languages, and that Hallidays hypothesis of primarily prosodic realisation for interpersonal choices will also be valid cross-linguistically, it is likely that differences will be
found between languages in more delicate choices, and in the ways in which these choices
are realised. Her analysis of French dialogue leads her to propose a functional element
which she calls Negotiator, and which consists of the more delicate elements Subject, Finite and Predicator. It is thus similar to the Mood element of English in containing the
Subject + Finite combination, but different in including the Predicator. One piece of evidence to support Caffarels view is that unlike in English, a response to an initiating move
in French cannot consist of just Subject + Finite, but must include the Predicator (1995: 19,
41). In other words, structures of the kind shown in the second to fourth utterances in (94)
could not occur in French:
(94) A.
B.
A.
B.
Well, talking of poetry, Ive sent in our entry for the Kelly Kitchen competition.
Youve not!
Well of course I have.
You wouldnt. (BNC A1C 2216)
Caffarel therefore argues that in French the Predicator is involved together with the Subject
and Finite in the arguability of the proposition. Further evidence for including the Predicator in the Negotiator element is that it is claimed to be able to carry modal meaning
(through the use of verbs such as pouvoir (to be able)).
Caffarel presents an analysis of the structures involving the Negotiator element, pointing out the greater importance of intonation in the realisation of speech function, as
compared with English. She also presents networks for meanings in declarative, exclamative, interrogative and imperative clauses in French, together with the appropriate
realisation rules.
Hori (1995, 1996) discusses mood in Japanese, showing that in normal conversation
the Subject is typically not expressed. The elements which are responsible for carrying
Chapter 1
forward the interaction, and so could be considered to constitute the Mood element, are
auxiliaries of tense, modality and honorification, together with a range of sentence-final
particles. Hori demonstrates a close relationship between the lack of an overt Subject and
the use of honorifics which explicitly encode the relationship the speaker wishes to convey
towards the addressee, third parties being talked about, and various features of the context
of situation. The Subject can be expressed, by means of a NP marked with the postposition
ga, but this occurs only when the speaker perceives that its referent may not be entirely
clear from the context. Horis account of the Subject in Japanese thus goes beyond the
characterisation of the language as pro-drop, to include the dimension of social deixis.
.. Illocution and mood in the Cardiff grammar

The treatment of illocutionary force implemented in the current Cardiff computational
grammar is based on the detailed account given in Fawcett (1980), of which a summary
will be given here.
Fawcett (1980: 100101) observes that the labels normally used in mood networks in
systemic grammars (such as declarative, interrogative, imperative) are essentially formal
ones, although in all systemic work in this area the features are imbued with meaning
and not purely formal. He therefore suggests that just as the syntactic opposition between
transitive and intransitive clauses was insufficient to capture the richness of patterning
now described in terms of transitivity in SFG, so the mood network also needs to be semanticised. One step in this direction is to label the network illocutionary force, though
what he means by this is not exactly what most speech act theorists would mean.23 A
central principle in Fawcetts work has always been that any semantic feature postulated
must have some reflex in the form of the language produced (syntax, lexical items, intonation), and this dictates that his approach to illocution is more linguistically-based than
that of the speech act philosophers. This in turn means that the grammar must interact
with other components of Fawcetts model of the communicating mind, in order to account fully for the communicative functions of utterances. In particular, we shall see that
the meaning of highly indirect speech acts is not totally captured within the illocutionary force network, but depends on intended deductions which arise from choices within
supralinguistic networks for the speakers socio-psychological purpose in formulating the
utterance.
A further step in the semanticisation of the network is to give the features labels which
clearly reflect their semantic status. We therefore find features such as [information giver],
[information seeker] and [directive] at this level (Fawcett 1980: 104). This is particularly
important for Fawcetts approach, since his overall conception of the communicative function of utterances depends on contributions from several different levels of description.
At the level of meaning, we have choices such as that between [information giver], [infor. Indeed, in later work (Fawcett 1990, 1999; Fawcett, Tucker & Lin 1993) he returns to the more traditional
SFG label mood.
mation seeker]24 and [directive]; at the lower level of form, we have the syntactic patterns
which express these meanings; and at a higher level of discourse structure, there are classes
of discourse act which are expressed by the meanings.25 Clearly, it is important, for maximum clarity, to choose labels which reflect the nature of the phenomena being modelled
at each level.
Fawcett (1980: 103) presents a network for illocutionary force in English, the entry
condition for which is the feature [straightforward] from a congruence network in which
this feature is opposed to others dealing with the expression of a situation as a nominalisation of some kind, rather than in the unmarked form of a clause. There are two initial
systems operating simultaneously: [information] vs. [directive], and [politeness formula]
versus the unmarked lack of such a formula. It should be noted that the placing of this
second system right at the beginning of the network reflects the claim that please can
be combined with any illocutionary force, its function being to signal that the utterance
will constitute a discourse act with a control function.26 The [information]/[directive]
split corresponds to Hallidays [information]/[goods-and-services], with the important
exception that Fawcetts network goes on to recognise [giver] and [seeker] subtypes (cf.
Hallidays [giving] vs. [demanding]) only for the [information] type, on the grounds that
offers (giving goods-and-services, in Hallidays terms) are not typically realised by linguistic acts, though they may be accompanied by an act consisting of an information giver
(Fawcett 1980: 105).
An information giver can be of two kinds: [simple] and [plus check], the latter being
realised through the addition of a tag and associated tone. Simple information givers can
have various degrees of commitment, signalled by tone, but not specified at the degree of
delicacy provided by the network.
An information seeker can be of three types: [polarity], corresponding to yes-no questions; [new content], corresponding to wh-questions; and [choice of given information],
corresponding to alternative questions. Fawcett (1980: 104) points out that there is no implication, in the label information seeker, that the speaker does not already know the
answer to the question, since there are all kinds of reasons for asking questions.
In addition to [giver] and [seeker] types of [information] force (corresponding to
statements and questions respectively), Fawcett recognises a [check] type, which may concern [polarity] (realised as a clause with declarative word order and rising intonation) or
[content] (an echo question realised as a wh-interrogative with the wh-word at the end,
and rising intonation).
Directives are split into four types: [simple], [request], [self-inclusive] and [general
suggestion]. The feature [simple] is the entry condition for two simultaneous systems.
The first distinguishes between the [unmarked] directive realised as a simple imperative, a
. We shall see below that these are compound labels, made up from two features in the network.
. Fawcetts model of discourse will be discussed in Chapter 4.
. This claim would seem to be over-general: for some of the examples given as (95)(104) below, it is hard
to see how a politeness formula such as please could be added.
Chapter 1
[pressing] directive with do corresponding to Hallidays marked for polarity type, and a
directive with [personalised actor] (either you or a third party) corresponding to Hallidays
marked for person type. Note that simple, unmarked directives are not always orders:
as Fawcett (1980: 108) observes, there are many social situations in which it is appropriate to use an unmarked directive, even where an order would be out of place because of
lack of the necessary authority. The second system allows for directives, of all three types,
which are [tempered by invocation] and those which are not, the tempering taking the
form of a tag. If the directive is tempered, this may occur through invocation [of willingness] (realised as will/would plus you) or [of ability] (realised as can/could plus you).
The neutral and oblique forms are distinguished by means of a simultaneous system, [direct]/[indirect]. A [direct] tempered directive can be either [anticipating willingness] (realised by the positive form of the modal) or [anticipating unwillingness] (realised by the
negative form of the modal). Note that tags are not interpreted as asking about willingness
or ability, but rather as invoking one of these properties of the addressee, in the service of
softening the directive.
A [request] can be either of the [invocation] type or of the [elaborated] type. An
invocation type request has a form of will/can you, the options available to [tempered by
invocation] simple directives being open to it, though in this case the invocation is not
through a tag, but rather through a modalised full interrogative. An elaborated request is
one in which some more complex formula such as would you mind X-ing is used.
A [self-inclusive] directive is one in which the speaker includes himself or herself, and
is realised by lets. Such directives can be [unmarked] or [pressing] (the latter realised by
do as with pressing simple directives), and also [tempered by willingness evocation] (the
tag being shall we) or untempered.
A [general suggestion] is one made using the formula what about X-ing.
It is also claimed that every directive can take any of four intonation patterns, with
the meanings [strong] (falling tone), [mild] (low rising tone), [pleading] (falling plus low
rising tone) or [concession] (falling-rising tone).
Examples of various combinations of features from Fawcetts network are given below.
Features realised by tone selection are not included.
(95) Jenny had won. (BNC B34 1226) [information, giver, simple, no politeness formula]
(96) . . . it was pretty fantastic, wasnt it? (BNC FSH 1069) [information, giver, plus
check, no politeness formula]
(97) And you didnt visit him there? (BNC GV6 124) [information, check, polarity
check, no politeness formula]
(98) Is the doctor crazy like you? (BNC CM7 2062) [information, seeker, polarity, no
politeness formula]
(99) What did he see? (BNC CBS 2578) [information, seeker, new content, no politeness formula]
(100) You shut up! (BNC GW5 602) [directive, simple, personalised actor, not tempered
by invocation, no politeness formula]
(101) . . . Pick those up, will you . . . (BNC ABX 1376) [directive, simple, unmarked,
tempered by invocation, of willingness, direct, anticipating willingness, no
politeness formula]
(102) Look me up again when you are next in town, wont you? (BNC AC2 861) [directive,
simple, unmarked, tempered by invocation, of willingness, direct, anticipating
unwillingness, no politeness formula]
(103) Do come over, would you? (BNC FPF 526) [directive, simple, pressing, tempered
by invocation, of willingness, indirect, anticipating willingness, no politeness
formula]
(104) Will you help me? (BNC G1D 916) [directive, request, invocation, of willingness,
direct, anticipating willingness]
(105) Could you tell me how, please? (BNC G1S 2266) [directive, request, invocation, of
ability, indirect, politeness formula]
(106) Would you mind getting it from the car? (BNC FPB 2521) [directive, request,
elaborated, no politeness formula]
(107) Lets drink to that . . . (BNC AC2 1900) [directive, self-inclusive, unmarked, unmarked for tempering]
(108) What about giving me a film test? (BNC AP0 303) [directive, general suggestion,
no politeness formula]
Fawcett recognises that his network still does not generate all possible realisations of illocutionary force, even in the linguistically-oriented sense in which the term is used in his
model. He deliberately does not provide specifically for negative speech acts such as denials
or prohibitions, the reason for this being that he believes that the meanings of such speech
acts can be accounted for in terms of the simple interaction of illocutionary force and polarity choices (Fawcett 1980: 109110). For instance, the use of a negative question is interpreted as querying a negative assumption (Is it the case that not-X?) and so suggesting
that the corresponding positive assumption (It is the case that X) actually applies.
It will be clear that Fawcetts network provides directly for modalised interrogatives
to be requests, rather than involving a deduction from a literal information-seeking
meaning to a requestive one. Four reasons are given for rejecting the deduction approach (Fawcett 1980: 111112). Firstly, the semantic difference between requests and true
modalised information seekers comes out when the past forms of the modals are used:
for instance, could is used with past meaning only in true information seekers, the use
in requests being a device for adding politeness through hypotheticalness, not past time.
Secondly, Fawcett claims that there are intonation differences, the information seeker having Tone 2 (high rising), while requests typically have Tone 3 (low to mid rising). Thirdly,
the referent situation in the directive use has no truth value, whereas in an information
seeker it does. Finally, if the addressee answers No to the request there is a feeling that
Chapter 1
the speakers expectations have not been fulfilled, whereas this is not the case with an
information seeker.
Fawcetts model of illocution differs from Hallidays in the treatment of dependent
clauses, which, it is claimed, can choose for illocutionary force just as independent clauses
can (1980: 113), rather than having an indirect mood type of the kind postulated by
Matthiessen. Thus we have the following possibilities:
(109) Buthelezi announced that he intended to submit this constitution to a popular
referendum within the region . . . (BNC HLT 280) [dependent information-giver]
(110) Do you remember at what time you were contacted approximately? (BNC JJW
230) [dependent information seeker]
(111) The landlord was furious and told me to wash it off. (BNC HU0 994) [dependent
directive]
Fawcett recognises that there is a problem here, in that allowing dependent clauses to
share the same illocutionary force network as independent clauses would be tantamount
to the claim that the same range of options is open to both types of clause, whereas some
of the combinations are not in fact possible. Fawcett does not go into detail on which
are unacceptable, but, it does not, for instance, seem possible to distinguish [pressing] or
[personalised actor] types of simple directive in embedded clauses: there is no possibility
of changing (111) above to *to do wash it off or *to me wash it off. Fawcett (1980: 113114)
does not see this as an insuperable obstacle to his approach, however, since he is able to
invoke choices made at a higher level, within the knowledge of the universe component of
his model, in order to rule out the offending combinations. While recognising that some
linguists may feel this is a get-out rather than a convincing solution, Fawcett considers that
it may nevertheless be the right solution.
Fawcett (1980: 115124) also provides realisation rules for illocutionary force options.
We saw in 5.7 of Part 1 that at this stage in the development of the model, a starting
structure for the clause was proposed, though it later became clear that the variability in
ordering of clause constituents made such a structure less appropriate than for, say, the
nominal group. Nevertheless, the realisation rules still have to ensure the proper location
of elements at particular places in the clause structure. Some of the rules are straightforward: for instance, [information] is realised by the insertion of a Subject;27 [new content]
by the location of the wh-element at place 4 in the clause; [strong] by Tone 1 (falling) on
the tonic syllable. Other rules require input from other areas of the grammar in order to
generate the correct output, and Fawcett deals with this by means of conditional features
in the realisation rules. For instance, the feature [seeker] is realised by the insertion of an
Operator at place 5 in the clause structure provided that the selection of the feature does
not come after the choice of re-enter (embed), the instruction which makes the appa. As pointed out in 5.7 of Part 1, the Cardiff grammar differs from the Sydney grammar in not regarding
the Subject as itself an element of the interpersonal component, but rather as a syntactic element, relevant
to the experiential and thematic strands, as well as the interpersonal.
ratus recycle to generate an embedded clause. If re-enter (embed) has been selected, the
Operator must be located at the place labelled O (i.e. the default Operator place).
Fawcett (1980: 120) decides to generate the modalised interrogatives (Will/would/can/
could you X) through separate insertion of the modal as Operator and you as Subject, so
recognising the origin of these requests in information seekers, whereas the corresponding
tags on simple directives are handled as unitary items (will you, can you, etc.) put into an
Adjunct slot in the clause. He notes, however, that it would also be possible to generate
the modal plus pronoun as a single item in both cases, the two solutions each having their
advantages and disadvantages.
We have seen that Fawcetts network for illocutionary force includes some kinds of
speech act which many linguists would regard as indirect: notably the modalised interrogative requests. It is notable, however, that other types of clause with linguistic clues
to possible directive function are not included. For instance, declaratives with obligation
modals and second person Subjects, such as (112) below, are treated as information givers,
not as directives. This is because the parallels with modalised statements in other persons
would be lost if such a course were followed.
(112) You must go to the desert. (BNC FEM 352)
Consistently with this position, and with his commitment to the need for semantic choice
to be reflected in form, Fawcett (1980: 126) also excludes from the illocutionary force
network any choices leading specifically to highly indirect directives such as discussed in
relation to example (48) earlier, and repeated for convenience as (113).
(113) A. its gone very cold hasnt it
B. [mm] its freezing (LLC 1 3 4245)
In the case where a speaker does indeed intend something like (112) or As contribution to
(113) as directive, this is captured in a pre-linguistic network for variation in straightness
of socio-psychological purpose (Fawcett 1980: 77), offering a choice between [straight],
[oblique] and [lying], with [oblique] dividing into [play] and [ritual], and [play] into
a number of more delicate categories, one of which is [intended deduction]. These and
other options in socio-psychological purpose are relevant in principle to any semiotic
code and at ranks of discourse larger than the act (1980: 132).
At the other end of the cline of explicitness of illocutionary intention, clauses with
explicit performative verbs are handled as examples of information givers which happen
to refer to the speech act itself. Fawcett (1980: 127) points out that there are explicit performatives (e.g. deduce, emphasise) that do not encode illocutionary force at all. Fawcetts
position entails that explicit performatives should have a truth value like any other information giver, and he suggests that they are, in fact, true in all normal conditions.
The account of illocution summarised above has been subject to fairly minor changes
during the later development of the Cardiff grammar. In Fawcett (1990), the systems are
labelled as mood, and the meanings realised by intonation are specified in more detail.
For instance, information givers in spoken English can be [assertive], [deferring] or [with
reservation], and [assertive] ones can be [very strong], [strong], [neutral] or [mild]. Each
Chapter 1
of these choices is realised by a particular tone selection within a variant of Hallidays

classification proposed by Tench (1987).
Three years later, Fawcett, Tucker & Lin comment:
The current mood system is still quite simple, and it is about to be very considerably
enriched. It will be even fuller than that in Fawcett (1980: 103), and the polarity
system will be integrated with it. (Fawcett, Tucker & Lin 1993: 144)
In Fawcett (1999: 248), a highly simplified network for (semantic) mood is presented
which, although differing in details of the labelling and occasionally in the precise grouping of options, is essentially the same as that in the 1980 account. Fawcett comments
(1999: 247) that this network is clearly at the same linguistic level as the higher of Hallidays
networks (i.e. that for speech function).
Fawcett (1997: 8082, 1999) also discusses Hallidays account of what it means for
some element to be the Subject of a clause, which, as we have seen, together with the Finite
element, defines the mood of a clause. Like Huddleston, he sees as problematic Hallidays
attempts to identify a constant interpersonal meaning for the Subject in its own right. He
reviews Hallidays statements on this, and concludes that there are three concepts, each offered as a more insightful characterisation than the last. The claim that the Subject is that
of which something is being predicated (i.e. on which rests the truth of the argument)
(Halliday 1994a: 30) and that it is something by reference to which the proposition can be
affirmed or denied (1994a: 76) are, as Fawcett observes, proposition-centred and so not
easily applicable to proposals. Furthermore, as applied to information seekers, they are
concerned only with one type of information seeking, that in which we try to find out the
truth of the proposition (as opposed to, for example, wh-questions (Fawcetts new content
seekers) or alternative questions (choice of alternative content seekers). A further problem is that Hallidays characterisation suggests that the Subject is somehow privileged in
its contribution to the affirmation or denial of a proposition, whereas, as Fawcett reminds
us, polarity is concerned with the experiential meaning of the clause as a whole, so that
the participant role chosen as Subject has no greater or less connection with polarity than
any other participant.
The third meaning offered by Halliday is no less problematic, but for different reasons.
We have seen that he regards the Subject as responsible for the functioning of the clause as
an interactive event (1994a: 76). As Fawcett (1999: 260) observes, only the speaker/writer
can accurately be said to be responsible for the interactive functioning of the clause, but
this is clearly not Hallidays meaning, and in informational clauses (propositions rather
than proposals) Fawcett, like Huddleston, finds it impossible to make sense of the idea.
Even if it were responsibility for carrying out the event which is being referred to, this
would be appropriate only in clauses with an Agent as Subject and this is obviously not
what Halliday intends us to understand anyway.
A further problem noted by Fawcett (1999: 261264) is that of clauses in which the
Subject is not conflated with a participant role, but is empty in terms of its experiential
meaning (though not in terms of other types of meaning). Examples are meteorological
clauses, existentials with there, and cleft and extraposed constructions with dummy it. It
is hard to see how the Subjects of such clauses conform to Hallidays definitions.28 The
Cardiff grammar simply treats these as clauses in which the Subject has no referent.
The solution to the problem within the Cardiff framework is concerned with the proposal that all but clauses with an experientially empty Subject have Subject Theme, and
this type of Theme is characterised as what the clause is about. To pursue this in the
present context would take us beyond the discussion of Subject as such.29 Note, however,
that if it is their thematic nature which characterises elements described by Fawcett as Subject Theme, then this might well explain why Subjects tend to be picked up in the second
half of a simple adjacency pair, as noted by Hasan & Fries (see 1.4.1.3): what is being
invoked is the concept of topic continuity in the dialogue, rather than specifically Subject
continuity.
.. Other systemically-oriented approaches

In 9.4.3 of Part 1, I reviewed briefly the work of Davies on modality and its relationship
with the traditional mood categories of indicative and subjunctive. This work is, however,
only part of a more comprehensive set of proposals for relating form and meaning in the
area of speech function (Davies 1979, 1985, 1988, 1989, 1991). Davies (1979) distinguishes
between the literal mood meaning (LMM) of a construction and the significance of the
construction as used in particular types of context. The LMM is context-independent, and
. . . attaches to a construction type irrespective of particular circumstances (including those of the speakers actual intentions) on any given occasion of its use. It is a
semantic specification which a construction type has, per se. (Davies 1979: 3839)
Davies (1985: 229234) sets out the main characteristics of a model in which what she now
calls the literal syntactic meaning (equivalent to the former LMM) of a construction can
be related to the non-literal meaning(s) (significance) of the construction in particular
contexts. A basic premise of this approach is that syntactic organisation is itself meaningful in English. Each construction type (CT) is associated with a single semantic specification (SeS), which consists of a set of context-independent semantic features which
are valid for that CT in all uses, and gives the literal (syntactic) meaning of the CT. The
semantic component from which such semantic specifications are derived consists of a
separate, independently motivated level, which need not map in a one-to-one manner on
to the syntax, and is based on a limited number of semantic primes. The traditional speech
functions of statement, question and command, as well as others such as request, are categories of non-literal meaning (significance) which are within the domain of pragmatics.
I shall not go into the formalisms of Davies model here; it will suffice to say that she
postulates a general type of rule which combines the syntactic specification and the SeS
. I shall return to Hallidays account of the structure of cleft constructions in Chapter 2.
. We shall see in Chapter 2 that the connection with Theme with aboutness is a controversial and problematic one. The Cardiff grammar concept of Theme, including Subject Theme, will be discussed in that
chapter.
Chapter 1
of a construction (and also, for spoken language, a semantic specification of intonational

features) with a specification of the context, to give the first order significance of the
construction in that context. The first order significance can then combine with further
contextual specifications to give higher orders of significance:
For example, a jussive imperative such as Go away may function in the same given
context both as a command, at the first order of significance, and as a warning at
some higher order of significance. (Davies 1985: 231)
Categories of significance are, then, categories of meaningfulness in discourse (1985:

234), derivable only by reference to the co-text and context in which the construction is
being used.
Davies comments that there are different kinds of syntactic meaning, just as there are
different aspects of syntactic organisation, and that in this respect the model is in line with
Hallidays thinking. Her discussion also suggests, however, that the independent level of
syntactic meaning she proposes is not itself integrated into the semantic organisation of
the language, but represents only an area of inter-connection between the free-standing
dimensions of syntactic organization and semantic organization (1985: 232), a comment
which is perhaps in need of some clarification. Davies also proposes that it is possible to
recognise different types of non-literal meaning, or significance, related to different areas
of literal syntactic meaning. She suggests that it may be possible to relate these distinctions
to the Hallidayan metafunctional components.
The semantic features which Davies (1985: 234) initially proposes for the SeS of the
(jussive) imperative are very reminiscent of the conditions on speech acts proposed by
Searle and taken up in many other accounts of illocution (the assumption that it is the
Addressee who will perform the action, that s/he will not do so in the normal course of
events, that the action is not already being carried out, that the Addressee is capable of
carrying it out, that the Speaker has the right to decide whether the Addressee should
carry out the action, and also the right to tell the Addressee of this decision). Davies goes
on to discuss some problems with particular features in this list.
In a later paper (Davies 1988) this model is applied to the analysis of questions in
English. Davies points out that there are two basic approaches to the pragmatic multifunctionality of mood forms in discourse: either we may postulate multiple meanings for
the construction in different contexts, or we may suggest a single meaning which can be
combined with the effects of different contexts, in order to generate the particular pragmatic effects which can be attested. After discussing the relative merits of these two approaches, and concluding that the single meaning approach has much to recommend it,
she presents a modified and extended version of the significance-generating device outlined above, and applies it to the analysis of various types of question in English. The
analysis, like that of modality discussed in 9.4.3 of Part 1, makes use of propositional
attitudes in order to define the semantic specifications of syntactic sentence types. These
propositional attitudes, and their use in order to define the SeS for each of four sentence
types, are shown in Table 1.2, derived from the statements made in Davies (1988: 3637).
Table 1.2. Propositional attitudes involved in semantic specifications for four sentence types,
according to Davies (1988)
Prop. Attitude
Sentence type
Holds
that yes
Holds
that no
Does not
hold
that yes
Does not
hold
that no
Has an
open
mind
Reserves
definite
view30
Neutral
Positive
declarative
Negative
declarative
Positive polar
interrogative
Negative polar
interrogative
Note that it is being proposed that the meaning of a particular form includes not only
the Speakers propositional attitude, but also that which the Speaker projects as his or
her assessment of the attitude of the Addressee: for instance, a positive declarative signals
not only that the Speaker holds the content to be true, but also that s/he considers the
Addressee to have an open mind on the issue.
An important characteristic of the model is that these same propositional attitude
features are used to define the contextual specifications (CoS) with which the semantic
specifications (SeS) for particular mood constructions combine, the difference between
the two being that the SeS involves the roles of Speaker and Addressee, while the CoS
involves roles corresponding to particular individuals. Two examples will be given here to
illustrate how this works. Firstly, take Davies (1988: 40) examples Am I hungry! and Do
you look great! in which the SeS of the positive polar interrogative (S has an open mind,
A is neutral) combines with a contextual specification in which the individual occupying
the Speaker role holds that yes. On the other hand, in Are we downhearted?, uttered as
[r]allying cry to enthusiastic audience (1988: 41), the individual occupying the Speaker
role holds that no, the first order significance being that of a rhetorical question conducive
to the answer no. Davies (1988: 35) points out that in theory at least, there may be no
context in which the pragmatic effect of uttering a sentence of a particular type coincides
with the SeS of that sentence type, and that in this way the proposal differs from others in
which literal force is regarded as a kind of core meaning.
In Davies (1989) the model is extended to negative questions and isolated tags. There
is an increased emphasis here on the ways in which the various types of sentence, in their
contexts, fit into minimal (two-turn) exchanges in discourse, the first turn consisting of a
full declarative, the second of a tag. Indeed, Davies (1989: 110111) explicitly comments
on the relationship of her work to that of Halliday, not only in terms of the distinction be. By reserving a definite view is meant that one or other definite view from a mutually exclusive set (in
this case, yes or no) is held, but it is not specified which.
Chapter 1
tween the interactional meanings explored in her model and the content-oriented meanings of the ideational component, but also in relation to Hallidays conviction that a good
discourse analysis must be firmly based in the grammar (Halliday 1985a: xvii, repeated
in Halliday 1994a: xvi; see also 2.5.5 of Part 1 of the present work). Davies discusses, in
terms of discourse significance (the combination of mood meaning with context), various types of agreement and disagreement which can occur in the minimal exchanges she
examines. Consider example (114) below, taken from Davies discussion:
(114) Peter: Johns here.
Harry: Is he. (Davies (8) and (9), 1989: 119)
Here, there is full acceptance: Harry shows that he accepts Peters presentation of his own
attitude (holds that yes) to the proposition Johns here (take-up assent), and also that
he confirms that he holds the attitude (has an open mind) which Peter has attributed to
him (take-up consent). Now contrast (115):
(115) Bob: John isnt here.
Dick: Is he. (Davies (10) and (11), 1989: 122)
Here, there is no take-up assent, since Dicks utterance assigns to Bob the attitude Bob
holds that John is here, which is the contrary of the attitude Bob has assigned to himself (holds that John is not here). Davies demonstrates that hitches can also occur with
take-up consent. Importantly, her formalised model allows her to make predictions about
assent and consent in these various scenarios which are borne out by intuitive interpretations of the data.
The relationship between the semantics and pragmatics of sentence types and the
structure and functioning of minimal exchanges in discourse is explored further in Davies
(1991), in which she again relates her work specifically to that of Halliday. The main thrust
of her argument here is that the textual component of meaning should be concerned not
only with meanings related to theme, information structure and cohesion, but also with
those concerned with discourse connectedness across turns, which, although determined
largely by interpersonal choices, nevertheless form part of the resources for organising the
discourse. These putatively textual meanings are concerned with the types of assent and
consent illustrated above. Davies again takes a range of minimal exchange types and uses
her model to predict, for each, what its interpretation will be. The results not only confirm
the general validity of the model, but also suggest that a systematic link may be made
between a minimal discourse unit and grammatical form, and that it may be possible to
provide a formal definition of the concept of an ill-formed exchange in discourse. Davies
recognises that her model, built up on the basis of constructed examples, needs to be tested
on authentic textual material.
A view very similar to that of Davies is expressed by Hudson (1975), who proposes
definitions for semantic force properties associated with syntactic mood constructions,
and based on Searlian sincerity conditions. This work formed the basis for an account
of semantic force options in connection with the specification of semantic structures for
modalised directives in English (Butler 1982, 1988), summarised briefly in 9.4.3 of Part 1.
Comparison of approaches
Finally, I shall draw together the discussion in earlier sections of the chapter, by highlighting points of similarity and contrast across the three theories. In practice, since practitioners of RRG have not yet produced detailed proposals for illocution, the comparison
will mainly be between FG and the two versions of SFG. All in all, illocution emerges as
an area which brings out significant similarities and differences between the theories, and
one which offers considerable scope for a more integrated functional approach, combining
insights from different perspectives.
..
Basic and non-basic illocutions

There is general agreement that statements, questions and directives are basic classes of
speech act, being indispensable for normal communication. These correspond to the
Decl, Int and Imp operators or illocutionary predicates of FG, three values of the illocutionary force operator in RRG, three of the four speech function types generated
by Hallidays cross-cutting distinctions between [information]/[goods-and-services] and
[giving]/[demanding], and the opposition between [information giver], [information
seeker] and [directive] in the Cardiff grammar. Other types of illocution may be added
to the basic list: exclamation in FG, optative in RRG, offer in Hallidays SFG.
It is interesting to note that Halliday brings into the area of speech function not
only minimal responses such as yes and no, which in certain circumstances realise
statements, but also exclamations such as Ouch! or Damn!, greetings such as Hello and
calls/summonses such as Hey you, recognising these as minor speech functions. Dik, on
the other hand, does not treat these elements in terms of illocution at all, since illocution
is a property of the clause itself, and the elements concerned are claimed to be expressed
in extraclausal constituents. We shall see in Chapter 2 that there are differences of a similar
kind in the area of information structure.
..
Illocution and layering

We have seen that in Diks and Hengevelds models, illocution is handled at the clausal
layer of the underlying structure, though doubts about locatability with respect to layering
have been raised by Bolkestein (1992a). In Hengevelds scheme, illocution thus belongs to
the interpersonal rather than to the representational level. Likewise, in Hallidays SFG and
in the Cardiff grammar, speech function and mood are clearly interpersonal. RRG, as we
have seen, does not make a specific distinction between representational/experiential and
interpersonal levels.
Against the backdrop of this common ground, however, there are important differences, especially between FG and RRG on the one hand, and SFG on the other. In FG the
illocutionary force operator has scope over operators at the propositional layer of structure, concerned with subjective and evidential modalities, and these, in turn, have scope
Chapter 1
over operators at still lower layers, within the representational level; similarly, in RRG the
illocutionary force operator has scope over other clausal operators (evidentials, tense, status) as well as over core and nuclear operators. The layering proposals of SFG, on the other
hand, themselves make no prediction of this kind. Choices in the interpersonal function
are regarded as (relatively) independent of those in the ideational and textual functions,
so, in principle, predicting an absence of scope effects between functional layers. Since
SFG does not recognise any sub-layers, related by scoping, within each metafunction, any
effects of one choice on another within the interpersonal function cannot be dealt with in
this way. They can, however, be accounted for through the concept of delicacy within system networks. For instance, Matthiessens (1995a: 383) overall network for interpersonal
choices in the clause shows that the modality systems are dependent on the choice of [indicative] from the mood network: that is, they can apply to declaratives and interrogatives,
but not to imperative clauses.
..
The treatment of indirect illocutions: The contributions of grammar and pragmatics

The area of illocution is obviously one in which the relationship between grammar and
pragmatics comes to the fore: it is concerned with the speech acts which speakers perform, and which addressees interpret, using the formal resources of the language; or, put
another way, it crucially involves the relationship between what sentences can be said to
mean and what speakers mean in uttering these sentences. The treatment of illocution is
thus very likely to reflect strongly the position taken by a given theory in relation to the
relationship between semantics and pragmatics.
Within FG, Diks position is one in which only those meanings which have clear effects on form are to be accounted for within the grammar, any additional meaning being a
matter for a separate theory of verbal interaction which interacts with the grammar itself.
It is not, therefore, surprising to find that Dik is concerned, within the grammar, only with
illocution as coded in the expression, and that the illocutionary operators in the semantics,
Decl, Int, Imp and Excl, directly reflect sentence types. Conversion of a basic to a derived
illocutionary force is allowable within the grammar, but only when the change is the result
of specifiable grammatical devices. This leads to a situation where, for instance, the addition of a tag such as will you to an imperative clause is seen as a grammatical conversion
to request status, but the corresponding modalised interrogative (Will you X?) is treated as
derived, not within the grammar, but by pragmatic conversion involving inferencing.
We have seen that Diks account has been modified in two basic directions. Firstly, the
work of Risselada (1990, 1993) and Moutaouakil (1991) argues for a broadening of the
range of phenomena included in the grammar, without the need for conversion. A prime
candidate for such treatment is the category of requests realised by modalised interrogatives (e.g. Will/can you X?) if, as claimed, these can be reliably distinguished by linguistic
properties from the corresponding true questions.
Secondly, there has been development, in the work of Vet (1998a), Liedtke (1998) and
van den Berg (1998), of Diks postulated split between a grammatical and a pragmatic
component in the treatment of illocution a split which, moreover, is also suggested by
Bolkesteins (1998) work on information distribution in the clause. Vet, like Risselada,
points out that the concept of illocutionary conversion postulated by Dik runs counter to
the aspirations of the theory towards psychological adequacy, in that it is highly implausible to suggest that speakers first decide on a basic illocutionary force and then convert
it to the one they really intend to convey. Vets two-module approach is therefore based
on mapping rather than conversion, and this mapping between pragmatics and grammar
is achieved by means of an interface component, which remains unspecified in Vets account. One of the most interesting aspects of the proposal by van den Berg (1998) is that it
puts some flesh on the bones provided by Vets scheme, by spelling out what the interface
(van den Bergs message module) consists of, and how it interacts with both the grammar
and the pragmatics. The model is presented in procedural terms, as involving the sending
of requests for information from one module to another, and the supplying and transfer
of information in response to these requests. Such a procedural description is, of course,
exactly what is needed if we are to take seriously the criterion of psychological adequacy.
The problem, as with so much work with pretensions to psychological/cognitive adequacy,
is that no evidence whatever is provided to show that the mechanisms proposed relate to
those actually used in the course of language processing.
A second aspect of van den Bergs work is of interest in relation to comparisons
with SFG approaches. As we saw in 1.2.2.4.4, his model builds in aspects of Berger &
Luckmanns (1971) theory of the social construction of reality, stressing the importance
of habitualisation and typification, leading to institutions in which roles are played out,
and within which interactants in discourse can predict many aspects of both the linguistic
and the non-linguistic properties of interaction. This is in many ways very close to the
Hallidayan concept of language as social semiotic. In particular, the idea that it is the social context which accommodates particular types of language, even down to the choice of
particular predicate frames, accords very well with Hallidays view. Van den Bergs paper
thus introduces a much-needed social dimension into FG.
Hallidayan SFG itself, as we have seen, makes no distinction between the semantic
and the pragmatic, and tends to include within the grammar much of what in many other
theories would be regarded as the province of pragmatics. This is certainly the case in the
area of illocution, where indirect speech acts are brought within the grammar by means of
the concept of grammatical metaphor, acting on interpersonal meanings. However, even
here we can see some links with other approaches. Hallidays formulations of grammatical
metaphor rely heavily on the idea of mapping. Consider (116), which is very similar to
an example analysed by Halliday (1994a: 367). In (117) is given an analysis along the lines
suggested by Halliday.
(116) How could you act so deceitfully, Joan? (BNC CCD 635)
Chapter 1
(117)
you
Subject
shouldnt
Finite
Mood
How
could
Wh/Adjunct Finite
Residue
you
Subject
Mood
act
Predicator
so deceitfully,
Adjunct
Joan
Vocative
Residue
act
Predicator
so deceitfully,
Adjunct
Joan
Vocative
Residue
As can be seen, two structures are provided, one (the lower) corresponding to the clause as
presented, the other (upper) to what would have been the congruent form if no grammatical metaphor had been used. The result is a kind of mapping between how could you and
you shouldnt. We are not too far away, here, from the workings of Vets interface or van den
Bergs message module, within which decisions would be taken to present the meaning in
a non-straightforward way, mapping the underlying semantics on to a variant form.
The account of illocution within the Cardiff grammar given in 1.4.2 will have shown
that it is in many ways very close to some of the modifications which have been proposed
to Diks FG account. In particular, the inclusion of requests with modalised interrogative
form within the set of systemic choices available, and the exclusion of highly indirect directives, is similar to the positions taken by Risselada and by Moutaouakil. Furthermore, the
distinctions made within Fawcetts socio-psychological purposes network, and involved
in the production of highly indirect speech acts, could easily be incorporated into the
pragmatic module of the van den Berg model.
The model proposed by Davies, and summarised in 1.4.4, echoes the illocution as
coded in the expression approach of Dik, but also contains a crucial pragmatic element
which specifies features of context which interact with the context-independent meanings of mood forms, to yield the interpretation of the utterance in context. In this model,
even so-called direct speech acts are seen as the result of the interaction of a contextindependent form-related meaning and factors deriving from the context, though in this
particular type of case the two sets of factors are entirely congruent. In some ways, then,
despite Davies linkage of her work with that of Halliday, her model is at the opposite
end of the spectrum from that proposed in Sydney SFG, in which, as we have seen, no
distinction is made between semantic and pragmatic effects.
The sketchy nature of the account of illocution in RRG to date precludes detailed comparison with FG and RRG, but it is perhaps fair to guess that it is unlikely that the pragmatics of illocution, and particularly the relationship of this area with social contextual
factors, will be a high priority for the theory in the near future.
.. Typological perspectives
In view of the high priority accorded to typological adequacy in FG and RRG, it is hardly
surprising that the discussion of illocution within both theories makes frequent reference
to data from a range of languages. This is particularly well illustrated by Diks (1997b)
account of interrogatives, in which, as we saw in 1.2.1, considerable attention is paid to
the cross-linguistic distribution of formal mechanisms in interrogatives of different kinds.

Both FG and RRG are concerned with the scoping properties of illocutionary operators,
as revealed across a range of language types.
As is usual in SFG, the vast majority of the work done on speech function and mood so
far has been on English. It will be seen from 1.4.2, however, that Matthiessen (1995a) does
make some interesting and useful comments about similarities and differences between
languages in this area, and that work on languages other than English has begun.
Chapter 2
Introduction
In this chapter I shall review the treatment, in Functional Grammar, Role and Reference
Grammar and Systemic Functional Grammar, of the ways in which the informational status of particular parts of messages can be signalled. This will involve the discussion of
concepts such as topic, focus, given and new information, and the notions of theme and
rheme adapted by SFG from Prague School linguistics.1 Matters concerned with voice will
also be discussed here, on the grounds that voice alternations can be seen as different ways
of presenting the information content of the clause.
Information structure in Functional Grammar
.. Diks account of pragmatic functions

... Topicality and focality, Topic and Focus
We saw in Chapter 3 of Part 1 that Diks treatment of information structure is centred
on the assignment of the pragmatic functions Topic and Focus (and their various subtypes) within the clause itself (Dik 1997a: Chapter 13, 1997b: Chapters 13 and 14), and
with the functions of extraclausal constituents such as Initiator, Theme, Setting and Tail
(Dik 1997b: Chapter 17).
The following passage summarises the overall approach to clause-internal pragmatic
functions:
By pragmatic functions (as relevant within the structure of the clause) we understand functions which specify the informational status of the constituents in relation
to the wider communicative setting in which they are used. The main parameters
along which (clause-internal) pragmatic functions can be distinguished are topical. As with the area of illocution discussed in Chapter 1, the distribution of information within the clause is
intimately connected with the contribution which such information makes to the ongoing discourse. Once
again, then, I shall present only part of the story here, leaving certain more clearly discourse-related areas
for Chapter 4.
ity (= characterizing the things we talk about) and focality (= characterizing the
most important or salient parts of what we say about the topical things). When a language gives special distinctive treatment to some topical or focal element, we assign to
it one of the pragmatic functions subsumed under Topic and Focus. (Dik 1997a: 310)
Topicality and focality are related to the presence of given and new information in the
clause, which in turn are the product of the speakers attempt to cause some change in
the addressees stock of pragmatic information, often by starting from information which
the addressee can be expected to possess already, and then leading to further information
which is in some sense novel to the addressee. Note that even though an element may be
topical or focal, it may not receive the pragmatic function Topic or Focus, since, as shown
in the above quotation, such functions are assigned only where the language concerned
signals topicality or focality by means of some special device: a special form, a marker, a
particular linear position in the clause, a special prosodic pattern, or a special construction
type (Dik 1997a: 313).
... Topic and topicality

Topicality in FG is, as we have seen, concerned with aboutness. Clearly, there are different levels of aboutness, corresponding to different sizes of textual unit, right down
to the clause itself: for instance, the subsection you are now reading fits into the overall
organisation of the book in the manner shown in Figure 2.1.
Book level:
Chapter level:
First subheading level:
Second subheading level:
Third subheading level:
Fourth subheading level:
Structural-functional grammars
Information structure in Functional Grammar
Diks account of pragmatic functions
Topicality and focality, Topic and Focus
Topic and topicality
Figure 2.1. Levels of aboutness
Dik (1997a: 314) uses the term Discourse Topic (D-Topic) for entities about which a
certain discourse imparts information, and recognises that D-Topics can be hierarchically
arranged, as shown above. As a discourse progresses, new D-Topics will be introduced,
and some of the existing ones will fall out of use, some quickly, others more slowly. The
term D(iscourse) Topic is somewhat unfortunate, in view of Diks insistence that the
term Topic be reserved for elements with special marking: even if there were no explicit
subheadings in the present chapter, we could still say that the hierarchical D-Topics were
those on the right in Figure 2.1 above.
The first presentation of a D-Topic is referred to as a New Topic (NewTop). If that
topic is referred to again, it becomes a Given Topic (GivTop). If, as sometimes occurs in
discourse, an entity related to a GivTop is introduced as if it were already present in the
discourse, we have a Sub-Topic (SubTop). For instance, if we are talking about a car, and
Chapter 2
that car has the status of a GivTop at some point in the discourse, we may then refer to
the steering wheel of the car as a SubTop, using the device of definiteness which would
normally be reserved for topics already mentioned in the discourse. Dik (1997a: 324325)
notes that the use of SubTops may require bridging assumptions in order to link one topical referent to another. Let us examine the example below, which is part of a description
of a room and its contents: the phrase the room occurs four sentences before the one under
discussion.
(1) Opposite the door and under the windows was an ancient oak desk with three righthand drawers, one without handles. On its top was a simple oak cross, a much used
blotter in a leather pad, and an old fashioned black telephone, the receiver off and
lying on its side. (BNC CJF 859)
The door has not been mentioned previously, but we know that rooms have doors, so that
the door is a SubTop of the room. The windows have been mentioned three sentences before
this one, and so constitute a GivTop here. The ancient oak desk is clearly presented, in
indefinite form, as a NewTop. In order to refer to an entity as it (in its top), the entity must
be a GivTop. In turn, its top is a SubTop, because the top has not in fact been introduced
before, despite the definite NP used to refer to it: rather, we know that a desk has a top.
The NPs a simple oak cross, a much used blotter in a leather pad, a leather pad and an old
fashioned black telephone are NewTops, introducing their referents for the first time. On
the other hand, the receiver is a SubTop of telephone, since we know that telephones have
receivers. The pronoun it in its side is a GivTop, referring back to the telephone, and its
side is a SubTop of receiver.
Dik (1997a: 315318) discusses a number of construction types for introducing NewTops, which he claims to have wide cross-linguistic generality. We may make an explicit
statement regarding the entity which is to be the Topic of the upcoming discourse segment,
as in (2) below; we may use the Object or second argument position,2 as with the introduction of a bridge and a large ilex tree in (3); or, if we introduce the Topic in Subject or
first argument position, then we may make use of existential or locative-existential types
of construction, as in the introduction of a thin plate in (4) and also the series of NewTops in example (1) above (which, however, lacks the explicit existential marker there);
or, finally, we can use a predicate which lexically designates appearance on the scene of
discourse, as with the introduction of trouble in the steel industry by the use of came in
(5) (which also, of course, has existential there).
(2) Ill tell you a story about a place I went. (BNC KB0 1131)
(3) After two kilometres you will cross a bridge and see a large ilex tree on your right.
(BNC FB9 167)
. Dik (1997a: 315) claims that there is often a distinctive intonation contour associated with the introduction of NewTops in this position, but he does not say what it might be in a case such as (3), and it
in fact seems doubtful that any intonation contour would be associated specifically with topicality in such
examples.
(4) On the front of the astrolabe there was a thin plate . . . (BNC ASF 991)
(5) Swiftly following on from coal there came trouble in the steel industry. (BNC ABU
365)
Dik (1997a: 316) notes that the NewTop in such cases takes the form of an indefinite term,
since the speaker does not have any reason to assume that the addressee can identify the
referent. NewTops can, however, as Dik himself observes, be introduced by definite terms,
if the referent is familiar enough for the addressee to be able to identify it easily, as with
the cat mentioned in (6).
(6) I hope you are settling down and the cat is well. (BNC FRC 1276)
Dik (1997a: 316318) notes that cross-linguistically, NewTops tend to occupy a late rather
than an early position in the clause, irrespective of whether the default word order has
the Subject first or not. Indeed, if the Subject is normally initial, there may be a dummy
inserted at this position (e.g. there in English) in order to throw the NewTop to a later
position in the clause. These principles can be seen at work in (2)(5) above.
Dik (1997a: 318323) also reviews the mechanisms commonly used in languages for
indicating that a Topic already introduced is still active as a GivTop in the discourse. In his
discussion, he makes reference to work on topic continuity by linguists outside FG, such
as Givn and Grimes. One important way of maintaining a GivTop is to refer to an entity
anaphorically, through a personal pronoun or possessive (see the two instances of its in
(1) above), a superordinate term (the man in (7)) or other reformulating device (the fool
in (8)) or zero anaphora (as before caught in (9)).
(7) He asked the forensic team leader for his views and the man shook his head.
(BNC AB9 2291)
(8) Scawsby hurried over, full of his own importance. The fool failed to realise the significance of the white rose, but instead peered down at Ruthven. (BNC HU0 441442)
(9) Folly saw a glimpse of gold, and something that sparkled, then caught her breath as
he slipped a narrow band on to the third finger of her left hand. (BNC H8S 4316)
In some languages, such as Dyirbal, topic chains can be maintained by placing an introduced Topic in similar positions in successive clauses, always having the absolutive case,
and so appearing either as the single argument of a one-place predicate or as the second argument of a transitive predicate, in this ergative language (1997a: 319). Where a
GivTop would be expected as the first argument of a transitive predicate (requiring the
ergative case), Dyirbal speakers must use an antipassive construction which effectively
detransitivises, and so restores the absolutive case.
A third type of mechanism for signalling continuity and discontinuity of Topic
(1997a: 321322) is switch reference, as in the Papuan language Wambon, in which only
the final verbs in a sequence of clauses expressing related states of affairs get full tense
marking, the previous (medial) verbs having no or reduced tense, but being marked to
indicate that the next verb will have either the same Subject or a different Subject. If, how-
Chapter 2
ever, the change of Subject does not disrupt the topic chaining, this change does not result
in a different Subject medial verb form, suggesting that switch reference is actually functioning to indicate topic continuity and discontinuity rather than being concerned directly
with a succession of Subjects as such.
Finally, Dik (1997a: 322323) notes that in some languages, such as the Algonquian
group, a third person participant introduced into the discourse as a NewTop will have a
proximate form, while other third person referents are in the obviative form. While a
participant retains GivTop status, it remains in the proximate form.
A GivTop which remains unmentioned for some time in the discourse may require
reactivation if referred to again. It then has the status of a Resumed Topic (ResTop),
and this is normally signalled by the use of a stronger form of reference (e.g. a full NP
rather than an anaphoric pronoun), or by some other indication that the referent has
been mentioned previously in the discourse.
One final point should be noticed in connection with Diks treatment of Topic: his
discussion and examples, and the linkage of Topic with entities, suggests that only terms
can receive Topic function assignment.
... Focus and focality

Dik defines focal information as follows:
The focal information in a linguistic expression is that information which is relatively
the most important or salient in the given communicative setting, and considered by
S [the speaker CSB] to be most essential for A [the addressee CSB] to integrate
into his pragmatic information. (Dik 1997a: 326)
Such focal information may be either additive, increasing the addressees store of pragmatic information, or replacive, intended to substitute a piece of information for one
already in the addressees store. Clear cases of focality arise in the answers given to questions, which by their very nature fill a gap of some kind in the questioners information
(1997a: 328330).
Dik (1997a: 327) warns against any strict equation of focality with newness of information: although focality may indeed be related to the piece of information being presented as new (in other words previously unavailable) to the addressee, there are occasions
on which a speaker will focalise information which, although it has already been mentioned in the discourse or could be assumed to be available to the addressee from some
other source, is nevertheless salient because of some contrast, whether explicit or implicit.
A case in point is (10), where A says you bought them, with the predicate focalised, despite
the fact that buying the cherries has just been mentioned.3
. In the examples from the London-Lund Corpus in this section, I will indicate only pauses (indicated by .
and - ), phonetic symbols (e.g. [m], with schwa indicated by @ and lengthening by : ), unintelligible words
(indicated between (( and ))) and the syllable carrying the main pitch change (underlined).
(10) A. these are better than ((the)) [la: ] than the cherries I bought . last - ( . giggles)
B. whats the difference A. you bought them - - (LLC 2 10 14011405)
Just as the pragmatic function Topic is to be assigned only when topical information is
signalled by some special treatment, so Focus is assigned only when information has linguistic properties which mark it as being focal. These properties may include prosodic
prominence in the spoken language, placement in particular positions in the clause, Focus markers, and special constructions which unambiguously indicate that an element is
the Focus.
Dik (1997a: 330335) recognises a number of different types of Focus, classifying these
according to the extent of that part of the clause which is under focus (i.e. the scope of the
Focus function) and the communicative reasons for assignment of Focus. The scope of
Focus can be a -operator such as Tense, Mood, Aspect or Polarity (as with not in (11)),
a predicate (reply in (12)) or even part of a predicate (e.g. a prefix), a Subject term (Tom
Walker in (13)) or some other term (April and May in (14)).
(11) Mrs Skitt did not ask us to witness her signature (LLC 11 1 839841)
(12) I didnt reply to it (LLC 1 4 62)
(13) Tom Walker did it (LLC 2 6 189)
(14) I may go up at the end of April again but wont be going up in May (LLC 7 3f
762764)
The communicative point of Focus assignment may be to fill an information gap or to
effect some type of contrast. In the former kind, both the element carrying the questioning
(e.g. a wh-word) and the new information in the answer have Focus, as in (15), where As
contribution has questioning Focus, while Bs has completive Focus:
(15) A. Who is it?
B. Pope Innocent the Fourth (LLC 1 4 610611)
Within the contrastive type of Focus, Dik distinguishes between parallel and counterpresuppositional kinds. Parallel Focus is illustrated by romance and one thing, living together without discomfort and another, in (16), assuming that romance, one, discomfort
and another all bear intonational prominence. (14) above also provides an example of
parallelism, though notice that wont is not intonationally prominent here.
(16) But romance is one thing, living together without discomfort is another.
(BNC CGE 2156)
Counter-presuppositional Focus can be rejecting, replacing, expanding, restricting or selecting. Rejecting Focus corrects a piece of information by rejecting it, Replacing Focus
replaces a piece of information regarded as incorrect by one which is correct, the two
kinds often occurring together, as in Bs contribution to (17), where Schweppes is rejected and then replaced by somebody else. Expanding focus completes an incomplete
Chapter 2
piece of information, as in (18), where learning about Hamlet is expanded into learning
about human nature in general. Restricting Focus corrects just part of something, as exemplified in (19), where B accepts that towns jam up, but not just any metropolitan town,
and restricts this to manufacturing towns. Finally, Selecting Focus picks out one from a
list of alternatives, as in (20), where a plain cigarette is chosen in preference to the menthol
alternative offered.
(17) A. I thought this was from Schweppes
B. no it wasnt [shwep] it it wasnt Schweppes actually it was some somebody else
(LLC 4 1 826830)
(18) we [@m] . we learn something . not just about Hamlet but about . human nature in
general (LLC 3 5a 334336)
(19) A. any . sort of metropolitan town by half past eight the traffic is just jamming up
nicely
B. no only a manufacturing town (LLC 4 2 680685)
(20) A. would you like a menthol or [ei] plain . [@:m] you can have a menthol
B. no ((a)) plain one please (LLC 2 11b 287291)
... The expression of Topic and Focus

We saw above that Dik postulates four types of mechanism for the expression of the pragmatic functions Topic and Focus: prosodic contour, placement in special positions in
the clause, the use of particles, and occurrence in special constructions. Languages differ widely in the complexity of the apparatus for expressing these pragmatic functions.
Dik (1997a: 335338) contrasts two languages in terms of the strategies they adopt. The
Papuan language Wambon has just a single morphological marker which marks constituents with any type of Focus. The Bantu language Aghem, on the other hand, has a
very complex Focus system, differentiated according to both scope and communicative
point, and making use of special constituent order, a Focus marking particle, a special
Focus-bound tense marker and a cleft construction.
.... Prosodic prominence. Dik (1997a: 456457) claims that New Topics generally receive the most prominent accent present in the expression, but that Given Topics are normally unaccented unless contrasted with another GivTop. Sub-Topics, on the other hand,
because their individual identity is new despite their relationship to a GivTop, tend to have
some degree of accentual prominence, as do Resumed Topics. Consider the example given
below.4
(21) A. but it ^doesnt _help _you _get a !book ((^8 to 10 sylls))
B. *^quite*
. The additional symbols used in these examples are as follows: * * overlapping material, ^ onset (first
prominent syllable) of tone group, _ continuance, : higher than preceding syllable, ! higher than preceding
pitch-prominent syllable, !! very high, normal stress.
A.
C.
A.
C.
^*I know* ( . [-] laughs)

*there was a* ^book on a [s] on a ^list
*^[yeah]*
*which* Î _went . which ^wasnt in the library . ^so they [@m] !told me .
that ^they would _ buy it . and I ^had to !fill in the form and ^bring *it* back
and ^have it :signed.
A. *^yeah*
C. and ^that was . !over twelve months a:go and Ive ^heard no _more of it !since .
A. but have you ^been to look to see if the book had been bought
(LLC 3 3 350365)
In the first of As contributions, book is introduced as a referent: it is NewTop, and receives main accentual prominence. The next time a book is mentioned, in Cs first utterance, it refers to a specific book rather than having non-specific reference as in the first
occurrence, and is introduced by a presentative construction. We should therefore treat
it as a NewTop; the previous mention of a book probably explains the fact that, although
stressed, book does not receive the main (intonational) prominence in its tone unit. In Cs
second utterance, the chain is maintained by the anaphoric it as a GivTop, and this is predictably unstressed. In As final utterance in the extract, the book is presumably treated as
a Resumed Topic, receiving the full NP form and normal stress.
Let us now turn to the prosodic expression of Focus. Dik (1997a: 457461) postulates
that there is compensation between segmental and prosodic mechanisms: the greater the
number of segmental features which indicate the Focus constituent, the smaller is the need
for prosodic expression. For example, Q-word questions, as we saw in 1.2.1, are handled
in three main ways in the worlds languages: the Q-constituent may remain in the place
which would be occupied by the corresponding non-questioned constituent; it may be
placed in a special position (commonly initial); or it may occur in the Focus position of
a special Focus construction, again either in situ or in a special position. Thus we may
find Q-word questions which are distinguished from declaratives by one feature only (the
presence of the Q-word), two features (Q-word and either special position or special construction) or three (Q-word, and a special construction in a special position). Since all are
marked by at least the Q-word, according to Dik (1997a: 458) this explains why such questions normally lack the rising intonation which is usual for other interrogatives. Dik also
hypothesises that Q-words will have some prosodic prominence in the situation where it
is only the presence of these words which signals a question, while prosodic expression
will be less important in languages which mark Q-word questions by additional features.
In the declarative answer to a question, there is no special Q-word to mark the constituent which provides the answer, so that the segmental factors in indicating Completive Focus are weaker than in Q-word questions. Dik (1997a: 459) therefore predicts that
prosodic marking will be more important, especially in languages which use no special
position or construction for the focal constituent. As Dik observes, Completive Focus
in English is usually signalled by placing the main accent on the Focus constituent, as
exemplified by Charterhouse and nineteen fifty-one in (22) below.
Chapter 2
(22) A. [@m] when did you leave school and which school did you go to .
B. I was at ^Charterhouse and I ^left in nineteen _fifty-:one (LLC 2 2a 305307)
Of course, when the answer consists only of the constituent with Completive Focus, there
is no doubt about the location of Focus, and Dik predicts that prosody will be less important in such cases, and also in situations where a language indicates Completive Focus
with a special segmental marker.5
Contrastive Focus constituents are claimed to have a strong prosodic pattern in which
all contrasted constituents receive a prominent accent (see example (20), given earlier).
Counter-presuppositional Focus, where the speaker wishes to alter or expand something
in the addressees pragmatic information, is said to have the strongest prosodic patterns in
many languages.
Dik (1997a: 460461) notes that not every element of a constituent with Focus will
necessarily attract prosodic prominence, even in cases where prosody does play a part:
usually there is only one accent in the Focus constituent, determined by the expression
rules of the language. The examples given in this section provide a number of instances.
.... Placement in special positions. We saw in 3.2.3 of Part 1 that Dik postulates a
number of general and more specific principles regarding the operation of the expression
component of the grammar, some of which are relevant to the expression of Topic and
Focus. Firstly we have the general Principle of Pragmatic Highlighting:
Constituents with special pragmatic functionality (New Topic, Given Topic, Completive Focus, Contrastive Focus) are preferably placed in special positions, including,
at least, the clause-initial position. (Dik 1997a: 403)
Complementing this is a special principle:

There is a universally relevant clause-initial position P1, used for special purposes,
including the placement of constituents with Topic or Focus function. (1997a: 408)
which, combined with principles concerning the choice between Prefield and Postfield ordering of dependents with respect to heads, and the cross-linguistic tendency for Subject
to precede Object, gives the basic word order patterns P1 S O V and P1 V S O (1997a: 409).
It is also claimed that languages often have particular types of constituent which are obligatorily placed in P1, but that if this position is not occupied by such a constituent, it is
available for the placement of elements with GivTop or Focus function. Further, since a
GivTop constituent is often Subject, it follows that the Subject will often be in P1.6
. Wells (1986), in an experimental study of the marking of Focus in English, has provided evidence against
the compensation hypothesis as far as cleft sentences are concerned. He demonstrates that clefts are certainly
no less marked for focus phonetically than non-cleft variants, and in some circumstances are actually slightly
more marked. Wells therefore concludes that clefting is not in a commutational relationship with the
phonetic features that indicate focus (1986: 65).
. For a somewhat different, pragmatically-oriented view of P1 see Braecke (1994).
Dik (1997a: 420424) illustrates the uses of P1 from Dutch, and I shall do likewise,
using examples from the Leiden Corpus. Dutch has the functional ordering patterns for
main and subordinate clauses shown in (23).7
(23) (=Diks (4), 1997a: 420)
main
P1 Vf S O X Vi
subordinate P1
S O X {Vf Vi}/{Vi Vf}
Note that the main difference is in the placement of the finite verb (Vf), which is in second
position in main clauses, but final or just before the non-finite verb (Vi) in subordinate
clauses, depending on the construction involved. X in the above formulation represents
oblique arguments and satellites. Dik gives the following rules for filling P1 in Dutch:
(24) (= Diks (6), 1997a: 421)
(R0) P1 must contain one and only one constituent.8
(R1) Place P1-constituent in P1, where P1-constituent = question word, subordinator, or relative pronoun.
(R2) else, place constituent with GivTop, SubTop or Foc function in P1 (optional).
(R3) else, place X in P1, where X = some satellite or a dummy element.
In a main clause, the only possible constituent which must, if present, go into the P1
position is a Q-word.9 The placement of a Q-word in P1 blocks the placing of any other
element in that position, according to R0 above. This is illustrated in (25) and (26). In (25),
the Q-word waarom occupies P1, blocking the forward movement of the Object cijfers van
illegale visvangsten to fill this position, with the consequent ungrammaticality of (26).
(25) Waarom heeft
het ministerie cijfers van illegale visvangsten niet
why
have-pres.3sg the ministry figures of illegal fish-hauls neg
geregistreerd? (DUT02A01.ECI)
register-past.part
Why has the ministry not registered figures for illegal fish hauls?
(26) *Waarom cijfers van illegale visvangsten heeft
het ministerie niet
why
figures of illegal fish hauls have-pres.3sg the ministry neg
geregistreerd?
register-past.part
. Note that Dik maintains that the basic position for Subject is after the finite verb Vf, although the most
frequent order in the final clause structure is S Vf. This is because when a non-Subject constituent is placed
in P1, the Subject itself must come after Vf (Dik 1997a: 410).
. Note, however, that Vismans (2000) claims that P1 in Dutch can be empty in certain types of clause.
. Unless the question is an echo question.
Chapter 2
If nothing is present in the clause which would obligatorily go to P1, then this position
may be filled by a Topic or a Focus constituent. Thus in (27), dat is in P1 and is clearly
a Given Topic, since it refers to the content of the previous sentence, but is unlikely to be
focalised by having special accentual prominence.10
(27) Daardoor zijn
er
sinds april zeker
109 kinderen
From-it be.pres.3pl there since April certainly 109 children
gestorven.
Dat heeft
de Nigeriaanse minister van
die-past.part That have-pres.3sg the Nigerian
minister of
volksgezondheid bekend gemaakt. (DUT02A01.ECI)
public-health known make-past.part
As many as 109 children have died from it since April. That has been made known
by the Nigerian Minister of Public Health.
On the other hand, in example (28), dat is likely to be Focus, since the implication is that,
rather than anything else, is the highest priority:
(28) Hij zal
zich
daarvoor inspannen, maar pas nadat de
He will-pres.3sg himself for-it
exert
but only after the
ambassade zelf weer functioneert.
En hij de Nederlandse vlag
embassy itself again function-pres.3sg And he the Dutch
flag
heeft
gehesen.
Want dat heeft
voor hem de
have-pres.3sg hoist-past.part For that have-pres.3sg for him the
hoogste prioriteit. (DUT02A03.ECI)
highest priority
He will make great efforts for it, but only after the embassy is functioning again.
And he has raised the Dutch flag. For THAT, for him, is what has the highest
priority.
As Dik (1997a: 422) points out, there are circumstances under which rules R1 and R2 fail
to provide a constituent for P1. Since, in Dutch, this position must be filled, some other
constituent must go there, and rule R3 is invoked. According to Dik, this happens in two
main types of situation. Firstly, where a New Topic is being introduced, this is normally in
pattern position, after the finite verb. This means, however, that P1 is unfilled, requiring
the insertion of a dummy adverb er in this position, as in (29), or the use of a satellite in
P1, as with vandaag in (30).
(29) Er
zouden
40 doden zijn gevallen. (DUT02A03.ECI)
There will-past.3pl 40 dead be fall-past.part
40 people are said to have died.
. Such fronting is less marked in Dutch than in English, so that the best translation is the passive.
(30) Want vandaag heeft

ook een oude rivaal van Gorbatsjov weer
For today
have-pres.3sg also an old rival of Gorbachev again
van zich
laten
horen: de aartsconservatief Jegor Ligatsjov.
of himself let-past.part hear the arch-conservative Jegor Ligachev
(DUT02A03.ECI)
For today an old rival of Gorbachev has also made himself heard: the archconservative Jegor Ligachev.
Secondly, R3 operates when the Language-Independent Preferred Order of Constituents
(LIPOC: see 3.2.3 of Part 1) leads to a clausal Subject being placed clause-finally. In this
eventuality, a dummy het (it) is placed in P1, as in (31).
(31) Het was
jammer dat ik geen Engels verstond,
it
be-past.3sg pity
that I no English understand-past.3sg
vertelde
hij. (DUT02D01.ECI)
tell-past.3sg he
It was a pity I didnt understand any English, he said.
If some other constituent comes in P1, het must again appear, but this time in Subject
position, as in (32):
(32) . . . alleen is
het jammer dat het zo lang heeft
only be-pres.3sg it pity
that it so long have-pres.3sg
moeten duren voordat racisme afgeschaft
werd . . . (DUT02D01.ECI)
have-to last before racism abolish-past.part become-past.3sg
. . . Its just a pity that it had to take so long before racism was abolished . . .
Finally, Dik (1997a: 424) observes that in subordinate clauses, a subordinator or relative
pronoun, which must go into P1, is normally present. (33) gives an example with a relative
pronoun in P1 in the subordinate clause die hij berijdt.
(33) Daar is
iedereen eigenaar van de paarden die
hij
There be-pres.3sg everyone owner of the horses which he
berijdt. (DUT02D01.ECI)
ride-pres.3sg
There everyone is the owner of the horses he rides.
Although P1 is claimed to be universally relevant in the placement of constituents with
Topic or Focus function, Dik (1997a: 424427) also recognises that some languages have
further special positions into which such constituents are placed. He cites work on Hungarian, Turkish, Serbo-Croatian, Arabic, Aghem and Polish, in which such further positions are postulated.
.... Particles. As we saw earlier, Dik (1997a: 335338) mentions Focus-marking particles in Wambon and Aghem, and also treats the different/same Subject switch reference
indicators in languages such as Wambon as being markers of Topic shift or maintenance.
Chapter 2
.... Special constructions. Dik (1997b: Chapters 13 and 14) devotes considerable attention to special constructions for marking Focus, including those normally known as
clefts and pseudoclefts, exemplified by (34) and (35), respectively.11
(34) It was Anna who finally spoke. (BNC EDV 1463)
(35) . . . what I want is the human angle . . . (BNC AN7 2511)
He points out, however, that these terms are in some ways misleading (Dik 1997b: 292).
Firstly, the term cleft suggests that (34) should be derived from the structure underlying
(36) by a process of cleavage, whereas Diks own view is that examples such as (34) have a
different structure from the equivalent non-cleft form such as (36).
(36) Anna finally spoke.
Secondly, calling (35) a pseudocleft construction implies that it is a variant of the structure in (34), while Diks view is that clefts are variants of pseudoclefts. This view is supported by typological evidence, in that pseudocleft constructions are widespread among
the worlds languages, but cleft constructions much rarer. Thirdly, Dik regards constructions such as that in (37) as having a different structure from (34), whereas most accounts
regard both as clefts.
(37) It was on 8 August that Father suffered his fall. (BNC HA0 2762)
Dik proceeds to use the term cleft to cover the constructions in both (34) and (35).
As noted above, he regards the prototypical cleft construction as that in (35), or the
equivalents in (38) and (39).
(38) . . . the thing that I want is the human angle . . .
(39) . . . that which I want is the human angle . . .
The characteristic properties of prototypical clefts, as set out by Dik (1997b: 293294) are:
they are identifying constructions: in (35), what I want is identified as the human
angle;
in the prototypical situation, the identifying expression, as in other prototypical identifying constructions, is definite: it is perfectly possible to have an indefinite identifier,
but this is regarded as one step away from the prototype;
the identifying expression (the human angle in (35)) is Focus, and the expression
representing the identified entity (what I want) the Given Topic;
in accordance with the last point, the identifying expression represents the most
salient information, while the expression representing the identified entity contains
information which is assumed to be known to the addressee;
. Although these constructions involve more than one clause, and so strictly belong in Chapter 3, I shall
deal with them here because of the clear parallels with non-cleft counterparts.
the topical expression is a free relative clause, as in (35), or a nominal with a general
noun such as thing, person (as in (38)) or a pronoun (that, one, as in (39)), as its head,
with a following restrictive relative clause (that/which I want).
Diks (1997b: 295ff.) treatment of such prototypical clefts is fundamentally the same as for
any other identifying construction. As we saw in 7.2.1.6 of Part 1, such constructions are
handled in terms of term predicate formation, in which a term is converted to a predicate
which can then be used over another term. In the derivation of the underlying structure
for (35), we have the term predicate formation rule shown in (40).12
(40) input: (d1xi : human angle)
output: {(d1xi : human angle)}(xj )
The derived predicate can then be applied to the term what I want:
(41) {(d1xi: human angle)} (d1xj : what I want)
The resulting structure indicates that what I want has the property of being the human
angle. The specification of tense will trigger copula support, giving:
(42) Pres e: be [V] {(d1xi : human angle)} (d1xj : what I want)
Assignment of Subject function to the argument term, and GivTop to this Subject term,
together with Focus assignment to the identifying expression, yields (43), which is also
taken to be the underlying representation for (38) and (39).13
(43) Pres ei : be [V] {(d1xi : human angle)}Foc (d1xj : what I want)SubjGivTop
Finally, if the GivTop expression is placed in P1, we obtain the expression in (35), while if
the Focus constituent is placed in P1, we get (44):
(44) The human angle is what I want.
Let us turn now to the difference between (34) and (35). Dik analyses both as identifying constructions, such that we may represent (34) informally (omitting the irrelevant
adverb) as in (45).
(45) (Anna) was (who spoke)
The only difference between this and the underlying structure for (35) is that in (34) we
have a headless construction as the GivTop constituent: compare who spoke with what/the
. The internal structure of the term is left unspecified here, as it is irrelevant to the argument.
. Treating (43) as the underlying representation for (38) raises the question of the status of general nouns
such as thing, person. Dik (1997b: 297) points out that such nouns have a rather different status from other
nouns, in that they are classificatory elements also required in the analysis of Q-words such as who, what,
etc. He therefore prefers not to treat them in the underlying structure as full nouns acting as heads.
Chapter 2
thing that/that which I want, all of which have a head, in the first case fused with the relative
to give what.14 The structure of (34), after copula support has applied, is thus as in (46).15
(46) Past ei : be [V] {(d1xi: Anna)}Foc (d1xj : [Past ej : speak (Axi )Ag ])SubjGivTop
The headed and headless constructions have different possibilities for realisation (Dik
1997b: 299). As we have seen, with the headed construction either the GivTop or the Focus
constituent can be put in P1; with the headless construction, however, the GivTop must
go into the default, clause-final position for non-Subject, non-Object constituents, and a
dummy it is inserted into the Subject position.
The fact that in FG clefts are not derived from underlying non-clefts raises the issue
of how to deal with the selection restrictions between, for example, speak in (34) and the
noun in the GivTop constituent, which must be (or be treated as) human. Dik (1997b: 301)
deals with this by means of a rule stating that the Focus predicate must conform to the
selection restrictions imposed on the (Axi) position. This rule is not ad hoc, since a similar
rule is required for relative clauses and for Theme constructions (As for the one who spoke,
it was Anna/*the stone).
Let us now examine constructions with a satellite as Focus constituent, such as that in
(37), repeated for convenience as (47) below.
(47) It was on 8 August that Father suffered his fall. (BNC HA0 2762)
I noted earlier that Dik does not treat examples of this kind as cleft constructions. He
notes (1997b: 310) that only that (or zero) can appear in such constructions, the relative
pronouns who/whom/which being barred, suggesting that the clause introduced by that is
not a relative clause, but a general subordinate that-clause. In languages such as Dutch,
German and French, where the general subordinator used in dependent clauses cannot
occur in relative clauses,16 it is this general subordinator which occurs in the equivalents
of (47). Such constructions do not identify one entity in terms of another, but rather
assign a property to a State of Affairs. In (47), on 8 August is not being identified with
that Father suffered his fall; rather, the property being on 8 August is assigned to the
SoA Father suffering his fall, so that the structure is as in (48).
(48) Past ei : {(8 August)Temp } (Past ej : suffer [V] (Father)ProcExp (his fall)Go )
Dik is, then, suggesting that the structure of (47) is different from that of the version in
(49), which is, for him, a cleft construction, with the kind of structure given earlier.
(49) It was 8 August on which Father suffered his fall.
. Notice that what and who behave differently in this respect in English: we can say what I want is X, but
not *who I want is X.
. A is the anaphoric operator needed in relative constructions and elsewhere.
. In French, the restriction is applicable to clauses with relativised Subjects.
Dik substantiates this analysis by noting that there are circumstances under which the type
of construction in (49) cannot be used, whereas that in (47) can. Consider (50) and (51).
(50) It is with great pleasure that I now enclose a copy of the video film made of the first
semi-final round. (BNC HD2 269)
(51) *It is great pleasure with which I now enclose a copy of the video film made of the first
semi-final round.
Diks (1997b: 312) explanation is that indefinite expressions such as great pleasure do not
conform to the requirements of the cleft construction, since they do not represent entities
which can be identified with some other entity.
Diks treatment of clefts allows him to make typological predictions concerning the
behaviour of these constructions (Dik 1997b: 307309): they are expected to abide by the
rules for the expression of non-verbal predications with respect to constituent ordering
and copula support, and will also conform to the rules of the language for the expression
of GivTop and Focus constituents; furthermore, the GivTop constituent will be a headless
relative construction or one with a dummy or classificatory head. Dik adduces positive
evidence for these claims from Mojave and Tagalog.
So far, I have reviewed Diks treatment of only those special constructions in which
a term, either nominal or adpositional, is the Focus constituent. Dik (1997b: 314318)
also discusses constructions for Focus on the predicate. In English, there is no special
mechanism for this, but a cleft with a form of do in the GivTop constituent can be formed,
with the predicate in the infinitive, as in (52).
(52) What he did was to copy the practices that he observed within his school.
(BNC EV4 1075)
Such constructions still have the basic structure of identity, but this time between the GivTop constituent and a predicational term containing an embedded predication of which
the predicate with Focus forms a part. This predicational term, in turn, is converted to a
predicate which acts on the GivTop constituent.
Dik (1997b: 316318) goes on to discuss special constructions for indicating Focus
on the predicate in other languages, and concludes that there may be no genuine cleft
construction which performs this function. Rather, the mechanisms involve embedding
or the placing of a copy of the predicate in a salient position, usually P1.
Dik (1997b: 318324) also discusses cleft questions such as the one in (53) below.
(53) Which is the one that has been informed of the letter? (BNC CKE 2869)
He also describes the process whereby a construction which is originally specialised to indicate Focus can become the unmarked clause type in a language, usually with the emergence of a different construction for indicating Focus. I shall not deal further with these
aspects here.
Chapter 2
... The informational role of extraclausal constituents

As we saw briefly in Chapter 3 of Part 1, Dik proposes several types of extraclausal constituents, which are claimed to be marked off from the clause itself by a pause-like prosodic
pattern, are always non-essential, and are not sensitive to the grammatical rules which operate within the clause. Among these extraclausal constituents are types relating to discourse organisation and discourse execution (Dik 1997b: 386407). They will be discussed here, rather than postponed to Chapter 4, because they are at least rather loosely
associated with the clause and because they may co-determine the intended interpretation of the clause proper (1997b: 380). Furthermore, we shall see later that in SFG, these
elements are included within the clause itself, so that comparison of the two theories is
facilitated by discussion of Diks account at this point.
Under the category of boundary marking ECCs, Dik recognises four types: initiators, such as well in English, precede the clause and open up a new discourse, a new
episode in an ongoing discourse, or a new turn in an ongoing conversation; topic shifters,
such as by the way, which also precede the clause proper, are ECCs by means of which S
can indicate that he wishes to broach a new topic of conversation; push and pop markers signal that a subsection, subroutine, or subsequence within an ongoing unit is being
entered or left, respectively; finalisers, such as leave-takings, and some uses of items such
as okay and anyway, round off a (topic of) conversation (1997b: 387).
Under the general heading of orientation,17 Dik includes ECCs representing Theme,
Condition and Setting, as well as general Orientation markers in some languages. Such
ECCs help to orient the addressee towards the identity of the coordinates essential to a
coherent anchoring of the content of the proposition (1997b: 388). Elements with Orientation function typically come before the clause proper, in a position which, in early
accounts of FG, is labelled P2 (see Dik 1978: 21).
A Theme ECC specifies an ensemble of entities with respect to which the following
clause is going to present some relevant information (Dik 1997b: 389). Themes include
what are often called left dislocations, as in the Spanish example in (54).
(54) Y su
marido, de qu se
ocupa? (HCM 12, 207)
and your husband of what refl occupy-pres.3sg
And your husband, what does he do?
Also included are elements with a similar function, introduced by as for in English or en
cuanto a in Spanish, as in (55).
(55) . . . en cuanto a esto pues hay
tambin muchsimo escrito
de
as-far-as
this well there-is also
very-much write-past.part of
origen de tauromaquia . . . (HCM 5, 92)
origin of bullfighting
. A pragmatic function labelled Orientation was introduced as long ago as 1987 to account for certain
types of sentence-initial subordinate clauses (Hannay & Vester 1987).
. . . as far as this is concerned, well theres a lot written about the origin of
bullfighting . . .
Such an initial ECC orients A [the addressee CSB] with respect to the discourse topics in
relation to which the content of the ensuing clause is to be interpreted (1997b: 389). Diks
conjecture is that all languages make use of such devices, though some do so more than
others. Spanish, for example, makes very frequent use of Themes, not only in the spoken
language, but also in certain kinds of written language (Downing 1997). Dik (1997b: 391)
presents several kinds of evidence that Themes are indeed separate from the clause proper:
they normally occur initially, outside the scope of the clause illocution; indeed, they may
have their own illocution, separate from that of the clause, as in (56) below; and they are
usually in an absolute form, unmarked for any type of syntactic or semantic function;
also, in procedural terms, it makes sense to claim that the speaker can produce a Theme
before knowing exactly what will be said about this Theme in the clause itself, and this is
borne out by the fact that hesitation markers or fillers often occur between the Theme and
the clause proper (see the marker pues, well, in (55)). Dik (1997b: 393) notes, therefore,
that [t]he Theme is not extracted from the clause; rather, the clause is adjusted to the
Theme. This stance is, of course, quite different from that taken in theories where left
dislocated constituents have their origin in a constituent within the clause itself, and are
produced by means of some type of transformational process.
(56) A. Y de teatro?, no hemos
hablado.
and of theatre? neg have-pres.1pl speak-past.part
And what about the theatre? We havent spoken about it.
B. De teatro? He
ido,
he
visto
of theatre? have-pres.1sg go-past.part have-pres.1sg see-past.part
mucho teatro en mi vida, . . .
much theatre in my life
The theatre? Ive been, Ive seen a lot of theatre in my life, . . .
(HCM 16, 275)
The relative independence of Theme and clause proper does not, however, mean that there
are no constraints on their combination. As Dik (1997b: 394) points out, in constructions
such as exemplified in (54), the Theme must be such that it could occupy the relevant
position within the clause itself, while in examples such as (55), where the entity picked
out by the Theme does not recur in the clause, there is still a necessary relation of relevance
(in Gricean terms) between Theme and clause content.
Diks second class of Orientation ECCs is concerned with a condition which limits
the validity of the ensuing information to a world of which the condition is true (p. 395).
Such conditions usually take the form of a conditional clause, which must, in order to
qualify as an ECC rather than as a subordinate clause acting as a satellite to the main
clause, be set off from the main clause by an intonation break in the spoken language, or
by a comma in the written language. An example from Spanish is given in (57), which is
part of a conversation about portraits as opposed to photographs of people.
Chapter 2
(57) Si es
por
lo que t dices
porque
if be-pres.3sg because-of what you say-pres.2sg.familiar because
refleja
el alma, pues s, efectivamente, me
gusta
reflect-pres.3sg the soul then yes really
to-me please-pres.3sg
por
eso. (HCM 4, 79)
because-of that
If as you say its because it reflects the soul, then yes, really, I like it because of
that.
Diks third specific type of Orientation is Setting. Any contribution to an ongoing discourse will either specify a setting, or use a previously established setting as background.
ECCs classified as Setting are restricted to the time and place coordinates defined explicitly or implicitly in the discourse (1997b: 397). Examples from English and Spanish are
given below.
(58) From downstairs came the smell of frying bacon and, outside in the garden, Loden,
the pet spaniel, began to bark. (BNC FA5 4)
(59) En Barcelona sabes
lo que hacen? (HCM 20, 391)
in Barcelona know-pres.2sg.familiar what do-pres.3pl
In Barcelona, do you know what they do?
In (58), outside in the garden serves as Setting for the event described in the clause proper,
Loden, the pet spaniel, began to bark.18 In (59), en Barcelona is Setting for the clause proper:
note that in Spanish, where question marks and exclamation marks occur in inverted form
at the beginning of a question or exclamation, as well as in their more normal form at
the end, the position of the initial punctuation provides further evidence for the claim
that Themes are separate from the clause proper.19 The Setting element can also be a
subordinate clause of time or place.
Dik (1997b: 398401) also gives information on markers, in languages such as Godi,
Usan and Zulgo, which are generalised across Themes, Conditions and Settings, and so
can be regarded as general Orientation markers.
Just as there may be a pre-clausal ECC acting as Orientation, so there may be a postclausal ECC acting as Tail, consisting of constituents which present information meant
to clarify or modify (some constituent contained in) the unit to which they are adjoined
(1997b: 401). Such elements are often referred to in terms of right dislocation, and their
position was labelled P3 in earlier accounts of FG (see Dik 1978: 21). An example from
English is given below.
(60) Its great, this park. (BNC A74 1622)
. Note, though, that from downstairs would not be analysed as an extraclausal Setting for the first clause,
since it is not marked off from the rest of the clause by punctuation.
. See also Downing (1997: 142) for the setting off of Theme elements in spoken Spanish.
Dik claims that Tails can also occur parenthetically within a clause. He also discusses
briefly the way in which Clause + Tail constructions may become demarked in a language,
so possibly giving rise to the kinds of construction found in languages with pronominal
elements with a cross-referencing function.
Finally, Diks discourse execution type of ECC is split into two main types, Responses
and Tags (1997b: 405407). Responses in English include items such as yes, no and modal
adverbs such as perhaps, as well as forms such as it is(nt). Dik also recognises a category
of Response Initiators, including well, which, in addition its role as a boundary-marking
Theme, can initiate Responses and introduce and qualify the speakers reaction to what
has just been said. Tags are, as we saw in Chapter 1, ways of converting a basic illocution
into a derived one.
.. Other accounts of pragmatic functions in FG

Diks account of pragmatic functions has given rise to considerable criticism within the
FG community, and to proposals for alterations and/or additions to that account. Sadly,
although some of this work appeared in the years immediately following the publication
of the first edition of TFG1, it finds almost no reflection in the second edition. In this
section I shall concentrate on two groups of issues, beginning with the central problem of
the definition and identification of pragmatic functions, and then moving on to discuss
pragmatic functions in the light of the FG commitment to pragmatic, psychological and
typological adequacy.
... The definition and identification of pragmatic functions

As observed by Tomlin (1994: 150), most linguistic functions, particularly pragmatic
functions like old information or topic or focus, lack either theoretically satisfying definitions or reliable means of identification. In this section I shall review the problems of
definition and identification of pragmatic functions in FG.
Siewierska (1991: Chapter 6) offers a very useful critical review of pragmatic functions in FG, in which she distinguishes two approaches, within the spectrum of linguistic
theories, to the specification of how the morphosyntax and prosodic structure of a language can interact with semantic and pragmatic information, and with information from
context, to define specific pragmatic functions in the grammar (1991: 147). One approach
is to start from the discourse itself, allocating informational functions to constituents according to the role they play in the discourse setting and in the exchange of pragmatic
information between speaker and hearer, as illustrated in the work of the Prague School
and of Givn and his colleagues (see e.g. Givn 1983a). The second approach starts from
the formal end, looking at ways in which surface constituents are selected for special treatment, then allocating informational functions to these constituents and finally seeking
corroboration of these functions in the discourse itself. Siewierska identifies a movement,
within Diks model of information structure, from the discourse-based approach in his
earlier work (e.g. Dik 1978), towards a greater concern with morphosyntactic realisation
in later accounts (e.g. Dik 1989a). The later position is, of course, consonant with the
Chapter 2
claim that FG should incorporate within the grammar itself only those distinctions which
have repercussions on linguistic form, including prosody. Siewierska (1991: 148) sees the
subdivision of Topic and Focus functions in the later model as an attempt to redress the
balance, linking these functions more clearly with the discourse setting, while still maintaining the line that such functions are to be assigned only when special treatment can be
demonstrated.
Problems with Diks account of pragmatic functions and their assignment arise from
the relationship between discourse-oriented and formal considerations, and are particularly acute in the area of topicality. I shall therefore begin with this area, before giving
rather briefer consideration to focality.
.... Problems and extensions: Topic.20 Siewierska (1991: 148) observes that Diks subdivision of Topic corresponds reasonably well to the scalar view of topicality advanced by
scholars such as Givn (1983b) and Lambrecht (1987). Under the scalar view, elements
can be more or less topical, depending on their status with respect to a number of underlying cognitive dimensions, identified by Siewierska (1991: 155) as the given/new distinction (or rather, more sophisticated versions of it, as discussed in, for example, Prince 1981
and Chafe 1987), the identifiability of referents, newsworthiness, relative importance and
aboutness. As we have seen, it is the dimension of aboutness which is most important
in Diks conception of topicality. However, as Siewierska points out, and as will be evident from the discussion of Diks account in 2.2.1.2, the four types of Topic (NewTop,
GivTop, SubTop, ResTop) correlate with a different dimension, that of given/new information. We are thus up against the paradox that although the various kinds of Topic are
discussed by Dik in terms of givenness/newness, they cannot actually be defined in these
terms, since the special treatment requirement means that a function such as GivTop can
be assigned only to those constituents which are formally identifiable as constituting given
information: any constituent which, in the discourse context, clearly reflects given information, but which does not receive formal treatment identifying GivTop in the language
concerned, cannot be labelled with this function. Furthermore, as Siewierska (1998: 245)
points out, languages differ in terms of which types of Topic, if any, are encoded grammatically: English has no formal means for distinguishing GivTop from SubTop, while
Japanese has a marker which applies to GivTop, SubTop and ResTop, but no marking for
NewTop. Issues of this kind, of course, make it crucial to be able to specify precisely what
counts as special treatment, and this problem will be a recurring theme in our discussion.
As Siewierska (1991: 155ff.) notes, the given/new distinction comes in two rather different versions, the difference between which is important to an understanding of the
issues surrounding topicality in FG. Gundel (1988) refers to these as the relational and
referential approaches. Consider the following excerpt from a Spanish dialogue:
. An account of the problems to be addressed in this section can also be found in Fumero Prez (2001: 66
87).
(61) A. Quin quiere

vino?
who want-pres.3sg wine
Who wants wine?
B. A m chame
un poquito.
to me put-imp.2sg.familiar-me a little-bit
Pour me a drop.
C. Yo un poquito tambin.
I a little-bit too
A drop for me too. (Referencia PINS002E.WPT)
In one sense, both m (also the resumptive clitic -me) in Bs utterance and yo in Cs constitute new information, in that they provide an answer to As question. This is the relational
sense of new referred to above: new here relates to the informational value of the elements concerned. In the other, referential sense, however, the speakers, to whom the
pronominal items refer, are given, since the discourse participants are always taken to be
present in the mind of the speaker. The referential sense of given/new thus relates to the
cognitive activation status of the referent of an item. Chafe (1987: 25) recognises three such
activation states for discourse referents: active, that is, present in the focus of consciousness at a particular time; semi-active, that is, peripherally present in consciousness; and
inactive, or not currently present in consciousness, though present in long-term memory.
Semi-active referents can either be inferable from other referents, or relegated from active
status due to not having been used recently in the discourse. The concept of activation,
as Siewierska (1991: 158) observes, applies only to referents which are located somewhere
in the addressees memory. Such referents are at least potentially retrievable by the addressee. They thus contrast with Princes (1981) concept of brand new referents, not
previously present in the addressees long-term memory, and so not retrievable. Retrievability is linked to Chafes (1976) concept of identifiability, in the sense that a referent
can be regarded as identifiable only if the speaker thinks that the addressee can pick it out
from the set of potential referents for a particular expression. Identifiability correlates with
definiteness, and unidentifiable referents are usually, though not always, indefinite.
Siewierska (1991: 159) thus arrives at a fourfold categorisation of the cognitive status of referents on the basis of activation and identifiability, which fits in closely with the
topic acceptability scale proposed by Lambrecht (1988: 147): the most acceptable topics
are those which can be retrieved most easily from memory, that is the identifiable active
referents; the next best topics are the identifiable semi-active referents; then come the identifiable inactive referents, which must be retrieved from long term memory; and finally,
unidentifiable, brand-new referents are not acceptable as topics at all, since an addressee
must be able to identify a referent before s/he can assess what is said about it.21
. For a comprehensive list of the various types of givenness recognised in the literature, see GmezGonzlez (1996a: 236), who claims that all these different factors are involved in the FG conception of
Topic. Gmez-Gonzlez (1998a: 9, 2001: 163) particularly argues that the FG concept of Topic suffers from
Chapter 2
There are, as Siewierska (1991: 160) remarks, clear correlations between the four cognitive statuses and the four subdivisions of Topic in Diks account of FG, though, as we
have seen, the special treatment requirement means that there is no one-to-one match
between cognitive status and the assignment of pragmatic function. GivTop, SubTop and
ResTop are clearly related to degrees of activation: GivTop is associated with active referents; SubTop may be assigned to those kinds of semi-active referent which are inferable
from an established GivTop; ResTop is concerned with those referents which have changed
from active to semi-active through lack of recent use in the discourse, but which are then
used again. NewTop, however, brings in not only activation but also identifiability: a referent introduced into the discourse by a NewTop may be a semi-active referent which is
inferable from some other referent but has not yet been used in the discourse, or it may be
brand-new.
This last possibility, as Siewierska (1991: 161) rightly observes, is at odds with the referential aboutness view of topic, in which, as we saw above, a brand-new and therefore
unidentifiable referent cannot act as topic, since the addressee cannot be expected to be
able to assess the validity of anything said about a referent which s/he cannot identify.
Brand-new referents are in fact normally associated with focus rather than with topic, so
that, as Siewierska points out, there is overlap here between the Topic and Focus pragmatic functions. This is also commented on by Bolkestein (1998: 197), who remarks that
it possible to find, in the FG literature, both the view that Topic and Focus are mutually exclusive, and the view that Focus constituents may have some degree of topicality,
and Topics some degree of focality. This latter view is expressed by Dik in his treatment
of Parallel Focus (where Focus may fall on an element which is topically given), and of
Resumed Topic and Sub-Topic (both of which may have some degree of accentual prominence, and so some degree of focality). Clearly, much depends on the difference between
topicality/focality on the one hand, and Topic/Focus on the other, but it is at least clear
that Dik (1997a: 326327) would assign both GivTop and (Parallel) Focus functions to
pairs of constituents which are contrasted by means of parallel focus. Crucially, however,
Dik does not comment on the essentially focal nature of New Topics, so that, as Siewierska
(1991: 160) says, NewTop is the most controversial of Diks Topic categories. It is perhaps
significant that Dik (1997a: 331) appends the label New to Completive Focus, used when
the speaker assumes the addressee has an information gap that needs to be filled: it seems
reasonable to expect that information introduced in this way will normally be a NewTop
in those cases where the element under focus is a term.
It should be noted that according to Siewierska (1991: 161) there are cases in which a
term which clearly indicates a new referent is not assigned the NewTop function. This situation occurs in statements such as (62), which are reports of events, expressions of single,
non-complex pieces of information where none of the discourse referents is imbued with
being accounted for in terms of types of givenness which are not only difficult to pin down, but also not
coterminous, namely those of recoverability, predictability, shared knowledge and assumed familiarity.
pragmatic saliency (Siewierska 1991: 161),22 and have been related to the philosophicallybased distinction between categorial statements, which name an entity and then say something about it, and thetic statements, which report an event or state as a whole. Statements
such as (62) can thus be assimilated to the latter type. The lack of Topic assignment in such
cases is taken to reflect that fact that the purpose is not to present the referents as such,
but rather to introduce the event in which the referents take part.
(62) A bullet hit a rock three yards in front of him. (BNC H92 3088)
Further light has been shed on the relationships between Topic/Focus and given/new
information in the work of Mackenzie & Keizer (1991). These authors note that Diks
division of Topic presents us with categories (such as Given Topic and New Topic) which
are a hybrid of the two kinds of classification, but that the relationship between the two
classifications is very indirect, the more so because of the special treatment requirement.
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 181186) demonstrate that there are a number of differences between Topic/Focus, on the one hand, and given/new information, on the other,
which are, in their view, great enough to make the conflation of the two dimensions untenable. Firstly, they point out that although both refer to the bodies of pragmatic information available to interactants in the discourse, they are defined in very different ways:
givenness and newness are defined in relation to what is available in, or inferable from,
someones pragmatic information; Topic and Focus, on the other hand, are defined in
terms of special treatment.23 Secondly, as we have already seen, givenness/newness are not
simple, unitary concepts. Mackenzie & Keizer, like Siewierska, cite the more sophisticated
approach to these notions in the work of linguists such as Chafe and Prince.24 They also remind us of Diks view that a persons full body of pragmatic information consists of three
components: general, long-term information relating to the known world and possible
worlds; situational information derived from what participants experience during the period of interaction; and contextual information derived from the ongoing discourse itself.
This being the case, we may also recognise three types of given information, derived from
each of the three sources. Neither this nor the possibility of different degrees of givenness
(corresponding to different degrees of activation or retrievability) finds any reflection in
Diks treatment of pragmatic functions.
Mackenzie & Keizer also comment on the restriction of Topichood to expressions
referring to discourse entities, pointing out that our pragmatic information consists not
only of such entities, but also of relationships between them, States of Affairs into which
they enter, and so on, as well as plans, goals, motivations and the like.25 They demonstrate
. Note, however, that even these statements will have a focalised constituent.
. This is essentially the point made earlier in relation to Siewierskas critique.
. See also Keizer (1988) for the further elaboration of some of these ideas within the framework of FG.
. Bolkestein (1998: 197) comments on the variability of opinion to be found in the FG literature on this
area: see further Braecke (1994: 250), H. Dik (1995), Ziv (1997: 167169), who claim that predicates can
receive Topic function, Rijksbaron (1986) and de Vries (1995) for whom clauses can be topical, and Togeby
Chapter 2
that a variety of kinds of information may be drawn upon in the attempt to make sense
of messages, and conclude that much more must be assumed to be given or inferable than
that which would qualify for Topichood in Diks account.
In line with this view, Mackenzie & Keizer suggest that the Given Topic function could
be assigned not only to elements with referents already introduced via New Topics, but
also to constituents referring to information available from the situation or from general
pragmatic knowledge. They thus distinguish three types of GivTop: Contextually GivTops,
Situationally GivTops and Generally GivTops, all of which meet the special treatment requirements for GivTop. They also propose that rather than restrict Sub-Topics to elements
whose referents are inferable from a previous GivTop, they should be redefined as inferable Topics, the inference being based on any of the three kinds of potentially available information. Again, although Dik implies that Contrastive Focus elements are contextually
given, Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 189) show that this is not necessarily the case, but rather
that the element of givenness involved can arise from situational or general information.
The authors also comment on problems with the assignment of the Resumed Topic
function, pointing out that it is unclear if there has to be some explicit indication of
resumption, as in the examples Dik gives. Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 203) suggest that
an alternative would be to assign ResTop to any return to a GivTop after a temporary
interruption in the topic chain.26
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 191196) also discuss problems in relation to Diks requirement of special treatment for Topic and Focus elements. They begin by pointing out
that in Parallel Focus constructions, certain elements to which ParFoc is assigned also
qualify for Topic assignment. Consider again example 16, repeated as (63) below.
(63) But romance is one thing, living together without discomfort is another.
(BNC CGE 2156)
Here, romance and living together without discomfort, as well as one thing and another,
receive Parallel Focus. The first two of these, however, will also qualify for Topic status if
the entities they refer to, or entities from which they can be inferred, are available from
the preceding discourse.
Mackenzie & Keizers view is that it is not clear from Diks account whether we are
to assign both Focus and Topic to such constituents, although there is some indication
that GivTop can be assigned to contrasted elements (Dik 1989a: 391, repeated in Dik
1997a: 457). In fact, as we saw earlier, Dik does imply that both functions can be assigned:
he actually refers to the emphasis on the GivTops as focusing (Dik 1989a: 278, repeated
in 1997a: 327). If both functions can be assigned, then the questions arise as to whether
the formal features of both must be present, and what, in that case, the point of prag(1994: 191), who claims that any kind of information can be topicalised or focalised, though clearly the last
two types of claim do not entail that the relevant constituents receive the Topic function. Bolkesteins own
view is that restriction of Topichood to entities is misguided.
. Siewierska (1991: 168) likewise remarks that if the morphosyntactic codings listed by Dik for ResTop are
strictly required for the assignment of this function, then many topic resumptions will not qualify.
matic function assignment might be. On the other hand, if only one function could be
assigned, there would be, as Mackenzie & Keizer point out, a problem in deciding which
it should be.
The authors suggest two possible ways out of this dilemma. The first is to redefine
Topic and Focus in such a way that they will be more consistently applicable, a solution
which they consider may not be feasible. Their preferred solution is to abandon Topic assignment in English, a radical proposal which is, however, fully supported by their demonstration that Topics cannot be said to have special treatment in English. GivTops have
no prosodic prominence unless contrasted, in which event they are not distinguishable,
prosodically, from Focus elements. SubTops and ResTops may have some accentual prominence, but this is only typical, and anyway only applies to spoken language. Presumably,
then, special treatment for Topic must be identified with placement in P1; however, as
Mackenzie & Keizer point out, this is somewhat arbitrary, since Topics can go into P1 only
when no constituent which is specialised for this position is present, and furthermore,
Topics compete with Focus elements for P1. The proposal to abandon Topic for English
is reinforced by the observation that of the various devices listed by Dik as operative in
Topic continuity, only one, anaphora, applies in English, and this is clearly not specific for
Topic elements.27
Finally, Mackenzie & Keizer suggest that New Topics are, even within Diks own framework, more consistently treated as a type of Focus. If the special treatment requirement
is adhered to, then NewTops are not Topics, since their proposed non-initial position is
only preferred or typical, and prosodic prominence will not differentiate them from Focus elements. Furthermore, as we have seen, the criterion for NewTop status is actually
whether the constituent introduces a new element into the discourse, and in this respect
NewTops are focal, as well as introducing a referent which may be taken up topically.28
A similar conclusion is arrived at by Hannay (1985), who proposes a focal Presentative
function which is to all intents and purposes equivalent to Diks NewTop. In recognition
of this, Mackenzie & Keizer treat NewTops as Presentative Focus elements. Hannays later
work (e.g. 1991: 138) confirms his earlier view.
The abandonment of Topic for English raises the question of what use is made of P1
if no constituent specialised for that position is present, and if there is no constituent
. Similarly, Siewierska (1991: 166) points out that although there is evidence for strong correlation
between the level of activation (or givenness) of discourse referents and their morphological form, active
referents tending to be coded by pronouns or zero anaphora, these correspondences are not limited to
Topics. Furthermore, the considerations involved in the choice of pronominal versus nominal anaphora
go beyond matters of activation, to include factors relating to the hierarchical structure of the discourse.
. As we have already seen, Siewierska (1991: 173) presents a similar viewpoint. Bolkestein (1998: 195)
likewise comments that NewTop characterises an element newly presented (and therefore not topical but
focal) as a future Topic or Topic-to-be. Similarly, Cornish (forthcoming), in the context of a comparison
between FG accounts of pragmatic function and the treatment of this area in the work of the Columbia
school of linguistics, avers that the notion of NewTop is incoherent in discourse-contextual terms, and
suggests that NewTops are better seen as one type of Contrastive Focus.
Chapter 2
with special pragmatic significance. Mackenzie & Keizer propose that Diks own rule,
whereby the Subject goes into P1 if no other element is to go there, provides an answer to
this question.
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 196207) go on to apply Diks original proposals to the
analysis of a short childrens story, and show that although it is possible to analyse the text
in this way, the results are often not particularly insightful. All GivTops were found to be
Subjects, and the evidence suggested that Diks claim for a preferred non-initial position
for NewTops may be unfounded. The textual evidence strongly supports the decision to
abandon the Topic function for English.
A further conclusion which emerges from Mackenzie & Keizers story analysis is that
if the criteria for Topichood in Diks proposals are strictly applied, clauses may have two
Topic elements, e.g. a GivTop and also a NewTop, and this appears to go against the principle that the Topic is the element which is chosen as the most topical in the given setting.
This problem is, of course, caused by the fact that, as noted above, NewTops are only potentially topical; if we reinterpret NewTop as a type of Focus, then this problem disappears.
It has, however, been claimed that multiple Topics are possible in, for example, Hungarian
(de Groot 1981a), and furthermore, that these multiple Topics are all in P1.29 Bolkestein
(1998: 197) also comments on the confusion in the FG literature with regard to the possibility of multiple instances of Topic in a clause. Even Dik himself, in early work (1978: 143),
expresses uncertainty about whether multiple topics in a clause should be allowed.
Hannay (1991, 1993) takes a different line from Mackenzie & Keizer, which results
in the preservation of the Topic function for English, and of the claim that Topic can be
applied only to expressions coding entities. As we saw above, for Mackenzie & Keizer, the
fact that P1 is the unmarked position for Subject counts as evidence for the claim that
Topic is irrelevant to the specification of word order in English. Hannay argues that even
where the Subject is in P1, it is ultimately pragmatic function which is responsible for this.
Hannay considers a number of sets of sentences to illustrate variation in the filling of P1
in English. Consider (64) below:
(64) No, this he threw back into the bushes . . . (BNC G0M 839)
Here, the speaker has chosen to make this the Topic and place it in P1, rather than the
Subject he as in the unmarked variant shown in (65):
(65) No, he threw this back into the bushes . . .
Note that although this could also be focal in (64), receiving prosodic prominence, this is
not necessarily the case. And yet, as Hannay (1991: 143) points out, there is a difference in
interpretation, which Hannay interprets as due to the different choice of Topic: in (64), we
could paraphrase as no, as far as the thing you have mentioned is concerned, . . . , while in
(65), the person being talked about is selected as the Topic referent.
. This, of course, contradicts Diks claim that there can be only one constituent in P1. Multiple filling
of P1 has, however, also been discussed for English (Hannay 1993; van Hoorick 1994: 14, 19) and Polish
(Siewierska 1991: 223). See also the discussion of work by Fumero Prez (2001), later in the present section.
(66) and (67) illustrate a different type of situation with regard to Topic assignment:
(66) I was absolutely furious. (BNC BMM 908)
(67) Absolutely furious I was.
As Hannay (1991: 143) observes, the Topic is I in (66), but in (67) there is no Topic at
all, since absolutely furious, as a non-term, cannot receive this function, and neither, it
is claimed, can I, since we do not need a Topic function to explain its form, position or
accentuation.
In order to explain the communicative effects outlined above, Hannay (1991: 146)
suggests that they correspond to different modes of message management, or planning
strategies employed by the speaker, which are formalised as subtypes of the illocutionary operator Decl (Decl-T, Decl-R, etc.), and expressed through the choice of whether to
choose a Topic or not30 (and, if there is a choice of topical elements, which is selected), and
what to put in P1. (64) and (65) are examples of what he calls the Topic Mode, showing the
frequent Topic + Focus ordering. This is also the mode chosen in (66). (67), on the other
hand, is an example of Reaction Mode, in which the most important focal information is
placed in P1.
Three other modes are also proposed by Hannay. In the Presentative Mode, the
speaker may choose an expression for P1 which acts as a scene-setting element to aid
the presentation of a new referent. To this element, which is typically, but not obligatorily, a spatial or temporal expression, Hannay allocates the pragmatic function Stager.
Some Stagers, such as particularly noteworthy in (68), could not be assigned Topic function
anyway, since they are not terms.
(68) Particularly noteworthy is the economically important Animikie Basin, . . .
(BNC H7K 172)
More importantly, however, according to Hannay, the initial element of clauses such as
that in (68) does not serve the usual function of a Topic, in that the point of the utterance
is not to say something about this element, but rather to introduce the new referent the
economically important Animikie Basin. Other types of presentative have no Stager, but
rather a dummy in P1.
Hannays Neutral Mode is characterised as having no Topic or Focus in P1, but rather
a dummy which allows the later placement of the focal element, extraposed clauses being
of this type. Finally, the All-new Mode corresponds to clauses where the speaker does not
present the new information in the context of any other information which s/he considers to be shared with the addressee. In such cases, no element is singled out for special
treatment by word order, and the Subject is placed in P1.
In later work, Hannay (1993) has refined his proposal in the light of further issues
relating to the function of P1, and also provided explicit arguments against certain aspects
of Mackenzie & Keizers (1991) suggestions. The modes of message management are seen
. It is assumed that there is always a constituent with Focus.
Chapter 2
as linking two ideas already current in the literature: the importance of the initial element
of clause structure in acting as a foundation for the clause and the mental representation
to which it corresponds, and the two conflicting cognitive principles, the idea that given
information tends to come before new information, and the principle of communicative task urgency (Givn 1988: 275), according to which clause-initial information will be
either less predictable or more important than other information in the clause.
Hannay (1993), pace Mackenzie & Keizer, defends the view that even when the Subject
is in P1 position in English, this should be seen not simply as a default, but as a result of
the speakers decision to begin communicating the message in this particular way. This is
reflected in a change to the placement rules for the Topic mode, which now specify that
if there is a Topic constituent, it will go into P1, but if there is no Topic, the Subject is
placed in P1. Hannay makes it very clear, however, that emphasising the overall role of
P1 does not mean that this position is associated with a particular pragmatic function:
rather, it has a number of possible functions, which can vary cross-linguistically, but all of
which have in common that the element concerned is chosen as a point of departure for
the message.
Hannays decision to retain the Topic function for English reflects his concern that
to drop it would remove the possibility of accounting for the difference in communicative effect between certain types of construction, such as extraposed and non-extraposed
Subject clauses, the latter being strongly marked Topic constructions in English. He also
points out that his message mode proposals remove the arbitrariness which Mackenzie
& Keizer perceive in the suggestion that Topic is placed in P1 only if other elements, including Focus, have not been selected. Under Hannays proposals, all placements in P1 are
seen as reflecting the speakers decision to present his/her message in a particular way. His
scheme also has the advantage of removing the optionality which is inherent in Mackenzie
& Keizers placement rules.
Hannay (1993) also makes new proposals for a Setting pragmatic function corresponding to initial temporal and spatial adverbials. In line with other work on this area
outside FG (e.g. Lowe 1987; Downing 1991), he suggests that such initial satellite elements serve to define a discourse span over which the temporal or spatial meanings they
set up operate. He tentatively recognises a separate Setting mode, though he also suggests
that Topic, Presentative and Setting modes, which all instantiate the given/new principle, may be subtypes of a more general Grounding mode, the placement rules for which
would specify that Topic, Setting or Stager, if present, go into P1, otherwise P1 is filled
by a non-Focus Subject, while if the Subject is also Focus, a dummy element fills P1.
Hannay also discusses the Neutral mode, in which a dummy appears in P1, as in extraposed Subject constructions. He considers that assimilation of this mode to one of the
others, on the basis of what status the first content constituent has, would run the risk
of paying insufficient attention to the differences in syntax. He seeks, but does not find,
evidence in the psycholinguistic literature for a specific cognitive-pragmatic function for
dummy-initial clauses.
Hannays modes of message management have been adopted also by Siewierska
(1998: 259) for Polish, where she claims that All-new, Topic and Reaction modes gov-
ern the SVO functional pattern, while the Presentative mode governs the VSO pattern. In
earlier work, Siewierska (1991: 217) had pointed out that in principle, variations in word
order for Polish could be accounted for through either syntactic function (i.e. Subject
assignment) or pragmatic function (equating preverbal placement with Topic).
In his most recent work, Hannay (forthcoming) expands considerably on his earlier
proposals for placement in initial positions. Interestingly, this latest discussion does not
explicitly relate these positions to Topic at all. Hannay shows that in a sample of 39 written
English texts from a variety of genres, containing 2627 sentences, 38% of the sentences are
not Subject-initial, but begin with a range of orientational devices: other core clause elements (as in the fronting of Objects and many Adjuncts) in what is normally seen as the P1
position; conjunctions; single or multiple orienting phrases before and/or after the Subject, other than P1 constituents and conjunctions; and combinations of these. Building on
a suggestion made in an earlier paper (Hannay 1994a: 115116) and on empirical studies
of complex sentence beginnings by Smits (2002), he recognises an orientational field at
the beginning of the declarative sentence in written English, with (as a maximum) three
sets of paired slots, each pair consisting of an orienting element and a further element
which modifies that orientation. This field is followed by the Subject, which may have various types of modification of its own. The pre-Subject orientation devices may mention
circumstantial factors such as reason or condition, they may provide a temporal or locational frame for the event, they may relate the coming message to the previous co-text,
state the speakers attitude to the message, focalise a different orientational element, or
ground another orientational element by specifying it further. An example is given below.
(69) However, as fortune would have it, when I did put my ear to M. Duponts door, I
O1
O2
O3
S
happened to hear Mr. Lewiss voice, . . . (BNC AR3 1305)
Smits work demonstrates that the relative ordering of the orientational elements in written English is determined by organisational properties of the discourse, probably at the
level of the move.
A recurring theme in our discussion of types of Topic has been the requirement that
in order to receive a pragmatic function such as Topic, a constituent must be marked
grammatically in some specific way. It has been observed by Bolkestein (1998: 195) that
GivTop, ResTop and SubTop are in fact defined by Dik in terms of their discourse functioning rather than in terms of special treatment in the grammar. In fact, the problems of
insisting on special treatment for Topics extend to other languages too: Siewierska remarks
as follows:
As regards the marking of the topic constituent, cross-linguistic investigations reveal
that none of the actual forms of topic marking found in individual languages is an
unambiguous marker of the topic. Nor do all the constituents identified as topics in a
language exhibit the same type of marking. (Siewierska 1991: 164)
The question of special treatment is one of the issues taken up in a text-based study of
Topic in English by Fumero Prez (2001). After a detailed discussion of the literature on
Chapter 2
topicality in FG and other relevant approaches, the author presents a detailed analysis of
the transcripts, totalling over 300 lines of text, of three addresses by the then President
Clinton to the American people. For each text, two analyses are presented: one following
exactly the description given by Dik, the other incorporating suggestions aimed at remedying some of the perceived deficiencies in Diks approach. Fumero Prezs overall conclusion (2001: 405), like that of Mackenzie & Keizer (1991), is that the strict application of
Diks account to real texts reveals a number of problems and contradictions in the theory,
the main reason for this being the discrepancy between the carefully-chosen constructed
examples used by Dik to illustrate his proposals, and the much more complex situations
encountered in the analysis of authentic texts.
With respect to GivTop, Fumero Prez (2001: 406416) highlights the problems
caused by the lack of any well-articulated connection, in Diks work, between the concept of pragmatic information and the assignment of pragmatic functions. In particular,
she points to the fact that although Dik (1997a: 130131), in his discussion of the referring properties of terms, lists four ways in which a referent mentioned by a speaker may be
available to an addressee (from long-term pragmatic information, previous mention in
the discourse, perceptually available information, or inference from any of these), only one
of these, previous mention, is a criterion for the assignment of Topic function, except in
the case of SubTop, which involves connection with a previously mentioned Topic through
long-term pragmatic information. Like Mackenzie & Keizer (1991), Fumero Prez comes
to the conclusion that not only information from the text itself, but also that deriving from
the communicative situation and the general pragmatic knowledge of the interactants,
should be taken into account in assigning Topic function.
Furthermore, Fumero Prez demonstrates that the previous introduction of a referent
into the discourse does not guarantee that future mentions of that referent can be classified
as GivTops: more specifically, there are cases where such an assignment is blocked by the
fact that some other element occurs in P1. The author gives an example where the pronoun
they occurs twice in one line of text, with identical informative value in the two cases, but
where only one of these occurrences can be labelled as GivTop because in the other case the
P1 position is already occupied. There is thus a discrepancy between the requirement for
P1 position and Diks (1997a: 314) notional statement about GivTops, namely that once an
entity has been introduced as a NewTop, subsequent mentions can be classified as GivTop.
A further problem in relation to GivTop and P1 is that there are examples, in Fumero
Prezs corpus, of relative clauses where P1 is occupied by a relative pronoun whose referent is known because it has already been presented as a NewTop. Yet Dik (1997a: 424)
states that the presence of a constituent which must be in P1 (question word, subordinator,
relative pronoun) blocks the placement of Topic or Focus constituents in that position.
In relation to NewTops, Fumero Prez (2001: 416417) observes that there are, in her
corpus, cases where an entity introduced for the first time in the discourse does not occupy
the clause-final position in which, according to Dik, such Topics tend to occur; furthermore, there are constituents which, according to Diks scheme, would receive NewTop
function, but which cannot strictly be classified as new information, since this informa-
tion can be inferred from the communicative situation or from the general pragmatic
information of the addressee.
Fumero Prez (2001: 417418) also raises problems with SubTop: although Dik
(1997a: 323) further specifies these as SubTops of a GivTop, most of the instances in
her corpus are inferred from NewTops rather than from GivTops. Moreover, some constituents which she considers to have the function of SubTop code information which
is inferable from the preceding discourse as a whole rather than from mention of a
specific entity.
With regard to ResTop, Fumero Prez (2001: 419) reports that there are cases in her
corpus which conform to the definition of ResTop in all respects except that they do not
occupy P1 position as demanded by Diks scheme. Furthermore, there are instances of
topic resumption which show none of the strategies listed by Dik as formal indicators of
ResTop function.
Finally, Fumero Prez (2001: 424) concludes from her analysis that there are many
cases in which it is necessary to allow more than one constituent with Topic function to
occur in a single clause.
The recent work of Gmez-Gonzlez (forthcoming) expands on brief comments
made in Gmez-Gonzlez (2001: 190191) in relation to the relationship between information structuring and the perspective, or viewing angle, taken by the speaker at a particular point in a discourse. Taking her cue from work in cognitive linguistics, she reconceptualises Diks D-Topics as concerned not with entities but with relationships between
them. Intonation units mapped on to clauses or parts of clauses are seen as attentional
frames, each of which profiles a particular relationship by directing attention towards
some substructure of the overall organisation. A D-Topic, conceived in this way, has both
a prospective potential in terms of signalling that it is available as a reference point for
further conceptualisations, and a retrospective aspect in that it normally refers to information to which access is already available through the discourse context. Unfortunately,
Gmez-Gonzlez is unable to devote much space to exemplification of these ideas, so that
we must await a more detailed presentation.
.... Problems and extensions: Focus. Siewierska (1991: 174) regards Diks definition
of Focus in terms of relatively most important or salient information as rather vague
and [. . . ] loosely interpreted. She also comments (1991: 175) on the operational test for
Focus suggested by Dik for the isolation of (Completive) Focus elements, viz. to find the
expression which would provide the answer to an appropriate question. She provides examples in which it is not clear what the question is to which the clause under analysis
could provide an answer.
Bolkestein (1998: 197) comments on the divergence of views to be found in the literature on whether Focus can be placed only on elements at the lowest two layers in the
structural hierarchy of the clause, or also on constituents at higher layers. Her own view is
that satellites at the propositional and clause layers may also take Focus. A case in point is
a comment adverbial placed initially, with a following intonation break or comma. Such
Chapter 2
elements, although not clausal but extraclausal, may nevertheless carry focal emphasis,
which is additional to that which may be present within the clause itself.
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991) propose that Focus in English, for which (in contrast to
Topic) prosodic and structural correlates clearly are operative, should be classified along
four dimensions: completive (textually new) vs. non-completive (contextually given),
presentative vs. non-presentative, emphatic vs. non-emphatic, and contrastive vs. noncontrastive. Their proposals are supported by their analysis of a story text, referred to in
2.2.2.1.1.
The distinction between emphasis and contrast is also discussed briefly by Siewierska,
who remarks that it has proved to be notoriously difficult to characterize (1991: 180).
She notes that contrast is typically regarded as a subclass of emphasis, but that such a
hierarchical organisation is not reflected in Diks treatment of Focus. She also cites work
on languages, such as Dutch and Aghem, in which emphasis and contrast are said to be
marked differently.
Subdivisions of the Focus function have also been proposed for Modern Standard
Arabic. Moutaouakil (1989) distinguishes, for example, between a Focus element which
constitutes surprising information and one which is focalised because some other piece of
information has been rejected. As Bolkestein (1998: 200) points out, however, no grammatical motivation for these distinctions is offered.
Martnez Caro (1998, 1999), in a detailed corpus-based study of focus and emphasis and their expression in English and Spanish, also makes further subdivisions within
Focus. Firstly, she distinguishes, within Parallel Focus in both English and Spanish, between the default contrast between two elements, and contrast among more than two
elements within a limited set, which, after Geluykens (1992), she labels Listing (Martnez
Caro 1998: 234236, 1999: 137143). Secondly, she recognises, again for both languages,
a type which is related to Counter-presuppositional Focus in that it has the function of
confirming rather than rejecting something another speaker has said or something the
current speaker presupposes (1999: 193201), giving rise to particular mechanisms for the
expression of the function: an example is given in (70).
(70) (= Martnez Caros (45a))
A. just you excuse me two minutes while I try and find out this [@: ] figure
(exit) - - - (enters) it is one fifty that *[@: ]* Fanny gets at present
B. *mhm]* - yes (LLC 3 2a 419424)
Two further pragmatic functions are postulated within the area of emphasis in both languages. Emphatic Given Topic is assigned to those constituents which refer to contextually given information, which is, however, given prominence through constituent order
(Spanish and English) or prosody (English) (1999: 266287). Examples are this in (71)
and eso in (72).
(71) but this I I really like (LLC 1 8 924)
(72) Eso yo tampoco lo veo

muy claro. (HCM 20, 395)
that I neither it see-pres.1sg very clear
I dont see that very clearly either.
Emphatic Focus (1999: 287297) focalises emotive information, and is equivalent to the
Emotive Focus of Quirk et al. (1972: 969).
Finally, we should note that Gmez-Gonzlez (forthcoming) proposes a division,
within New Focus, between utterance focus and predicate focus types: this is the sentence focus vs. predicate focus distinction of Lambrecht (1994), taken over in RRG and
therefore reviewed later (see 2.3.3).
.... Problems and extensions: extraclausal pragmatic functions. We saw in 2.2.1.5

that Themes precede the clause, in the position which used to be labelled P2, and that Tails
typically follow it, in what is sometimes called the P3 position. As Siewierska (1991: 152)
remarks, much of the FG literature blurs the distinction between position and pragmatic
function for these elements, though it should be remembered that Dik himself, in his later
work, drops the designations P2 and P3, and also indicates that Tails can be parenthetically inserted within the clause itself (Dik 1997b: 401402). As pointed out by GmezGonzlez (2001: 158162), there is a tension in FG between two views of the relation between position and function. On the one hand, FG insists that the positions of pragmatically important items should not be confused with their function, so indicating what Fries
(1981/1983) has called a separating interpretation, that is one which maintains a clear
distinction between the syntactic property of position and the informative status of the
constituent. On the other hand, Theme and Tail functions are typically linked to the P2
and P3 positions, respectively.
The inadvisability of equating position and function is shown by the work of de Schutter (1985, 1987), cited by Siewierska (1991: 152), in which it is shown that in Dutch the
P2 and P3 positions do not carry a unitary pragmatic function. Indeed, as is shown by
Vismans (1997), these positions in Dutch may be filled by constituents without any special pragmatic function at all. Other evidence for the importance of separating position
and function comes from the corpus-based work of Downing (1997) on the FG Theme
in Spanish. She shows that Themes, identified through disjunctures or through separation using embedding or wh-clefting, frequently serve functions which are those normally
associated with Topics of different kinds: they introduce entities inferable from a general Discourse Topic, and make backwards links with entities introduced earlier in the
discourse. A further important function is the shifting of the current topic to the speaker.
A further problem is the reliable differentiation of clausal and extraclausal special
positions. The placing of a constituent with some pragmatic function in P1 or in the
pre-clausal (P2) position may depend on the presence or absence of a pause or intonation break in the spoken language, or a comma in writing. As noted by Hannay (1993),
however, comma placement, in English at least, is the result of various factors, including
Chapter 2
personal style;31 furthermore, Dik is somewhat vague about the criteria for the spoken
equivalent, when he writes of breaks or pause-like inflections in the prosodic contour
(Dik 1997b: 381) as demarcating ECCs. To make matters worse, there have, as Siewierska
(1991: 151) notes, been suggestions that constituents with Theme function may be located
within the clause itself (see de Groot 1981b on Hungarian). Conversely, Topics may be separated from the rest of the clause by a prosodic disjuncture in Arabic (Moutaouakil 1989)
and by a pause-indicating marker in Wambon (de Vries 1989). In such cases, other criteria,
such as the inability of the Arabic Topic to precede the illocutionary force marker, may still
identify the constituent as clausal rather than extraclausal; nevertheless, the weakness of
the prosodic criteria is somewhat disturbing.32 Nor are other ways of marking pragmatic
function exempt from difficulties: as observed by Siewierska (1991: 164), the marker wa in
Japanese can be used for Topic, Theme and Focus constituents.
Finally, it has been suggested that Theme, Tail and Topic should be regarded as a
single pragmatic function, with positionally different realisations (Jimnez Juli 1981: 342;
Gmez-Gonzlez 1998a: 6, 2001: 158), on the grounds that all three are concerned with
what the message is about, in a broad sense.
The overall picture which emerges from the work summarised above is one in which
the distinction between extraclausal and intraclausal phenomena is blurred, especially
with regard to the functionality of the elements concerned. The work of Hannay and
of Smits on the orientational field at the beginning of sentences in written English,
described briefly in 2.2.2.1.1, again serves to underline this fluidity.
... Pragmatic functions in relation to standards of adequacy

Information structure, handled through the concept of pragmatic function assignment, is
a particularly fruitful area for the testing of the FG commitment to the three standards of
adequacy, pragmatic, psychological and typological, all of which have been implicit in our
discussion at various points. In this section I shall assess the extent to which the various
proposals reviewed above help in approaching these standards of adequacy.
.... Pragmatic adequacy. Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 171ff.) note that the concept of
discourse is a vital link between pragmatic function within the grammar and the wider
theory of verbal interaction in which the grammar is embedded. They point out that Dik
uses the term discourse in both a static sense, to refer to linguistic products displaying
a hierarchical structure which can be studied by the analyst, and a dynamic sense, concerned with the processing of pragmatic information in real time. Indeed, Dik (1989a: 267,
repeated in 1997a: 314) takes a process-oriented line when he writes of the topic store
being filled with D-Topics as these enter the discourse. Mackenzie & Keizer not only con. See Hannay (1987) for an account of comma placement in English.
. More generally, we may agree with the opinion expressed by Keijsper (1990), and echoed by Vismans
(1997), that a clearer account of the semantic contributions made by prosody, as well as word order, is
needed in FG.
sider the process-oriented approach to be inconsistent with the basically static perspective
of FG, but also perceive an important gap between the speakers store of Discourse Topics
and his/her choice of Topic for individual clauses. They note Hannays modes of message
management as an attempt to bridge not only this gap, but also the disjunction between
the static and dynamic approaches, while cautioning that pragmatic function assignment
is not simply a result of the speakers decisions about how to present the message, but is
also conditioned by language-specific requirements. Hannay himself (1991: 136) recognises that his proposals go some way towards an integration of product-oriented and
process-oriented approaches.
Hannays account succeeds in providing the first stages towards a typology of information management strategies which have correlations in the choice and placement of
pragmatic functions. As such, it begins to provide a solution to the problem that FG has
so far not attempted to account for why particular choices are made from those offered by
the grammar. There are nevertheless certain aspects of Hannays proposals which are not
so convincing.
Hannay sees his modes as part of the grammar itself, suggesting that the five modes
discussed earlier can be incorporated formally into the grammar as subtypes of illocutionary operator: Decl-A, Decl-T and so on. He provides no detailed justification for this
particular proposal, but contents himself with the observation that the modes provide
alternative ways in which the speaker can present the content of a statement. Alternative analyses, however, would be at least as plausible: while illocution is concerned with
the choice of (the semantics of) a speech act, Hannays modes are ways of organising
the informational content of an information-giving speech act, reflected in the assignment of pragmatic functions. In other words, while illocution is clearly interpersonal
in function, Hannays modes are interpersonal only in the more general sense that they
are concerned with how the speaker chooses to present the content to the addressee. In
Hallidayan terms, the modes are textual, in that they are concerned with the organisation
of information rather than with either the content (Hallidays ideational, equivalent to
FG representational) or the choice of speech act, modal meanings, etc. (interpersonal).
We may also ask whether the modes should be incorporated into the grammatical
model itself, as conceived in FG. Hannay makes it clear why he wishes to take this course:
. . . handling word order variation in terms of mode selection provides a satisfactory division of labour between the grammar and the encompassing theory of verbal interaction. The grammatical model accommodates the considerations of message management which are directly responsible for formal aspects of the linguistic
expression involved, while the interaction model provides a context which allows
us to understand the nature of the motivations and goals which guide a speaker
to choose one mode of management, or construction pattern, rather than another.
(Hannay 1991: 154)
In other words, Hannay wishes to preserve the status quo regarding the division of the
overall linguistic model into a grammar (the province of the FG linguist) and a separate
theory of verbal interaction (lying outside the FG linguists domain), and so wishes to lo-
Chapter 2
cate as much as possible within the grammar itself. This position is also supported in the
recent work of Mackenzie (1998, 2000), which, like Hannays, is based on the original assumption of FG, that anything which affects the form of utterances must be located within
the grammar. Indeed, Mackenzie makes use of Hannays modes of message management
in his Incremental Functional Grammar model (see 3.7.2 of Part 1).
Once again, however, there is an alternative view. The message management strategies
themselves are surely not choices within the grammar itself: rather, they are, as Hannay
himself says, responsible for those choices. Similarly, one might argue, the operation of
concepts such as politeness is responsible for the choice from among the various ways of
expressing, for example, a request. This does not mean that politeness is itself part of the
grammatical component of an overall linguistic model, and the same argument can be
applied to modes of message management.
A more attractive solution would be to see Hannays modes as part of the interface
between a grammatical and a pragmatic module in a model of the kind proposed by Vet
(1998), van den Berg (1998) and Liedtke (1998), and reviewed in Chapter 1 in relation to
illocution. I noted there that such a model has also been advocated by Bolkestein (1998),
specifically in relation to a review of Topic and Focus in FG, from which she concludes the
following:
Without going into the precise characteristics of such a pragmatic component, suffice it to point out that the intention to perform a successful Move implies prior
assessment by (S) [the speaker CSB] of what counts as topical and focal information for (A) [the addressee CSB]. In other words, the outcome of (S)s assessment
concerning (subtypes of) topicality and focality is determined by situational, contextual and interactional factors. This means that topicality and focality cannot originate
in any other than the pragmatic module, whatever shape we conceive it as having.
(Bolkestein 1998: 211)
Although Bolkestein is careful to say that topicality and focality, rather than specifically
Topic and Focus functions, must arise in the pragmatic component, she also remarks that
in view of Diks claim that for FG pragmatics is the driver of semantics, and semantics the
driver of syntax (to the extent that these can be separated), pragmatic structure should be
considered prior to clause formation.
The conclusion reached by Bolkestein is, of course, precisely that which informs the
position taken by Nuyts (e.g. 1992, 1994, 1999, 2001) in his Functional Procedural Grammar. We saw in 3.6 of Part 1 that his proposals, which aim to achieve greater levels of both
pragmatic and psychological/cognitive adequacy than have so far been attained in FG, entail the abandonment of the claim that the informational status of message components
is assigned late, after the building up of the underlying semantic structure of the clause.
Rather, in Nuyts scheme, the assignment of informational status takes place at the early,
pre-linguistic stage of the textualising of material drawn from the Universe of Discourse.
.... Psychological adequacy. We saw in 3.7.2 of Part 1 that Mackenzies recent Incremental Functional Grammar (Mackenzie 1998, 2000), proposes that the full structure of
utterances should be derived from simple holophrastic utterances, rather than the latter
being seen as truncated versions of the former. This model is very much bound up with
questions of pragmatic function, in that it is assumed that P1 is filled in every utterance,
and that every utterance has focal material, so that a holophrase must be in P1 and carry
Focus. Expansion of the holophrase by adding constituents after the P1 position can, but
need not, lead to relocation of Focus in some position other than P1. Mackenzies proposals, in which individual utterances, as well as larger stretches of discourse, are seen in
terms of temporally organised sequences of discourse subacts, are specifically designed to
improve the credibility of FG claims to psychological adequacy. In particular, the model
emphasises the importance of placement in initial position in the utterance, as responding
to the principle of task urgency, and also to final (or at least late) position, as the default
for focal constituents, on the principle that the most recently presented material is the
most easily remembered.
As we saw with regard to Topic in 2.2.2.1.1, the recent work of Gmez-Gonzlez
(2001, forthcoming) is also intended to give a greater level of psychological adequacy
to the area of pragmatic function assignment. Building on the work of Hannay (1994a,
forthcoming) reviewed briefly earlier, Gmez-Gonzlez discusses the Theme zone in English as an orientational field, reworking this idea in terms of the concept of discourse
as a series of shifting attentional frames, as proposed by cognitive linguists. In this approach, different orderings of material within the Theme zone are seen as correlating
with different profilings of the relationships to be expressed. The overall model within
which Gmez-Gonzlezs proposals are made will be outlined in Chapter 4.
It will be clear from our discussion of work on processing-oriented models that
pragmatic function assignment must occur at an early stage in the development of the
utterance. In those approaches which take their starting point in Hengevelds Functional Discourse Grammar, Topic and Focus are assigned during the construction of the
move (for further discussion and illustration see e.g. Cornish, forthcoming; Bakker &
Siewierska, forthcoming).
.... Typological adequacy. Finally, it should be noted that Diks own account of pragmatic functions, and also the proposals for alterations and additions to that account, are
based on data from a range of languages of varying types. Clearly, as yet more descriptive
work is done on further languages, FG should be able to achieve yet greater levels of typological adequacy; already, however, a considerable body of work is available, much of
which, for reasons of space, I have dealt with only cursorily or been unable to include in
the present account.33
. I have, for instance, been unable to do full justice to the detailed corpus-based work of Downing (1997)
and Martnez Caro (1998, 1999) on pragmatic function in Spanish. Other recent work which has been
touched on only briefly, or not at all, in this chapter includes: Vismans (1997, 1998, 2000, forthcoming)
account of pragmatic functions, special positions and accent in Dutch; Stanchevs (1997) work on pragmatic
functions and special positions in Bulgarian; Siewierskas (1998) account of the contribution of pragmatic
Chapter 2
.. Voice in FG
In 3.2.2.5 of Part 1 we saw that Diks treatment of voice is inextricably bound up with
the mapping between the Subject and Object syntactic functions and the semantic functions of arguments. Indeed, only in languages with voice alternations is Subject or Object assignment to be recognised. In the sense that different mappings represent different
syntactic ways of arranging the same representational semantic information, voice can
be regarded as a mechanism for varying the information structure within the clause. It
will be remembered that Dik himself regards Subject and Object assignment as a kind of
perspectivisation of the clause content.
Mappings between Subject and semantic functions are constrained by the Semantic
Function Hierarchy (SFH), repeated for convenience below.
Subj
Obj
Ag > Go > Rec > Ben > Instr > Loc > Temp
+ > + > + > + > + > + >
+
+ > + > + > + > + >
+
Figure 2.2. The Semantic Function Hierarchy, as presented by Dik (1997a: 266, example (41))
The SFH is an implicational series which predicts that some sets of assignments will be
possible, others impossible. For instance, in Cebuano, a Philippine language, it appears
that Subject can be assigned to constituents with Agent, Goal, Recipient, Beneficiary, Instrument, Locative and Temporal functions, that is all the functions in the SFH; on the
other hand, Sudanese has assignment only to Agent, Goal, Recipient and Beneficiary, and
Dutch only to Agent and Goal (Dik 1997a: 267). On the other hand, the SFH predicts
that assignment to just, say, Recipient and Beneficiary, or Goal and Instrument, would be
impossible.
The combination of Subject with different semantic functions leads to the different
syntactic consequences which we call voice, though some semantic functions may share
a single voice. In addition to voices connected with Subject assignment, Dik (1997a: 264)
recognises different Object voices in languages where the Object can also be assigned to
different semantic functions.
The linking of voice to Subject assignment means that the expression rules for predicates must be sensitive to syntactic function in a language such as English. Dik proposes
the following rules, where PaP indicates a past participle:
(73) (= Diks (26a and b), 1997a: 378)
Pass[pred[V]] = [be[V]] PaP[pred[V]]
PaP[pred[V]] = pred-ed
In some languages, such as German and Dutch, the passive auxiliary used is also dependent on the values of other operators. For instance, in the Dutch perfect passive,
and syntactic function to constituent order in Polish; and Zivs (1997) work on initial infinitivals in relation
to Theme, Topic and Focus in Modern Hebrew.
the auxiliary is zijn, but in other passives it is worden, as illustrated by (74) and (75)
respectively.
(74) De complexiteit van het gebouw is
door iedereen
the complexity of the building be-pres.3sg by everyone
onderschat. (DUT02E03.ECI)
underestimate-past.part
The complexity of the building has been underestimated by everyone.
(75) Het recht op anticonceptie wordt
door niemand
the right on contraception become-pres.3sg by nobody
betwist . . . (DUT02E03.ECI)
dispute-past.part
The right to contraception is disputed by nobody.
The first rule of (73) must therefore be replaced by the following two rules for Dutch:
(76) (= Diks (29 a and b), 1997a: 379)
Perf Pass [pred[V]] = [zijn[V]] PaP[pred[V]]
Pass [pred[V]] = worden[V] PaP[pred[V]]
In languages with complex Subject assignment options, such as those of the Philippines,
the introduction of the formal reflex for each passive will be sensitive to the semantic
function to which Subject is assigned (Dik 1997a: 379).
Siewierska (1991: 8286, 9193) discusses in some detail the issues relating to the various passives in Philippine languages. She points out that there is still some controversy as
to whether these languages should be regarded as nominative/accusative or as ergative, FG
opting for the former position. Certain features of the passives in these languages support
the FG account of the active/passive distinction as imposing two different perspectives on
a single predicate frame. This view entails that the quantitative valency (number of arguments) and qualitative valency (kind of arguments) are the same in the passive as in the
active. Siewierska points out that while it is widely accepted that passive predications are
semantically bivalent, they are often seen as syntactically monovalent, the actor of the active being an Adjunct in the passive clause structure. She notes that while most passives in
English are actorless, in Philippine languages they usually retain the actor. Furthermore,
the passive actor is marked morphologically in the same way as the Goal of a transitive
clause, and can serve various syntactic functions which suggest that it continues to act as a
verbal argument. Siewierska notes the irony of the fact that the languages which are most
atypical in terms of their Subject assignment possibilities afford the best evidence for the
FG account of the passive actor.
Siewierska (1991: 8691) also examines antipassives which, in ergative languages such
as the suffixing Australian Aboriginal type, are often considered as the structural analogue of the passive in nominative-accusative languages. She observes that Dik does not
consider ergative/antipassive alternations to result from different Subject assignments, be-
Chapter 2
cause of the change in quantitative valency suggested by the oblique marking of the second
argument, as opposed to the absolutive marking of the first argument, in the antipassive.
Information structure in the simplex clause in Role and Reference Grammar
..
Introduction: The nature of informativity

In 4.9 of Part 1 we saw that the account of information structure given in RRG is based on
the work of Lambrecht (see especially Lambrecht 1994). Lambrecht makes an important
distinction which bears on the interpretation of the term information:
. . . a distinction [. . . ] between (i) the pragmatic states of the denotata of individual
sentence constituents in the minds of the speech participants and (ii) the pragmatic
relations established between these denotata and the propositions in which they
play the role of predicates or arguments. It is the establishment of such pragmatic
relations that makes information possible. (Lambrecht 1994: 49, emphasis in original,
cited in Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 199200)
Consider (77):
(77) It was Susy who took up most of the lunchtime conversation, . . . (BNC CD9 948)
In order for this to be a felicitous statement, in its most normal reading, the addressee
must already know who Susy is, and must also have, as part of his/her pragmatic information, the proposition someone took up most of the lunchtime conversation. The new
information which this utterance conveys is the identification of Susy with the one who
took up most of the conversation. These pragmatic relations are coded in various ways in
the information structure of a sentence.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 200201) elaborate briefly on the first part of Lambrechts
distinction, the pragmatic states of denotata in the minds of participants, by recalling the
distinctions between active, accessible and inactive referents established by Chafe (1987),
as well as Princes (1981) distinction between brand-new referents which are unanchored
and those which are anchored by association with some other more easily identifiable referent.34 The classification of referents assumed in RRG (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 201) is
that elaborated by LaPolla (1995) on the basis of Lambrechts work: referents are either
identifiable or unidentifiable; if unidentifiable, they can be anchored or unanchored; if
identifiable, they are active, accessible or inactive; active referents derive their activation
status textually, situationally or inferentially. The cognitive status of referents is one of the
factors influencing the form in which referents are represented in discourse; other factors
include information structure, politeness strategies, ellipsis, etc. RRG assumes the position taken by Sperber & Wilson (1986/1995), namely that the addressee can assume that
the speaker will choose a form for the utterance which will allow the addressee to create
. See also 2.2.2.1.1.
the most appropriate context for interpretation, with the least expenditure of processing
effort. Hence manner of coding indicates accessibility: zero marking means that the referent is the most accessible of all the possible ones; anaphoric pronouns indicate that the
referent is active, or at least accessible; a definite NP signals that the referent is identifiable,
and probably inactive or inaccessible; and an indefinite NP usually means that the referent
is not identifiable in the discourse context (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 201).
.. Pragmatic presupposition, topic and focus

Van Valin & LaPolla make the important point that to say that certain constituents present
old information and others new information is rather misleading since, as we saw in
commenting on (77) above, what makes an assertive utterance informative is the relationship between such types of information. RRG, after Lambrecht, characterises old
information as the set of assumptions evoked by the utterance that make up the context necessary for understanding the utterance (1997: 202). This set of assumptions is
referred to as the (pragmatic) presupposition of the utterance. The rest of the assertion,
outside the pragmatic presupposition, is the focus (of the assertion), and the relationship
between the two constitutes the information conveyed. In (77), the pragmatic presupposition is that someone took up most of the lunchtime conversation, and the element in
focus is Susy.
Within the pragmatic presupposition there may be a topic expression, which is construed as the referent about which the proposition expresses some information. Unlike
many accounts of topic, that given by Lambrecht, and adopted in RRG, does not assume
that it is identical with what is given or presupposed in the utterance. Indeed, strictly
speaking, the topic is not the referent itself, but rather its status as a centre of interest,
expected to fulfil some role in the proposition (Lambrecht 1994: 151, cited in Van Valin
& LaPolla 1997: 203204), though terms such as topic expression are still used as a kind
of shorthand. There is nevertheless a correlation between the cognitive status of a referent and its acceptability as a topic, as we saw when referring to Lambrechts scale of topic
acceptability in 2.2.2.1.1. This can be combined with the correlations between cognitive
status and formal expression, to give the picture in Figure 2.3, which is very similar to
schemes presented elsewhere in the literature.
increasingly marked as focus
Zero
anaphora
Clitic or bound
pronoun
Unstressed
pronoun
Stressed
pronoun
Definite NP
Indefinite NP
increasingly marked as topic
Figure 2.3. Topic and focus in relation to coding, adapted from Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 205,
Figure 5.2
Chapter 2
We have seen with regard to focus that the new information involved is not a referent as
such, but rather a relationship which obtains at the level of the proposition as a whole
(e.g. the relationship of identity between Susy and the one who took up most of the
lunchtime conversation, in (77), Susy being the focus of this new information). The constituent within which the focus appears is, as we saw in 4.9 of Part 1, the focus domain,
and must be phrasal rather than lexical, since it must express an entity or a state of affairs.
.. Types of focus
I pass now to the taxonomy of focus proposed by Lambrecht and summarised by Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997: 206210). This taxonomy can be expressed in diagrammatic terms as in
Figure 2.4.
focus
narrow focus
broad focus
predicate focus
sentence focus
Figure 2.4. Focus types according to Lambrecht (1994)
In narrow focus, only one constituent is included in the focus domain, in broad focus,
more than one. Predicate focus is what is often called the topic-comment construction,
and is the unmarked type, while sentence focus represents the case where the whole
sentence is in focus.
Below are examples of predicate focus from English and Spanish.
(78) A. what was the climate like there at Christmas
B. ((oh)) it was [f@n] fantastic it was gloriously sunny (LLC 2 1a 13341336)
(79) A. Qu le
pas
a uste[d], don Juan?
what to-you happen-simple.past.3sg to you
Don Juan
What happened to you, Don Juan?
B. Bueno, pues eh . . . mire,
yo tuve
Well
er . . . look-imp.2sg.polite I have-simple.past.1sg
torcedura de tobillo muy fuerte.
sprain
of ankle very strong
Well, er . . . look, I had a very badly sprained ankle.
(Referencia CPUB002A.ASC)
In (78), the presupposition evoked by the question, and so relevant to the answer, is the
climate was (like) X, so establishing the expectation that the climate is a topic about which
comment can be made. The focused information (corresponding to X) in the first clause
of the answer is the predicate fantastic, and in the second clause gloriously sunny. In (79),
the presupposition set up by the question is something happened to you, establishing the
addressee himself as a topic about which comment is expected, and the focused information in the answer is tuve torcedura de tobillo muy fuerte. Note that in both examples, the
Subject35 is topic. Example (80), however, shows that this is not necessarily the case.
(80) Bueno, el Arte, yo en principio ya
dije
que Arte
well
the Art I in principle already say-simple.past.1sg that Art
no coga, . . .
neg take-imperf.1sg
Well, Art, in principle, I already said I wouldnt take it.
Here, we have a left-dislocated element, in what RRG labels the left-detached position (see
4.6 of Part 1), as topic, and furthermore this is coreferent with a non-Subject NP in the
clause itself. Topics can also be marked by particles, for example in Japanese. Van Valin &
LaPolla (1997: 207) make it clear that all that is needed for topic status is for there to be a
relationship of aboutness.
In sentence focus, as the whole clause is in the focus domain, there is no topic,
and indeed no pragmatic presupposition (cf. the all new predications discussed earlier).
Examples from English and Spanish are given below.
(81) [@m] then there came [dhi: ] - at last the . Christmas recess (LLC 6 7 877878)
(82) . . . ha
llegado
un ingeniero . . . japons para ayudarles . . .
have-pres.3sg arrive-past.part an engineer
Japanese for help-them
. . . a Japanese . . . engineer has arrived to help them . . .
(Referencia ECON0066.ASC)
The above examples demonstrate the use of sentence focus in clauses which present a new
situation, referent or both, and illustrate the different coding of sentence focus as opposed
to predicate focus: in the English example we have a presentative there construction, and in
the Spanish one we see VS constituent order (cf. the SV order in Bs utterance in (79)). Van
Valin & LaPolla (1997: 208) point out that such devices mark the Subject (or, in the case
of (81), what would be the Subject in the form the Christmas recess came) as a non-topic.
This is also true of the type of construction in English shown in (83).
(83) and the doctor called and said that under no circumstances were you to get out of
bed for at least two weeks (LLC 6 4a 306309)
Here, the doctor is clearly non-topical, as can be seen by comparing it with the parallel expression in which the intonational nucleus falls on called rather than on doctor: the doctor
called has the doctor as topic.
. Although, as we saw in 4.12 of Part 1, RRG does not use the traditional category of Subject, Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997) still use the term in much of their discussion (though often in scare quotes), and I shall
follow this practice, though without the quotes, where no confusion is likely to result.
Chapter 2
Finally, narrow focus is illustrated by examples (84)(86), again from English and
Spanish.
(84) A. came with faculty of arts stuff perhaps
B. no it came on its own (LLC 1 4 11351137)
(85) it was Johnny that stole her money (LLC 2 13 1190)
(86) . . . pero siempre son
ellas
las que estn
en la
but always be-pres.3pl they (fem) who be-pres.3pl in the
cocina . . . (Referencia AHUM033A.ASC)
kitchen
. . . but its always they who are in the kitchen . . .
In (84), Bs utterance corrects As suggestion that whatever is the topic came with the Faculty of Arts stuff, by using narrow focus to pick out on its own: the focus domain is a single
clause constituent. The presupposition is it came X, where X stands for some comitative
relation, and Bs assertion is that X = on its own. In (85) a cleft construction is used to give
narrow focus on Johnny, and in (86) we have a similar cleft structure in Spanish, focusing
ellas.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 209) also use Lambrechts (1994) distinction between
marked and unmarked kinds of narrow focus. For English, the unmarked position for
focus is the final position in the core (not necessarily the final position in the clause); any
other position is marked. Consider (87):
(87) I gave it to Christopher this morning . . . (BNC KBW 19507)
Since the core ends with to Christopher, the phrase this morning being in the periphery,
the unmarked narrow focus position, according to Lambrechts scheme, is illustrated by
(88), and (89)(92) show marked narrow focus. Note that clauses such as (88) are seen as
ambiguous as between a narrow focus interpretation and a predicate focus interpretation
in which gave it to Christopher is the focus domain.
(88) I gave it to Christopher this morning.
Where there is a wh-element in the pre-core slot, we have an example of unmarked narrow focus (see what in example (93)), while if some other focused element is there, we
have marked narrow focus (as in the reading of (94) in which only this one is focal in the
first clause).
(93) What did they want for a wedding present? (BNC FPM 2129)
(94) No this one I left at home but the other one the yellow one hes got that one.
(BNC KP3 265)
On the other hand, some non-wh elements in the pre-core slot are non-focal, as in (95),
where the focal stress is on the verb, not on this.
(95) . . . this I I really like (LLC 1 8 924)
.. The coding of focus

Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 210214) discuss the coding of focus structure, claiming that
all languages make some use of intonation in this respect, some also using morphosyntactic devices. English, as we have seen, can mark focus purely intonationally, but also with
marked constituent orders such as clefts, while Japanese uses postpositional topic and
focus markers. In some languages (Van Valin & LaPolla mention French, Italian, Mandarin Chinese and the Sotho language Sesotho), there are constraints, either partial or
absolute, on the preverbal placing of focus, so that it is impossible to focalise preverbal
information simply by giving it prosodic prominence. Instead, syntactic devices are used
to distinguish particular kinds of focus structure: for instance, in Italian, the Subject of
an intransitive verb, if focal, must appear postverbally, whereas overt topical Subjects are
preverbal. We saw in 4.9 of Part 1 that for each language there is a potential focus domain within which the actual focus domain in a particular construction must fall, and
that these are distinguished within the focus structure projection for a clause (see Figure
4.11 in that chapter).
We now see that although the potential focus domain in English is the whole clause,
in languages such as those just mentioned it is the verb plus postverbal elements. Within
this type of language Van Valin & LaPolla make a further distinction between those, like
Italian, which allow focus-bearing interrogative pronouns to appear in the pre-core slot,
and those, like Sesotho, which do not. For the former type of language the restriction on
preverbal placement of focus applies only to the core, while for the latter type it applies to
the whole clause.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 213214, 418421) also comment on the trade-off, in typological terms, between focus placement and word order flexibility. English, for example,
has very flexible focus placement but fairly rigid word order; Russian, on the other hand, is
much more flexible with regard to grammatical constraints on word order, but quite rigid
with respect to the effects of focus structure, strongly preferring topic-focus ordering in
statements.36
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 218) also make the interesting claim that the category VP,
to the extent that it can be demonstrated across languages, arises from the interaction of
focus and constituent projections. They note that predicate focus structures, which are
claimed to be universal, have as the actual focus domain that part of the clause which
. For a categorisation of languages into four main types in terms of the flexibility or rigidity of their focus
structures and of their syntax, see Van Valin (1999).
Chapter 2
would be labelled as VP in some theories, and also that narrow focus constructions in
which the focused element is the Subject also divide the clause into NP + VP.
.. Focus and the scope of negation and quantification

Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 219) note the long-standing observation that only the asserted
part of an utterance, and not the presupposed part, can be negated. In the light of the
relationship between presupposition and focus structure outlined in 2.3.2, Van Valin &
LaPolla therefore predict that the scope of negation will be expressible by the same means
as those available for the expression of focus structure. They demonstrate that in Italian and Mandarin Chinese, which, as we have seen, have restrictions on preverbal focal
material, both focal and negated Subject constituents are postverbal.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 219223) also show that focus interacts with the scope of
quantification, according to the principle that topical quantified NPs have scope over focal
quantified NPs. This principle interacts with other hierarchies discussed on the literature
on quantification, in determining quantifier scope.
.. Focus and pronominalisation

Focus is also involved in the specification of constraints on intrasentential pronominalisation, according to the following principle:
(96) (= Van Valin & LaPollas 5.29, 1997: 227)
Coreference is possible between a lexical NP and a pronoun within the same
sentence if and only if
a. the lexical NP is outside of the actual focus domain, and
b. if the pronoun is in a syntactic argument position and precedes the lexical
NP, there is a clause boundary between the pronoun and the lexical NP.
Part (b) of this principle takes us beyond the study of the simplex clause, but we may
illustrate the operation of part (a) as in (97) and (98).
(97) Lisai still saw herself i as a smoker who was struggling to give up. (BNC CA5 967)
(98) Lisai still saw herj,*i as a smoker who was struggling to give up.
(99) Harriet i s heart oppressed heri,j . . . (BNC CBS 887)
Assuming that the clause has predicate focus, the lexical NP Lisa and the pronoun herself in (97) are both within the domain of obligatory reflexivisation: the approximation
to the appropriate rule given by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 224) is that if the potential
antecedent and the anaphor are coreferential, and both are core arguments in the same
core, then reflexivisation must take place. Therefore (97) is grammatical, (98) ungrammatical with coreference, grammatical without it. In (99), however, the lexical NP Harriet
is not itself a core argument (the core arguments are Harriets heart and her), so reflexivisation is not required, and since if the clause has predicate focus Harriet is outside the
actual focus domain, being part of the topical Subject, coreference between this NP and
the pronoun her is possible. It is not, of course, obligatory, as indicated by the indexing
i,j on the pronoun, which could equally refer to some other female person, though this
is pragmatically less likely. Van Valin & LaPolla also discuss some more complex cases of
pronominalisation and instances of intersentential pronominalisation, which I shall not
go into here.
.. Focus structure and linking

The linking between semantic and syntactic structures, in both directions, was illustrated
briefly in 4.13 of Part 1. We shall now see that linking is influenced in important ways
by information structure. In what follows I shall summarise the discussion in Van Valin &
LaPolla (1997: 421428).
First let us consider linking from semantics to syntax. The first step, the reader may
remember, is to determine which semantic role will be linked to Actor and which (if appropriate) to Undergoer. In the case of ditransitive verbs in English, the choice of Undergoer
will affect the order of postnuclear core arguments. Consider (100) below:
(100) A. well I went ( . coughs) for example I went to the library last week .
B. yes
A. ( - laughs) [@: ] for a book . which had . disappeared completely . so I . gave
gave the . title to the librarian she put it in the lost book (LLC 3 3 338344)
Compare the clause so I gave the title to the librarian in As second utterance with the
variation in (101):
(101) so I gave the librarian the title
Both title and librarian can be taken to be activated by elements of the previous discourse,
the former by book and the latter by library, and so could be considered as given information. In the original version in (100), the speaker chooses the title as Undergoer, in
immediately postverbal position, and the librarian as the element in the core-final position which is the unmarked position for focus, on the grounds that it was her handing of
the title to the librarian which was the salient piece of information, leading on to what the
librarian then did with the information provided. In (101), on the other hand, the order
of postverbal constituents is reversed, so that the title becomes focal, and this makes (101)
somewhat less appropriate than the original.
The second stage in semantics-syntax linking is to assign specific morphosyntactic
status to non-wh arguments in logical structure. This involves the concept of Privileged
Syntactic Argument (PSA), introduced in 4.12 of Part 1. This, it may be remembered, is a
cover term for the syntactic controller of a core-internal grammatical phenomenon (such
as verb agreement) and the syntactic pivot of a complex construction (e.g. the argument
omitted in the dependent part of English constructions of the type Mary wants to marry a
Norwegian). A PSA is recognised for a construction when there is restricted neutralisation
Chapter 2
of two or more semantic roles for syntactic purposes. Where there is restriction, but no
neutralisation, as for example in Acehnese, we have semantic pivots for constructions. We
now need to make a further distinction within syntactic controllers and pivots, according
to whether they are variable or invariable. If there is never any choice with regard to which
semantic argument acts as syntactic controller or pivot, then we have an invariable PSA; if
there is such as choice, we have a variable PSA (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 281). If there is
a variable syntactic pivot for which it is impossible to predict, from semantic roles alone,
which argument will act as the pivot of a transitive verb, then we have what RRG calls a
pragmatic pivot, since the choice is then sensitive to discourse-pragmatic considerations.
For instance, in English, the prototypical Subject is a pragmatic pivot (1997: 291), in that
the choice of which semantic role is mapped on to Subject during semantics to syntax
linking is influenced by information structure. I shall return to this in our discussion of
voice in 2.3.8.
The third step in the linking of semantics to syntax is concerned with wh-phrases,
which have language-specific placements: in some languages (e.g. Lakhota), they are assigned to the normal pattern position for the corresponding non-wh phrases; in others
(e.g. English, Icelandic, Spanish), they go in the pre-core slot; and in yet others (e.g. Hungarian, Turkish), they are assigned to a position within the potential focus domain, the
default being the unmarked focus position for that language.
The fourth step in linkage is to assign non-wh phrases to either the pre-core or the
post-core slot. This step is again subject to language-specific constraints involving focus
structure: for instance, in English, the pre-core slot can contain focal or non-focal material, as shown by examples (93)(95), discussed earlier; while in Japanese, which has a
post-core slot, this is never the primary focal element in the clause (1997: 334).
Step 5 in the linking algorithm is concerned with the assignment of appropriate case
markers or adpositions to core arguments, and the correct agreement marking to the
nuclear predicate. Again this step is language-specific, and again information structure
plays a part. For instance, in Turkish, only Undergoers with specific referents are assigned
the accusative case; indefinite Undergoers representing newly introduced referents do not
receive this case marking (1997: 419).
Finally, Step 6 deals with the positioning of any semantic arguments relating to logical
structures other than that of the main verb. The default is to assign them to the periphery,
but if they are focal, they may, in a language-dependent manner, be assigned to the precore slot or a special focus position; if they are highly topical, they may be assigned to the
left-detached position (1997: 428).
Turning now to the opposite direction of linking, from syntax to semantics, Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997: 428) observe that the main function of information structure here is to
aid in the determination of referents for anaphoric expressions since, as we saw earlier,
possibilities for coreference are conditioned by focus structure.
.. Voice in RRG
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 294302) demonstrate that there are two distinguishable features of voice constructions, which may appear together or separately, according to the
language concerned. The first feature, which Van Valin & LaPolla call PSA modulation,
is concerned with the choice of which macrorole is selected as the PSA for a construction. As we saw in 4.12 of Part 1, the default is for the highest-ranking macrorole, in
terms of the PSA hierarchy, to act as PSA in a syntactically accusative construction, but the
lowest-ranking macrorole in a syntactically ergative construction. If a non-default argument is chosen as PSA, we get a passive or antipassive construction. Consider the following
examples from English.
(102) Edwina Currie rightly criticised Mr Major for stomping around in a Barbour jacket.
(BNC AHN 2101)
(103) Civil servants who leak information are criticised by politicians for a breach of trust.
(BNC GVN 633)
In (102), the Actor Edwina Currie, which is the highest-ranking macrorole, has been chosen as PSA (traditionally, Subject), thus instantiating the default. In (103), however, the
Undergoer civil servants who leak information has been selected as PSA, giving a passive
construction.
The second feature of voice constructions, argument modulation, is concerned with
whether the argument which would be chosen as PSA by default (i.e. in the active voice)
appears at all in the passive, and if it does, then whether it takes its normal form or appears
as an oblique form. In (103), for example, the Actor, which would have been the PSA in
the active voice, is in the periphery, introduced by the preposition by. In (104), the Actor
is omitted altogether:
(104) But these experiments have been criticised on two counts. (BNC B7B 352)
In languages with ergative constructions, such as Dyirbal, the same two facets of voice
can be discerned, though it is now the Actor which uncharacteristically appears as PSA
through PSA modulation, and the Undergoer which appears in a different case from that
it would have in the active, through argument modulation.
As noted above, the two features of voice can occur independently. In Dutch, for example, as in certain other languages such as German and Icelandic, there is an impersonal
passive which can be formed from intransitive verbs, as in (105):
(105) Er
wordt
in dit bedrijf
hard gewerkt . . . (DUT02D02.ECI)
there become-pres.3sg in this company hard work-past.part
There is hard work done in this company.
In such a case, since the verb is intransitive, there is no question of a choice for PSA, so we
have only argument modulation.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 295302) cite work on various languages which show just
one of the two voice features in constructions with transitive verbs. In the Nilo-Saharan
Chapter 2
language Lango, there are passive constructions which involve PSA modulation, but in
which the Actor remains a direct core argument. In the Uto-Aztecan language Ute, on
the other hand, only the Actor acts as PSA, but in the passive the Actor is not expressed
and no other argument takes over as PSA. In Inguish, a Caucasian language, there is an
antipassive in which the Actor is made the PSA, but with no modulation of the Undergoer.
Some languages have multiple structures for antipassives: for instance, Jakaltek has a form
for PSA modulation and two for argument modulation.
The non-default assignments of semantic roles to Actor or Undergoer involved in
passive and antipassive constructions obviously require alternative steps in the linking
algorithm. These are illustrated for Icelandic and Sama in Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 328
329).
.. Problems and extensions

Gmez-Gonzlez (1996a) voices a number of criticisms with respect to Lambrechts account. Here, we can do no more than mention those which are of particular relevance to
the RRG account of information structure presented by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997). These
are concerned mainly with the concept of topic. Gmez-Gonzlez (1996a: 279) recognises
that Lambrecht has separated out various dimensions relevant to topic: a distinction between discourse-level and clause/sentence level topics; differentiation between topical referents and their expressions in the clause; the lack of one-to-one correlation between cognitive states and the relations entered into by referents as elements of the proposition;
and the separating of several notions (presupposition/assertion, identifiability/activation,
topic/focus) which are often conflated. Nevertheless, she holds that these separating intentions are neutralised by the identification of topic expressions with only those constituents with identifiable referential entities. Since identifiability and presence in the presupposition of a clause are established from the discourse context, the at first seemingly
clear distinction between clausal and discourse topics becomes blurred. Furthermore,
Gmez-Gonzlez considers the restriction of topic to referring expressions undesirable,
in that it bans from topical status that component of a persons pragmatic information
which is concerned with general knowledge structures pertaining to types of entities and
events. She is also critical (1996a: 282) of the lack of any specification of the conditions
under which the pre-core slot, left-detached and right-detached positions are filled by a
pragmatic element, or how certain of the topic types which Lambrecht discusses are to be
analysed or distinguished in languages which lack these positions, or in cases where an element without special pragmatic function is placed in one of them. What is needed here, as
Gmez-Gonzlez (1996a: 254) implies, is the development of a wider theory of discourse
structure within which the theory of information structure can be integrated. Although
Van Valin (1993b: 151) points to such a development as one of the major directions for
future work in RRG, there has as yet been little progress in this area.
Recent work on Korean has added to the RRG account of relationships among the
levels of syntax, semantics and pragmatics in the area of information structure. As pointed
out by Han (1999: 62), attempts to determine Subject and Object status in Korean on the
basis of case assignment are problematic, because a number of constituents in the clause
can receive the same case. In an attempt to answer the question of what licenses these
case assignments, Park (1995) suggests that case is sensitive to both semantics (macrorole
assignment, etc.) and pragmatic factors. Han (1999) builds on this suggestion, defining
pragmatic case specifically in terms of the effects of topic and focus. He proposes a twolevel analysis of case in which the semantic representation of a sentence is first processed
by the semantic case-assigning rules, operating through the Actor-Undergoer hierarchy,
and introducing case markers such as -ka/-i (for nominative), -lul/-ul (accusative), -uy
(genitive) and eykey (dative). After this, the pragmatic case-assigning rules can assign one
of the markers NUN (for topic), KA and LUL (for focus), the latter operating through a
proposed Focus Accessibility Hierarchy and the discourse context. Note that the surface
markers -ka and -lul are bifunctional, since they can reflect either semantic case or the
pragmatic markers KA and LUL, concerned with particular types of focus construction.
If either marker has already been assigned via the semantic case rules, then it cannot be
reassigned by the pragmatic case rules. The latter are as shown below.
(106) (= Hans (12), 1999: 7273)
a. Determine the focus structure type of the sentence, based on what is activated
(topic) and what is inactivated (focus) in the context.
b. Depending on the focus structure types assign the appropriate topic and/or
focus markers using the following steps in this order.
(1) If it is a predicate focus structure (PFS)
i. The topic NP marked by NUN appears in the LDP (topicalization).
ii. To NPs in the AFD (actual focus domain), assign KA if it is in a state
verb sentence but LUL if it is in a non-state verb sentence. If -ka and
-lul are assigned in the semantic case layer, then, skip the assignment
of KA and LUL (stacking prohibited).
(2) If it is a sentence focus structure (SFS)
i. apply (12b.1.ii)
(3) If it is a narrow focus structure (NFS)
i. apply (12b.1.ii) and assign the focal accent to the NP.
The effect of focus structure, then, can be to shift the surface case of a constituent. The
Focus Accessibility Hierarchy (Han 1999: 78) for the clause is a two-dimensional structure,
in which the further right and the further down an element is, the more focal (and the less
topical) it is. A further such hierarchy is proposed for the NP. The relative values of focality
assigned by means of the hierarchy can be overridden by other factors in the context: for
instance, although the speaker is one of lowest-ranking elements in terms of focality, and
one of the highest in terms of topicality, a referent with lower topicality can be picked
out for placement in the left-detached position, thus being promoted to topic status over
the speaker.
Han also applies the two case layer hypothesis, including the case shifting proposal, to
the Korean genitive construction, the HA (do) construction, the postverbal negation light
Chapter 2
verb construction, quantifier floating and various other phenomena occurring in simple
sentences.
Work on information structure in RRG has also been done on Japanese (Shimojo
1995), Polish (Eschenberg 1999), Russian (Rodionova 2001) and Acadian French (Pavey
2001).
Information structure in Systemic Functional Grammar
.. Information structure in the Sydney grammar

... A separating approach to information structure
The concepts of Theme and Rheme, so important in the SFG account, derive from the
Prague School, and Halliday fully acknowledges his debt to this work. The conception of
Theme introduced by Mathesius is as follows:
. . . that which is known or at least obvious in the given situation and from which the
speaker proceeds. (translated in Firbas 1964: 268)
Thus, as pointed out by Fries (1981/1983: 11611737), this Prague School view38 of Theme
combines the concepts of starting point and given information. Hallidays approach, on
the other hand, separates out the two aspects: the concept of that from which the speaker
proceeds is covered by the SFG concept of Theme, while that which is known or at least
obvious in the given situation corresponds to the assignment of given, as opposed to
new, information status, which in English is signalled by the intonational structure.39 I
shall deal first with the Theme/Rheme structure of the clause, and then with given/new
information.
... Theme and Rheme

.... Definition of Theme. Halliday (1994a: 37) assumes that every language has some
kind of organising principle which confers on the clause the status of a communicative
event. This is what he labels the thematic structure of the clause. The basic idea behind
Hallidays account of thematic structure is the following:
In English, as in many other languages, the clause is organized as a message by having
a special status assigned to one part of it. One element in the clause is enunciated
. The page reference is to the 1983 reprinted version.
. Gmez-Gonzlez, in her detailed review of Prague School approaches to information structuring
(1996a: 67113), notes that some later work within this movement did begin to separate Theme from given
information.
. It should be noted that Halliday uses the term information structure to refer only to the assignment of
given or new status. I shall continue to use the term in the broader sense, to include meanings realised by
either syntactic or prosodic means.
as the theme; this then combines with the remainder so that the two parts together
constitute a message. (1994a: 37)
The remainder of which Halliday writes is the Rheme.

Halliday offers several formulations of a functional characterisation of the Theme:
. . . the Theme is the point of departure for the message. It is the element the speaker
selects for grounding what he is going on to say. (1994a: 34)
The Theme is the element which serves as the point of departure of the message; it is
that with which the clause is concerned. (1994a: 37)
. . . the Theme is the starting-point for the message; it is the ground from which the
clause is taking off. (1994a: 38)
The English clause consists of a theme and a rheme. The theme [. . . ] is as it were the
peg on which the message is hung, . . . (Halliday 1970: 161)
The Theme can be realised in different ways in different languages: in English, it is indicated by being put in first position in the clause; in Japanese, on the other hand, it is
claimed to be marked by the postposition wa (1994a: 37). It is important to note, then,
that Theme is defined functionally (as starting point for the message, ground from which
the message proceeds, what the message is about, peg on which the message is hung),
not positionally.
.... Marked and unmarked Theme in relation to mood. To illustrate the concept of
a simple Theme in a declarative clause, consider (107) and (108), in each of which the
Theme is given in bold print.
(107) The Institute collects the money on the first banking day in January each year.
(BNC CBU 4835)
(108) Before this most people never saw the Royal Family. (BNC CBC 10116)
According to the Hallidayan account, the starting point chosen by the speaker in order to
ground his/her utterance is the Institute in (107), and before this in (108).
It is important to note that examples such as (109) and (110) below are regarded by
Halliday (1994a: 39) as explicit announcements of the Theme.
(109) As for him, his heart was still set on finding the sea-kings palace, . . . (BNC FUB 43)
(110) With regard to these countries, the study finds that it is important that they do not
attempt to keep their existing inter-industry specialisation . . . (BNC HXK 349)
Such Themes are, for Halliday, within the structure of the clause itself, rather than assigned
to some extraclausal position.
Halliday (1994a: 39) also notes that Themes often have a tone group to themselves,
and that if the clause does indeed correspond to two tone groups, the boundary is extremely likely to occur between Theme and Rheme.
Chapter 2
Halliday distinguishes between unmarked and marked Themes, pointing out that
what constitutes the unmarked structure varies with the mood of the clause (1994a: 42
48). In the declarative clause, the Subject is the unmarked thematic element, as in (107)
above. If any other clause element is in first position, this constituent bears marked Theme:
(108) above has marked Adjunct Theme, while (111) has Complement Theme.
(111) This one I swapped with Christopher. (BNC KCT 7427)
Note that for English, Complement Theme is much more marked than Adjunct Theme.
Compare the following thematic variants of the clause in (107):
(112) On the first banking day in January each year the Institute collects the money.
(113) The money the Institute collects on the first banking day in January each year.
The second of these would normally be used only when a contrast is being made between
the money and something else which the Institute collects at some other time. The most
marked Theme of all for a declarative clause is the Predicator, as in (114).
(114) He had dropped me a note the day he left advising me to sell, so sell I did, . . .
(BNC K8T 1610)
In wh-exclamative clauses, the unmarked Theme is the wh-element, as in (115).
(115) What a little beauty he is. (BNC ASD 1667)
In yes/no questions, it is natural that the element expressing polarity, that is the finite verb,
should be in first position, and Halliday (1994a: 45) glosses the meaning of the Theme
here as I want you to tell me whether or not. However, according to Hallidays analysis, this does not exhaust the Theme in such cases, since he also includes the Subject, as
in (116). The rationale for this is that the Theme extends up to and includes the first
ideational element in the clause. The argumentation behind this claim is that until we
meet an ideational element in the clause, this still lacks an anchorage in the realm of
experience (1994a: 53). Since the Finite element is part of the interpersonal mood structure, the Theme in (116) must include you, in its ideational role as a participant in the
transitivity structure. I shall return to the topic of such multiple Themes later.
(116) Do you want to take some cones to nursery? (BNC KDE 2836)
On the other hand, in a wh-question, it is the element standing in for the missing bit
of information, that is the wh-consituent itself, which is the unmarked Theme, with the
meaning I want you to tell me the person, thing, time, manner, etc. (1994a: 46):
(117) Why are you here? (BNC HGK 4493)
Marked variants of both kinds of interrogative are possible, though rare. Examples are
given in (118) and (119).
(118) On MOTD, did they show the banner unfurled at that point which said LEEDS
HAVE WON AWAY? (BNC J1F 886)
(119) In women, what is he looking for, mother, daughter, sister, wife? (BNC FYV 2622)
In positive imperatives, the unmarked Theme is the Predicator (see (120)), although if an
expression relating to the addressee is present, this can be Theme (121).
(120) Choose varieties which will succeed in your area, . . . (BNC EER 1283)
(121) You go and have your lunch now, and your rest. (BNC AN8 1002)
There is also a marked positive variant in which do plus the Predicator is the Theme. In
negative imperatives, dont plus Predicator is unmarked Theme (122), unless an expression
relating to the addressee is present (123).
(122) Dont let the banners fall! (BNC HH5 3001)
(123) Dont you let her know what youre up to, mind. (BNC A0D 588)
In first person imperatives, the unmarked Theme is (dont) lets.
(124) Lets have a look. (BNC CKF 2666)
Halliday (1994a: 4852) also discusses sets of items which are either obligatorily or typically thematic. Among the obligatorily thematic type are conjunctions and relative pronouns/adverbs. Examples are given in (125) and (126).
(125) But water is a creator of land as well. (BNC AMS 475)
(126) It may of course be a partner who is the one who needs caring for. (BNC B3G 1029)
In (125), the conjunction but, as well as the first constituent with ideational function, water, form part of the Theme. In (126), the relative clauses who is the one (who needs caring
for) and who needs caring for are introduced by an obligatorily thematic relative pronoun.
The elements which are typically, but not obligatorily thematic are the conjunctive
and modal Adjuncts. Conjunctive Adjuncts relate the clause to the text which has gone
before. Halliday (1994a: 49, 324) classifies conjunctive elements into elaborating, extending and enhancing types,40 each with a range of subtypes, of which just two are illustrated
below.41
(127) Anyway, it all worked out. (BNC CK6 643) [elaboration, clarification, dismissive]
(128) Therefore I am now looking for a larger tank. (BNC C97 856) [enhancement,
causal, general]
. See 7.2.3.2.1.7 of Part 1 for a gloss on these terms.
. Hallidays view of meanings in the area of conjunction (i.e. those realised by conjunctive Adjuncts and
a small set of conjunctions) emphasises their role in the achievement of textual cohesion. This area will
therefore be given more detailed treatment in Chapter 4.
Chapter 2
Modal Adjuncts were dealt with briefly in 1.4.1.1 in relation to their role as elements of
mood structure. Halliday (1994a: 49) again recognises various subtypes, of which three are
illustrated in (129)(131).
(129) Perhaps we can go fishing now. (BNC GUF 1383)
(130) Apparently the severe winter of 1947 was responsible for their destruction.
(BNC ANC 1129)
(131) Wisely, Margaret Thatcher decided to withdraw. (BNC ABU 361)
In (129), perhaps is a probability Adjunct, in (130) we have the presumption Adjunct
apparently, and in (131) the evaluation Adjunct wisely. Since these are part of the interpersonal structure of the clause, the Theme must include the first ideational element too,
as shown by the bold print in the examples.
Halliday (1994a: 4950) points out that both modal and conjunctive Adjuncts are naturally candidates for thematic status, in that it is natural for speakers to present their own
angle as a point of departure, and similarly if there is an element which indicates the relationship of the clause to what has preceded it, then again it makes sense for this to be
in initial position. This is, however, still for the speaker to decide: s/he may choose to put
these Adjuncts later in the clause, in the Rheme part of the thematic structure. Reorderings
of (127)(131) are shown in (132)(136), with restriction of the Theme to the ideational
element. In some cases, further alternative placements are also possible.
(132) It all worked out, anyway.
(133) I am therefore now looking for a larger tank.
(134) We can perhaps go fishing now.
(135) The severe winter of 1947 was apparently responsible for their destruction.
(136) Margaret Thatcher wisely decided to withdraw.
Some corpus examples are given in (137)(139).
(137) So much is, perhaps, obvious. (BNC BML 971)
(138) Most of the Celtic Churchs sacred texts apparently continued in use for a time,
. . . (BNC EDY 2102)
(139) Joyce wisely decided to take her three smallest charges around the block to get away
from the trauma, . . . (BNC H7E 18)
.... More on multiple Themes. Let us now look in rather more detail at the concept
of multiple Theme, examples of which we have already seen. Halliday (1994a: 52) observes
that in the case of items which are obligatorily or at least normally thematic, the fact that
these elements are built into the thematic structure of the clause means that their thematic
status is weakened. This is particularly clear for the obligatorily thematic items: since the
speaker has no choice of where to put the conjunction or relative pronoun, that choice
is, as it were, displaced to another item. It is thus possible to choose a marked ideational
theme after an obligatorily or normally thematic element (1994a: 51), as shown in the
following reorderings of (128) and (129):
(140) Therefore now I am looking for a larger tank.
(141) Perhaps now we can go fishing.
Corpus examples are given in (142) and (143).
(142) Consequently, at the age of nine he was a pale thin child and short for his age.
(BNC FRK 42)
(143) Perhaps now we should all go down and join the others. (BNC FA5 2401)
The Theme thus always contains one (and indeed only one) ideational element (i.e. participant, circumstance or process), which constitutes the final element in the Theme.
Halliday (1994a: 52) relates this element to the concept of topic used in topic-comment
types of analysis, and therefore calls it topical Theme.
As we have seen, a number of different kinds of element can precede the topical Theme
within the Theme as a whole. I have already commented on the fact that certain of these
(Finite verbal operators in yes/no questions, modal Adjuncts) belong to the mood structure of the clause, within the interpersonal component of the grammar. Vocatives, which
can also occur in the Theme, are also clearly part of the interpersonal component. In
wh-interrogatives, the wh-element acts simultaneously as a mood indicator and a participant in the ideational transitivity structure: for instance, in example (117), why is a
circumstantial element in the transitivity structure as well as indicating a wh-interrogative
(1994a: 54), and is thus both interpersonal and topical Theme.
The other types of element which can precede the topical Theme derive from the
textual component of the grammar. Halliday (1994a: 53) divides these into three types:
those items which show that the speaker is beginning a new move (e.g. yes, no, well) are
labelled continuatives; the elements which are obligatorily thematic (conjunctions and
relative words) are termed structural Themes; and the third type is the conjunctive Adjuncts discussed earlier. The individual elements of a textual Theme must occur in the
order continuative > structural > conjunctive.
The typical ordering of non-ideational Themes is textual > interpersonal, both, of
course, coming before the ideational (topical) Theme. Examples are given below.
(144)
Yeah
continuative
well
continuative
textual
(145)
Well
continuative
but
structural
textual
presumably
modal
we re reversing this position.

topical
(BNC JP3 233)
interpersonal
ideational
they
topical
ideational
are really equal ... (BNC HUJ 496)
Chapter 2
.... Hallidays account of cleft and pseudocleft constructions: Thematic equatives and
predicated Themes. I turn now to Hallidays treatment of what in other approaches would
usually be called cleft and pseudocleft structures. As pseudoclefts have the simpler analysis,
I shall deal with them first. Halliday (1994a: 4043) calls these thematic equatives,42 on
the grounds that they set up a relationship of identity between the Theme and Rheme,43
as shown in example (52), repeated as (146) below.
(146)
What he did
was
to copy the practices that he observed within his school.
Theme
Rheme
(BNC EV4 1075)

Thus the Theme is now not itself a nominal group but a clause which is acting like a nominal group, i.e. a nominalisation. Halliday observes that (like other identifying structures
see 8.3.1.2.2.3 of Part 1) such structures can be reversed, as in (147), which is clearly
marked with respect to the ordering in (146).44
(147)
Copy the practices that he observed within his school
was
Theme
what he did.
Rheme
The function of a thematic equative is to enable the speaker to structure the information thematically in any way s/he chooses. Compare (146) and (147) above with the
non-pseudocleft version in (148).
(148) He copied the practices that he observed within his school.
The effect of the thematic equative is to pick out the copying of practices within his school
as being the action performed. The speaker could have chosen to pick out other parts of
the message by the same mechanism:
(149) What he copied was the practices that he observed in his school.
(150) The person/one who copied the practices that he observed in his school was him.
Furthermore, as well as equating the Theme with the Rheme, the element picked out is
given a meaning of exclusiveness: in (149), for example, it was specifically the practices
that he observed in his school that were copied: this, and only this, is the new information
which is being offered.
Cleft constructions are also relabelled in Hallidays analysis, this time as predicated
Themes (1994a: 5861). These are again a mechanism for picking out a particular element of the message as the new information. Halliday provides a dual analysis for such
structures, as exemplified in (151).
. Halliday (1994a: 301) also refers to pseudocleft constructions as Theme identification.
. Strictly speaking, the Rheme minus the verb be.
. The reversed version seems more acceptable without the explicit infinitive marker to.
(151)
It
Theme
was Ben
Rheme
who
Theme
Theme
answered for her, ...

Rheme
(BNC CK9 1667)
Rheme
In the top analysis, each clause has its own Theme and Rheme, as usual. In the bottom
analysis, the first clause is shown as a predicated Theme. Halliday specifically links predicated Themes with intonationally realised information structure, pointing out that in the
spoken language a near equivalent of the meaning of predicated Theme can be achieved
by placing the tonic accent on the new information, as in (152).
(152) Ben answered for her, . . .
I shall come back to the issue of prosodically realised information structure in 2.4.1.3.
.... Thematic structure at other ranks. We saw in 7.2.3.5.1 and 7.5.1 of Part 1 that
Halliday draws parallels between Theme in the clause and the significance of first position
in the nominal and verbal groups, pointing out that just as the Theme is the point of departure for the message carried by a clause, so the Deictic element in a nominal group and
the Finite element in a verbal group are natural starting points for these groups because
they anchor the content to the here-and-now of the speaker. Halliday (1994a: 5458) also
recognises Theme-like structures in the clause complex and even in discourse structure,
where he equates the topic sentence of a paragraph with the Theme of that paragraph.
As far as the clause complex is concerned, Halliday is concerned with the fact that a main
and a subordinate clause can come in either order. An example is given below.45
(153)
I would wait a little

Theme
(154)
if I were you. (BNC AB9 981)

Rheme
If I were you
I would wait a little.
Theme
Rheme
... Given and new information

As we have seen, the assignment of given or new status to parts of the message is signalled
in spoken English by means of intonation. The unit of intonation in SFG is the tone group:
a tone group consists of one or more rhythmic units (feet), a foot of one or more syllables,
and a syllable of one or more phonemes (Halliday 1994a: 11ff.). We saw briefly in 1.4.1.1
that the tone group is said to be the realisation of a quantum or unit of information
in the discourse (1994a: 295). This information unit, realised by the tone group, does
not correspond exactly to any one unit on the grammatical rank scale: the relationship
between the two is referred to in early work as tonality (Halliday 1967a: 32). Halliday
. See Chapter 3 for further discussion.
Chapter 2
claims that other things being equal, one information unit will be coextensive with one
clause (1994a: 295): this, then, represents unmarked tonality. Other things, however, are
often not equal, and there are many instances in which a clause may correspond to two
or more information units, or in which a single information unit extends over more than
one clause, or even over one complete clause and just part of the next: for instance, a
clause with marked Theme will normally have two tone groups associated with it, one for
the thematic constituent, one for the rest of the clause. Halliday (1967a: 3340) details the
various possibilities and their meanings.
In the idealised case, the information unit in SFG consists of two functional elements,
Given and New (1994a: 296). A discourse-initiating unit, however, can be all-New. Furthermore, since given information refers to something in the discourse or external context, it may be ellipted. In practice, then, an information unit consists of a New element
accompanied optionally by a Given element.
The New element is marked by carrying the main pitch movement of the tone group:
it bears information focus, signalled by tonic prominence. Options in the placement of
the tonic syllable are referred to in Hallidays early work as tonicity (Halliday 1967a: 33).46
The foot in which the tonic syllable is found marks the end of the New element, and the
unmarked position for this New element is at the end of the information unit. Where the
tone group coincides with a clause, the end of the New element in an unmarked focus construction will fall on the last functional element of clause structure (Halliday 1994a: 296).
There is nothing in the intonational structure, however, to indicate where the New element begins: this must be determined from the context. Consider the following example.
First the coding of a stretch of conversation in the London-Lund Corpus is given, followed
by a translation of the last five tone groups into the notation used by Halliday to indicate
feet and tone groups.47
(155) ^there was a ![ra dh@ dh@] . ^{[?]\almost} R\ussian lecturer at C/ambridge#
((he)) ^wasnt {r\eally} :R\/ussian# . ^Toma!r\ovsky# - . but ^he had been .
o{r\iginally} :\educated in R/ussia# be^fore the _revo!l\ution# -^then he went
to G\/ermany# ^then to /Oxford# and ^then to !C\ambridge# - but he ^still had
:quite a good \accent# - - . and he ûsed to give !t\alks# . (LLC 1 6 953962)
. Halliday also uses tonicity as a heading in IFG (1994a: 295), but since the term is not explained in that
section, or used further in the discussion, it is difficult to know whether it is being used in exactly the same
way as in earlier accounts.
. In the LLC transcription, the additional symbols have the following meanings: # end of tone unit, \
falling intonation, / rising intonation, \/ falling-rising intonation, heavy stress. In Hallidays conventions,
the / symbol indicates the boundary of a foot (rhythmic unit), and // the boundary of a tone group. Note
that some feet may have silent stress at the beginning, indicated by ^ . Tone groups in Hallidays system
always consist of an integral number of feet, and it will be noted from (156) that unstressed syllables coming
after the tonic syllable are taken to belong to the same tone group (as with the tone group // Oxford and //).
The differences between Hallidays conventions and those used in the transcription of the LLC mean that
tone unit boundaries may not always coincide in the two versions.
(156) // then he / went to / Germany // then to / Oxford and // then to / Cambridge //

^ but he / still / had / quite a / good / accent // ^ and he / used to give / talks //
(Hallidays notation)
The first tone group corresponds to a single clause, and tonic prominence falls on the first
syllable of Germany, the complement of the last functional element of the clause structure,
the prepositional phrase to Germany, this being thereby marked as the end of the New
element of information structure. The Subject he is anaphoric, and so clearly Given, but
went is new, in view of the fact that the previous part of the discourse is concerned with
where the lecturer being discussed was born, rather than where he went. The New element
is thus went to Germany. In the second clause, the Subject and main verb have been ellipted
and the tonic prominence falls within the last functional constituent to Oxford, which
is the New information. Note that by last functional element Halliday means the last
content element: and, although it belongs to the same tone group as to Oxford, is not
a content element. The next tone group likewise has to Cambridge as the New element.
In the remaining two tone groups, which also coincide with clauses, tonic prominence
likewise falls on the last content element.
Now consider (157), of which the essential features of one tone group are re-presented
as (158):
(157) ând !they !know that they will _be - if ^they - [?] - actually ac!c\/ept the job#
^they will be !s\/igning {a ^c\/opy#}# - ôf . a !{c\/ontract} the :copy of !th\/is#
and a ^copy of the dr/\awings# (LLC 3 7 11361139)
(158) // ^ if / they / actually ac//cept the / job //
Here, we have a tone group in which the tonic prominence falls on an element (accept)
which is not the last content item. We thus have marked information distribution, and the
job is thereby signalled as being Given information.
Some elements, however, are inherently Given: anaphoric elements and deictic items
such as today, there, etc. Such items do not carry information focus in the unmarked
case and are an exception to the generalisation that in the unmarked form the tonic
prominence falls on the last (content) element. This is exemplified in (159)/(160).
(159) the ^{s\ituation in Ireland} :th\/en# . ^wasnt :t\erribly different# - [@:] in
re^spect ((to the)) situ_ation . with Scotland and Wales tod\ay#
(LLC 2 8a 196198)
(160) //^ the / situation in / Ireland // then // wasnt / terribly / different // ^ in re/spect to
the / situation with / Scotland and / Wales to/day //
The marked tonic prominence on the deictic items then and today, which are final in their
tone groups, signals that a contrast is being made between the situation at some former
time and at the time of speaking.
Halliday (1994a: 298) is careful to point out that the Given/New distinction is concerned with what is presented by the speaker as being recoverable or non-recoverable to
Chapter 2
the addressee: information presented as Given may have been mentioned in the discourse
itself, may be recoverable from the situation, or may not be available in either, but presented as old information for rhetorical reasons, when in fact the addressee is unaware of
it.48 Similarly, what is presented as New to the hearer may indeed be so, but may consist
of something which has indeed been mentioned already, but which is now noteworthy
in some way. Hallidays glosses on New (this is news) and on Given (this is not news)
succinctly summarise this view.
... The relationship between Given/New and Theme/Rheme

As was said earlier, Hallidays stance on the relationship between Given/New and
Theme/Rheme is a separating one: they are regarded as potentially separate, but interacting, distinctions (1994a: 299302). The unmarked case is for the Theme to be included
in the Given information, while the information focus, the central element in the New
information, is within the Rheme. This situation is illustrated in (161)/(162).
(161) ^he _went to !T\urkey# (LLC 1 6 766)
(162)
// he
went to / Turkey //
Given
New
Given
Theme
OR
New
Rheme
The difference between Theme/Rheme and Given/New, which is what enables them to
be separated, is that the former, being what the speaker chooses as the starting point for
the message, is speaker-oriented, while the latter, being what the speaker presents as being
recoverable for the addressee, is listener-oriented (1994a: 299). In an appropriate discourse
situation, then, the speaker may choose information which is (presented as) New to the
hearer, as the starting point for the message, the Given element being co-extensive with,
or within, the Rheme. An example is given in (163)/(164).
(163) and ^they said _ah yes !\Arthur did this# (LLC 7 1e 1532)
(164)
//Arthur did / this //

New
Given
Theme Rheme
Halliday (1994a: 301) points to one situation in which the markedness associations between Given/New and Theme/Rheme are reversed. In predicated Theme constructions
(see 2.4.1.2.4), the unmarked case is for the New element to be within the predicated
Theme, with the Given element in the Rheme. This is illustrated in (165)(169) below.
(165) ^that is the b/asis# (LLC 12 5 473)
. We might compare this with the frequent ploy of saying As you know, . . . and following it with
something which the speaker knows the addressee does not know.
(166)
// that
is the / basis //
Given
New
Theme Rheme
(167)
is the / basis //
// that
New
Given
Theme Rheme
(168)
// ^ its / that which is the / basis //

New
Given
Theme
Rheme
(169)
// ^ its / that which is the / basis //

Given
New
Theme
Rheme
With the simple, unpredicated Theme structure, (166) is unmarked, (167) marked; but
with predicated Theme structure, (168) (with New = Theme) is unmarked, (169) (Given
= Theme) marked. Halliday remarks that it is indeed the normal function of the predicated
Theme construction to make the focus fall on the Theme.
... Networks and expansions

As for other areas of the grammar, Matthiessen (1995a: 513617) presents a very detailed
account of information structure, which not only discusses the system networks implicit
in Hallidays account, but also expands on that account. The most that can be given here
is a brief summary, highlighting the extensions proposed in Matthiessens work.
.... Theme. Matthiessen defines Theme as the resource for setting up the local context or local semiotic environment in which each clause is to be interpreted (1995a: 531,
emphasis in original). This local context is equated with Hallidays point of departure.
As in many other areas, Matthiessen stresses the interplay between metafunctions in the
treatment of Theme:
The thematic context or semiotic environment may [. . . ] itself be ideational (a transitivity role; for example, temporal or spatial a circumstance of time or space), interpersonal (a key to the speech function or an assessment; for example, the modal value
of the proposition or the speakers attitude towards it), or textual (the conjunctive
relationship to preceding text); or a combination. (1995a: 532)
Clearly, this corresponds to Hallidays concept of multiple theme. Matthiessen, however,

emphasises that there is only a single Theme element, which can extend to cover functions
from each of the three metafunctions.
Clauses with the feature [conjunct] select between having a textual Theme (conflated with an element with the textual function Conjunctive) and not having one. As
in Hallidays account, Matthiessen (1995a: 538) recognises continuative and conjunctive
types of textual element in the Theme. He presents a network for the semantic area of
Chapter 2
conjunction in English which covers the subclasses of meanings recognised by Halliday,

realised by both conjunctions such as and, but, and conjunctive adjuncts of the various
types (1995a: 521).
The interpersonal element of the Theme may include the Finite, an interpersonal Adjunct or a Vocative. Matthiessen (1995a: 536) presents a network, in which clauses with
the feature [attitudinal] select between having an interpersonal Theme (conflated with an
element with the interpersonal function Attitude) or not.
Matthiessen (1995a: 540) also provides a system network for ideational Theme in
clauses, with the feature [major] as entry condition. The theme selection system distinguishes between [marked Theme] and [unmarked Theme]. The feature [marked Theme]
leads to a system differentiating between [as Theme matter] and [as transitivity role]: the
first of these caters for the situation in which the Theme is presented explicitly as an aboutness relation, realised by as to/for + nominal group (see example (109), given earlier), and
Matthiessen (1995a: 552) notes that such Themes play a purely textual role, and are not to
be interpreted ideationally as circumstances of Matter, for two reasons: they are obligatorily thematic; and they cannot be focused in Theme predication, whereas ideational elements can (see below). The feature [as transitivity role] corresponds to those cases where
the Theme is some participant or circumstance other than that which is most usual for the
mood type of the clause, or for the type of clause, if bound. The remainder of the network
shows interactions with mood choices, which are simultaneous with those for Theme selection. Clauses with the feature [indicative] select from the theme predication system
([non-predicated Theme] vs. [predicated Theme]). Matthiessen (1995a: 559) points out
that only those elements with a transitivity role can be predicated. He also differentiates
between the most usual (i.e. unmarked) type of predicated Theme, realised as it + be + X
+ that clause (see example (151)), and a marked variant of the form X + it + be + that
clause, as in (170).
(170) So the dog it was that died. (BNC G3E 2426)
Indicative clauses with non-predicated, unmarked Theme select, in the theme substitution system, between [non-substitute] and [substitute], the latter having a pronominal Pro-Theme, with a substitute Theme at the end of the clause.49 An example is
given in (171).
(171) Its mine this one. (BNC KBW 13087)
Matthiessen also discusses Theme identification (i.e. thematic equatives, or pseudoclefts),
but does not integrate this into his system network. He further points out (1995a: 566)
that topical Themes can occasionally be selected from outside the clause itself, especially
with cognitive mental process clauses, as in (172).
(172) Who do you think killed Riddle? (BNC GW3 2504)
. For the original proposal on which this is based, see Halliday (1967b: 239241).
.... Information and culmination. Matthiessen adds little to Hallidays account of

the distribution of Given and New information and the realisation of these textual functions through intonation in English. For written language, he proposes systems for culmination, defined as the resource for assigning informational prominence in writing in
terms of newsworthiness to constituents in the clause (1995a: 600). Culmination is realised by the ordering of elements at the end of the clause. A number of culmination systems are envisaged, depending on which transitivity functions the elements to be ordered
have: for instance, one of the systems (benefactive culmination I, 1995a: 601) offers the
option of placing the Medium before the Beneficiary or vice versa. As Matthiessen points
out, culmination complements Theme in that the former is concerned with establishing a
point of information at the end of the clause, the latter with a point of information at the
beginning of the clause.
... Voice
Voice in SFG is seen as a mechanism for achieving alternative mappings of the transitivity functions derived from the ideational metafunction on to the mood functions
derived from the interpersonal metafunction. This is shown clearly in examples such as
those below.
(173) Someone
smashed
the lock
with a tool of some kind . . .
Actor/Agent Process
Goal/Medium Manner (Means) Circumstance
Subject
Predicator Complement Adjunct (BNC CEB 1490)
(174) The lock
was smashed
by someone with a tool of some kind . . .
Goal/Medium
Process
Actor/Agent Manner (Means) Circumstance
Subject
Predicator Adjunct
Adjunct
Halliday (1994a: 168) distinguishes between clauses which involve agency, labelled as effective, and those without agency, which are middle. Only effective clauses can be active
or passive. These contrasts are seen most clearly with verbs which can be transitive or
intransitive, such as open in the following examples.
(175) He opened it slowly, . . . (BNC EF7 569) [effective, active]
(176) When the van came to a halt and the loading doors were opened he slowly raised
his head . . . (BNC GW0 1965) [effective, passive]
(177) The door opened, slowly at first. (BNC BP7 1384) [middle]
Note that in the passive the Agent may be implicit, as in (176): although there is clearly
agency here, the identity of the Agent is not indicated. Indeed, Halliday (1994a: 169) points
to the possibility for Agent omission as one motivation for the use of the passive. If the
Agent is present, as in (178), the passive has the effect of placing it late in the clause, as a
candidate for unmarked information focus.
(178) One of the frogs was eaten by a lizard. (BNC CEU 1604)
Chapter 2
An additional motivation may be to get the Medium into Subject position, so that it can
be the unmarked Theme, the starting point for the message.
Halliday (1994a: 169) also discusses briefly the possibilities for conflation of roles
other than Medium with Subject in the passive. Examples of Beneficiary and Range as
Subject are given in (179) and (180) below.
(179) He was given 2 for his troubles. (BNC AJ8 479)
(180) A 500 m (1,750 ft) ascent, which took an experienced human mountain walker 90
minutes, was climbed by a mountain goat in 20 minutes. (BNC CJ3 1661)
Even expressions of Location and Manner can sometimes become the Subject of a passive
if they would be the complements of prepositions in the active counterpart.
(181) His bed had been slept in, . . . (BNC JY1 427)
The passive, unlike marked Theme (the other information structuring device involving
constituent ordering), involves alteration in the form of the verbal group. Hallidays view
of tense (see 9.4.1.1 of Part 1) as a recursive system in the verbal group leads him to claim
that the passive functions like an extra secondary tense, in the sense that it is expressed
by a form of be or get plus a past/passive participle, appearing at the end of the verbal
group (Halliday 1994a: 199). We can see this in the two passive verbal groups of example
(182): has been taken is past in present passive, while has been being discussed is present
in past in present passive, under Hallidays analysis.
(182) . . . little action has been taken in the last thirty forty years since this has been being
discussed . . . (BNC JJG 541)
We saw in 9.4.1.2 of Part 1 that Halliday treats various types of meaning, including some
regarded as aspectual in many other approaches, in terms of realisation in verbal group
complexes. He demonstrates (1994a: 282288) that the various types have different relationships with the passive. For instance, in verbal groups expressing an elaborating phase
meaning, the transitivity functions remain the same in the passive, as shown in (183) and
its active counterpart (184).
(183) I havent been very successful with my aubergines the last couple of years, as they
keep being eaten by caterpillars. (BNC A0G 2302)
(184) . . . caterpillars keep eating them.
On the other hand, in a verbal group complex expressing an extending conation meaning,
the transitivity roles are changed in the passive, as demonstrated in (185) as compared with
(186), where the relationships are different.
(185) It was one of those old-established inns tucked away into the side streets of London
that have somehow avoided being bought over and sanitized by the big chains, . . .
(BNC CAM 1213)
(186) . . . the big chains have somehow avoided buying them over and sanitizing them.
Matthiessen (1995a: 591) points out that voice options are different for different transitivity types. He gives a network for what he calls effective voice and benefactive voice in material process clauses. The effective voice system distinguishes, in effective material process
clauses, between active and passive (which Matthiessen, returning to an earlier nomenclature of Hallidays, labels [operative] and [receptive]), with [receptive] having the further
option of being overtly [agentive] or not. Dispositive50 material clauses can be [benefactive] or [non-benefactive], and if a clause is both [benefactive] and [receptive], it may
then be [bene-receptive] (i.e. with Beneficiary and Subject conflated) or [medio-receptive]
(with conflation of Medium and Subject).
Downing (1996) presents a study of the get-passive in English, based on over 800
examples taken from the Cobuild Bank of English corpus. Through the use of authentic
examples and a Hallidayan transitivity framework as the basis for her analysis, she is able
to test and refine various claims which have been made in the literature. She defines the
get-passive, for her purposes, in terms of a set of criteria (1996: 181): they are basically
effective, they have a be-passive counterpart, they have a unique active counterpart, and
they can potentially take an agentive by-phrase. Thus (187) would count as a get-passive,
but (188) would not, since it is clearly relational, and neither would (189), as get is not
replaceable by be.
(187) The desert town of Perfection, Nevada all tumbleweed and beat-up trucks gets
attacked by giant earthworms. (BNC ACP 488)
(188) . . . I got stuck. (BNC CCX1032)
(189) Marie gets changed behind the wardrobe door, . . . (BNC A74 314 )
Downing finds that the get- and be-passives are not always in free variation. The getpassive emphasises the Medium and what changes it undergoes as a result of the process
described in the clause; in most cases this change is adverse, and then the Medium tends
to be human. There are also meanings of causation and responsibility which are not part
of the meaning of the be-passive. Responsibility may be shared by Medium and Agent, or
by Medium and speaker/Agent; where responsibility is not strongly in evidence, a come
to be X-ed meaning may be prominent. The process type found with the highest frequency in combination with the get-passive was material dispositive, with Goal/Medium;
the least likely process type is relational. As suggested in other studies, get-passives are
usually agentless, and Downing suggests that this may be in order to avoid split emphasis
on the Medium and a focal Agent.
... Modifications, alternatives and extensions

Hallidays account of information distribution, and especially of Theme, has given rise to
a good deal of controversy. In this section I shall give a summary of the contentious issues, and of the considerable body of work which has attempted to clarify and refine the
ideas involved. A useful starting point is the distinction made by Huddleston (1991: 95)
. As opposed to creative: see 8.3.1.7 of Part 1.
Chapter 2
between two facets of Theme: (i) the linguistic expression which is claimed to realise
the function of Theme (which Huddleston labels ThemeE ), and (ii) Theme considered
as content (ThemeC ). On the basis of this distinction, Huddleston puts forward a set of
questions which he believes require to be answered if the concept of Theme is to have any
real validity.
i.
ii.
iii.
iv.
v.
How is ThemeE determined?

What does it mean to say of some x that x is ThemeC ?
How is ThemeC determined, and what is the relation between ThemeC and ThemeE ?
What is the constituent structure assigned to a clause with multiple ThemeE ?
What is the nature of the empirical evidence supporting the analysis?
(Huddleston 1991: 95)
These questions are basically concerned with the identification, extent and structure of
ThemeE , and with the meaning of ThemeC and its relationship with ThemeE .51 In what
follows, I shall take these areas as the basis for discussion.
.... The identification, extent and structure of ThemeE . We saw in 2.4.1.2.3 that
Halliday regards the Theme of a clause as extending up to, and including, the first element with a function in the transitivity structure of the clause. The Theme may include
textually- and interpersonally-oriented material which precedes the first ideational element.
Huddleston raises a number of problems for this approach to the identification
of ThemeE . He points out (Huddleston 1988: 160161, 1991: 9697) that in the clause
Wouldnt the best idea be to join the group? (simplified, in ways irrelevant to the point being made, from Hallidays example (1985a: 55, repeated in 1994a: 55) well then Ann surely
wouldnt the best idea be to join the group?), Hallidays takes the topical Theme to be the best
idea, and this is indeed consistent with the claim that ThemeE extends over everything up
to and including the first element with a transitivity function. But in the clause Isnt the
best idea to join the group?, since isnt has a transitivity function (as Process) as well as being the Finite element in the interpersonal strand, it should be the topical Theme. It seems
somewhat counter-intuitive to have entirely different topical Themes for these two clauses.
Matthiessen & Martins reply to Huddlestons criticism in his 1988 review is that for
Halliday, the best idea is the topical Theme in both clauses, because both wouldnt and isnt
are thematic as Finite:
. . . it is Finite that is selected as Theme Process is not selected as Theme (contrast the thematic Process in he said he would run and run he did). Since Finite is
co-extensive with Process, the latter will also be initial in the clause, but only due to
its role as Finite. Consequently, it does not constitute the topical part of the Theme.
(Matthiessen & Martin 1991: 48)
. Related to these distinctions is that in SFG between definition criteria, based on the meaning/function
of a category, and recognition criteria, formal properties by which the category can be identified (see Hasan
& Fries 1995b: xvi).
Nevertheless, as Huddleston (1991: 9697) points out in his reaction to Matthiessen &
Martins response, isnt does still satisfy Hallidays criterion for topical Theme. Clearly,
then, the recognition criterion needs tightening up. Huddleston also points out that the
criterion needs refining for clauses which are claimed to have no Theme.
Huddleston (1991: 9697) also notes that existential there is problematic in that
Halliday (1985a: 130, repeated in 1994a: 142) explicitly states that there has no representational function in this context, yet he treats it as topical Theme in and there was nothing
more he could do about it (Halliday 1985a: 65, repeated in 1994a: 64).
A further criticism voiced by Huddleston in his review of IFG (1988: 161162) is concerned with the constituent structure of a ThemeE with multiple components. He interprets Hallidays box diagram for well but then Ann surely wouldnt the best idea be to join
the group? as indicating that on the textual dimension, the sequence well but then Ann
surely wouldnt the best idea is treated, at one level of the constituency hierarchy, as a single
Theme constituent, with sub-constituents corresponding to the textual, interpersonal and
topical Themes. He finds such constituents highly implausible from a grammatical point
of view. Matthiessen & Martins reply to this criticism is that Hallidays analysis postulates
only one level of constituency, that of the whole Theme, the component parts (which, unlike grammatical functions, are not given an initial capital letter) being simply a more
delicate interpretation of thematic progression within the clause (1991: 8). These authors
also reject Huddlestons claim that the constituency structure Halliday proposes is in any
way strange, pointing to the Theme/Rheme dichotomy in Prague School linguistics and
to its usefulness in the study of information packaging in texts (see below). Nevertheless,
as Huddleston (1991: 105106) observes, Halliday does indeed write of the structure of
the Theme and of the elements within it, and his box diagrams clearly imply constituency
relations here as elsewhere. Huddleston notes:
What we need from Systemic-Functional Grammar in this context is discussion of the
kinds of criteria and evidence that are relevant to determining whether some string is
a constituent or not. (Huddleston 1991: 106)
The further discussion of this point clearly indicates that Huddleston is thinking in terms
of syntactic criteria here. This exemplifies an important underlying difference in how
Huddleston and Matthiessen/Martin view Hallidays account of Theme: the former approaches it from the viewpoint of a grammarian interested primarily in form and its relationship with meaning; the latter, on the other hand, emphasise the role of Theme in text
structure. This is clearly a matter of emphasis: there is no reason to think that Huddleston rejects the importance of clausal information distribution in the structure of text,52
and Matthiessen & Martin are certainly interested in form/meaning relationships;53 nev. Indeed, when discussing the relationship between Theme and topic, Huddleston (1991: 99) writes: It
is undoubtedly true that one could not give a satisfactory explanation of topic without using examples in
context.
. The SFG view of formal structure, however, is itself strongly conditioned by considerations of meaning,
as we have seen at numerous points in this book.
Chapter 2
ertheless, the difference in approach is significant and needs to be borne in mind when
evaluating the claims made on each side.
This point is taken up by Berry (1996) in an interesting and ambitious paper which
suggests a research programme with the aim of answering the question What is Theme?.
Berry writes as an applied text linguist, interested in the application of SFG thematic analysis to the description of written communication in business, for the purpose of helping
teachers to prepare students for careers in business and industry. For her, then, matters of
meaning and its relationship with text structure and genre are of paramount importance.
Berry replaces Huddlestons ThemeE by ThemeF (i.e. Theme as form) in order to forestall any confusion about how the term expression is being used, and replaces ThemeC
by ThemeM (Theme as meaning) in order to avoid any implication, from the term content, that we are dealing only with ideational meaning here. She also distinguishes between
ThemeM at the discourse level and at the clause level:
I shall assume that discourse ThemeM is something that a speaker or writer has in
relation to a text or large section of a text, a priority set of types of meaning that
reflects his/her underlying concerns for the duration of the text or large section of
text, and that clause ThemeM is something that a speaker or writer has in relation to a
particular clause, a (set of) meaning(s) that reflects his/her priority for that particular
clause. (Berry 1996: 18)
Because of her orientation towards the meaning end, she prioritises discussion of those of
Huddlestons questions which are concerned with ThemeC/M ; a considerable proportion
of her article, however, is devoted to suggesting how we might evaluate a number of proposals made in the literature for the extent of ThemeE/F . Berry (1996: 2931) lists a range
of different hypotheses for the interpretation of what the beginning of the clause might
mean in relation to Theme. These are summarised below:
i.
ii.
the initial hypothesis: first position in the clause (Halliday 1985a: 39, 1994a: 38);
up to and including the first ideational element (i.e. the first element with a transitivity function) (Halliday 1985a: 54, 1994a: 53);
iii. everything up to and including the Subject (Enkvist 1973);
iv. everything (in a main clause) up to the (main) verb (Berry 1989a, 1995);
v. as (iv), but including any auxiliaries (Stainton 1993);
vi. up to and including the lexical verb (a hypothesis which does not appear in the
literature prior to Berrys own paper);
vii. the continuum hypothesis: Theme and Rheme shade into each other, with no clear
boundary (Matthiessen 1992: 51);
viii. a version of Matthiessens hypothesis in which the boundaries of Theme and Rheme
can be isolated, but the two overlap somewhere in the area of the main verb, within
an approach which views Theme and other functions as unfolding dynamically as the
clause progresses (Ravelli 1995).
Berry also mentions the importance of unusual positioning in relation to marked Themes,
and the hypothesis that position in a main clause is more important than that in a subordinate clause in realising prioritised meanings.
As might be expected in a theory in which meaning and form are so closely linked, we
can go no further in discussing the extent of the Theme constituent without considering
the meaning of Theme, and it is to this that I now turn.
.... The meaning of ThemeC/M and its relationship with ThemeE/F . One particularly
important source of problems in the area of Theme is the concept of point of departure
or starting-point and its relationship with what the clause is about. An early critique
of this concept can be found in Taglicht (1984: 1415), which is based on the account of
Theme given in Halliday (1967b, 1968). Taglicht points out:
The unwillingness to part company with the idea of theme as what is being talked
about has this drawback: it leads easily to the conclusion that if x is the theme
of a sentence, all that remains must be what is being said about it, the rheme . . .
(Taglicht 1984: 14)
In particular, Taglicht criticises Hallidays claim that in the set of clauses John saw the play
yesterday, Yesterday John saw the play and The play John saw yesterday (discussed in Halliday
1967b: 212ff.), Halliday treats John as thematic only in the first clause. This, Taglicht observes, ignores an important fact about the interplay of textual and syntactic aspects of
structure:
Textual order is not merely linear order, related only to preceding and following
sentences (if any) in the text; textual order is linear order in relation to syntactic
dependency structure. (Taglicht 1984: 14)
The syntactic dependencies between John and saw are exactly the same in all three of the
clauses cited above, and this leads Taglicht to suggest that a shift in Theme, from John to
yesterday or the play respectively, is unwarranted. Taglicht himself (1984: 15ff.) proposes
an analysis in which John is (unmarkedly) thematic in all three examples, the second and
third also having a marked Theme (yesterday and the play respectively). Taglichts scheme
also differs from Hallidays in treating the Operator element as distinct from the Theme:
in John is painting the shed or Is John painting the shed? the form is is labelled as Operator
rather than forming part of either Theme or Rheme.
Taglicht also criticises Halliday for not complementing the concept of marked Theme
with that of marked Rheme, a term which Taglicht (1984: 23ff.) uses to cover end-shifted
Subjects (as in Into the room came a strange man [Taglichts example 1]) end-shifted
elements of the Predicate (as in There were in this article a number of interesting points
[his 6b]), and cases where a final item is separated by a partitioning element from an
item which would come before it if it were part of an unmarked Rheme (as in They are
returning, however, to England [Taglichts 13]).
Finally, Taglicht (1984: 25ff.) makes proposals for the interaction between thematic
structure and intonation structure, suggesting that all marked Themes and Rhemes must
Chapter 2
have an intonation focus, though this may be non-nuclear in the case of a marked Theme;
while unmarked textual elements may be residual in the information structuring.
Let us now return to the specific problem of aboutness. Huddlestons review of the
original edition of IFG also devotes considerable attention to this. He writes:
It is not clear that point of departure or starting-point can sustain an interpretation that is independent of syntactic sequence that the theme is the point of departure for the message in a more significant sense than that of being the first element.
(Huddleston 1988: 158)
This, according to Huddleston, leaves only the interpretation of Theme as what the clause
is about: this interpretation, however, makes little sense in the case of clauses such as Nothing will satisfy you, You could buy a bar of chocolate like this for 6d before the War, or Theres
a fallacy in your argument, which are arguably not about nothing, you, and there respectively (Huddleston 1988: 158). Huddleston also points out that these elements cannot be
preceded by as for/with regard to/about . . . , which are regarded by Halliday as ways for
announcing the Theme explicitly. Furthermore, although as for my wife, she couldnt stand
the dog is clearly about my wife, and as for the dog, my wife couldnt stand it is equally
clearly about the dog, my wife couldnt stand the dog could be about either, though in
Hallidayan terms, as interpreted by Huddleston, it would have to be about my wife.
Hudson, in his own review of IFG, makes similar points:
. . . those of us who cant easily pick out the parts of a clause which define what it is
going to be about or its point of departure are simply unable to decide whether any
of his [Hallidays CSB] claims about themes are right or wrong. What could one
give as a counterexample? Indeed, one wonders what criteria he himself is using to
identify themes when one reads that the subordinating conjunction that is a theme in
the clause it introduces [. . . ] it is very hard to see it as defining what the clause is
going to be about, and if it is the point of departure of the clause, it can only be in
the sense of being the first element. (Hudson 1986: 798)
Huddleston also observes that Hallidays analysis of question-answer pairs will often,
counter-intuitively, involve a change of Theme. For instance, in Huddlestons example A.
Whats the new boss like? B. She seems O.K., the answer has she as Theme, referring to
the new boss, but the Theme of the question is what, an element which does not refer to
the new boss.
A further point raised in Huddlestons critique of Theme is that the concept of aboutness cannot apply to non-nominal Themes such as initial adverbials (1988: 159160). The
problems, as Huddleston remarks, become even more acute when we are dealing with
multiple Themes. He concludes:
It seems clear that his [Hallidays CSB] concept of Theme cannot be defined in terms
of the usual intuitive idea of what a clause or message is about. (Huddleston 1988: 159)
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 43) reject Huddlestons criticism of Hallidayan Theme on
two grounds: that he does not discuss the contextualisation of Theme in actual text, and
that he narrows discussion of Theme to the notion of topic, or aboutness. They argue
(1991: 4347) that negative Themes (such as nothing in the example discussed above) can
take part in the thematic progressions to be found within texts; that thematic existential
there establishes, as a point of departure, the expectation that an element with the transitivity function Existent will be presented; that as for is not a test for thematic status,
but is restricted to Themes which have ideational function, represent given information
and mark specific Themes rather than generalised ones such as generic you or people. For
question-answer pairs, they argue (1991: 4748) that the Hallidayan account of Theme
makes sense of the thematic progression involved: in the example discussed above, the
new boss in the Rheme of the question is picked up as the Theme, she, of the answer.
Matthiessen & Martin conclude:
What is critical is that Theme has to be understood through its contribution to the
development of discourse not through the experiential semantics of lexical items
such as about. For example, thematic progression may be interpersonal as well as
experiential. (1991: 49)
They then go on to exemplify thematic progression by means of interpersonal Themes.54

Huddleston (1991: 97ff.), in his reply to Matthiessen & Martins criticisms, defends his
focus on the relation between Theme and aboutness on three grounds: it provides a point
of contact with other, non-systemic accounts in which aboutness is commonly invoked;
ideational Themes are the easiest to grasp, so that we are unlikely to be able to understand other kinds if we cannot understand these; and furthermore (as was also demonstrated in the introduction to Hallidays account given in 2.4.1.2.1) aboutness plays a
very prominent part in Hallidays own discussions of Theme. He points out that when
Halliday introduces Theme in terms of aboutness, he does not give any clue that this is
to be restricted to topical Themes. His view, however, is that even if we restrict aboutness
to topical Themes, Hallidays view remains untenable. He observes that no contextualisation is required in order to clarify the interpretation of the examples with negative, general or existential Themes on which part of his argument was based, and maintains that
Matthiessen & Martin have not answered the criticism that these purportedly thematic
elements are not what the clause is about.55
On Theme in question-answer pairs, Huddleston (1991: 101) points out that in
Japanese, which codes topic explicitly with a postpositional marker, the equivalents of
. See also Martin (1995), where he again argues against Huddlestons position through an analysis of the
importance of topical and interpersonal Themes in the development of texts, the essence of his claim being
that Theme is more than what the message is about.
. Here it is worth noting that McGregor (1997: 288ff.), who in his Semiotic Grammar treats Theme as
essentially a linking relation, agrees with Huddleston that negative Themes such as nobody or presentatives
such as there are not what the clause is about, but does not regard this as vitiating the concept of Theme.
For McGregor, the Theme of a clause is the element which serves as a reference point for the purpose of
anchoring the utterance, for tying it down to its context, both linguistic and speech-situational (1997: 291).
Although McGregor goes on to exemplify the concept of anchor, it is not clear to me that it is any less
metaphorical or more easily definable than terms such as starting point or peg on which the message is
hung offered by Halliday.
Chapter 2
the new boss and she are both treated as topic in the minimal exchange discussed above.
He also comments (1991: 102104) on Hallidays gloss of the meaning of wh-questions as
I want you to tell me the person, thing, time, manner, etc., pointing out that this meaning
does not attach to the wh-word itself (e.g. what does not mean I want you to tell me the
thing), but to the construction as a whole, and that this is a far cry from simple examples
in which ThemeC can be related directly to ThemeE . Any extension of this kind needs to
be acknowledged, justified and explained. Furthermore, Huddleston asserts, the fact (acknowledged by Halliday) that wh-questions can be used for a variety of reasons (e.g. in
examination questions), not simply when the speaker genuinely wants to know the answer, militates against the claim that wanting to know the answer is part of the meaning of
the construction. He notes that Matthiessen & Martin do not incorporate I want you to
tell me .. into the meaning of the Theme, interpreting this rather in terms of the condition
that the speaker does not know the answer, but assumes that the addressee does know it
a condition which again does not apply to all wh-questions. He further observes that in
alternative questions such as Is it a boy or a girl? the ThemeE will be is it, just as in Is it a
girl?, but the meaning is no longer I want you to tell me whether or not, so complicating
the problem of finding a consistent relationship between ThemeC and ThemeE . This relationship is also problematic in Hallidays interpretation of imperative clauses, where the
meaning I want you to do something, realised just by the form of the clause in a normal
subjectless imperative, is claimed, in Huddlestons interpretation of Halliday, to be thematised in imperatives such as You keep quiet: yet, as Huddleston (1991: 105) points out, you
clearly does not mean I want you to do something.
One particularly noteworthy aspect of the debate on aboutness in relation to Theme,
which can account to some extent for the apparently irreconcilable positions taken, is concerned with alternative interpretations of aboutness. As interpreted by Huddleston (and,
it is fair to say, by many other linguists in discussions of this area) aboutness is a referential notion; Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 43), however, appear to regard it as more a matter
of setting up paradigmatic proportionalities between variants of clauses with different thematic structures. This point is taken up by Gmez-Gonzlez (1996a, 1996b, 1998b, 2001),
who claims that Hallidays conception of topical Theme should not be seen as referential, but rather as relational (see Gundel 1988, also 2.2.2.1.1), entailing a syntactically
coded relation between an entity/proposition, or syntactic Theme, and a clausal (complex) predication, or Rheme, which derives from the linear quality of language (GmezGonzlez 2001: 137). Such an interpretation is certainly not the most obvious reading of
phrases such as what the message is about, but clearly if this is indeed Hallidays intention, then it radically alters the relationship between Theme and topic. This matter will be
taken up again in 2.5, when I compare SFG with FG and RRG in relation to information
structuring in the clause.
We have seen that one particularly important basis for Matthiessen & Martins criticisms of Huddleston is the role of Theme/Rheme structure in the organisation of texts.
Likewise, Hasan & Fries state:
. . . the semantic description of Theme as the point of departure can be understood

only in the context of textual organization, for it is this aspect of language use to which
the patterns of thematic selection bear some non-random relation . . .
(Hasan & Fries 1995b: xix)
Let us, then, now pass on to consider work by textually-oriented linguists which has shed
further light on the meaning and importance of Theme, and on its relationship with
aboutness.56
The comments on the role of Theme in text development made by Matthiessen &
Martin (1991) and by Martin (1992b) are based largely on work by Fries dating back
as far as 1981. In a seminal paper, Fries (1981/1983)57 investigates the relationships between the content and progression of Themes in texts and the nature of the text, including its structure and the ways in which the points in the text are developed. He begins (1981/1983: 116119) by distinguishing between the combining approach towards
Theme and given information taken by Prague School linguists such as Mathesius and,
later, Firbas, and the separating approach espoused by Halliday, in which Theme and
Given are, as we have already seen, regarded as separate though related categories. Fries
then investigates the nature of sentence-level themes in argumentative or expository prose
texts. He takes the sentence-level Theme to be the first constituent of a simple clause (so
that the Themes he examines include certain clause-level Themes), but in a hypotactic
clause complex in which the subordinate clause comes first, that subordinate clause is
itself regarded as the Theme of the sentence as a whole.
Fries (1981/1983: 121124) first reports on work showing that choices of Theme in
his texts, and in particular the patterns of thematic progression from one sentence to the
next,58 correlate strongly with the outlines of paragraphs from the text provided by an informant. He then goes on to show that the content of the Themes of a text correlates with
the method of development of the text, in cases where a single method of development
can be discerned. For instance, in texts describing objects or scenes, the method of development might be through the relative location of the parts of the object or scene, and in
such cases, information on location tended to be thematic. If the text is then rewritten so
that references to relative location occur in the Rhemes rather than the Themes of the text
sentences, and the Themes refer to the component parts of the complex object or scene,
then location is no longer the method of development, but rather becomes the point of the
paragraph. Furthermore, if a text is rewritten in such a way that any pattern of thematic
content is systematically destroyed, readers comment that the text appears disorganised,
whereas they do not perceive the original text in this way.
Fries (1981/1983: 136142) then goes on to demonstrate that the choice of Theme
is independent of the choice of given or new information that is, he offers textual evidence in support of Hallidays separating approach. Taking punctuation and plausible
. For further brief comments on theme and text connectivity, see McGregor (1997: 302305).
. All page references are to the 1983 reprinted version.
. For an account of the patterns of thematic progression referred to by Fries, see Dane (1974).
Chapter 2
readings of the text to indicate the distribution of tone groups, he concludes that some of
the Themes in his texts are presented by the writer as new information, even though in
one sense the referents of these Themes are familiar to the addressees of the text.
As a final step in his argument, Fries (1981/1983: 143144) shows that the Theme/
Rheme distinction within clauses and sentences can be placed within a larger discourse
frame, in the sense that just as the Theme establishes a ground on which the Rheme can
be interpreted, so one sentence can set up the discourse ground on which further sentences
can elaborate. This foreshadows, for example, the work of Martin (1992a: 437) on higher
order Themes in texts.
Fries later work (see especially Fries 1992, 1993, 1994, 1997, 2002a) on written texts
provides evidence that (sentence-level) Theme orients the reader towards the message
about to be processed, while what he calls N-Rheme (for New Rheme, so called because
of the unmarked, though not obligatory, association between Rheme and new information), which is the last sentence constituent, contains material which is newsworthy, and
to which the reader is therefore expected to give particular attention.59 For instance, in his
analysis of a fund-raising text (Fries 1994), he demonstrates that the Themes contain most
of the references to the organisation concerned, but that the N-Rhemes regularly contain
the evaluative terms. Even when Themes and N-Rhemes contain semantically similar information, the function of this information is different: in Themes the function is one of
providing an orientation to the coming content, in N-Rhemes it is to give salient information related to the goals of the text. In Fries (1995a), he expands on the reasons for
the choice of particular material for thematic status: the orientation function of Theme
may consist in the provision of information required to interpret the main message, the
cancellation of an assumption established in a previous context, the prevention of misinterpretation of temporal or locational references, or the highlighting of the point of
elaboration.
Before we leave this brief summary of Fries work, it is worth noting that his concept of
Theme as an orienting device is very different from that of Theme as carrying aboutness.
Indeed, Fries wishes to dissociate Topic from Theme, and even states that he regards Hallidays position as consistent with this view (see Fries 1993: 338). Unfortunately, however,
the notion of Topic is assumed rather than explicitly defined, and this makes it difficult to
see exactly how Fries sees his work as relating to that of other linguists who make use of
the category of Topic.60 It is perhaps significant that in the personal view of Theme which
is offered in Fries (1995b), he raises, as an important issue, the question of how Theme
interacts with other functions such as Subject, Topic, Given and New, and later goes on to
. One may then wonder about the functions of that part of the clause which comes between Theme and
N-Rheme. Hartnett (1995), on the basis of an analysis of a sample of non-fictional English prose, discusses
the structure and functions of what she labels the Pit, in view of the fact that it has the lowest information
value in the clause. The Pit begins with anything coming after the Subject and not closely tied to it, and
represents the beginning of the progression leading to the N-Rheme.
. I am indebted to Angela Downing for discussion on this point.
discuss briefly the dissociation of Theme/Rheme from Given/New, but does not mention
Theme/Topic relations.
Fries (1995b) is, however, a particularly useful and succinct summary of Fries views
on Theme, in the course of which he reviews and evaluates the available evidence in relation to hypotheses concerned with correlations of thematic content and progression with
various properties of texts.61 He concludes that the hypothesis that thematic progression
varies with genre is only weakly supported;62 that there is partial support for the idea that
the experiential content of Themes correlates with method of development; that there is
variation, according to the range of genres used, in the results of work designed to test the
hypothesis that the experiential content of Themes correlates with genre; and that little
work has yet been done to evaluate the hypothesis that the experiential content of Themes
correlates with the macrostructural elements of texts, though some evidence for this hypothesis is available. Certainly, types of thematic content and progression do not occur
randomly in texts, as Fries own work consistently shows (see also Fries 1995c).63 Clearly,
however, as Fries himself comments, much more analytical work is needed in this area.
A further angle on the meaning of Theme, which can perhaps be seen as a further refinement of Fries work, is that suggested by Matthiessen (1995b), who focuses on its role
in logogenesis, defined as the creation of meaning through instantiation of the system in
text (1995b: 22). The textual metafunction is seen as constructing ideational and interpersonal meanings as the text unfolds, through the provision of resources for guiding meaning exchanges in the text.64 Through the analysis of monologic texts, Matthiessen demonstrates that within this general scenario, the role of Theme with respect to ideational
meanings is to indicate points of expansion: for instance, if at a particular point an informational node in the text is being expanded in terms of temporal enhancement, then
the Theme will probably be a temporal expression. Matthiessen also comments briefly on
the role of Theme in constructing interpersonal meanings in certain types of text.
Also very much concerned with the relationship between Theme and topic, and the
role of each in text structure and interpretation, is the work of Downing. She notes that
discussion of this area has been made more complicated by the widening of scope from the
study of clauses and sentences to that of text, and by confusion in the area of relationships
between initial elements, topic and Subject (Downing 1991: 119). Downings own defini. For a more detailed review of this evidence, see Fries (1995c).
. Ghadessy (1998b), on the other hand, reports that thematic development does show clustering when
tested on five of the text types isolated by Biber & Finegan (1986), and that the groups so obtained differ from
those given by Biber & Finegans set of criteria, which Ghadessy claims derive largely from ideational meaning, with some contribution from the interpersonal. Nwogu & Bloor (1991) report differences in thematic
progression between professional and popular types of medical text.
. See also Gmez-Gonzlez (1994, 1995) for further SFG-based work on thematic progression in written
and spoken English text.
. See also Lavid Lpez (2000: 364), who actually defines Theme in terms of guiding the addressee through
the information flow of a text: Theme is that element that informs the listener as discourse unfolds how to
relate the incoming information to what is already known.
Chapter 2
tion of topic is a narrative or discourse category which describes what a text, or part of
a text (including a clause) is about (1991: 120). She recognises that although the topic
of a clause, as so defined, typically coincides with the Subject, there are cases where this
is not so, as with Huddlestons Nothing will satisfy you kind of example. She nevertheless
finds it useful to identify a main participant which represents the topic of a certain span
of a discourse, though not necessarily the whole of it, and which coincides with Subject in
most instances.
While readily accepting the usefulness of the Hallidayan concept of Theme, Downing
wishes to dissociate it from topic as defined above. She points out that the starting point,
or point of departure, of a message is not always identifiable with what the message is
about. Crucially, she remarks:
Even Hallidays identification of a topical Theme as the first ideational element does
not solve the problem, as can be seen by examining the various realizations of the
thematic element. (1991: 122)
For instance, Downing quotes the following example from a book review about Freud:
(190) (= Downings (7), 1991: 125)
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
topical
structural
topical
structural
topical
modal
topical
Towards the end of his life, (1)

Freud concluded that (2) he (3)
was not a great man, but (4)
he (5) had discovered great
things. Arguably (6), the
reverse (7) might be true.
Here, Downing has analysed the Themes as in Hallidays model. She observes that the
identification of the first ideational element as topical Theme forces us to recognise towards the end of his life as the topical Theme of the first clause, while he must be the topical
Theme of the second and third clauses. As she points out, it would be more satisfying to
treat Freud as the topical Theme, or at least the topic, of the first clause.
Downing observes that Enkvists proposal to treat everything up to and including the
Subject of the main clause as Theme (see (iii) in Berrys list of proposals for the extent of
ThemeE/F ) would allow a more systematic treatment of topical Theme, and that Halliday
has moved some way in this direction by including the Subject of polar interrogatives
in the Theme, and also by his mention, in connection with a textual analysis (Halliday
1985a: 67, repeated in 1994a: 66) of displaced Theme for Robert in the example Apart
from a need to create his own identity, Robert felt . . . , where, if the initial circumstantial
Adjunct were rephrased as a subordinate clause, Robert would be the unmarked Theme.
Downing, however, sees this as an unnecessary complication, preferring to adopt an analysis in which no Adjunct can be a topical Theme. Clearly, in the Freud example above,
the topical element is not that which refers to the end of Freuds life, but that referring to
Freud himself. Downing adduces three further pieces of evidence for her position. Firstly,
Adjuncts represent circumstances, not participants, and so are not inherent in the mean-
ing or the form of the clause: in a congruent representation of the clause, they can never be
topics in the sense defined by Downing, and so cannot be identified as what the clause is
about. Secondly, she claims that the fronting of Adjuncts does not affect the predictability
of which way the clause is going (1991: 126). Thirdly, and most crucially for Downings
own proposals, fronted circumstantial elements do perform an important function in the
clause, but it is not that of announcing the topic, but rather that of providing a framework
of some kind for the interpretation of the message.
Problems also arise with fronted Attributes, as in Furious they were, or the following,
from H. G. Wells A Short History of the World, the text from which Downing takes much
of her exemplification:
(191) (= Downings (9), p. 127) Chief among these young men was Plato.
Such initial fronted Attributes can hardly be considered as topics. Furthermore, as
Downing points out, even the Enkvist proposal would run into difficulties with examples
of the kind shown in (191), involving Subject-verb inversion, since, if we are to include
everything up to and including the Subject, the whole clause would be thematic.
Downing, like Fries, therefore dissociates Theme from topic as categories: the two may
coincide in the same clause element, but need not do so. She reanalyses the Freud example
as follows:
(192) (= Downings (10), 1991: 127128)
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
ideational
ideational (+ topic)
structural
structural
modal
Towards the end of his life, (1)

Freud (2) concluded that (3)
he (4) was not a great man,
but (5) he (6) had discovered
great things. Arguably (7), the
reverse (8)65 might be true.
Building on the work of Chafe (1976) and Lowe (1987), Downing proposes three types of
initial element, setting up different types of framework:
1.
2.
3.
participant Themes, which set up individual frameworks.

spatial, temporal and situational Themes, which set up circumstantial frameworks.
discourse Themes, which set up subjective and logical frameworks.
(Downing 1991: 128)
Only the first type of element can have a referent which is what the message is about. The
third category, discourse Themes, is intended to cover continuative, structural, conjunc. Downing does not actually mark arguably with the numeration (8), but this is clearly just an omission,
since the element in bold type is picked up as (8) in the analysis to the left.
Chapter 2
tive, vocative, modal and relational points of departure. On the basis of her discussion,
Downing (1991: 129) sets out six functions of initial elements. Two of these are claimed to
operate in almost all clauses and clause complexes: signalling the mood angle from which
the message is to be projected, and setting up an experiential semantic framework (spatial,
temporal, individual or situational) which will hold for at least the current clause/clause
complex. The other four functions are realised in some clauses and clause complexes, but
not all: indication of links and logical progression by means of conjunctions and conjuncts; indication of speaker attitude by means of modal disjuncts; linking the content of
the message to the addressee by means of a vocative, or to something outside the message
by means of a relational disjunct such as from a medical point of view or legally;66 and indicating a change of speaker or a change of point within the same speakers contribution
to the discourse.
Downing discusses the three types of semantic framework in some detail, with appropriate exemplification and an account of their importance in text structure.67 Individual
frameworks (1991: 129132) are those set up by initial elements referring to a participant
in the situation, and are realised by Subject nominal groups (unmarked) or fronted Objects and Complements (marked), or by elements with specific topic indicators such as as
for/regards. Downing claims that such frameworks are normally operative over a span consisting of the clause or clause complex. Temporal frameworks indicate a point or period
of time. Temporal expressions (which can be adverbial or nominal groups, prepositional
phrases or subordinate clauses) in initial position have the function of marking a temporal discourse span which holds until a new span is introduced (1991: 132). This span may
be just one clause, but is often longer. Clause-medial temporal elements have a smaller
span of operation than initial ones, and clause-final ones do not set up any span at all.
Spatial expressions (1991: 134) can also occur initially, medially or finally, and can be used
together with temporal expressions to set up a complex spatio-temporal starting point for
the message.68 Under the heading of situational frameworks (1991: 135141) come various initial elements which do not represent participants, processes, or spatial or temporal
circumstances, but which still provide a point of departure. Downing considers, in this
category, certain kinds of initial non-finite clauses, either participial or infinitival, also
expressions of condition and other types of contingency.
. Relational disjuncts are also discussed in Downing & Locke (1992 [2002]: 232233). Downing (personal communication) has pointed out to me that they do not figure among the type of element which
Halliday (1985a, 1994a) lists as typically thematic, and that since they are ideational they would have to be
regarded, in Hallidays scheme, as topical Themes. This, as Downing observes, is highly problematic in terms
of aboutness.
. The contribution to text structure as such is not focused on here, as we are primarily concerned with
the clause.
. McCabe & Alonso Belmonte (2000), who adopt a cognitively-oriented approach to Theme, discuss spatial and temporal frameworks in terms of their role in transmitting to the addressee the speakers perception
of reality, and present data suggesting that these frameworks are used in similar ways in English and Spanish
guidebooks.
Downing (1990: 123124) also demonstrates that the dissociation of Theme and topic
allows a much more intuitively satisfying account of information distribution in clauses
with non-referential Subjects, such as Nothing will satisfy you or You could buy a bar of
chocolate like this for 6d before the War discussed in Huddlestons (1988) review of IFG.
Downing would treat nothing and you here as unmarked Themes, in the sense of unmarked points of departure for the message, but not as topical Themes, since the topic
is expressed by you and a bar of chocolate like this. Similarly, the presentative there of existential clauses such as Huddlestons example Theres a fallacy in your argument can still
be regarded as Theme qua point of departure, but the function of such constructions is
to present a topic, normally new information encoded as an indefinite nominal group,
late in the clause (Downing 1990: 126). Downing rejects the analysis of there as an empty
element and the presented nominal group as representing the topical Theme, since this
would destroy the parallel between an explicit there-presentative and the variant with an
initial locative expression but no presentative there, as in Downings example (18) Beneath
the window is a bilingual rubbish bin with a spelling mistake, which would, under Hallidays
analysis, have beneath the window as topical Theme. For Downing, this variant would have
a bilingual rubbish bin with a spelling mistake as the topic expression just as Huddlestons
original example has a fallacy as topic. Where both an initial Adjunct and presentative
there are present, as in Beneath the window there is a bilingual rubbish bin (Downings example (19)), Downing postulates the existence of two ideational thematic elements, the
first marked and the second unmarked. Note that this is similar to the situation in the first
clause of the Freud example (192) as analysed according to Downings model.
Let us now turn again to Berrys (1996) work, which was introduced in 2.4.1.7.1 in
connection with the identification of ThemeE/F . Berry suggests possible ways in which answers to the questions about Theme raised by Huddleston (see 2.4.1.7) might be sought.
As was pointed out earlier, Berrys concerns as a text linguist predispose her to an emphasis on meaning, so that she is concerned particularly with questions relating to the meaning of Theme, i.e. with what she calls discourse ThemeM and clause ThemeM , while
also considering the relationship between Theme as meaning and Theme as form. She
illustrates her discussion throughout by reference to three texts concerned with courses
which may be taken by third year students of English at a particular British university, the
first taken from the university prospectus, the second from a booklet written by members
of the Department of English Studies, and the third from the universitys handbook of
regulations.
In discussing the question What does it mean to say of some x that x is ThemeM ?,
Berry (1996: 19) points out that although discourse ThemeM and clause ThemeM may be
ideational in nature, they need not be: indeed, she illustrates, from one of her texts, that
the writers main concerns can be primarily interpersonal, involving the establishment of
friendly relations with the reader. Her preliminary answer to the question under discussion is that if something is ThemeM , then it is a priority meaning for the speaker or writer,
echoing concerns relevant to the (section of) text, individual clause or both.
In discussing how we might determine ThemeM , Berry (1996: 20) distinguishes between the determination of discourse and clause ThemeM , and within the first, between
Chapter 2
determination of the speaker/writers main concerns, and determination, on the basis of

these concerns, of the general types of meaning to be prioritised. In order to determine
speaker/writers main concerns, she conducts interviews, discussions and more formal
tests with the producers of the texts. On the basis of the information obtained, hypotheses
about the meanings one might expect to be prioritised are then set up and tested: those
meanings which do appear to be prioritised (essentially on the basis of frequency in the
text) are then taken to be the discourse ThemeM s for the texts. In order to relate discourse
ThemeM to clause ThemeM and indirectly to ThemeF (Berrys equivalent of Huddlestons
ThemeE ), Berry (1996: 26) suggests that we seek systematic correlations between the prioritised meanings and particular formal features, such as position in the clause or special
particles. If such a correlation is established, the formal feature isolated is taken to be
ThemeF . ThemeF is thus a grammatical means of prioritizing the meanings of discourse
ThemeM s (1996: 29). The final step is to hypothesise that the systematic association of
ThemeF with meanings prioritised in the discourse confers a special status on ThemeF ,
resulting in a situation where the addressee will interpret whatever is in ThemeF as having
local importance, even if it is not clearly associated with discourse ThemeM .
Berry applies these procedures to the three texts on student courses, with full recognition that this is mainly a feasibility exercise and that any conclusions must be very tentative
indeed, given the small data base used. Having obtained some indication that the text written by members of the department prioritises interactional meanings, while the handbook
of regulations prioritises meanings concerned with obligation and prohibition (though
with less success in demonstrating the prioritisation of textual, signposting meanings in
texts other than the regulations), Berry goes on to test whether the kinds of meaning provisionally identified as prioritised in a particular text are associated with particular grammatical features of that text. She tests in turn each of the hypotheses about the extent of
ThemeF in English which were listed in 2.4.1.7.1, and comes to the tentative conclusion
that the hypothesis which best matches the data is the one in which ThemeF extends up
to and including the lexical verb (1996: 46). Berrys data suggest that the speaker/writers
main communicational concerns, involving most of the interpersonal and textual prioritised meanings, are concentrated in the ThemeF , while the RhemeF contains the bulk of
the ideational meaning. She points out that if this is the case, it is not surprising if ThemeF
and RhemeF turn out to intersect near the main verb, consistent with Ravellis overlap
hypothesis.69
In attempting to answer Huddlestons question about the constituent structure of a
clause with multiple ThemeE/F , Berry again highlights the difference in concerns between
the syntactician and the SFG text linguist: Berrys interest in constituency is concerned
with which bits of clauses are the location for the realizations of contrasting meanings (i.e.
meaning choices) (1996: 49, emphasis in original). She points out, however, that there is
already some suggestive evidence of correlation between the tentative conclusions of her
analysis and the isolation, on syntactic grounds, of a constituent running from the lexical
. This is reminiscent of Firbas (1992: 69) claim about the mediatory role of the verb in thematic
structures. I am grateful to Angela Downing for this observation.
verb to the end of the clause (see Quirk et al. 1985: 81): assuming that the lexical verb is
the overlap between ThemeF and RhemeF , the rhematic element, which is claimed to carry
the main burden of the ideational meaning, would coincide with such a constituent.70
Berry (1996: 5058) discusses, in relation to her proposals, the kinds of realisation
claimed by Halliday for each of the metafunctional strands of meaning. Her strategy here
is to tabulate the meanings in the texts in relation to the positions in the clause identified
in the various approaches to the extent of ThemeF , and then to see whether these map
on to the type of realisation suggested by Halliday for each metafunction. Berry finds that
the prioritised interpersonal meanings in her texts (e.g. use of items referring directly or
indirectly to the reader, or items indicating obligation or prohibition) are mapped mainly
on to one constituent arising from the experiential part of the ideational metafunction
(e.g. the first participant), but also with repercussions affecting a second segment (e.g.
that realising the process), so giving some evidence for Hallidays claim that interpersonal
meanings are realised prosodically in the clause. The first constituent in the clause contains
not only experientially-derived circumstances, but also items which Halliday would regard
as textual Themes. Berry points out, however, that while it certainly makes sense to argue,
as Halliday does, that ideational and interpersonal meanings can be given prominence
through the enabling function of the textual component of the grammar, this is not the
function of textual Themes, which seem to have a meaning of their own, rather than being
enabling in any way. Berry (1996: 5556) tentatively suggests that textual Themes might
be more profitably regarded as realising logical meanings: certainly they can be realised
through recursive structures, which are said to characterise the logical component. As
first order logical meanings, they could then be given particular degrees of prominence
through the enabling function of the textual component.
Berry goes on to explore the possibility that enabling textual meanings are not just
realised culminatively, at the beginnings and ends of units, as Halliday suggests, but rather
through unusual positioning of material from the experiential, logical and interpersonal
components. For instance, she is able to manipulate the order of elements at or near the
beginning of clauses in her texts in such a way as to alter the intuitively perceived degree
of prominence, and to relate the results to the following hypothesis:
. . . that the usual position for a constituent that realizes experiential circumstance
meaning and that has interpersonal meaning mapped onto it will be in the region of
the constituents that have mood marking functions; that the usual position for a constituent that realizes a logical meaning, with or without experiential circumstance
meaning, will be at the beginning of the clause; when the combination circumstance
+ interpersonal is to receive special prominence, it will be moved into the position
normally occupied by logical meaning; when logical meaning is to receive special
prominence, it will be moved into the position normally occupied by circumstance +
interpersonal meaning. (1996: 57)
. Note also, in this connection, the comment by Hasan & Fries (1995b: xxxvii), that in view of Hallidays
claim that textual structures are periodic rather than segmental or particulate, the question of the boundary
between Theme and Rheme may be an artefact of analytical representation.
Chapter 2
In sum, then, Berrys answer to Huddlestons question about the constituency of clauses
with multiple ThemeE/F is firstly that there is just one such Theme, so that the use of multiple is questionable (see also earlier, for Matthiessen & Martins claim about Hallidays
intentions in this area), and secondly that the constituent structure is that determined by
the ideational metafunction in both its subfunctions, experiential and logical.
Finally, in this section on the meaning of Theme, we should note the view of Hasan
& Fries (1995b: xxix) that a great deal remains to be done to achieve greater clarity in
SFG discussions of Theme (as indeed in other approaches to information structuring).
It is also worth noting some of the unanswered questions these authors raise about the
meaning of Theme:
The rich results claimed by the scholars researching Theme inevitably raise the question: are all of these indicative of the semantic value of Theme? If so, how might we
conceptualize and formulate that value so that it accurately reflects these varied findings? At present, at least, it is not easy to see how the rather varied functions of Theme
selection in the economy of the text may be logically related to a Themes being the
point of departure for what the speaker is going to say [. . . ] or its being a resource for
setting up the local context of each clause in a text [. . . ] (1995b: xxix)
And on the various types of Theme such as marked/unmarked, interpersonal/textual/

logical/experiential, equative, predicated, simple/multiple:
. . . it seems reasonable to ask whether the semantic value of all these various categories
of theme is the same so far as their function in the economy of textual organisation is
concerned? (1995b: xxxii)
On multiple Themes:
Again, one might ask if multiple theme selection is systematically different in its textual function from simple theme selection? For example, is there a textually significant
location where the choice of multiple Theme is at risk? (1995b: xxxiii)
And on thematic organisation in the clause complex rather than the simplex clause:
. . . does Theme at the clause complex rank show the systemic contrast of [marked]
versus [unmarked]? And again is it the case that at this rank, the distinction between
textual, interpersonal, and topical is neutralized? If not, how are these distinctions
realised? And if the distinction is neutralised, what arguments support the postulate
of this neutralisation? (1995b: xxxviii)
.... The encoding of Given and New information. We saw in 2.4.1.3 that Halliday
proposes, as the unmarked position for the realisation of the function New, the last content
element in the tone group. In the unmarked situation, this will fall within the Rheme of
a clause. Furthermore, we saw in 2.4.1.7.2 that Fries has demonstrated the importance
of the N-Rheme of clauses in written English, in expressing newsworthy information, to
which the reader is supposed to give particular attention.
Gussenhoven (1986), in his study of transcriptions of a British television comedy series, describes a range of circumstances in which postnuclear tails containing either focal
or non-focal71 material, occur. For [+focus] tails, he regards the basic type as being allNew72 statements such as in (193) and (194), where the tonic accent is most likely to fall
on phone(s) and parents, dancing or both, respectively.
(193) The phones ringing, she said. (BNC G12 1770)
(194) My dancing partner and her parents turned up, a little bit embarrassing for me . . .
(BNC A61 2311)
The unmarked pattern in such clauses, with Subject + intransitive verb, is to put the tonic
on the participant rather than the process (Gussenhoven 1986: 88). Gussenhoven also
recognises a set of typically non-focus expressions which often occur in tails, and include
time and space markers, cohesion markers (e.g. of course, for a change, etc.), hearer-appeal
markers (e.g. you know) and approximatives (e.g. or something).
As pointed out by Gmez-Gonzlez (1998b: 73), Halliday does in fact recognise that
examples such as (193) and (194) above form an exception to the general rule, though in
order to find this we have to go back to his early work. In Halliday (1967a: 38) we find
a brief discussion of the examples my head aches and the doors locked, in which the unmarked position for the tonic is on head and door respectively. These are characterised
as being high frequency collocations, found especially in intransitive clauses, as noted
above. Halliday also notes that if the final lexical item in the tone group is of high frequency, it will often not receive the tonic accent: the example given is the doctors coming.
It is not clear, however, that this differs in any significant way from the other examples
given.73 Clearly, more research needs to be done to establish whether the information distribution in such clauses is indeed sensitive to frequency (either of individual words or
of collocations), or whether other factors are involved. In particular, we need to know
whether all the types isolated by Gussenhoven can be accounted for in terms of Hallidays
criteria. Related criticisms have been voiced by Fronek (1983), but as his work is highly
relevant to a comparison of SFG with other approaches, I shall postpone discussion until
2.5.1.2.1.
On the encoding of given information in written text, see Cummings (2000), who
concludes that in many texts, almost all the given information is encoded only by lexical
repetition and pronominal substitution, but that in some texts a considerable proportion
of the information is given only because it can be inferred from previously introduced
information.
. Gussenhoven (1986: 85) states that his focal material is equivalent to Hallidays New, while non-focal
material is equivalent to Given information. His article is not, however, specifically a critique of Hallidays
account.
. Also sometimes referred to as thetic: see 2.2.2.1.1.
. Cruttenden (1986: 83) refers to such sentences as event sentences. They typically involve an intransitive
verb denoting (dis)appearance or misfortune.
Chapter 2
... Theme and informational salience in languages other than English

Matthiessen makes some brief comments about the typological characteristics of thematic
systems (1995a: 586590), pointing out the lack of detailed information about textual systems across a wide range of languages. He observes that languages differ in the ways in
which they map the textual metafunction on to the interpersonal and ideational metafunctions. For instance, while English gives thematic prominence to those elements which
are important for signalling mood (Subject, Finite), Japanese does not, but rather signals interrogative status by means of a clause-final particle ka, and leaves wh-interrogative
words in their normal pattern position.
Matthiessen also makes a very important comment which casts doubt on the universality of the category of Theme:
It is important not to assume that a given language has a theme system for assigning an element the status of Theme. The more cautious assumption is that a given
language will have strategies for guiding the addressee in his/her interpretation of a
clause as a message by relating it to the method for developing text. (1995a: 587)
Although Matthiessen comments that many languages (e.g. Chinese, French, German,
Japanese and Tagalog), do have a category of Theme, the implicit claim is that some
(unspecified) languages do not.
Martin (1983a) discusses participant identification in English, the Philippine language Tagalog and the Papua New Guinean language Kte; for Tagalog, this also involves
an analysis of Theme systems. In English, participants are identified through what Halliday & Hasan (1976: Chapter 2) call reference.74 Martin (1983a: 50) presents an early version of the networks in Martin (1992a: Chapter 3), reviewed briefly in 7.2.3.5.2 of Part
1). From the point of view of comparison with Tagalog and Kte, the important point
about the English participant identification system is that every time a nominal group realises a referent, the speaker or writer must decide whether the referent is to be treated as
non-recoverable by the addressee, motivating the use of presenting reference (coded by
indefinite deixis) or recoverable, in which case presuming reference will be used (coded by
definite deixis). In Tagalog, on the other hand, participant identification is closely related
both to the so-called focus system of Philippine languages75 and to matters concerned
with Theme. The focus system allows the marking of complements with a range of transitivity functions as Topic, through affixes on both the complement itself and the verb. As
. Halliday & Hasans (and hence Martins) use of the term reference is somewhat unusual: it is applied
to items which instead of being interpreted semantically in their own right, [. . . ] make reference to something else for their interpretation. In English these items are personals, demonstratives and comparatives
(Halliday & Hasan 1976: 31). Halliday & Hasans work on cohesion will be discussed in Chapter 4.
. It is not at all clear that this use of the term focus has any clear relationship to the uses I have made of
it in this chapter so far. The examples, differing in focus, given by Martin (1983a: 52) are parallel to those
treated as differing in voice in FG (see 2.2.3). Gregory (1988: 306, 311) also uses the term focus to mean
message starting point, and Cummings (1995: 301) takes up this terminology within a systemic framework
despite acknowledging the potential for confusion with Hallidays use of the term.
Martin points out, there is disagreement among Philippinists about the requirements for
definiteness or indefiniteness in Topic and non-Topic complements. Martin shows that
these uncertainties can be explained in terms of the hypothesis that the focus system of
Tagalog has two discourse functions, one concerned with participant identification, the
other with Theme and its use in the development of the text. These two functions can lead
in opposing directions as far as definiteness is concerned, so accounting for the disagreements in this area.76 Unmarked Themes are regarded by Martin as realised through Topics, after at least part of the predicate, and marked Themes through a process which places
Topics before the predicate and links them to it by the particle ay. Through a detailed analysis of a Tagalog narrative text, Martin demonstrates the importance of the Themes to the
way in which the narrative develops. He also shows how considerations concerned with
the thematic function of focus can override the participant identifying function, and how
this can lead to a breakdown of the normal principle that Topic expressions in Tagalog
are definite.
Fang, McDonald & Cheng (1995) describe a study of Theme in Chinese. They state:
The Theme normally comes first in the clause, and may be marked off from the Rheme
by a pause and/or a textual particle such as a, ba, me, ne [. . . ] The Rheme normally
follows the Theme, and may itself be followed by an experiential (aspectual) particle
and/or an interpersonal (modal) particle. The Rheme may precede the Theme only if
the Theme is put in as an afterthought [. . . ], with the aspectual/modal particles still
following the Rheme. (Fang, McDonald & Cheng 1995: 244)
This statement and the ensuing analyses suggest that Theme is being defined topically for
Chinese: there is not a single clear instance of an interpersonal or textual Theme, though
one possible candidate for interpersonal Theme might be tian na in the last section of the
authentic text analysed, translated as my God in a context where this is clearly some kind
of expletive, and is followed immediately by an ideational Theme. The authors make no
comment on whether the lack of non-ideational Themes is general for Chinese, or is an
artefact of the choice of text for analysis.77
Cummings (1995) reports on a study of Theme in Old English texts, suggesting that
the model proposed by Halliday for modern English is also valid, in general, for Old English, and that there is an important difference between narrative and non-narrative texts
in the frequency of marked topical Themes. Some details differ: for example, statistical evidence shows that after an initial temporal or locative conjunctive Adjunct, the Predicator
is usually the next element, so that this positioning can hardly be regarded as emphatic
in any way; Cummings (1995: 305) nevertheless regards it as marked because its presence is correlated with the register of the text. Here, then, we appear to have a contextual
criterion determining what is regarded as marked within the clause. Furthermore, it is
. The general methodological point which Martin is making in this paper is that it may be more fruitful
to start with discourse function (e.g. participant identification, thematic development) than with categories
(e.g. Subject, Topic, definiteness), in contrastive analysis.
. For further work on Theme in Chinese see Fang & Ai (1995).
Chapter 2
common for subordinate clauses, coming before the associated main clauses, to be preceded by elements, including coordinators, temporal conjunctive Adjuncts and vocatives,
which would normally be regarded as thematic in the main clause, and this again complicates the thematic relationships involved. Here, Cummings makes suggestions which echo
differences of approach with other accounts, and will be taken up again in 2.5:
. . . the question previously raised about the relationship of a preposed subordinate
clause to preceding thematic elements possibly belonging to the main clause in fact
casts doubt on the situating of some textual and interpersonal themes within the
structure of the clause unit. One alternative theory would be to view most such
items as elements in sentence structure, along with the preposed subordinate clause
and the main clause proper. Another approach would be to treat the thematic preposed subordinate clause as filling an element of clause structure (such as Adjunct or
Complement) of the dominant clause. (1995: 289290)
Vasconcellos (1992) reports on Theme in written and spoken Portuguese, distinguishing

between what she calls major Themes (represented by the Subject, Object/Complement
or Predicator of the clause) and minor Themes, represented by Adjuncts or conjunctions.
Major Themes are obligatory and are always cognitive, in that they refer to something
outside the discourse; minor Themes, on the other hand, are optional and need not be
cognitive, but are able to express all manner of relationships not related to the speakers
thoughts concerning experience outside the discourse. Stacking of Themes is possible in
Portuguese, as it is in English: for Portuguese the unmarked ordering is conjunction >
Adjunct > Major Theme, this last element always being the one immediately preceding
the Rheme.
The idea of Theme as a cognitive category is also taken up in the work of McCabe &
Alonso Belmonte (2000), referred to briefly earlier, which compares thematic choices in
guidebooks and history textbooks in Spanish and English. These two languages are also the
subject of an article by Munday (2000), concerned with Theme in relation to translation.
It should also be noted that the work of Caffarel (1995) on French, briefly summarised
in 1.4.2 in relation to speech function and mood, also contains useful information on
Theme, which is developed in Caffarel (2000), where it is suggested that the French clause
may have multiple topical Themes, with two layers of thematic organisation, such that
when a marked Theme is selected in a declarative clause, the Subject constituent still has
thematic prominence, though to a smaller extent than the marked Theme.
Steiner & Ramm (1995) give an account of Theme in German, pointing out areas of
constraint arising from interactions between Theme and Mood, diathesis and transitivity.
Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 126144) discuss mechanisms for the realisation of
informational salience in Japanese, in the context of a systemically-based approach to natural language generation by computer. Hori (1997), while agreeing with the general thrust
of Matthiessen & Batemans account, casts doubt on the acceptability, and even grammaticality, of some of their examples, and suggests that certain modifications to their scheme
are required. Further work on Japanese is reported by Maynard (1994), who analyses staging in narrative discourse achieved through thematisation patterns, the thematic prop-
erties of the nominal predicate n(o) da, and the poetic effect of certain uses of thematic
interrogative clauses.
.. Information structure in the Cardiff grammar

... Theme and voice
I shall begin, as usual, with Fawcetts early account (1980), since this often contains the
most extensive discussion of particular points. Fawcett (1980: 3132, 157) rejects Hallidays lumping together of thematic and informational78 choices into one functional component labelled textual, for three reasons: the two system networks involved are independent of one another; they call on different aspects of knowledge of the universe; and all
the functional strands of meaning contribute to the textuality of a text (e.g. in the logical
connections between propositions, the lexical cohesion which results from choices in the
experiential component, and so on79 ).
Fawcett immediately recognises the inherent difficulty of Hallidays concept of theme:
It is in fact particularly hard to pin down in precise terms (1) how we select an element
to be the theme, and (2) what it means to be the theme. (1980: 157)
His own angle on theme is that it is speaker/writer based, whereas informational meaning, in the sense of processing as a chunk of information through the intonation system,
is hearer oriented: this is, of course, also the position espoused by Halliday in IFG (see
2.4.1.4). Fawcett points out that thematic (and also illocutionary) options are concerned
with expressing meaning though the placement of elements of clause structure earlier in
the structure than would otherwise be the case. This is easily handled through the concept
of starting structures which are fundamental to the approach in Fawcetts 1980s model.
The starting structure for the clause in this model has an unmarked place for each clause
element, and marked thematic choices can be realised by putting elements in an earlier
place. Indeed, as Fawcett observes, this mechanism can also deal naturally with situations
in which an element (e.g. an adjunct), although not placed initially, is in a medial rather
than a final position. An example is seen in the following set of clauses:
(195) And most diets are not flexible enough for you to indulge yourself occasionally.
(BNC AD0 601)
(196) She would occasionally come to church with her sons. (BNC AHF 259)
(197) Occasionally the train would swing near the coast . . . (BNC ABS 983)
. Note that Fawcett, like Halliday, is using informational as a label specifically for that part of the linguistic system which is concerned with assessing the amount of information to be communicated, and what is
to be regarded as given and what as new. I shall continue to use the term in the wider sense explained at the
beginning of this chapter.
. Since the time at which Fawcett wrote his book, the concept of the textual component as acting upon
choices made in other components has been expanded and expounded in greater detail.
Chapter 2
Fawcetts partial system network (1980: 161) for simple themes (i.e. excluding predicated
themes and theme identification) allows for parallel choices of both Subject unmarked
theme and marked themes, the latter being derived from the various strands of meaning.
In this way, examples dealt with by Halliday in terms of multiple theme can be handled.
Note that the Subject theme options are not relevant only to declaratives as might
be thought: if the mood is imperative, for example, it is still necessary to decide which
inherent role would have been realised as Subject if there had been one, in order to be able
to generate passive imperatives with an overt agent, such as the first clause in (198) (cf.
They were entertained by the Kings Troupe).
(198) Be entertained by the Kings Troupe and enjoy medieval merriment at a Medieval
Banquet at the Sheriff s Lodge. (BNC EEG 116)
In the network for Subject theme, there is a choice of [first inherent role] or [other] for
thematisation. The choice of [other] leads to simultaneous systems, one distinguishing
between [second inherent role] and [third inherent role] for processes which can have
three, such as give, and the other leading to the voice system distinguishing between the
normal be-passive and the get-passive.
The marked theme network offers simultaneous choices for various types of marked
theme. Fawcett explicitly includes experiential circumstantial themes of manner here, and
divides them into [unmarked] (realised by final placement of the manner adverbial, [manner thematised] (realised by initial placement) and [integrative] (realised by medial placement); he also recognises that there are many other systems which need to be worked
out in the area of experiential circumstantial marked themes. The other systems are: time
specification (from the experiential strand); negativity, divided into [unmarked] (leading
to medial placement of adverbs such as never) and [negativity thematised] (leading to initial placement); logical relationships, dealing with the placement of adverbs such as however; interactional, with two possibilities for placement of the politeness formula please,
[unmarked] leading to final placement, [politeness formula thematised] leading to initial placement; modality, concerned with placement of modal adverbs such as maybe; and
[affective], dealing with placement of adverbs such as unfortunately. Fawcett (1980: 163)
writes that it is the complexity of possible co-thematisations which makes it necessary to
allow for as many as five places in the starting structure to the left of the Subject; he also
admits thematisation of two experiential meanings, one of time and one of place, in the
same clause.
Note that the postulation of parallel Subject theme and marked theme choices allows
for the thematicity of the Subject not only in examples such as (199), but also those such
as (200), where in Hallidays account the Subject would not be thematic at all because of
the initial ideational Adjunct here.
(199) But luckily, we found out that the council were giving grants for home improvements
to old properties. (BNC G35 1835)
(200) But here, luckily, you will be spared the difficulty that can arise . . . (BNC FF0 415)
More recent work in the Cardiff framework still postulates that clauses often have several
kinds of theme, more than one of which can be experiential in nature. However, theme
is not regarded as a unified concept in the present-day version of the Cardiff grammar,
but is taken to express quite a wide spectrum of meanings, which are different according
to what it is that is thematised, and arise at various points within the grammar, so that
no useful general definition for theme can be postulated. We can see this approach in the
partial system networks given by Fawcett, Tucker & Lin (1993), in their illustration of how
their computationally-implemented grammar works in the generation of structure for a
complete clause. For instance, the system [overt location unthematised]/[overt location
thematised] is a terminal system in the transitivity subnetwork concerned with the kind
of relational process which involves [simple carrier location]. The two possibilities are
illustrated in the clauses in bold in (201) ([overt location unthematised]) and in (202)
([overt location thematised]).
(201) Constable Perkins is here, Mrs Clancy said. (BNC A0D 1049)
(202) Here he is! she said at last. (BNC AC5 2944)
As in the earlier model, the Subject is treated as having thematic status not only in (201),
but also in (202), so that the latter has two thematic constituents, here and the Subject
theme he. In Fawcetts model, Subject theme is present whenever Subject is conflated
with a participant role, and there are therefore other areas of the grammar where Subject
themes are generated. The various sets of choices leading to Subject theme are brought
together by means of a gate, a system with only one output but two or more inputs, leading to the choice of Subject theme type: [outsider Subject theme] (realised by having a 3rd
person Subject) versus [interactant Subject theme] (with 1st or 2nd person Subject), with
further more delicate choices differentiating types of 1st and 2nd person Subject.
It should be noted that in the latest work on Theme (Fawcett, personal communication), the Cardiff grammarians do not treat examples such as (202) as having marked
theme, this term being reserved for cases in which a Participant Role which is a Complement is thematised.
Finally, let us look briefly at work by the Cardiff group (Fawcett & Huang 1995; Huang
& Fawcett 1996; Huang 1996) on the enhanced theme construction and the object-asrole-in-event construction in English and Chinese, these being their labels for clefts (or
what Halliday calls predicated Themes) and pseudoclefts (Hallidays thematic equatives)
respectively. The terms cleft and pseudocleft are rejected because they suggest that there
is some prior clause which is cut into parts, an analysis which, while involved in accounts
based on transposition (the idea that it + that-clause form a discontinuous Subject in
a cleft construction) and intercalation (treatment of it + be + that as semantically empty
and intercalated into the simple clause), is not consonant with a functionalist view. The
Cardiff analysis of the enhanced theme construction in (203) is shown in (204) (cf. Fawcett
& Huang 1995: 123: their abbreviated labels for elements have been replaced with their full
form for ease of comprehension).
Chapter 2
(203) The concept of the company does not interest me its the businesses that are important. (BNC A1E 26)
(204)
Clause
Empty
Subject
It
Operator/
Main verb
Complement/
Attribute/Enhanced
Theme
Complement/Carrier
Clause
Subject/
Carrier
Main
verb
Complement/
Attribute
that
are
important
the businesses
Note that it is assumed here that businesses receives the tonic stress, marking it as new
information; this is certainly implied by the contrast between company and businesses in
(203). The analysis of the object-as-role-in-event construction in (205) is shown in (206)
(cf. Fawcett & Huang 1995: 125).
(205) What is important is the function, . . . (BNC B72 1857)
(206)
Clause
Subject/Carrier
Operator/
Main verb
Complement/
Attribute
Clause
Subject/
Carrier
Main
verb
Complement/
Attribute
What
is
important
is
the function
In justifying the at first rather strange claim that the that-clause of an enhanced theme
construction is the Carrier of the matrix clause, Fawcett & Huang point out that the two
types of structure have in common a matrix sentence with a relational Process of being,
and that such Processes take the participant roles Carrier and Attribute. They also claim
that in each case, the Carrier in the matrix sentence represents, at the highest level of all
(which they refer to as logical form) an object: this is perhaps easiest to see in (206), where
the object they are referring to is what (= that which) is important;80 presumably, we are
intended to extrapolate this interpretation to the less obvious case in (204). In other words,
. Hence the label object-as-role-in-event, with event presumably meant to cover the whole range of
Process types, including relational states, as in our examples.
Fawcett & Huang (1995: 126) assume a higher level of planning and understanding
(their emphasis) at which there is a common logical form for the two types of sentence,
roughly What is important is the function/businesses.
In motivating further their analysis of the enhanced theme construction, Fawcett &
Huang point to the differences between this and the object-as-role-in-event construction.
The presence of an experientially empty Subject can throw the Carrier to the end of the
clause, so conforming to the end-weight principle. The authors claim, however, that this
is a by-product of a more powerful principle, namely the enhanced theme principle
(1995: 129), which they suggest also applies to constructions normally referred to as extrapositions, and to certain existential constructions. The idea, which is not fully explained,
appears to be that extraction of an element for treatment as an enhanced theme confers
on it, in each case, some particular functional property which explains its use. The two
constructions also differ in the presence in the enhanced theme construction of it + be.
Fawcett & Huang consider that these words are not semantically empty, but provide what
they call thematic build-up, signalling the expectation of an enhanced theme. Finally, the
two constructions have different information distributions, in terms of the placement of
the tonic syllable in the spoken language. In (205)/(206), for example, the tonic is on the
last lexical item in the tone group, signalling that at least the function is New, though more
could be. In (203)/(204), on the other hand, the tonic is on an item earlier in the tone
group, and signals that the businesses is contrastively New.
Following Prince (1978), but with their rather different orientation, Fawcett &
Huang (1995: 133136) also differentiate between two basic semantic types of enhanced
theme construction, one in which the enhanced theme itself is contrastively new (as in
(203)/(204) above), and a second in which the enhanced theme itself is never contrastively
new, though it can be new without being contrastive, as illustrated in (207) below.
(207) Another two moved on shortly afterwards and it was then that the intimidation
began. (BNC A0F 1031)
Here, then is not being contrasted with any other time, though it can be new, if stressed.
Fawcett & Huang (1995: 136141) also distinguish variants of the two main types, depending on the information status of material in the embedded clause. For the first type, this
can be given, new or contrastively new; for the second type, it is always new, but can be
contrastive or not.
Huang (1996) presents a more detailed critique of the Prince classification and provides greater detail on the semantic types of enhanced theme construction. He also
presents a classification of the discourse functions of these constructions (Huang 1996: 92
107). The primary distinction is between a repair function, consisting of the correction of
a statement which is considered to be incorrect (see Delin 1991), and a set of discourse
development functions, divided into initiation, continuation and concluding types. The
initiating function is of three subtypes: scene-setting (e.g. it was + time expression + that),
topic-setting (where the enhanced material introduces a discourse topic), and what Huang
calls ritual genre marking (e.g. it is with great pleasure that . . . ). The continuing function
includes picking out some entity from a set, reactivating some previously mentioned ref-
Chapter 2
erent, and the highlighting of some rhetorical relationship such as reason (e.g. it is because
of this that) or purpose. The concluding function, manifested towards the end of a stretch
of discourse, can serve as a climax to that section, or as a summary.
For further discussion of the Cardiff work on enhanced theme, and for examples of the
various semantic types and discourse functions, the original articles should be consulted.
... Processing chunks of information

I have, of course, already strayed into the territory of information chunking in talking
about the Cardiff approach to enhanced theme. In this section I shall deal with this aspect
in greater detail.
Fawcetts (1980: 164172) account of his informational component essentially follows Hallidays contemporary treatment of the information unit. His partial information
distribution network (1980: 166) has referent situation regarded as a chunk of information as its entry point. It first distinguishes between situations in which the speaker
chooses not to include a new information point (e.g. when the referent situation is embedded inside another one, as may happen with embedded clauses) and those in which a
new information point is indeed chosen. If [new information point] is selected, two things
happen: firstly, there is the choice of re-entering the information distribution network so
that a further information point may or may not be selected, and secondly the information focus system presents a choice between [unmarked focus] and [marked focus].
In the case of [unmarked focus] there is a further distinction between [no restriction]
(with the information focus on the last experiential item of the tone group with inherent stress, which in the two-participant material process clause used as an example is the
Affected participant) and [on first inherent role] (leading to passive voice and, in the example given, focus on the Agent in a by-passive). Two specific kinds of [marked focus] are
listed (on the element marking the polarity of the clause, and on the first inherent role of a
two-participant process), but it is recognised that other possibilities exist. Some examples
are given below, with the original transcription of the London-Lund Corpus followed by
a Hallidayan rendering.
(208) îf we !think of [dhi] :sacrifice which was :made by !Chr\ist# - - - êven though he
didnt :w\ant it# - - - (LLC 12 1c 773774)
(209) //if we /think of [dhi] /sacrifice which was /made by /Christ// even though he didnt
/want it//
Here, the first tone group has unmarked focus but with the focus on the first inherent role
(Christ), achieved by the passive voice, whereas in the second tone group there is ordinary
unmarked focus. Now consider (210)/(211):
(210) but I ^think its just because he doesnt l\/ike/ sentences like _that#
(LLC 9 1i 625)
(211) //^ but I /think its /just because he /doesnt /like /sentences like that//
Here we have marked focus, with the focus on the process (presumably one of the other
options Fawcett omits from his network), marking doesnt like as the new information, the
material following it (sentences like that) being given information.
Fawcett also discusses what he calls redundancy balance, concerned with striking the
appropriate balance between giving too little and too much information (1980: 169). His
network offers the choice between making none of the experiential meaning redundant,
or making some of it redundant by means of either substitution of all but the Subject by so
or zero, or by making all of it redundant by, for example, using just Yes as the answer to a
question rather than repeating the relevant experiential information. As further discussion
of this area would involve us in examining intersentential relationships, I shall say no more
about it here.
Fawcett (1990: 168ff.) offers a more detailed treatment of information focus, based on
the development of Hallidays work by Tench (1987; see also Tench 1992, 1996). Marked
tonicity is associated with contrastively new information. There is a system [no element
marked as contrastively new] vs. [element marked as contrastively new], and two types of
contrastive newness are provided for in the grammar up to that time: on polarity or on
the process. Contrastive newness is realised by the conflation of a contrastive tonic with
the structural element concerned (typically the operator for polarity newness, the main
verb for process newness). Unmarked tonicity is generated as the default, in the absence
of contrastively new information. Fawcetts networks also provide for various situations
in which more than one tone group is associated with a single clause, for instance where
we have a group or embedded clause81 acting as an Adjunct of time or other circumstance, in a thematised position. In the case of position in time, there would be a choice
between [unthematised time position] and [thematised time position], and if the latter,
then [time position as separate information unit] vs. [time position as part of main information unit], then if as a separate unit, [highlighted thematised time position] vs. [neutral
thematised time position]. These features act as conditional features on realisation rules
for the units generated, ensuring the appropriate placement of tone group boundaries,
and the correct selection of tones (e.g. a rising tone for neutral thematised time position,
and a falling-rising tone for the highlighted version, both in a separate tone group). The
main distinctions made in the 1990 paper are repeated in Fawcett, Tucker & Lin (1993).
In this final section, I shall attempt to make some comparisons between the accounts summarised in previous parts of the chapter. The main discussion will be in two parts: first I
shall look at the three approaches in terms of topicality, focality and their expression in
languages. I shall then examine the same material from a rather different, though related,
. Remember that in the Cardiff grammar, unlike the Sydney grammar, subordinate clauses of time, etc.
are regarded as embedded in the matrix clause.
Chapter 2
perspective: that of position in the clause, looking particularly at the importance of initial
and final positions. The chapter finishes with a brief comparison of the treatment of voice
in the three theories.
..
Topicality and focality

... Topicality
.... What is a topic? In FG, the way in which topicality is described is extremely general: it characterises the things we talk about (Dik 1997a: 310). Topics in this sense can
be recognised for different sizes of unit within a whole text: for example, for a book, we
may be able to say what the topics are for the book as a whole, for each chapter, for sections
within each chapter, for paragraphs within a section, and for individual sentences and/or
clauses within a paragraph. However, only when what we are talking about at the clause
level receives some formal marking is it seen as having the pragmatic function Topic.
In RRG, which takes its version of information distribution from Lambrechts (1994)
work, topic is part of a more general concept, the pragmatic presupposition, or the set of
assumptions evoked by the utterance that make up the context necessary for understanding the utterance (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 202). Within the pragmatically presupposed
part of an utterance, there may be an expression which has the properties of topic, in
that its referent is what the proposition is expressing information about, and is regarded
by the speaker/writer as a centre of interest which will have some role in the proposition, presumably that of being the background against which new or focal information is
presented.82
As pointed out by Fumero Prez (2001: 182183), important differences between the
FG and Lambrechtian treatments of topic emerge from a consideration of the type of
sentence discussed briefly in 2.2.2.1.1 and further exemplified by (212) below, which is
structurally parallel to one of Lambrechts examples (1994: 129, his example 4.5):
(212) Once upon a time there was a stocky little ice skater who fell in love with her tall,
fair-haired partner. (BNC HAE 3404)
For Dik, a stocky little ice skater would be the (New) Topic of the main clause here, but
who would not be treated as the Topic of the relative clause, since it is only if no constituent specific to P1 (an interrogative, subordinator or relative pronoun) is present in
this position that P1 can be used for a constituent with Topic or Focus function. Indeed, as
Fumero Perez (2001: 183) observes, Dik (1997a: 424) explicitly comments on such cases,
stating clearly that the presence of a P1 constituent in subordinate clauses blocks placement of Topic or Focus in P1. On the other hand, under the Lambrecht (1994: 129) account adopted in RRG, both a stocky little ice skater and who would have topical status
in the general sense of having, as their referent, an entity which is what this part of the
. It is worth noting here one potential problem with the RRG account of both topic and focus: at different
points in the discussion in Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 201ff.), these pragmatic elements are associated with
the sentence, the clause and the utterance, in what appears to be free variation.
discourse is about. However, a stocky little ice skater is not the Topic of its clause, since
the clause is not itself about the referent of this nominal, but rather introduces it into
the discourse. Furthermore, who is indeed the Topic (more accurately, topic expression)
of the relative clause, since this relative pronoun enters into an aboutness relation with a
proposition. In this respect the Lambrecht position seems preferable to the Dik account.
Fumero Prez (2001: 195) also points out that while Lambrechts account of Topic
depends crucially on the activation status of referents in the minds of communicating
participants, Dik, although situating his theory of pragmatic function within an overall
framework based on the concept of pragmatic information and its relationship with beliefs
and knowledge, retreats from this position when discussing the assignment of pragmatic
functions, which relies very strongly on information deducible from the linguistic context
itself, at the expense of knowledge derived from the communicative situation and from
more general sources.
One problem with the standard accounts in both FG and RRG is that topic, although
clearly a matter of how speakers and writers view the information they are presenting as a
text unfolds, is exemplified using adjacency pairs of utterances at best. This is, of course,
one of the criticisms voiced by Mackenzie & Keizer (1991), and it will be remembered that
their own analysis of a whole text reinforces the conclusion, arrived at through a detailed
critical examination of Diks proposals, that the Topic function should be abandoned for
English. Against this, we have Hannays (1991, 1993) proposals for incorporating English
Topic into a scheme of modes of message management. Clearly a substantial amount of
further work on authentic texts is needed in order to assess properly the merits of these
two proposals.
Within SFG, Halliday himself does not make use of the concept of topic as such: indeed, he remarks (Halliday 1994a: 38) that the term tends to be used to include the concepts of both Theme and Given. He does, however, say that a participant in thematic
function corresponds fairly closely to what is called the topic in a topic-comment analysis (1994a: 52) and that this is what motivates his label topical Theme for this particular
type of Theme. It would seem, then, that it is possible to make some connection between
topic and Theme in this way. We should remember, though, the arguments concerning
aboutness reviewed in 2.4.1.7.2: not all items which Halliday would label topical Themes
correspond to referents about which the clause says something, in the normal referential
sense of aboutness. Those who wish to claim that arguments about Theme should be based
on phenomena observable only in whole texts, such as thematic progression, method of
development, and the like, or who interpret aboutness in a relational rather than a referential sense, are moving away from the identification of even topical Theme with topic as
conceived in other approaches. We have seen that Fries, one of the foremost exponents of
this approach, although making use of the concept of topic, leaves it undefined.
A second link between topic in its wider sense, as used in FG, and the descriptions
available in SFG is through the concept of hierarchical topicality. SFG is certainly interested in what whole texts and parts of texts are about, though it tends to call these
topics by other names: see, for example, Berrys (1996) discourse Theme and Martins
(1992a: 437) hyper-Theme (a (set of) sentence(s) predicting a pattern of lexical and the-
Chapter 2
matic patterns in the following sentences) and macro-Theme (a (set of) sentence(s)
predicting a set of hyper-Themes).
There is also a further way in which we can connect aspects of systemic functional
description with the concept of topic. This involves the different types of topic postulated
in FG, to which I turn in the next section.
.... Types of clausal topic and their realisation. We have seen that Dik recognises four
types of Topic (i.e. four types of expression which are marked in some way in the language
to indicate that their referents have different types of status as topics about which something is being said at the clause level). New Topic expressions are those whose referents
are being introduced into the discourse for the first time; Given Topics are those whose
referents are already assumed to be available to the addressee through their presence in
the discourse (or, in Mackenzie & Keizers revision of Diks account, situationally or generally available, even if not present in the preceding text); Sub-Topics are those for which
the referent, although not mentioned explicitly in the text, can be inferred from a referent which has indeed already been presented; and Resumed Topics are those Given Topics
which have not been used for a while in the text, and need reactivating.
As Siewierska (1991: 160) observes, there are clear correlations between these four
types of Topic in FG and the cognitive statuses which she arrives at on the basis of the
work of Chafe, Prince, Lambrecht and others, though we cannot postulate a one-to-one
relationship because of the FG requirement that a Topic be singled out for special treatment. GivTops are associated with active referents, SubTops with semi-active referents inferable from GivTops, and ResTops with the change from active to semi-active though lack
of recent use in the discourse. NewTops, as we have seen, are not only brand new (or possibly a semi-active inferable), but also non-identifiable, thus bringing into question their
status as Topics and linking them rather to Focus.83
The different types of Topic are linked to different types of realisation. NewTops, according to Dik (1997a: 315318), are normally indefinite, though they can be definite if the
speaker thinks the addressee can recover the referent; they also characteristically come late
in the clause, often in second argument position, or if first arguments, then with an existential type of construction which throws them to a later position. NewTops also generally
have the main accent of the expression of which they form part (1997a: 456). GivTops
are typically marked through anaphoric reference of some kind, and have no accentual
prominence unless there is a contrast with another GivTop (1997a: 457). ResTops are realised by a stronger form of anaphoric reference than used for their previous mention
as GivTops, and normally have some degree of accentual prominence. SubTops usually
have some degree of accent, because they have something new and contrastive about them
(1997a: 457). Siewierska links the grammatical realisations to Lambrechts scale of topic
acceptability, which is also taken over into RRG.
. A very similar set of parallels is proposed by Fumero Prez (2001: 176).
It is at this point that we can make a partial link with SFG. We saw in 7.2.3.5.2 of Part
1 that Martin (1992a) and Matthiessen (1995a) have presented SFG networks for types of
reference. For instance, in Martins account, presuming reference is used where the speaker
is assuming that the referent is recoverable by the addressee, whereas presenting reference
implies that the speaker does not consider (or does not choose to consider) the referent as
recoverable. It is clear that a nominal group with presuming reference refers to something
which is a better topic, in the sense of Lambrechts scale, than one which has presenting
reference.
... Focality
.... What is focus? There are clear similarities in the ways in which focus is defined
in the three theories under discussion, though there are also important differences, chief
among which is the nature of the unit within which focus is to be defined.
We have seen that for Dik (1997a: 326), focal information is defined in terms of its
saliency in the given communicative setting, as judged by the speakers assessment of the
need for the addressee to integrate the information into his/her pragmatic information.
This information can either be an addition to the addressees existing information, or may
be intended to replace part of this. Focal information need not be new, in the sense of
not hitherto mentioned in the discourse: it is possible for the speaker to present already
available information as focal. For the function Focus to be assigned to a constituent,
focality must be indicated by special treatment of that constituent in the grammar.
RRG, following Lambrecht, opposes the focal part of an utterance to the pragmatic
presupposition (which, as we have seen, may contain a topical element): the focus is
[t]he semantic component of a pragmatically structured proposition whereby the assertion differs from the presupposition (Lambrecht 1994: 213, cited in Van Valin & LaPolla
1997: 202). Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 202) stress that the newness of the focal information does not relate directly to any referent, but resides in its relationship to the pragmatic
presupposition. This relational approach is much less visible in the FG account of focus,
though the definition of the latter in terms of greatest degree of salience implies that focus
is relative to the rest of the information coded in the expression. For every language, RRG
postulates a potential focus domain within which the focus must fall: in English, this is the
whole clause, in some other languages (e.g. Italian) only the verb plus postverbal elements.
The treatment of focus in SFG is predictably rather different from that in the other two
theories, and has so far centred very largely on English, and has been concerned mainly
with prosodic realisations. We have seen that a major difference from other approaches is
that information focus is related not directly to the clause, but to a proposed information
unit, which is realised though the phonological unit of tone group, and, in the unmarked
case only, corresponds to a clause in the grammatical hierarchy. The information unit
consists of a New element, with an optional Given element, and the information focus
is the central element in the New constituent of the informational strand of structure.
New information, in the context of Hallidays model, is not information which is not
recoverable by the addressee, but rather information which is presented by the speaker
as being non-recoverable, for whatever reason: because it genuinely cannot be expected
Chapter 2
to be recovered, or because, although recoverable, it is regarded by the speaker as being

newsworthy in some way (Halliday 1994a: 298).84 This is also essentially the point made
by Dik and mentioned above. Furthermore, Halliday comes very close to Lambrecht and
Van Valin & LaPolla when he comments that [i]t is the interplay of new and not new that
generates information in the linguistic sense (1994a: 296).
Hallidays early account of information focus is criticised by Fronek (1983), whose arguments remain largely unanswered in Hallidays later accounts. Froneks principal claim
is that the organisation of information in discourse, rather than being specifiable in terms
of units of intonation as Halliday claims, is a property of predicational units, i.e. clause
and sentence. Thus Froneks criticisms are directed against the very claim which makes
the SFG approach so different from that of FG and RRG. Fronek seeks to demonstrate
that Hallidays approach leads to a number of problems and inconsistencies.
Firstly, Fronek (1983: 313ff.) points out that Hallidays view of what constitutes given
and new information differs from that of most other scholars working in this area, for
whom given information is that which is objectively derivable from the discourse through
anaphora or implicature, inferable from components of the situation, or from knowledge
shared between interactants, and new information is any which cannot be derived in this
way. For Halliday, on the other hand, newness is bound up with focality, as indicated
intonationally: for instance, anaphoric items such as personal pronouns are new if focal,
given if not focal, it being up to the speaker to decide whether to present such items as
new or not, this criterion taking precedence over the actual recoverability of the referent.
Fronek finds this unconvincing:
It seems to me [. . . ] that Hallidays criterion of recoverability by anaphora or situationally is meaningless and that his distinction given-new can be of theoretical value
only if it means something like an identified entity vs. ascription of a value to that
entity. (1983: 315)
Fronek (1983: 316ff.) also claims that an analysis of information in terms of segmentation
of the discourse into tone groups leads to an overgeneralisation of the functions of tone
groups. What Fronek refers to as the nuclear tone, by which he appears to mean the primary intonation movement of a clause or sentence, is said to indicate which elements of
the clause/sentence are identified, and so is a marker of which part of that unit bears the
main information. Fronek claims that such nuclear tones are usually, though not always,
marked as Tone 1 (falling) by Halliday. Tone groups with Tone 4 (falling-rising), on the
other hand, appear to Fronek to indicate a different type of opposition, appearing mainly
. Note the importance here of the speaker and his or her assessment of the state of information of the
addressee. McGregor (1997: 275) takes this as part of his evidence that the assignment of information focus
by the speaker is an interpersonal matter rather than a textual one as Halliday would have it. However, as
pointed out in 2.2.2.2.1 in connection with Hannays modes of message management, this view rests on a
rather different interpretation of what constitutes interpersonal meaning.
where an Adjunct or Object is initial, or where there is an alternation of parallel topics,85

cases in which he claims the intonation marks the structural property of dislocation rather
than informational prominence: it is a signal that the first element in such structures is not
to be decoded as Subject, but is set off from the Subject by a boundary. In support of this
claim, Fronek points out that assignment of a separate tone group with Tone 4 is always
optional in such cases, and varies with the accent of English being studied. Furthermore,
emphasis on initial Adjuncts does not usually occur in inflectional languages, such as German and Czech, where initial placement is common, in order to keep the verb close to its
arguments.
Froneks account of initial placement of Adjuncts and Objects tends to minimise differences in communicative function in ways which Halliday would probably not accept.
For instance, the following are regarded as communicatively (and therefore informationally) synonymous variants despite the admission that [t]he shifts play, naturally, some
roles in maintaining the desired patterns of cohesion in discourse:
(213) (= Froneks (12), 1983: 318) This product we developed in our plant.
(214) (= Froneks (13), 1983: 318) This product was developed in our plant.
Furthermore, it should be remembered that Halliday himself writes at some length about
the structural functions of tone group allocation (see especially Halliday 1967a: 33ff.)
More convincing are Froneks arguments in relation to markedness. Firstly, he points
out that there are problems with Hallidays use of diagnostic questions to decide whether
there is marked focus, the general principle being that only for information units with
marked focus is it possible to derive specific questions to which the utterance is an answer.
For instance, to take two of Hallidays own examples (Halliday 1967b: 208), (215) implies
When did John paint the shed?, but (216) could simply imply What happened?, in the
case where the tone group contains only new information.
(215) // John painted the shed yesterday //
(216) // John painted the shed yesterday //
But, as Fronek (1983: 324) observes, in an example such as (217) (from Halliday
1967b: 202), we cannot formulate a question which will account for both tonics.
(217) // Mary // always goes to town on Saturdays //
Fronek takes this as an indication that what is really at issue is the information structure
of the clause, the tone group not being an informationally independent unit.
A further problem concerned with markedness is that for Halliday, any element which
has a marked tonic is contrastive, and this, Fronek (1983: 324) claims, leads to the postulation of contrastiveness where arguably none is present, and at the same time fails to
. Fronek (1983: 317) actually uses the label theme here, but he makes it clear (p. 312) that he is using this
term in the sense of topic.
Chapter 2
distinguish real contrasts of information value. Fronek cites an example from Halliday
(1967a: 42) given as (218) below:
(218) // I saw John on the train//
in which John, not being the final lexical item in the tone group, has marked focus. And
yet, as Fronek points out, this does not necessarily involve contrast, and could be used
discourse-initially. Similarly, even tonic pronouns are sometimes not contrastive:
(219) (= Froneks (41), 1983: 325) I failed because of her.
This is no more contrastive than the equivalent sentence with a full NP such as my wife,
although there are indeed situations in which such pronouns are contrastive, as in (220):
(220) (= Froneks (42), 1983: 325) I do not like her, I like you.
Fronek therefore claims that it is misguided to relate informational status to position.
Rather:
Information is related to communicative acts and the marking can therefore be best
explained in terms of the respective communicative tasks involved. (1983: 325)
His overall conclusion is that informational contrasts are best handled in terms of the
relationship between communicative function and the syntactico-semantic properties of
clauses and sentences.
Finally, we should note the definition of focus proposed by Lavid Lpez, who, in an
interesting discussion of functional linguistic and computational approaches to the area of
information structuring, emphasises the role of focal material in the inferential processes
involved in understanding the message:
Focus is the locus, within each message, of principal inferential effort. It is that/those
concept(s) most relevant for processing on which the speaker wants the hearer to
spend the most thought. (Lavid Lpez 2000: 363)
Clearly, such a dynamic, discourse-oriented conception of focus still needs to be related to

the ways in which focality is signalled morphosyntactically and intonationally.
.... Types of focus. FG offers a quite detailed classification of focus types. It will be
remembered from 2.2.1.3 that Dik (1997a: 330335) offers a dual classification. The first
kind concentrates on the type of element on which focus falls: operator, predicate or
part of it, or term (and within this, Subject or non-Subject). The second is concerned
with communicative point, and distinguishes first between information gap and contrastive types of focus. Information gap focus is subdivided into questioning and completive types, contrastive focus into parallel and counter-presuppositional types. Counterpresuppositional focus can be rejecting, replacing, expanding, restricting or selecting.
Both classifications are seen as typologically relevant. Mackenzie & Keizer (1991) propose to replace Diks classifications by one in which focus has +/ values on four features:
completive, presentative, emphatic and contrastive.
The RRG classification offered by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 206210), based on the
work of Lambrecht (1994), is rather different. The primary distinction is between narrow
and broad focus: in the former there is just one constituent in the actual focus domain;
in the latter, more than one constituent. Narrow focus can be unmarked or marked: for
English, the unmarked focus position is the last position in the core, which is not necessarily the final position in the clause. Broad focus divides into predicate and sentence types.
Predicate focus is the classic topic-comment structure, and is the unmarked variant; in
sentence focus, the whole sentence is in focus, so there is no pragmatic presupposition
component, and hence no topic.
SFG, like RRG, recognises unmarked or marked focus. The unmarked focus position
for English is the last lexical element in the tone group (except for any inherently given
elements such as deictics); any other position is marked (Halliday 1994a: 297298). However, it is important to remember that the SFG account of information focus as such deals
only with information realised prosodically in spoken English, though we have seen that
Matthiessens culmination systems attempt to do something similar for written English,
in terms of the informational significance of final position in the clause.
Further comparison of these three accounts of focus types requires discussion of the
mechanisms for their expression, to which I now turn.
.... Ways of realising focus. The discussion in earlier sections shows that FG, RRG
and SFG all recognise three main mechanisms for the expression of focus: prosodic prominence, grammatical construction types and particles. I shall discuss each of these in turn,
though there will be overlap, since some types of focus realisation involve both prosody
and construction.
..... Prosodic prominence. Let us look again at some of the spoken English examples
used in 2.2.1.3 to illustrate Diks classification of focus types. We begin with example
(11), repeated below as (221).
(221) Mrs Skitt did not ask us to witness her signature (LLC 11 1 839841)
This was presented earlier as an example of focus on an operator, in this case that for negation. In terms of Diks communicative point classification, it is of the rejecting counterpresuppositional kind. In the RRG account, the focus on not would be an example of
marked narrow focus (since it is not on the last element of the core). But this example immediately illustrates the kind of complication which arises when we use authentic rather
than constructed examples: there are no fewer than three intonation nuclei superimposed
on a single clause, and this highlights a problem with approaches, such as those in FG and
RRG, in which focus, even when realised prosodically, is seen as a property of a grammatical unit.86 In SFG, on the other hand, in which focus is associated with an information
. There are examples in Diks presentation of focus which have two intonation nuclei in one clause, but
here the two foci are semantically linked in a parallel structure (see further discussion below); this is not the
case for examples such as (221).
Chapter 2
unit which is coextensive with the tone group, this particular problem is avoided. The original transcription in the London-Lund Corpus for (221) and its environment is shown in
(222), and this is translated into the notation of SFG in (223).87
(222) ((you)) see the ^\answer# - ^signed by :\Mrs K/ay# is ^Mrs. Sk/itt# did ^n\ot
ask us# to ^witness her !s\ignature# (223) //^ you see the /answer //signed by Mrs Kay // ^ is /Mrs /Skitt did // not /ask us to
//witness her / signature//
Since we have three tone groups in the part shown in (221), we have three information
units: the first has unmarked focus (since Skitt is the last element with lexical function);
the second, on which I have concentrated above, has marked focus on not; and the third,
with the tonic on the last lexical element, has unmarked focus. The problem for SFG, of
course, is to link the structure of the information unit(s) to that of the clause, since they
are of different kinds, and need not be co-extensive, as shown by the above example. A
further example of multiple tone groups over a single clause is As contribution in (19),
repeated below as (224).
(224) A. any . sort of metropolitan town by half past eight the traffic is just jamming up
nicely
B. no only a manufacturing town (LLC 4 2 680685)
I can see two possible approaches to this kind of example in FG and RRG. One would
be to allow multiple focus assignment in the clause, but this then causes difficulties for
definitions in terms of maximum saliency or simple divisions into presupposition and
focus. The other approach would be to say that there is just one major information point
(and thus only one focus), the others being subsidiary: this would obviously necessitate
justification of which is to be regarded as the major information point.
Let us now look again at example (12), repeated as (225). The full context for this is
shown, with just the intonational nuclei indicated, in (226).
(225) I didnt reply to it (LLC 1 4 62)
(226) A. did you get a letter from Leslie about this
B. yes ((unintelligible syllables )) I didnt reply to it
A. neither did I
The example was included earlier to demonstrate focus on the predicate, in the FG classification. In terms of communicative point, however, the situation is less obvious. The
second part of Bs utterance appears to be a simple informative statement, with the new
information being coded in didnt reply. This situation, though not unusual, does not seem
to correspond to any of those in Diks list. Mackenzie & Keizer (1991: 210), however, equate
completive with contextually New, in which case we can regard the clause in question
. Note that since there is no pause between us and to, the latter is regarded, in the Hallidayan treatment,
as belonging to the previous tone group. Mrs Kay constitutes a complex fall + rise tone group (tone 13).
as having completive Focus. The RRG account would presumably treat (225) as a predicate focus construction, since it follows the topic-comment pattern if we regard I as topic.
The main reason for re-examining this example, however, is that it illustrates clearly the
difficulties involved in deciding what the pragmatic presuppositions of the clause actually
are, and hence what the focus represents. It would seem that the letter (coded as it) is at
least as good a candidate for topichood as the speaker (I), and although on the surface of
things we might expect Bs utterance to have the presupposition I did something to/with
it, there is in fact no implication that the speaker did anything at all with the letter. In SFG,
the single tone group involved would have unmarked focus, since the elements after the
tonic syllable are grammatical rather than lexical.
Example (14), repeated as (227), was introduced in order to exemplify focus on a
non-Subject term in the FG system.
(227) I may go up at the end of April again but wont be going up in May
(LLC 7 3f 762764)
This example also illustrates parallel focus, indicating a contrast between April and May.
However, notice that although there is also a clear contrast in the meaning between may
and wont, this is not fully reflected in the intonation, in that while may has intonational
prominence, wont does not. Note also that we have more than one intonational nucleus
associated with a single clause here, but in this case there is no problem, since only a single
meaning is involved, that of contrast between two elements. This case is thus different from
that in examples like (221), where a number of different aspects of the clause meaning
would seem to be under focus.
Although Van Valin & LaPolla do not discuss parallel structures of this kind, Lambrecht, on whose model their work is based, does analyse an example with parallel focus,
shown in (228) (capitals indicate words containing intonational nuclei):
(228) (= Lambrechts 5.90, 1994: 332)
Q. What are you going to do with the DOG and the CAT while youre away?
A. Ill leave the DOG with my PARENTS and the CAT can stay OUTSIDE.
According to Lambrecht, in the answer to the question dog and cat are Topic expressions,
parents and outside being focal. Such an analysis would not, however, be possible for (227),
since may (and indeed wont) cannot be Topics.
In order to discuss the SFG analysis, we again need more detail on the intonational
structure, as shown in (229) and (230).88
(229) *^so* I !m\ay go up# at the ênd of :\April ag/ain# but ^wont . be going up .
in :M\/ay#
(230) // ^ so I / may go / up at the / end of / April again but // ^ /wont be going / up in /
May //
. April again constitutes a complex fall + rise tone group (tone 13).
Chapter 2
The first tone group has marked focus on the modal (since there is a later lexical element,
go up), the second and third have unmarked focus. Note that although it is perfectly possible to talk about the effects of these choices of focus on the text meanings, there is (as in
RRG) nothing in the SFG account which specifically classifies such structures as parallel.
Turning now to (231), originally presented in (15) as an example of questioning and
then completive focus in FG, we see that in both parts the focus is on a term.
(231) A. Who is it?
B. Pope Innocent the Fourth (LLC 1 4 610611)
Notice, however, that (231) has intonational prominence on the wh-word, a marked variant (which could be interpreted as an echo question) compared with Who is it? (interpreted as an identification-seeking question). As far as I can see, there is nothing in Diks
account which would differentiate these two possibilities, since who would be in focus in
both. The same can be said of RRG: (231) has narrow focus on who, whether this element
bears intonational prominence or not, since it is someone is the pragmatic presupposition and the wh-word asks for information which will fill in the specifics of that someone.
In SFG, since is would be regarded as the lexical verb, we have marked focus on who, which
precedes that lexical element. As for Bs reply, it consists only of a single noun phrase,
which must be in focus in all three accounts.
Hopefully, the few illustrations in this section will be enough to show that much
more work needs to be done on the relationship between prosodic patterns and focus
assignment, in all three theories.
..... Grammatical constructions. Here, I shall concentrate on grammatical constructions which are specialised for focus, especially clefts and pseudoclefts. The placement
of focal constituents in initial position in the clause will be discussed when we consider
the importance of position in the realisation of information distribution patterns.
As an example of a cleft with focus on a noun phrase, let us take (232); as a cleft with
focus on an adpositional phrase (233); and as a pseudocleft (234).
(232) Its Larry whos doing this. (BNC CA3 755)
(233) . . . it was with him that we went to Loch Lomond. (BNC BN6 1316)
(234) What you need is rest and good food. (BNC A7J 2080)
I shall start this time with RRG, in order to highlight certain similarities between the FG
and SFG accounts later. The RRG account of both (232) and (234) would be in terms of a
marked constituent order (the cleft construction) combined with narrow focus (on Larry
and him respectively). Although pseudoclefts are not specifically discussed in Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997), it is reasonable to suppose that (234) would be analysed as a predicate
focus construction, with what you need as the topical expression and rest and good food as
focal information.
In FG, as we saw in 2.2.1.4.4, pseudoclefts such as (234) are seen as the basic type,
and are analysed as identifying constructions. Specifically, in (234), the term rest and good
food is converted from a term to a term predicate, and then used as a predicate over the
term what you need, to give the underlying structure shown very schematically in (235).
(235) {(dxi : rest and good food)}Foc (d1xj : what you need)GivTop
According to Diks account, this pseudocleft would not be totally prototypical, since the
identifying expression rest and good food is not definite. It is, however, the Focus, with
what you need as Given Topic. This topical expression, as expected, is a free relative clause,
and could have been re-expressed using a general noun (the thing that you need). In (234),
the GivTop is in P1, but there is a variant with the Focus in P1, as shown in (236).
(236) Rest and good food is/are what you need.
In (234), what is taken to be a fused pronominal head and relative pronoun, equivalent to
that which. In the cleft construction in (232), on the other hand, we have a headless realisation; otherwise, however, the structures are basically the same, as shown in the skeletal
structure in (237).
(237) {(d1xi: Larry)}Foc (whos doing this)GivTop
For (233), however, it will be remembered that Dik would postulate a different structure,
since there is no question of identifying with him and that we went to Loch Lomond. Indeed,
he argues that that in such constructions is not a relative pronoun, such as occurs in true
clefts, but the general subordinator. (233) is thus not a true cleft, but a structure in which
we have property assignment: the property of being with him is assigned to the State of
Affairs we went to Loch Lomond, as shown in outline in (238).
(238) {(he)Company} (we went to Loch Lomond)
Turning now to the SFG account, we can discern some similarities with what has just
been said for FG, but also some differences. In SFG, too, we could regard pseudoclefts
(Hallidays thematic equatives) as more basic than clefts, since they have a simpler structure. Again, this structure is an identifying one, and both unmarked and marked orderings
are recognised. The Sydney grammar structure for (234) (assuming that it would be read
with the tonic syllable on food) is shown in (239).
(239)
What you need

Identified
Theme
is
Process
rest and good food

Identifier
Rheme
Given
New
For the reversed structure shown in (236) above (again with the tonic syllable on food in
the spoken form), the structure is as in (240).
Chapter 2
(240)
Rest and good food

Identifier
is/are
Process
what you need.

Identified
Theme
Rheme
New
Given
Hallidays observation that such clauses give a meaning of exclusiveness (what you need
is (exclusively) rest and good food) is not matched in the FG account.
The structure of (234) in the Cardiff grammar (treated as object as role in event) is
as in (241).89
(241)
Clause
Operator
Main verb
Subject/Carrier
Complement/
Attribute
Clause
Complement/
Possessed
Subject/
Carrier
Main verb/
Process
you
need
What
is
rest and good food
As we saw in 8.3.2.3 of Part 1, Fawcett believes that the complex account given by Halliday
for identifying relational processes can be insightfully simplified if, for such clauses, we
postulate an Attribute class with just one member.
Passing now to the cleft structure in (232), which Halliday would treat in terms of
predicated Theme, we have two superimposed structures, as shown in (242).
(242)
It
Theme
Larry
Rheme
Theme
who
Theme
doing this.
Rheme
Rheme
In the top analysis, each clause has its own Theme, while in the bottom analysis, the predicating structure its Larry is treated as the Theme of the whole construction, with whos
doing this as Rheme. This dual structure is very different from that for a thematic equative,
whereas, as we saw above, the semantic structures for clefts and pseudoclefts proposed by
Dik are very similar. This difference between the two approaches arises from the fact that
Diks underlying structure is semantic and abstract, itself bearing no information regarding the final shape of the clause, whereas Halliday interprets clefts in terms of the realisation of lexicogrammatical options in Theme, these realisations, in English, being tied to
positional properties in linguistic expressions.
The Cardiff analysis of (232) is as in (243).
. I am assuming here that need would be treated as a possessive relational process.
(243)
Clause
Empty
Subject
Operator/
Main verb
Complement/
Attribute/Enhanced
Theme
Complement/Carrier
Clause
Subject/
Agent
It
Larry
who
Operator/
Auxiliary
s
Main Complement/
verb Affected
doing
this
Now let us look at (233). The Sydney SFG analysis of this would still be in terms of predicated Theme, but this time with a prepositional rather than a nominal group within the
predicated construction, as shown in (244).
(244)
It
Theme
was
with him
Rheme
Theme
that
we
went
Theme
to Loch Lomond.
Rheme
Rheme
Similarly, the structure proposed in the Cardiff grammar would be on the same lines as
that for (232).
Where the analyses of (232) and (233) would differ in SFG, however, is in the transitivity structure rather than the thematic structure. As pointed out by Dik, that, in examples
such as (233), is clearly not a relative pronoun but a subordinating conjunction (and this
is reflected in the analysis of Theme given above, where we have a textual Theme that followed by an experiential Theme we). In other words, whereas who in (232) plays a part in
the transitivity structure of the second clause, that in (233) does not.
Before we leave the area of special construction types for focus, it should be made
clear that clefts and pseudoclefts are not the only possible types. For instance, as pointed
out by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 211), variations of word order are used to indicate focus
structure in languages such as Italian, in which focused material cannot occur in preverbal
positions. Inversion of basic SVO order is also frequent in Spanish, in order to throw the
focused material into a late position in the clause, as shown in the first clause of (245),
where the focus is on mi to.
(245) Y lo hizo
mi to. Puso
el cassette
and it do-simple.past.3sg my uncle put-simple.past.3sg the cassette
sin que nos enterramos. (HCM 21)
without refl find-out-past.subjunc.1pl
And my uncle did it. He put on the cassette without us knowing.
Chapter 2
..... Morphemes marking informational status. We have seen that morphemes indicating informational status are mentioned by Dik, Van Valin & LaPolla and Halliday,
though only briefly. More detailed studies are available in de Vries (1985) for Wambon
and Watters (1979) for Aghem within a FG framework, by Han (1999) for Korean in a
RRG framework, and Matthiessen & Bateman (1991) for Japanese within SFG.
.. An alternative perspective: The importance of position in the clause as an indicator
of informational status
... Initial position
FG, RRG and SFG all consider initial position as an important factor in indicating informational status, and this is consistent with psychological and psycholinguistic evidence for
the cognitive importance of the beginnings of linguistic units of various sizes (see Gernsbacher 1990). I shall discuss this area under two headings: what counts as initial position,
and what kinds of meanings are seen as occurring there.
.... What counts as initial position? An important prior question is Initial in what?,
since SFG differs strongly from FG and RRG in what it includes within the unit of clause.
Consider the following example:
(246) On Wednesday, the Duke of Kent will open a major new research and development
centre at West Malling in Kent, . . . (BNC AHV 90)
For SFG, all the material in (246) is within a single clause, so that the clause-initial position
is occupied by on Wednesday. For FG and RRG, however, this position is outside the clause
itself, though within the boundaries of the sentence in which the clause occurs: in FG, on
Wednesday is an extraclausal constituent, in what is sometimes labelled the P2 position,
with the pragmatic function of Setting; while in RRG, it is in the left-detached position
(LDP), again outside the clause itself. The first position in the clause is thus occupied by
the Duke of Kent in both FG and RRG.
Proponents of FG and RRG have provided similar kinds of evidence for the distinction
between clausal and extraclausal elements: the latter are separated from the clause by an
intonation break or punctuation, are always optional and are not sensitive to, and do not
influence, the grammatical rules operating within the clause itself. For instance, Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997: 36) observe that in English, if the element in the left-detached position is
a semantic argument in the clause proper, then a resumptive pronoun must occur in the
clause. Consider the clause in bold in (247), taken from a conversational text:
(247) A. . . . were getting the near the end of that tape.
B. This one, its got one with Donna on that side.
A. Thats that stupid tape done! (BNC KSV 3771)
Omitting it in the clause itself leads to ungrammaticality, as does omission of the comma
indicating an intonation break, if we keep the resumptive pronoun:
(248) *This one, got one with Donna on that side.

(249) *This one its got one with Donna on that side.
This behaviour is also shown in the West African (Mande) language Toura, and Van Valin
& LaPolla (1997: 214) appear to suggest that this property, together with demarcation by
intonation or punctuation, characterises the LDP in all languages in which it occurs.
There is, however, an important difference between RRG and FG in terms of the units
within which initial position is important. Consider (250), presented earlier as (119):
(250) In women, what is he looking for, mother, daughter, sister, wife? (BNC FYV 2622)
This, like (246), has an element, in women, as Setting in P2 (FG), or in the left-detached
position (RRG). But RRG also makes a distinction within the clause, between core and
non-core elements. Part of this distinction, that between core and periphery, corresponds
to that made in FG between predicate-plus-arguments and satellites. There is, however, a
second distinction which has no parallel in FG, that between the core and the pre-core (or
in some languages post-core) slot. In RRG, wh-elements, also fronted complements and
adjuncts, go into the pre-core slot, so that in (250) what is in the pre-core slot and only
he is, strictly speaking, a core argument of look for. Some rules in RRG need to refer to
the core, others to the whole clause: for instance, as we saw above, there is a restriction
on preverbal focal material in Italian, and strictly this applies only to the core, since focal
material can occur in the pre-core slot; in Sesotho, however, the restriction is on the whole
clause, since focal material cannot occur in the pre-core slot in this language (Van Valin &
LaPolla 1997: 213). Clearly, what is initial in the core is not always initial in the clause, since
the clause-initial element may well be something filling the pre-core slot, as in (250). On
the other hand, in FG, only the clause-initial element (P1) is recognised, and for English
at least, items which must go into P1 include those which would be in the pre-core slot in
RRG (wh-items and relative pronouns90 ), but there are also items which can go into P1
(such as the Subject in English) which would be core-initial elements in RRG.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 3839) provide evidence for the distinction between the
LDP and the pre-core slot from Icelandic, where the finite verb must almost always be in
second position in the clause. Constituents in the first position in the clause itself which
are not Subjects, but fronted complements or adjuncts, and are thus in the pre-core slot,
cause inversion of Subject and verb in order to maintain the right position for the latter;
however, items in left-detached position do not cause this inversion.
Further evidence for the distinction between elements in the LDP and the pre-core
slot comes from their coreference properties in English: an NP in the LDP can be coreferential with the Subject NP in the clause, but it is claimed that an NP in the pre-core slot
is always non-coreferential with this Subject NP (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 228229). For
details and examples, the original account should be consulted.
. But not subordinating conjunctions, which are treated in RRG as predicative prepositions taking a
clausal argument (see Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 464).
Chapter 2
If proponents of SFG are to maintain the stance that there is no principled difference
between elements which occur initially in their version of the clause, with or without an
intonation or punctuation break, then it is hard to see how they can explain the kinds of
observation just discussed. Furthermore, we saw in 2.4.1.8 that Cummings (1995), as a
result of his work on Theme in Old English, suggests that some of the elements standardly
regarded as within the clause in SFG might more profitably be seen as outside the clause
and within the sentence, a position which strongly echoes that in FG and RRG.
On the other hand, we saw in 2.2.2.1.3 that the distinction between P2 (external) and
P1 (internal) positions in FG is by no means as straightforward as it might first seem. Criteria for the necessary separation of P2 from the clause are somewhat vague for the spoken
language, and punctuation is notoriously variable. Discussion is often hampered by a lack
of strict separation between position (P2, P1) and function (e.g. Theme, Topic). Elements
with the same function as classic Themes can occur within clauses in some languages,
while elements with topical function, normally considered intraclausal, can sometimes be
separated off by means of intonation or punctuation, so occurring in the position reserved
for Themes. It has, as we have seen, even been suggested that Theme, Tail and Topic should
be regarded as a single pragmatic function with different positional realisations. Hannay
(forthcoming) notes that his latest proposals for orientational elements at the beginning
of the English sentence (see 2.2.2.1.1) have the merit that functionally distinct P1 and P2
elements are no longer postulated.
Clearly, much more work is required in this area. Nevertheless, there do exist prototypical cases of Themes (in the FG sense)/left-detached elements which can be demonstrated to have different properties from elements postulated to be within the clause, and
the challenge to account for these facts remains for SFG.
We also saw in the discussion of the Sydney version of SFG that there is considerable controversy about what should count as clause-initial position as the realisation of
Theme (in the SFG sense) in English. It will be remembered that Halliday himself advocates treating everything up to and including the first ideational element as Theme, and
that in the variety of proposals from the literature listed by Berry (1996), what goes into
the Theme, and hence the interpretation of initial, can stretch to embrace everything up
to and including the lexical verb, possibly even overlapping with the Rheme in this region
of the clause. This is clearly a very different way of looking at initial elements, bound up
with their status as Theme in SFG, and motivated largely by considerations of the role of
Theme in texts.
Despite these many differences, there are some parallels which can be drawn. There
are cases in which the FG category of P1, the RRG core-initial position and Hallidays own
category of Theme do coincide. These are absolutely straightforward, simple clauses with
unmarked constituent order such as that shown in (251), where he corresponds to all these
categories.
(251) He hit the lake at the foot of the quarry. (BNC AMU 2331)
In other cases P1 and Hallidays Theme correspond to the RRG pre-core slot, as with this
in (252).
(252) This I endured for several months, . . . (BNC AMC 1415)

In still others, Hallidays Theme corresponds to an FG orientational device in P2, and to
the RRG left-detached position, as with on Thursday in (253).
(253) On Thursday, the Pope spoke forcibly to an audience of Ukrainian Catholic bishops,
. . . (BNC A3D 112)
.... What meanings are associated with placement in initial positions? We saw in
2.2.1.4.2 that P1, the first position in the clause itself, is claimed by Dik (1997a: 408) to
be a universally relevant position, used for particular purposes, including the placement
of the pragmatic functions Topic and Focus. However, these functions can be placed in P1
only if there is no item which must occupy that position: in English and Dutch, for example, question words, subordinators and relative pronouns must, if present, go into P1.
Since it is claimed that there can be only one constituent in P1, it follows that the Topic
and/or Focus must go into some other position if an obligatorily P1 item is present. As
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991) have observed, and as is evident from the criticisms of Fumero
Prez (2001) noted earlier, this weakens the association between P1 and pragmatic function. This weakness is compounded by the fact that in some languages, positions other
than P1 are specialised for Topic and/or Focus. Furthermore, as we have seen, there is evidence for multiple filling of P1 in some languages, and even, in some circumstances, for
English. Mackenzie & Keizer also point to the problem of deciding whether Topic or Focus
occupies P1, when both are present. Their solution to the dilemma is to abandon Topic
for English, postulating that the Subject is the unmarked occupant of P1. Hannays (1991,
1993) solution is rather different: according to him, the placement of Topic or Focus in P1
is determined by the choice made by speakers and writers from among a set of modes of
message management, reflecting different priorities in information presentation. Whatever the position adopted, it is clear that FG does not postulate any single, over-arching
meaning for P1, and even the extent to which this position can be correlated with the
placement of pragmatic functions is in some doubt.
The position is no better for the pre-clausal position P2, for which, as we saw in
2.2.1.5, Dik (1997b) postulates a function of addressee orientation with respect to what
follows in the clause itself. Three types of orientation extraclausal constituent are proposed: Theme, Condition and Setting. However, we have seen that work on Dutch has
shown that P2 has no unitary pragmatic function, and indeed need not carry a special
pragmatic function at all.
It should be obvious, then, that much more work needs to be done in FG on the
meanings carried by position, that this needs to be done in the context of meanings carried
by intonation, and that the clear dissociation of position and function is a prerequisite for
progress in this important area.
Turning now to RRG, it is interesting to compare the statements of Van Valin &
LaPolla regarding the meanings carried by elements in left-detached position with those
claimed in FG for orientational pre-clausal elements. For English, Van Valin & LaPolla
Chapter 2
(1997: 228) state that elements in the LDP are always topical. Furthermore, they can contain either semantic arguments or non-arguments (1997: 60). The clearest similarities are
between those with semantic arguments in the LDP in RRG and Diks Theme category,
since the latter specifies an ensemble of entities with respect to which the following clause
is going to present some relevant information (Dik 1997b: 389). Diks Setting category
corresponds closely to examples in RRG where a prepositional or adverbial phrase of spatial or temporal location is assigned to the LDP. Diks Condition category could correspond to a type of LDP element if phrasal, but presumably if clausal, RRG would treat it
as simply an instance of clause combination.
Now let us turn to the relationships between initial positions and meaning in the
Sydney version of SFG, as compared with FG and RRG. We have seen that Hallidays version of SFG takes a wider view of the term initial position in the clause, which, for English,
embraces not only the orientational pre-clausal constituents of FG and the LDP of RRG,
together with the P1 of FG and the pre-core slot of RRG, but any material which occurs up
to and including the first ideational element in the clause, locating all of this material in
the Theme constituent of the clause. We have also seen that Halliday attempts to find a single overall meaning for this thematic material, characterised in terms of what the message
is about and the starting point for the message. I have reviewed the considerable problems which such an analysis presents, and suggested that the most persuasive evidence for
something akin to Hallidays view is to be found, not in what most linguists (indeed, most
functionalists) would consider to be the grammatical aspects of initial positioning, but in
explaining how texts are constructed and interpreted.
Nevertheless, as with the identification of initial position, there are some parallels we
can discern in the relationships between position and meaning in the three approaches.
Firstly, note that the notion of aboutness comes into Diks definition of both the intraclausal function of Topic (a formally marked constituent representing an entity about
which information is to be provided) and the pre-clausal constituent Theme (presenting
something about which the clause itself will present relevant information) and that this is
reminiscent, not only of Lambrechts/Van Valin & LaPollas topicality, but also of Hallidays
definition of Theme in SFG. Furthermore, as pointed out by Fumero Prez (2001: 413), all
types of FG Topic except NewTop are claimed to be formally characterised by appearance in the initial, P1 position in the clause, again reminding us of Hallidays analysis of
thematic constituents in English.91
For Dik, however, the extraclausal Theme must present one or more entities which
will enter into the clause, and Topic constituents must also refer to entities, while for Halliday, the Theme of a clause is not restricted to the expression of entities.92 The parallel is
somewhat closer if we restrict ourselves to Hallidays topical Theme, but even this can represent a circumstantial meaning rather than an entity meaning. Nevertheless, as Hannay
. With regard to the exception here, NewTop, we have seen that Mackenzie & Keizer (1991) and Hannay
(1985, 1991) have suggested that it is better classified as a type of Focus rather than a kind of Topic.
. We have seen, however, that this stipulation has been criticised as over-restrictive by some FG scholars.
(1994a: 109110) has pointed out, there is a clearly discernible similarity between the textual and interpersonal Themes of SFG and the extraclausal constituents of FG. He notes
that Bolkestein (1992a: 398) has pointed to a normal ordering of satellites (those relating to
the text tending to occur before those connected with the nature of the utterance, which in
turn precede those commenting on the utterance content) which is the same as Hallidays
default ordering for multiple Themes. Furthermore, Hannay (1994a: 111) observes that
there is a clear parallel between the choice of marked/unmarked Theme in SFG and the
choice, within his Grounding mode of message management (see 2.2.2.1.1), between
assigning a Topic, Setting or Stager pragmatic function to P1 (parallel to marked Theme),
or not assigning any pragmatic function, in which case the Subject goes into P1 (parallel
to unmarked Theme for a declarative clause).
There is also a relationship between Diks Themes and Downings (1991) individual
frameworks, set up within a modified SFG model, and between her spatial and temporal frameworks and his Setting category. Hannay (1994a: 114) suggests, on the basis of
a brief discussion of the P1/P2 distinction in FG and Downings circumstantial frameworks, that the intraclausal-extraclausal distinction may be of functional value for SFG
in determining the scope of the theme.
We have seen that all three theories recognise, for English, that certain items (whwords, relative pronouns) are normally constrained to be in one of the initial positions
they propose (P1, pre-core slot, thematic position). The analysis of the associated meanings, however, highlights important differences between FG and RRG, on the one hand,
and SFG, on the other. Let us consider wh-question words. These are seen as focal in FG,
since they represent the most salient information in the question; they are also focal in
RRG, since in a question such as that in (254), the presupposition is X governs Britain
and the focal information is the relationship between this and X = ?.
(254) . . . Who governs Britain? (BNC AHX 327)
In SFG, however, they are thematic, since they occur initially, but do not (in the unmarked
case) constitute what Halliday regards as the information focus, because this is linked
exclusively to intonational structure in the spoken language, and the unmarked situation
in a wh-question is to have the intonational prominence on the last lexical item in the tone
group (in the above case, Britain). Prominence on the wh-word is, of course, possible, as a
marked variant, but this does not affect the fact that the wh-item is always focus in FG and
RRG, but not in SFG. Halliday does recognise something which is quite close to the FG and
RRG concept of focus when he writes (1994a: 46) that the natural element to put in first
position is the one by which the very nature of a question is expressed; the difference is that
for FG and RRG this is a matter of focus, but for SFG a matter of Theme. This difference is
not merely a terminological one either, since Theme is, in English, tied to initial position
(in the extended sense of this term used in Hallidays writings), while information focus, in
all three theories, is not. In other words, FG and RRG interpret the function of wh-words
in a way which links it to other, non-initial realisations of salience, while SFG separates
the positional properties from salience as realised by the specific device of intonational
Chapter 2
prominence. This has unfortunate consequences if we expand our consideration of whquestions to include their replies, as in (255), transcribed in Hallidays notation in (256).
(255) A. ^where did you !l\eave the file#
B. its ôn top of the t\ypewriter# or *^b\y the typewriter#*
(LLC 7 3h 996998)
(256) A. // where did you / leave the / file//
B. //^ its / on / top of the / typewriter or // by the / typewriter //
As we saw in 2.4.1.7.2, Huddleston (1988) observes, in the context of a discussion on
Hallidays aboutness criterion for Theme, that we have a change of Theme in such
question-answer pairs (where as Theme in As contribution, but it in Bs reply), although
both parts are surely about the file. But we might also add, in the context of our present
discussion, that there is no way in which the concept of information focus helps us to
achieve any kind of unity either, since leave is the (marked) information focus of As part,
and on top of the typewriter the (unmarked) information focus of the first part of Bs reply.
In contrast to the FG and RRG accounts, then, we have no single category which shows
the essential unity of the information structure in examples such as the above.93 The most
we can say is that, as Matthiessen & Martin (1991) point out, Hallidays account of Theme
in such constructions makes sense of certain types of thematic progression in text, where
the Rheme of one clause (the file in the above example) is taken up in the Theme (it) of
the next.94 Halliday does, of course, claim that a wh-question has the meaning of asking
for information about a person, place, thing, etc., and that a canonical reply will provide
this information. But as Huddleston points out, this meaning attaches to the whole clause,
not to the wh-word and not, we might add, to the intonationally realised information
structure either.
Finally, let us look briefly at how the three theories handle the meanings of variations in the ordering of Subject, Complement and Adjunct elements in the clause; again,
I shall concentrate on English. In FG, we have seen that if there is no constituent which
must go into P1, then Topic or Focus can be placed there, and since there is an unmarked
association between Topic and Subject, we very often find the Subject in P1. It is, however, possible to place Complements or Adjuncts in that position, and such elements can
be Topic or Focus, or neither. Consider (257), which gives some context for the clause
examined as (111) earlier.
(257) A.
B.
A.
B.
Oh I hate these silly men.

Mm.
This one I swapped with Christopher.
Yeah.
. Louis Goossens (personal communication) points out that if As utterance is seen as concerned with
the whereness of your leaving X, then a link can be made with Bs reply. This, however, does not affect the
argument about thematisation and information focus as such.
. This is one of the patterns discussed in Dane (1974).
A.
B.
A.
B.
And this one I swapped with Christopher.

Yeah.
And this one I swapped with Christopher.
Yeah. (BNC KCT 74257432)
It seems likely that A, who is a child of ten years, is pointing out figures of men, for example
on cigarette cards, which have been swapped with a friend. It is clear that although the first
occurrence of This one I swapped with Christopher, with an initial complement, could have
separate intonational prominence on this one as well as on Christopher, it would be possible to say it with no such initial prominence, with this one as GivTop. In the second and
third occurrences, however, this one would normally have the sole prosodic prominence,
acting as Focus.
One problem which appears to be unresolved at the present time is the difference
between pairs such as (258) and (259).
(258) and evidently she must have talked to her mother about them you see
(LLC 5 10 702703)
(259) and evidently I didnt look an angry young man (LLC 5 10 714)
In (258), the Adjunct evidently has a separate intonation unit, and so would be expected
to qualify as an extraclausal constituent, while in (259) it is part of the same intonation
unit as the rest of the utterance, and so might be considered to be in P1. One problem here
is that there is no meaning-based category of extraclausal constituent in Diks account to
which interpersonal Adjuncts such as that in (258) might be assimilated. Furthermore the
difference in meaning between the two types is minimal: indeed, it would be possible to
change the patterns of the two examples around with no obvious difference in meaning.
In both cases, the Adjunct is clearly outside the scope of the illocution operator. This, of
course, is just one example of the general problem of distinguishing between the P2 and
P1 positions in FG, and the meanings carried by elements in these positions.
As for RRG, Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 166) show an example with evidently followed by a comma, which they assign to the left-detached position; nevertheless, in the
operator projection evidently is seen as an evidential operator acting at the level of the
clause. The problem of distinguishing between Adjuncts in the LDP and in the pre-core
slot is sidestepped in Van Valin & LaPollas account, since all examples which have nonargument constituents in first position are written with a separating comma. RRG does,
of course, permit non-wh NPs or PPs to occur in the pre-core slot, the examples given being instances of fronted non-Subject constituents representing semantic arguments (Van
Valin & LaPolla 1997: 36).
In SFG, we have seen that in a declarative clause any ideational element which is not
the Subject is treated as a marked Theme, and that this is interpreted in terms of the choice
of a particular starting point for the message, in the context of the surrounding discourse.
Chapter 2
... Final position

Final (or at least late) position in the clause has been recognised by many linguists as the
preferred site for heavy constituents, and this has been linked with processing considerations. As with initial position, we shall first consider what counts as final position, and
then look at what meanings can be realised by location in this position.
.... What counts as final position? As with initial position, we first need to ask what
is the nature of the unit(s) in which final position is said to be important. The same kinds
of issues arise as for initial position, though there seems to have been less discussion of
what happens at and after the ends of clauses.
We have seen that in FG there is a position, labelled P3, outside and after the clause,
marked off by intonation or punctuation, where an extraclausal constituent with Tail function may be placed. Tails in FG correspond to the right-detached position of RRG, also
outside the clause itself. In Sydney SFG, these elements are regarded as substitute Themes
of the clause.
In FG, it has been claimed that there is a special pragmatically-relevant final position
within the clause in certain Slavic languages (see the references cited in Dik 1997a: 426).
In RRG, we need to distinguish between clause and core as units within which position may be important. Just as there may be a pre-core slot within the clause, so in certain languages, such as Japanese, there is a post-core slot, outside and after the core, but
within the clause, which is like the pre-core slot in not being set off by an intonation or
punctuation break.
In standard Hallidayan SFG, final position is an important consideration in the information unit, realised by a tone group, rather than in the clause itself, though the two are
coterminous in the unmarked case. Fries and Matthiessen, however, have also suggested
important functions for the ends of clauses in written English.
.... What meanings are associated with placement in final positions? Tails in FG are
said to provide additional information about the clause as a whole, or about some constituent of it. The clause-final position in certain Slavic languages mentioned above is
specialised for Focus function, though it is not used for question words, except in echo
questions. It will also be remembered that the Language-Independent Preferred Order of
Constituents (LIPOC) postulates that long, heavy constituents such as embedded clauses
will prefer late positions in the clause.
The post-core slot in Japanese normally contains non-focal items, but can be a secondary focus in the sentence (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 334).
As we have seen, the final lexical element of the tone group is claimed by Halliday
to be the unmarked position for information focus in English, though grammatical and
inherently given items can follow. The work of Fries, however, has shown that clause-final
position in the written language is the most usual site for the placement of newsworthy information, and Matthiessen has suggested systems of culmination for the written clause,
which take this importance into account.
.. Information distribution and the structure of texts

It will be clear from the discussion in this chapter that theorising about the information
structuring of the simplex clause has been approached in FG and RRG largely through the
analysis of isolated utterances or utterance pairs, often constructed by the linguist. Notable
exceptions include the work of Mackenzie/Keizer and Downing on English, and Downing
and Martnez Caro on Spanish. In SFG, on the other hand, the strongest evidence for
the importance of first position as thematic in English, and of final position as a site for
newsworthy information, comes from the detailed study of (often rather short) texts.
.. Information structure and layering

We have seen that in Hallidays SFG the packaging of information is allocated to the textual
metafunction, and that in Diks version of FG it is handled by means of pragmatic function assignment. However, in recent accounts of FG based on Hengevelds Functional Discourse Grammar, pragmatic function assignment belongs to a more broadly-interpreted
type of interpersonal level, embracing a wider range of aspects of speaker-addressee relations than those included by Halliday (see 3.7.1 and 3.8.4 of Part 1). Such a view is also
implied by Hannays treatment of his modes of message management as subtypes of illocution. Information packaging also belongs to the interpersonal semiotic in McGregors
Semiotic Grammar.
.. Voice
As with other areas of information structuring, there are clear points of similarity, but also
major differences, in the ways in which FG, RRG and SFG handle voice phenomena.
All three approaches see voice in terms of mappings between two different types of
role or function. In FG, the mapping is between the syntactic function Subject and semantic functions such as Agent, Goal, etc. In RRG, in which the concept of Subject is
not used except for comparison with other approaches, voice involves the selection of
a particular semantic macrorole (Actor or Undergoer) to act as the Privileged Syntactic
Argument (PSA) of the construction (which, for English and many other languages, corresponds to what in other models would be the Subject). In both cases, we are concerned
with the mapping between a syntactic function and a semantic one. In the Sydney version of SFG, the choice of voice depends on which transitivity function is conflated with
the mood function Subject, both being at the same (lexicogrammatical) level of language,
though associated with different metafunctions (transitivity functions with the experiential part of the ideational metafunction, and the Subject with the interpersonal). All three
approaches recognise the possibility of agentless passives (in RRG, this is within the area
of argument modulation).
Examples are given below, with analyses of voice in terms of FG, RRG and Hallidayan
SFG (for which only the transitive type of analysis is provided).
Chapter 2
(260)
Then a money crisis hit the BBC . . . (BNC A8M 177)

Subject/Force
Object/Goal
[FG]
PSA/Actor
Undergoer
[RRG]
Subject/Actor
Complement/Goal [SFG]
(261)
Lincoln
was hit by a tax bill for $4.5 million . . . (BNC A6W 1442)
Subject/Goal
Force
[FG]
PSA/Undergoer
Actor
[RRG]
Subject/Goal
Adjunct/Actor [SFG]
(262)
The brewery . . . was hit hard when a German land mine damaged the brewery
stables . . . (BNC A14 442)
Subject/Goal
[FG]
PSA/Undergoer
[RRG]
Subject/Goal
[SFG]
FG and SFG both represent voice explicitly as a device for selecting a particular perspective
for the clause. In FG, as we saw in 3.2.2.5 of Part 1, such perspectivisation is not available
in all languages: recognition of the category of Subject in a language is actually dependent
on the occurrence of voice alternations in that language; for Subject assignment to be possible, there must be at least one passive construction which has the same content as the
active, and which contains a non-first argument sharing coding and behavioural properties with the first argument of the active. In SFG the Subject is seen as having modal responsibility, responsibility, that is, for carrying forward the clause as an interactive event
(Halliday 1994a: 76, see also 1.4.1.1). Presumably, on this view, there must be some device
in every language with this function. Matthiessen comments as follows:
Since this kind of functional approach within the interpersonal domain has rarely
been taken in work on particular languages and never really in typological investigations, the extent to which languages single out an element to give it a special interpersonal status in the clause as a move is very much an open question.
(Matthiessen 1995a: 466)
He criticises the frequent formulation in linguistics of questions concerned with whether

a particular language has a Subject, how we might recognise it, and what the universal
properties of the Subject might be, on the grounds that this approach
. . . reifies a grammatical phenomenon in terms of a theoretical or descriptive category of Subject and then takes this reification as the point of departure rather than
grammars operating in dialogue. (1995a: 466)
If, however, the possibility remains open that some languages do not have a category which
can be seen as a near equivalent to Subject in English and many other languages, then it
also remains to be seen what, if anything, might constitute a voice opposition in those
languages.
In this, as in other areas, FG and RRG are much more concerned than SFG with the
syntactic aspects of voice, across a wide range of language types, while SFG gives greater
weight to the semantic correlates and their importance in texts.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Introduction
In the previous two chapters, I considered aspects of the clause which are particularly
relevant to the role of the clause in discourse. In the current chapter, we move beyond
the simplex clause to discuss the approaches of Functional Grammar, Role and Reference
Grammar and Systemic Functional Grammar to the structure and meaning of complex
sentences, still within the scope of the grammar itself. I shall therefore be discussing the
phenomena traditionally known as coordination, clause embedding and subordination,1
though we shall see that we need to need to add further categories to account for the
complexity of combination actually found in the worlds languages.
Complex sentences in Functional Grammar
..
Introduction: The semantic basis of complex sentence formation

Diks account of complex sentences is cast in terms of the underlying semantics involved,
though always with due reference to expression forms. Coordination (Dik 1997b: Chapter 9) is discussed in terms of the possibilities for combining full clauses,2 propositions,
predications, terms, predicates, restrictors, operators and functions. Embedding involves
the creation of terms which contain a predication, proposition or clause: a predication can
be embedded as a verbal restrictor (i.e. a unit which restricts the reference of a first-order
term, and is organised around a verbal predicate (Dik 1997b: 24)), giving rise to relative
clauses and other related constructions; or we may create a complex term, referring not
. Quirk et al. (1985: 44) treat subordination as a type of embedding, but we shall see that this is not a view
shared by all the functional approaches to be discussed here.
. It should be remembered that Dik uses the term clause in a semantic sense, as the highest unit in
the hierarchy of semantic units: predicate/term, predication, proposition, clause. We shall see later that he
also discusses the coordination of sentences, which are defined as clauses plus their associated extraclausal
constituents.
to first-order entities of type x, but to higher-order entities of types e, X or E (i.e. to

predications, propositions or clauses).
.. Coordination in FG
... Definition and types of coordination
Let us begin by reminding ourselves of the definition of coordination given by Dik, and
presented in Chapter 7 of Part 1 in the context of coordination in term structures.
A coordination is a construction consisting of two or more members which are functionally equivalent, bound together at the same level of structure by means of a linking
device. (Dik 1997b: 189)
It will be remembered that the linking device in a coordinate structure may be covert
(in the case of juxtaposed members) or overt (using one or more coordinators). Examples from noun phrase coordination were given in Chapter 7 of Part 1, where we also
saw that Dik adopts a direct approach to coordination, in which the relevant rules apply
locally, at a number of places and levels of underlying structure, so avoiding structural
transformations or deletions.
Furthermore, Dik demonstrates that non-constituents can be coordinated. Consider
(1) below:
(1) Carolyn cleared the table, washed up, dried up, took everything out of the cutlery drawer and cleaned and tidied it, cleaned the cooker and swept the floor.
(BNC H8N 332)
Such examples are considered in, for example transformational grammar approaches
as providing evidence for a VP constituent. Cases such as (2), however, complicate the
issue:3
(2) Carolyn cleaned and Martin tidied the cutlery drawer.
Here, we have coordination of Subject + predicate, rather than predicate + Object, and
as Dik observes, we cannot postulate both of these combinations as constituents. Transformational analyses of sentences such as (2) involve the reduction principle, and so are
rejected in FG in favour of allowing the coordination, not only of single constituents (simple coordination), but also of pairs and larger groupings (simultaneous coordination).
In the discussion which follows, all page references are to Dik (1997b).
. No single pattern or simple combination of patterns will isolate such examples from a corpus, so the
example given is based on the corpus example in (1). A search for the pattern *ed and * *ed in the British
National Corpus (corresponding to hypothetical strings such as he washed and she dried the dishes) turned
up no examples at all, suggesting that such this construction is probably not very frequent in English.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
... Simple coordination

In order to account for attested patterns of coordination, Dik (p. 197) proposes a distinction between clauses and sentences, the latter consisting of a clause plus any associated extraclausal constituents. The distinction is necessary because, as we saw in 3.3
of Part 1, extraclausal constituents in initial position do not embed easily along with the
clause proper.
(3) Well frankly half of them dont have exercise books. (BNC J8D 2353)
(4) *She said that well frankly half of them didnt have exercise books.
Dik (p. 198) therefore proposes that sentences enter into coordinations (as in (5)) but
are difficult to embed, and so are not coordinated in embedded positions, while clauses
can be coordinated whether they are independent (as in (6)) or embedded under a verbal
predicate (as in (7)).
(5) Well, I remember perfectly, and frankly, Dr Grant, I feel nothing but pity for someone
who holds such archaic, chauvinistic views in this day and age. (BNC JXW 677)
(6) Im a divorced forty year old woman with two grown up children and I am in a
terrible situation. (BNC KSN 1360)
(7) But a minister said that politics did not work that way, and that the influence of the
East Anglian connection was greatly exaggerated. (BNC K5D 8937)
Dik (p. 198) notes that coordinated clauses usually have the same illocution, but that it is
possible to coordinate an interrogative with a preceding declarative, as in (8).
(8) . . . modern apprenticeships are going to help that process even further and why arent
modern apprenticeships being welcomed? (BNC JSH 179)
There are also coordinations of imperative and declarative clauses, in which the imperative
idiomatically has a conditional meaning:
(9) Do that and youre guaranteed 20-plus goals. (BNC CBG 1065)
Here, the imperative clause has the pragmatic meaning if you do that.
Dik (p. 199) also shows that coordinated sentences or clauses in English must carry
the same type of Focus or have the same sort of internal Focus distribution. Examples (10)
and (11) demonstrate this constraint.4
(10) Hywel is silent and now Elizabeth is silent too. (BNC G0X 19)
(11) *Hywel is silent and now Elizabeth is silent too.
. The British National Corpus is not marked up for intonation focus; however, the pattern assigned here
is clearly the most natural for this example. Any possible separate intonation unit for too is irrelevant to our
present concerns.
Dik (p. 200) demonstrates that coordination can apply not only to full clauses and sentences, but also to propositional or predicational terms acting as second arguments of
verbs such as think (example 12) and compel (13) respectively.
(12) . . . everybody thinks that it is too difficult and that therefore there must be a different
remedy. (BNC A69 772)
(13) . . . the conquered enemies under the name of socii were compelled to supply troops
and to follow Rome into war, . . . (BNC H0K 668)
It is not, however, possible to coordinate a propositional and a predicational term, as can
be seen in the case of predicates which have two senses, one taking each of the two types
of complement, as is the case with the verb observe:
(14) No doubt he had observed her talking to the Shergolds . . . (BNC HNJ 230)
(15) . . . at one point he observed that she wasnt making much headway with it.
(BNC JYF 2046)
In (14), we have a predicational complement, since what is observed is the SoA in which
some female person is talking to the Shergolds; in (15), on the other hand, we have a
propositional complement which designates the possible fact of her not making headway.
(16) demonstrates the infelicity of any attempt to cross the two types in coordination.
(16) *He had observed her talking to the Shergolds and that she wasnt making much
headway with it.
... VP coordination
Examples such as (17) would be handled in some approaches in terms of coordination of
a Verb Phrase constituent consisting of the verb and its complement.
(17) The father dashed around his vehicle and came out with a camera. (BNC KA2 412)
This solution is not, however, available in FG, which does not recognise the category of
VP. Neither is it possible to make use here of the concept of multiple coordination which
Dik postulates for items such as those in bold face in (18) and (19) below:
(18) she and I chased down the line and out to the fields every ten minutes or so.
(BNC CDC 1625)
(19) . . . she and I had to spend only evenings and weekends together. (BNC C8E 2377)
Instead, Dik (p. 210) postulates clause coordination, with zero anaphora in the first
argument position of the second clause. This mechanism can also be used for cases
where an intransitive predicate is coordinated with a transitive predicate plus its non-first
argument(s), as in (20).
(20) Blanche waited and watched him intently, . . . (BNC G15 98)
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
There are cases, however, where two predicates appear to form a single complex predicate,
the first being drawn from a restricted set of verbs of movement, verbs of position, try, be
certain, etc., the second designating a non-state and with no potential for negation, and
with no possibility of independent tense choice for the two predicates.
(21) . . . he went and shut the gates, . . . (BNC KDM 11944)
In such cases, Dik (p. 211) postulates a structure of the form shown in (41).
(22) Past ei : (fi : go [V] and shut [V]) (he)Ag (the gates)Go
Dik notes that this kind of construction may give rise to semi-grammaticalised expressions
for aspect, as in the case of Danish, where a sentence meaning literally John sits and writes
a letter can be used to mean John sits writing a letter.
... Simultaneous coordination

Simultaneous coordination is illustrated by examples such as (23).
(23) . . . she played a schoolgirl and he a teacher. (BNC BNT 212)
Dik rejects the possibility of an analysis in terms of zero anaphoric reference, in the second conjunct, to the predicate of the first. Anaphoric reference to predicates is a marked
phenomenon, and would be doubly marked in languages with SOV order, in which the
equivalent of (23) would be of the form she a schoolgirl and he a teacher played, since
such structures also involve cataphora, again a marked phenomenon. Instead, Dik (p. 213)
opts for a solution in which n-tuples of slots can be multiplied at the same time, as
shown in (24).
(24) play [V] {(x1 :<hum>)Ag (x2 )Go }
& {(x1 *:<hum>)Ag (x2 *)Go }
This indicates that for the verb play, used in the sense relevant to (23), we can coordinate a
pair of elements, one a human Agent and the other a Goal, provided that (as indicated by
the asterisks) each of the Agents, and also each of the Goals, is different. Such an analysis
explains why the number of members coordinated in each slot must be equal, and can
account for both forward gapping and backward gapping according to the word order
rules of the language concerned.
.. Embedding in FG: (i) Verbal restrictors

... The nature and function of verbal restrictors
As we saw in 3.2.1, verbal restrictors (VRs) are restrictors which are organised around a
verbal predicate. Examples are the elements in bold below:
(25) . . . Ive talked to the man who made the video, . . . (BNC KS7 588)
(26) The man hoping to become Britains first black Tory MP faces more opposition
tonight from his own side. (BNC K1C 2502)
The function of such restrictors is seen as helping the addressee to identify the referent of a
term, through a specification of some State of Affairs in which that referent is a participant
(Dik 1997b: 24).5 Thus in (25), the man is identified as the one who made the video, and
in (26) as the one who is hoping to become Britains first black Tory MP.
Note that a VR can also arise from a non-verbal predicate which has effectively been
made into a verbal one through copula support, as in (27).
(27) I am concerned that the man who is here today is not the same as the man who was
here yesterday. (BNC J10 3394)
Dik (pp. 2728) distinguishes three types of VRs, which will be discussed in more detail in 3.2.3.2: relative clauses, defined as a VR whose predicate is realised as a finite
verb; participial restrictors, in which the predicate is in participial form; and nominalised
restrictors, with the predicate realised as a nominalised verb.
Dik (pp. 2830) claims that VRs are extended predications6 with an open slot in the
frame of the predicate, at which a term variable operates. The structures of the VRs in (25)
and (26) above can be represented, in a simplified form, as in (28) and (29).
(28) Past e: [make [V] (Axi )Ag (the video)Go ]
(29) Pres e: [hope [V] (Axi ) (become Britains first black Tory MP)Ref ]
In each case, there is a variable, xi , in one of the term positions of the predicate frame (it
happens to be the first position in both examples), and this variable is further specified as
being anaphoric, through the introduction of the anaphoric operator A.
Diks claim that VRs are extended predications rests on the assertion that they cannot contain subjective attitudinal operators or satellites, at Level 3. Diks examples are
given below.
(30) (= Diks (15), 1997b: 28)
a. *Im looking for a person who can probably help me.
b. *Im looking for a person who can allegedly help me.
c. *Im looking for a person who, I believe, can help me.
However, it is easy to demonstrate that this is not a restriction on VRs as such. Consider
the following, derived from (25) above:
(31) a.
Ive talked to the man who probably made the video.
. Again, all page references to Dik throughout the discussion of embedding refer to Dik (1997b).
. Though they do not necessarily have all the elements specifiable within an extended predication: for
instance, participial and nominalised VRs, unlike relative clauses, do not normally allow tense specification,
though they do show aspect (Dik 1997b: 2829).
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
b. Ive talked to the man who allegedly made the video.

c. Ive talked to the man who, I believe, made the video.
Attested examples are given in (32) and (33).
(32) This is the man who allegedly raped a 38 year old woman. (BNC K1Y 496)
(33) Another outsider who probably arrived in the area under Gloucesters aegis was
Ralph Willoughby, . . . (BNC HWK 799)
These are surely impeccable, and suggest that the restriction claimed by Dik is one on the
particular type of construction he chose for illustration, and that relative clauses, at least,
can be propositional in nature.
Any selection restrictions on the predicate in the VR must be compatible with the
semantics of the head noun (Dik, p. 31).
(34) Supporters who bought tickets for the Latvia game at our office could register.
(BNC K2U 182)
(35) *Stones which bought tickets . . .
The VR consisting of the embedded item X bought tickets . . . is compatible with the head
supporters in (34), since buy is restricted to human Agents and supporters are human; on
the other hand, stones are not, so blocking (35). This type of phenomenon gives evidence
for a dynamic view of term construction, in which it is the term as constructed up to a
particular point which can constrain further choices. Not only the head noun, but also
other restrictors, can determine the appropriateness or otherwise of an added VR:
(36) . . . those women who become pregnant have no option. (BNC KA1 766)
(37) *those men who become pregnant have no option.
(38) . . . an ordinary teenage brat who gets pregnant. (BNC KS8 1017)
(39) . . . an ordinary female teenage brat who gets pregnant.
(40) *a pregnant teenage brat who is female
(41) *an ordinary male teenage brat who gets pregnant
(36) and (37) illustrate the need, already demonstrated above, for compatibility between
head and embedded predicate with respect to selection restrictions. (38)(41) (analogous
to Diks examples (27ad), p. 32) show that having specified the brat as female in (39), we
can then use a VR with get pregnant; but we cannot, as in (40), first specify that the referent
is pregnant and then that the referent is female, since the latter is redundant, being part of
the meaning of pregnant. In (41), the restrictor male blocks any VR based on the predicate
be/get pregnant.
... Stacking of verbal restrictors

The stacking of VRs on to one another is illustrated in (42).
(42) A speeding motor-cyclist who knocked down and killed a 73-year-old man . . .
(BNC K5D 3948)
The potential referent here is first restricted by being characterised as a motor cyclist, then
by having been speeding (first VR) and then by having knocked down and killed a 73 year
old man (second VR involving coordination).
Dik (pp. 3238) offers evidence from English, Luganda and French to show that although stacking of VRs is possible, there are heavy constraints on the stacking of relative clauses. Such constraints can be handled in terms of the dynamic model of term
construction mentioned earlier.
... Non-restrictive modifiers

Compare the following:
(43) She also does two afternoons voluntary work at the school which her children
attend. (BNC K4V 2499)
(44) The school, which has taken part in the festival since 1968, was conducted by Mr.
Kinnock when he visited in March on his partys election trail. (BNC K4W 8956)
In (43), the relative clause is restrictive, serving to identify which school is intended as the
referent; we thus have a VR of the kind we have been dealing with up to now. In (44), however, the relative clause is non-restrictive, serving not to define which school is intended
(this has already been established in the previous discourse), but rather adding information about that school. Dik (p. 39) refers to such elements as non-restrictors. Other types
of VR, such as participial clauses, can also be used as either restrictors or non-restrictors,
as shown by (45) (restrictive) and (46) (non-restrictive) below.
(45) For the committee chaired by Lord Robbins, there was an essential link between
higher education and culture. (BNC G0R 7)
(46) The committee, chaired by the Leader in the Lords, Lord Wakeham, has decided on
a package that includes relaxation of rules that prevent benefit claimants from taking
further education courses which occupy more than 21 hours a week. (BNC K5D 968)
Dik (pp. 39ff.) notes a number of differences between restrictors and non-restrictors. Restrictors are usually prosodically integrated into the term structure, while non-restrictors
are normally set off by punctuation or by allocation to a separate intonation unit. Semantically, as we have seen, restrictors add identifying information, while non-restrictors add
non-essential information, with the corollary that they can be omitted without changing the potential referent, and that they can be added to terms for which the referent has
already been determined.
Restrictive and non-restrictive relative clauses also often show differences in syntactic and/or morphological behaviour: for instance, in English, non-restrictive relatives are
commonly supposed to take only the relative pronoun (who/which/whose) and not the
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
general subordinator that. In fact, the restriction is relative rather than absolute: it is not
difficult to find counter-examples, of which just one is given below.
(47) Participating in a traditional bloody ritual called the grynd, that dates back over the
centuries, Faroe Islanders each year herd large schools of pilot whales into shallow
waters . . . (BNC ABC 784)
A detailed corpus-based study of the two types of relative clause in the Spanish spoken
in Madrid (Butler 1992a) revealed a complex picture indicating probabilistic rather than
absolute differences in the nature and syntactic function of the subordinator used, the
correlation with type of antecedent (noun, pronoun, demonstrative, etc.), and the possibility of the subjunctive mood in the relative clause. In that article, tentative suggestions
are made about how the findings could be formalised within the FG framework.
Dik (pp. 4142) observes that non-restrictors can contain propositional and even illocutionary operators and satellites, and so are clausal in terms of the FG hierarchy of levels,
rather than predicational, as he believes restrictors to be. We have seen, however, that corpus evidence suggests the latter claim is highly dubious. It is nevertheless clearly the case
that non-restrictors are semantically more independent of the term they modify than are
restrictors, and this is reflected in the relationships, often commented on in the literature,
between non-restrictive relatives and conjoined clauses. The principles of FG, however,
would disallow derivation of non-restrictors from conjunction constructions, even if this
were a viable analysis on other grounds. Instead, Dik (p. 44), following work by Rijksbaron
(1981) and de Groot & Limburg (1986), proposes to analyse non-restrictors as parenthetically adjoined open clauses, attached to complete terms. The structure of (48) is given in
(49), where =(. . . )= indicates the parenthetical clause.
(48) The dog, who lives in Langton Walk, Darlington, had escaped . . . (BNC K52 1024)
(49) Decl E: X: Past Perf e: escape [V] ((d1xi : dog [N]) =(Decl E: X: Pres e: live [V]
(Axi )Po (d1xj : Langton Walk, Darlington [N])Loc )=)Ag
An alternative account of non-restrictive clauses has been given by Hannay & Vester
(1987), who point out that the two parts of the expression in a term such as the above are
of different kinds (one a term, the other a predication), and so in principle not combinable, and furthermore that the type of relationship between the two remains unspecified.
They also point out that such an account would present the whole combination as bearing
functions such as Subject whereas, in their view, a non-restrictive relative clause is not part
of the Subject. Hannay & Vesters own analysis is based on the combining of a core and
a non-core predication, the latter having the pragmatic function of either Orientation or
Elaboration. For (48), they would propose a structure of the kind given in (50), in which
R is a relativisation operator.
(50) Decl E: X: Past Perf e: escape [V] (d1xi : dog [N])Ag (Decl E: X: Pres e: live [V]
(Rxi ) (d1xj : Langton Walk, Darlington [N])Loc )Elab
Van der Auwera (1990: 9395) proposes a version of the Rijksbaron scheme which circumvents the function assignment problem raised by Hannay & Vester by means of a
structure of the following kind for the relative clause, only the head noun being given
functional labels:
(51) ((d1xi: dog (xi ))PoSubj , Pres [live in Langton Walk, Darlington (Rxi )])
In Hannays recent work (see Hannay, forthcoming, also 2.2.2.1.1) it is proposed, on the
basis of work by Duurkoop (2001), that non-restrictive modifiers coming after the Subject
in written English sentences act as a type of orientation device, providing background
information aimed at giving the reader a fuller understanding of some component of the
message, or indeed the whole of it.
... Classification and typology of verbal restrictors

.... The (non)-universality of verbal restrictors. Dik (p. 72) claims that although most
languages do have VRs, a few do not. Languages without VRs, such as Hixkaryana, adopt
other strategies for participant identification, such as simple paratactic combination. Dik
also comments that most Australian languages, although they have adnominal participial
VRs, do not have full relative clauses, but rather make use of adjoined subordinate clauses
occurring clause-initially or finally, though not medially. We can illustrate this situation
from Gooniyandi. McGregor (1990: 435)7 states that Gooniyandi has no embedded relative clauses, and that even non-finite clauses do not modify nominal constituents. It is,
however, possible to use a finite clause to expand on a constituent of another clause, as
shown in (52).
(52) (= McGregors (5-410), 1990: 437)
government -ngga ngangbindi
jiginya gambayi ngaddanyoowa nangbani
government erg he-gave-them little boy
his-mother
she-died
The government gave them a little boy whose mother had died
.... Classes of verbal restrictors and their typological distribution. In terms of their
formal and typological behaviour, it is useful to categorise VRs according to whether they
are
constructed around a finite or non-finite verb

prenominal or postnominal
As Dik (p. 45) observes, we might expect Prefield languages normally to have the order
VR-N, and Postfield languages N-VR. Although there is a strong correlation of this kind,
it is not complete, in that Prefield languages may have N-VR as well as VR-N. Dik (pp. 74
76) explains this fact in terms of two of the principles outlined briefly in 3.2.3 of Part 1:
these are repeated below:
. McGregors own analysis is in terms of a model derived from Systemic Functional Grammar.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
There is usually less complexity in the Prefield than in the Postfield, and this will lead
to strategies, in Prefield languages, for reducing this complexity.
Constituents will, ceteris paribus, prefer placement in order of increasing complexity.
Clitics normally come before pronouns, and these before noun phrases, then adpositional phrases and finally subordinate clauses. This is referred to as the LanguageIndependent Preferred Order of Constituents (LIPOC).
As VRs are complex constituents, we would expect them to prefer the Postfield. Dik also
points out that a further consequence of these principles may be to push VRs to the end
of the clause from an earlier expected position. This kind of pressure is illustrated by the
following example from Dutch (parallel to Diks example (5), p. 74), in which the relative
clause is at the end of the matrix clause, being separated from its antecedent by the past
participle gekregen.
(53) Het begrip vrijheid van onderwijs heeft
aldus een betekenis
the notion freedom of education have-pres.3sg thus a meaning
gekregen
die
verder gaat
dan de letterlijke
acquire-past.part which further go-pres.3sg than the literal
wettekst; . . . (DUT02G02.ECI)
law-text
The notion freedom of education has thus acquired a meaning which goes
beyond the literal legal text.
Dik also discusses briefly why, in view of the above principles, languages have prenominal
VRs at all. He points out that postnominal placing of a VR in a Prefield language is a
violation of the principle of field harmony, that VR-N ordering may aid in distinguishing
attributive from predicative constructions, that it minimises psychologically problematic
centre-embedding of VRs, and that it helps to preserve the principle of head proximity.8
.... Postnominal verbal restrictors. Postnominal VRs normally contain a finite verb,
and take the form of relative clauses. Dik (p. 48) recognises three kinds of explicit markers
which can occur, singly or in combination, in postnominal relative clauses, and whose
properties can be summarised as in Table 3.1.
Invariable relativisation markers and relative pronouns always occupy P1 position in
the relative clause, while pronominal expression of the relativised variable is usually in
pattern position, that is the position which such a pronoun would take in a non-relative
clause, although in some cases it may be attracted to a position just after the initial RM.
Dik (p. 49) notes that relative pronouns and personal pronoun expression are mutually
exclusive, a fact which can presumably be explained by the fact that information about the
relativised variable is already available in the relative pronoun, so that this does not need
to be repeated in a personal pronoun.
. Again, see 3.2.3 of Part 1.
Table 3.1. Types of relativisation marker and their properties

Type of marker
Example from English
Invariable relativisation that

markers (RM)
Personal pronouns
he/him/his
Relative pronouns
who/whom/whose
Gives information
about subordinate
status?
Gives information
about nature of
relativised variable?
+
+
We thus have the following array of possibilities (p. 48): initial RM alone, or with a
personal pronoun in pattern position or immediately following the RM; personal pronoun
alone, in pattern position; relative pronoun in initial position. There is also the possibility
of no formal expression of relativisation at all, that is no marker in either P1 or pattern
position. Consider the following examples from English.
(54) This is the house that Jack bought. (BNC K6B 359)
(55) Only the house which I bought when I suggested you should leave the community.
(BNC EVC 2648)
(56) I brought you up here because I wanted to show you the house Ive bought in
Oxfordshire. (BNC JY3 3496)
These represent the three patterns which are grammatical for standard English: RM only
(54), relative pronoun only (55), zero anaphora (56).
Now consider the Spanish examples below.
(57) . . . pero un chico que ahora tiene
doce, trece
but a boy that now have-pres.3sg twelve thirteen
aos, . . . (HCM 1, 21)
years
. . . but a boy who is now twelve, thirteen years old, . . .
(58) Ahora ha
aparecido
Javier ngel Preciado, que es un
now have-pres.3sg appear-past.part Javier ngel Preciado that is a
compaero al que yo conozco
desde hace
ya
friend
whom I know-pres.1sg since do/make-pres.3sg already
alguos aos, . . . (Referencia BENT015C.ASC)
some years
Now Javier ngel Preciado has appeared, who is a friend whom Ive known for
some years now, . . .
In (57), the relativiser is the general subordinator que, which appears in other types of subordinate clause too. In (58), we first have this same subordinator in a non-restrictive relative clause, and then al que in a restrictive clause. This second relativiser is a true relative
pronoun, which in this case conflates the preposition a, needed before personal Objects
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
in Spanish, with the relative pronoun itself, el que.9 There is no possibility, in any Spanish
relative clause, of zero anaphora, as in the English example in (56).
In spoken Spanish, and occasionally in the written language, it is possible to find
examples of the RM + personal pronoun strategy of relativisation, as in (59).
(59) . . . y
a lo mejor una cosa que no se
vaya
uno a
and probably a
thing that neg refl go-pres.subjunc.3sg one to
utilizarla . . . (HCM 2, 24)
use-it
. . . and probably a thing one isnt going to use . . .
Dik (p. 52) makes the following observations about pronominal realisation of the relativised variable:
relativised variables with Subject function are rarely expressed pronominally;

the less accessible the relativised variable is, with respect to some hierarchy such as
that introduced by Keenan & Comrie (1977) for noun phrases, the more likely it is to
be expressed pronominally;
the hierarchy will behave implicationally with respect to pronominal realisation: that
is, if a pronoun appears at a particular position in the hierarchy, it will appear at all
lower positions, provided that the language allows relativisation at those positions;
if there are positions on the hierarchy where pronouns are obligatory, and positions where they are excluded, there may be intermediate positions in which they
are optional.
Furthermore, since the combination of relative pronoun and personal pronoun is claimed
to be ungrammatical cross-linguistically, Diks account predicts that pronoun expression
will be found with the generalised RM, but not with true relative pronouns. We can illustrate some of these points from Spanish. In the spoken Spanish data analysed in Butler
(1992a), resumptive pronouns occurred only with the general subordinator que; there
were no examples of such pronouns where the relativised variable was Subject; and the
fact that the single example of an Indirect Object relativised variable had a resumptive
pronoun lends support to Diks claim that the more inaccessible positions favour pronominal expression (Indirect Object is less accessible than Direct Object, which in turn is less
accessible than Subject, according to Keenan & Comries hierarchy). On the other hand,
there was some evidence that accessibility was not confined to contiguous portions of the
hierarchy, as predicted by Dik.10
. Although forms such as el que, la que, etc. are, on the surface of it, formed from a definite determiner
and the general subordinator, they actually behave as single items, acting as relative pronouns. For further
illustration and discussion of this and other relevant points, see Butler (1992a).
. It should be noted, however, that the database analysed, consisting of just over 500 relative clauses,
was too small to provide anything but suggestive evidence in rare cases such as the presence of resumptive
pronouns.
Dik (p. 53) concludes that pronominal expression of the relativised variable serves to
make relative clauses easier to process, since the pronoun acts as an explicit guide to the
interpretation of the clause.
Dik (p. 54) also notes a number of cross-linguistically attested properties of relative
pronouns, some of which he later attempts to account for. Relative pronouns, which occur
only in postnominal VRs, are commonly identical, or at least similar, to demonstratives or
question words in the same language,11 and always appear in the initial, P1 position of the
relative clause. Dik interprets these similarities in terms of two of the possible scenarios for
the development of relative pronouns in a language. Firstly, it has been claimed that VRs
with demonstrative relative pronouns can be derived from paratactic clause sequences.
Consider the Dutch sentence in (60). We could rephrase this as two sentences, as in (61).
(60) In de meeste APVs12 staat
nogal wat dood hout, dat best
in the most APVs stand-pres.3sg rather some dead wood that best
gesnoeid
kan
worden. (DUT02G02.ECI)
prune-past.part can-pres.3sg become
In most APVs there is quite a lot of dead wood which should (OR: can easily)13
be pruned.
(61) In de meeste APVs staat
nogal wat dood hout. Dat
in the most APVs stand-pres.3sg rather some dead wood that
kan
best gesnoeid
worden.
can-pres.3sg best prune-past.part become
In most APVs there is quite a lot of dead wood. That should (OR: can easily) be
pruned.
This type of development would clearly explain the link with demonstratives. It would
also favour initial position for the relative pronoun, as would development from an interrogative construction, which is another of Diks scenarios. Consider example (62):
(62) So I dont know who bought it. (BNC KCX 1668)
Dik (p. 79), referring to the work of Keenan (1975), observes, in relation to the embedded
question in such sentences, that there is little semantic difference between the following:
(63) I dont know the answer to the question: Who bought it?
(64) I dont know the person who is such that s/he bought it.
. For instance, in the languages of Europe, we may observe these relationships in languages within various
families: Germanic (e.g. in English, German, Dutch), Romance (e.g. in French, Spanish, Italian), FinnoUgric (e.g. in Finnish).
. APV: Algemene Polizieverordening = general police regulations.
. I am advised by a Dutch native speaker that the meaning is ambiguous between the readings it would
be advisable to prune it and it can easily be pruned, even in the context in which the sentence appeared in
the text.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Furthermore, information supplying the answer to the implied question in (62) could be
provided as in (65), where we have, effectively who bought it = X:
(65) It was X who bought it.
But as Dik points out, the wh-clause here is close in interpretation to (66):
(66) the one/person who bought it
so that we may postulate a development from embedded questions such as that in (62),
through a free or headless VR such as that in (65), to headed relative clauses as in (66).
Dik adduces evidence for such a relationship from Dutch, which has both demonstrativerelated and interrogative-related relative pronouns: only the latter, however, can occur in
free relatives.14
.... Prenominal verbal restrictors. Prenominal VRs are almost always non-finite, and
Dik poses, but does not explicitly answer, the question as to why this should be so. He
recognises three types of prenominal VR: participial, nominalised and those which take
the form of a closed predication. I shall look briefly at each in turn.
Dik (p. 55) observes that participial VRs tend to be associated with prenominal position, though they can also occur postnominally. He points out that in German and
Dutch, postnominal VRs tend to be finite relative clauses, while prenominal VRs tend
to be participial, as in the Dutch example given in (67).
(67) In Santiago, de hoofdstad van Chili, is
onder groote
in Santiago the capital
of Chile be-pres.3sg amidst great
belangstelling de in 1973 vermoorde
president Salvador Allende
interest
the in 1973 murder-past.part president Salvador Allende
herbegraven. (DUT02A01.ECI)
bury-past.part
In Santiago, the capital of Chile, Salvador Allende, the president murdered in
1973, has been buried amidst great interest.
Dik (p. 56) also notes that participial restrictors are normally used only when the head
noun can be interpreted as the Subject of the participial verb. In (67), president can be
seen as the Subject of the passive participle vermoorde.
Nominalised restrictors are those of the type an x characterised by [predication], e.g.
a [Johns reading] paper, interpreted as a paper characterised by Johns reading it (Diks
example (34), p. 57). Such restrictors occur in, for example, Turkish.
All the restrictors I have considered so far involve open predications, but as Dik
(pp. 5863) notes, some Prefield languages, such as Korean, Tamil, Japanese and Mari,
can use closed predications as restrictors. In Tamil, for example, we can construct a noun
phrase of the structure car come-RM noise, meaning the sound of a car coming (Diks
. For further discussion of free relative clauses in FG, see van der Auwera (1990: 151165; 1992).
example (41), p. 59, taken originally from Asher 1982: 3637). Dik also postulates that the
type of structure which underlies such expressions also gives rise to English noun phrases
of the type shown in (68).
(68) We heard the noise of glass falling to the floor . . . (BNC K97 52)
The structure of the noun phrase in bold type would be as in (69).
(69) (xi : noise [N]: [Pres e: [fall [V] (glass)Proc ] (floor)Dir ])
The difference between English and, for example, Tamil would then reside in the form
of expression for the same underlying structure type: English has a postnominal prepositional phrase with of, while Tamil has a prenominal closed predication VR treated in the
same way as an open predication.
Finally, Dik (pp. 6364) mentions languages such as Basque, which can use appositional VRs in place of the more usual prenominal VR, if the VR is long. The example given
(Diks (62c), p. 64) is glossed as a king, a person having seven sons and daughters.
.... Circumnominal verbal restrictors. In certain Prefield languages, such as Yuma,

Imbabura Quechua, Murinypata and Usan, constructions exist in which the head noun
appears inside the VR itself. Dik (p. 65) gives an example from Yuma which can be
represented as below:
(70) (= Diks (65), p. 65) (John threw a rock)-Subj hit the house.
In other words, the complete clausal construction equivalent to John threw a rock is
treated as if it were the Subject of the matrix clause, though clearly it is the rock itself
which hit the house. This type of pattern is seen also in the other languages which have
circumnominal VRs. The important feature is that the whole clause in which the head
noun is embedded behaves as if it were an argument (or sometimes a satellite) of the
main verb. A possible explanation for the origin of such constructions is the existence,
in these languages, of clauses with an extraclausal constituent with Orientation function
(Dik, p. 85). In Usan, for example, we have constructions which can be glossed in the
following ways (see Diks examples (34) and (35)):
(71) Given that the man took the bow, I did not see the bow.
(72) Given that the man took the bow I did not see (it/him).
In the second construction, the second argument of see is anaphoric, and in Usan this
can include zero anaphora. In such a case, Dik (p. 86) argues that the main verb, which
is looking for a second argument, may interpret the orientation clause as if it were such
an argument, so leading to the circumnominal type of construction. For further details of
this area, readers are referred to Diks original discussion.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
.. Embedding in FG: (ii) Complex terms

... Types of complex terms and the types of predicate they occur with
In Chapter 7 of Part 1, we saw that terms can refer not only to first order (spatial) entities,
but also to higher order entities: States of Affairs, possible facts, or speech acts. Such entities can be referred to through simple terms: for example, meeting refers to a SoA, belief
to a possible fact, and question to a speech act. However, as we saw in 7.2.1.7, we can
also refer to higher order entities through the construction of terms containing embedded
constructions. Dik (p. 94) refers to such terms as complex terms, and more specifically as
predicational terms, propositional terms or clausal terms, depending on the nature of the
embedded material. Examples are given below.
(73) . . . he was enthralled when he watched the cutting of the Regents canal.
(BNC GSY 1422)
(74) For three years Ive believed that Donald died instantly. (BNC K97 14610)
(75) I wondered why you were sitting there. (BNC KCW 3587)
In (73), we have a predicational term, referring to the SoA cut the Regents canal; in
(74), there is a propositional term, referring to the possible fact of Donald dying instantly; in (75), we have a clausal term, referring to the question of why the addressee
was sitting there.
Dik (p. 95) makes it clear that his definition of embedded constructions, and hence
of complex terms, includes structures embedded at any argument or satellite position
in the frame of the matrix predicate in other words, complement clauses and also
adverbial clauses.
.... Predicates taking clausal terms. Matrix predicates such as say and ask require their
second argument to refer to a speech act. Clausal complements of such predicates represent a spectrum of types ranging from direct to indirect speech. The FG treatment of
direct and indirect speech was discussed in Chapter 1, in relation to its relationship with
illocution and layering. I shall therefore not say anything further about this area here.
.... Predicates taking propositional terms. Matrix predicates which take a propositional term as second argument are of four types (p. 106): propositional attitude (e.g.
believe, hope in English), propositional manipulation (e.g. convince, persuade), acquisition
or loss of knowledge (e.g. know, forget), and mental perception (e.g. see, hear). Some such
predicates (e.g. believe) are non-factive, that is the speaker is not committed to either the
truth or the falsity of the embedded proposition (p. 108). Others, such as know, are factive, the speaker committing himself or herself to the truth of the embedded proposition.
Still others (e.g. pretend) are contra-factive, the speaker being committed to the falsity of
the embedded material. Such constraints on the speakers attitude can be captured by the
use of the attitudinal operators True and False, as in the following examples:
(76) She knew that he was good, . . . (BNC H0R 1977)
(77) Decl E: Xi : Past ei : know [V] (she)Exp 15

(True Xj : ej : good [A] (he) )Ref
(78) He was pretending that the errand was a nuisance, . . . (BNC CCW 16)
(79) Decl E: Xi : Past ei : Progr pretend [V] (he)Po
(False Xj : ej : {nuisance [N]} (errand [N]) )Go
.... Predicates taking predicational terms. Matrix predicates taking predicational

terms as second argument are of various kinds (pp. 110115). First let us note that Dik
(pp. 110111) treats directive predicates such as order, ask (someone to do something),
request as taking predicational terms. These predicates clearly have a relationship with imperative illocutionary force. In 1.2.1 we saw that in FG it is argued that the imperative
has no propositional content, but takes a predication directly. Diks analysis of directive
predicates (p. 111) thus postulates an embedded construction containing the Imp illocutionary force operator (or, in the case of verbs such as request or requestive ask, a Request
operator), as shown in (80)/(81) where Post is a relative tense operator specifying that the
SoA of the embedded predication must occur after that of the matrix predication.
(80) Hes asked me to go with him . . . (BNC JYE 1906)
(81) Decl Ei : X: Pres Perf ei : ask [V] (xi : he)Ag
(Req Ej : Post ej : go [V] (xj )Ag (xi/k : he)Company )Go (xj : I)Rec
However, note that the second argument of ask here, although having no propositional
layer, is presented as a clause, with its E variable and an illocutionary operator, so that
Dik is surely inconsistent in treating directive predicates of this sort as taking a predicational term. Rather, it is the Req (or Imp) operator within the embedded clause which
determines that what follows shall be a predicational rather than a propositional structure.
On the other hand, predicates of practical manipulation, such as force, compel, cause,
make (someone do something) are indeed clear cases of predicates which take predicational second arguments: they represent a situation in which someone is coerced into
performing a particular SoA (p. 111). We therefore analyse (82) as in (83).
(82) In the war the Germans had forced him to live in the village. (BNC G13 124)
(83) Decl E: X: Past Perf ei : force [V] (xi : the Germans)Ag (xj : he)Go
(Post ej : live [V] (xj )Po (xk : the village)Loc )Ref
An exactly parallel analysis is appropriate for volitional predicates such as want.
The following example illustrates a further type of predication-taking predicate, indicating achievement:
. Dik (1997b: 109) treats the first argument of know as a Positioner. It is surely arguable, however, that
knowing is [control], and elsewhere Dik (1997a: 116) does indeed treat know as a State. The complement
of know in (76) has accordingly also been reanalysed as Reference.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(84) Dan managed to ring last night. (BNC KDV 3765)

This is an example of an implicative predicate, defined as one which implies the actual
realisation of the complement SoA. For this type of predicate, Dik (pp. 114115) notes
that the complement SoA in such cases cannot have its own specification of time or place:
(85) *Dan managed to have rung last night.
(86) *Last Thursday, Dan managed to ring last night.
(87) *In Paris, Dan managed to ring in Prague.
As Dik points out, a temporal or locative satellite affects the embedded as well as the matrix
predication. Dik argues that this behaviour can be explained if the embedded element is
analysed as a core rather than an extended predication, so that it has no independent slots
for temporal or locative satellites of its own. The structure of (84) would thus be as shown
in outline in (88).
(88) Decl E: X: Past e: manage [V] (xi : Dan)Ag
(ring [V] (xi )Ag )Go (last night)Temp
He also notes that this correctly predicts the possible occurrence of Level 1 satellites in the
embedded predicate (e.g. on his mobile phone16 /for Jean), and that the analysis he suggests
presents the managing and the ringing as specifying a single SoA, so coming close to an
alternative analysis with a single, complex predicate, manage to ring.
Note that parallel to implicative predicates we have contra-implicative predicates,
such as fail (to), which imply that the SoA of the complement clause was not realised.
Yet other predicates (e.g. want) are non-implicative, carrying no implication about the
realisation of the SoA in the embedded predication.
Dik (pp. 113114) recognises four further types of predication-taking predicate:
phasal predicates such as begin (to), continue (to), start (V-ing), stop (V-ing), which have
a similar analysis to the achievement type; commentative predicates (e.g. strange in it is
strange that . . . ), which have a free choice of tense operator in their complements; objective modal predicates (e.g. possible in it is possible that . . . ) which again have free tense
choice in the embedded predication; and predicates of direct perception. Since perception
predicates are particularly complex as regards the types of complement they may take, I
shall deal with them separately in the next section.
.... Perception predicates. Dik & Hengeveld (1991) distinguish four different readings of perception verbs, distinguishable in terms of the kind of entity referred to by the
complement. An example of each type is given below.
(89) I saw Johnny yesterday, . . . (BNC KB1 30)
(90) Fernie saw him going into the house. (BNC GUD 2615)
. I take it that on his mobile phone is an instrumental rather than a locative satellite here.
(91) . . . she lifted her head and saw that he was going towards the door.
(BNC HGT 3169)
(92) I hear youve finished the Westway job. (BNC AB9 10)
In (89) we have an example of the immediate perception of an individual, while in (90) see
represents the immediate perception of a State of Affairs by an individual. In (91), on the
other hand, this verb represents the mental perception of propositional content. Finally,
in (92) we have an example of what Dik & Hengeveld (1991: 238) call reception of the
propositional content of a speech act. In such cases, see or hear represents the reception,
by reading or hearing, of the propositional content of something written or said by a
third party.
Dik & Hengeveld (1991), building on material already available in the literature on
complementation, discuss in some detail the differences between pairs of types, giving
examples of languages which differentiate formally between the two types, and proposing FG representations which reflect these differences. Only a very brief summary can be
given here.
Firstly, there are differences in the behaviour of the immediate perception of SoA
(IPSoA) and mental perception of propositional content (MP) categories. IPSoA constructions require the SoAs of the matrix and complement to be simultaneous, while MP
constructions do not: evidence is provided by the ungrammaticality of sentences such as
(93), and the grammaticality of (94).
(93) *Fernie saw him having gone into the house.
(94) She saw that he had been going towards the door.
The complement SoA of an IPSoA construction must represent something which is perceivable, while that of an MP construction need not be:
(95) The assistant saw that there was no point in arguing. (BNC H9P 2629)
(96) *The assistant saw there being no point in arguing.
Dik & Hengeveld note further restrictions on the IPSoA structure, concerned with semantically negative complement SoAs, which are perfectly acceptable in MP constructions.
(97) As he came closer, I saw that he was not asking a question. (BNC B0U 215)
(98) *As he came closer, I saw him not asking a question.
Furthermore, IPSoA constructions are non-factive, while MP constructions are what Dik
& Hengeveld call semifactive, by which they mean that the speaker presupposes that the
complement is true. This is related to the fact that in the IPSoA type, see describes direct
visual perception as such, while the MP type can describe not only primary percpetion
but also a secondary sense which can be paraphrased as realise. It is not surprising, then,
that in some languages MP constructions use the same kind of expressions which are
found with other knowledge predicates.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Dik & Hengeveld also demonstrate that the two types of construction take different
expression forms in various languages, affecting the nature of the complementiser and/or
the form of the predicate in the embedded construction. The authors propose underlying
structures for IPSoA and MP constructions which reflect the need for the former to have
fixed operators in the complement structure not only for simultaneity but also for positive
polarity, and the claim that the complement of MP constructions must be marked as representing the speakers certain knowledge. The structures which Dik & Hengeveld would
propose for (90) and (91) are shown in (99) and (100) respectively.17
(99) Decl E: X: Past ei : see [V] (Fernie)ProcExp
(Sim Pos ej : Progr go [V] (he)Ag (the house)Dir )Go
(100) Decl E: Xi : Past ei : see [V] (she)ProcExp
(Cert Xj : Past ej : Progr go [V] (he)Ag (the door)Dir )Go
There is, however, a complication here which is not discussed by Dik & Hengeveld. The
fixed Cert operator in MP complements should block the presence of other Level 3 operators. Where the complement SoA is perceivable, it does indeed seem odd to add some
expression of probability or possibility. If, however, the SoA is not perceivable, we can
have expressions representing non-certainty in the structure, as shown by the clause in
bold type in (101).
(101) I saw that he probably encountered his own body as worthless and warped and that
he identified his body as his self, but he was wrong. (BNC CA3 2835)
If Cert is concerned with the reflection of speaker knowledge, then it is perfectly possible
for this knowledge to include propositions which themselves are modified in terms of
probability: I can know (and also see or realise) that it is probable that something is the
case. This suggests that we should analyse probably in (101) as an objective (Level 2) rather
than an epistemological (Level 3) modality, and we can then retain the Cert operator at
Level 3, correctly reflecting the fact that the speaker views the propositional content itself
as certain. The problem is, of course, that as we saw in 9.2.3.3 of Part 1, Hengeveld claims
that modal adverbs always represent epistemological modalities. This adds further weight
to Nuyts objections to Hengevelds account, which I summarised in Chapter 9 of Part 1.
Dik & Hengeveld also account for the difference between examples such as (90) (repeated as (102) below) and (103) in terms of imperfective aspect in the complement SoA
of the first, but perfective aspect in the second.
(102) Fernie saw him going into the house. (BNC GUD 2615)
(103) I saw him go up to the house. (BNC CKF 2632)
. Dik & Hengeveld (1991) label the second argument of see simply as Proc. Dik (1997b: 112), however,
uses ProcExp, in line with the discussion in 8.1.1 of Part 1, and this is reflected in the structures I have
given here. I have also recast representations in the form used in Dik (1997b).
They go on to compare MP constructions with reception of the propositional content of

a speech act (RP), pointing out that the latter involve perception of a linguistic entity,
and can only occur with predicates of hearing and seeing, whereas MP can occur with
any perception verb. There are a number of behavioural differences: we can specify the
(heard or read) source of the propositional content in RP (e.g. in (92), we could add from
John after hear), but in the MP we can specify only a source for inference of the propositional material (e.g. in (91) we could add from the reflection in the mirror); MP but not
RP constructions can take a modal verb with the perception verb (we could have could
see in (91), but not *can hear in (92)); MP constructions are semifactive, RP non-factive.
Dik & Hengeveld show that some languages, such as German, code the MP/RP distinction in different complement types, and that some have different complementisers for the
two types. The only difference postulated in the underlying structures of the MP and RP
types is that, as we have seen, the former are claimed to have the Cert propositional operator in the complement proposition, whereas the latter have a free choice of propositional
operator (including none). Below is given the structure for the RP construction in (92).
(104) Decl E: Xi : Pres hear [V] (I)ProcExp
(Xj : Pres Perf ej : finish [V] (you)Ag (the Westway job)Go)Go
Finally, Dik & Hengeveld examine the differences between IPSoA and immediate perception of individual (IPI) constructions. In principle, IPI constructions have a simple term
as Goal, as shown in the following representation for (89):
(105) Decl E: X: Past e: see [V] (I)ProcExp (Johnny)Go (yesterday)Temp
Complications arise, however, when the Goal term is modified, especially when the modifying element includes a verb. Compare (106), (107) and (108).
(106) When he looked up and saw the charging buffalo, . . . (BNC FU8 1353)
(107) But then I saw the keeper struggling. (BNC CH3 2688)
(108) Athelstan saw the chicken struggling in Red Hands grip. (BNC K95 1447)
In (106), it is clear that we are dealing with a term containing a participial verbal restrictor;
the status of (107) and (108), however, is less clear. Note also that there are constructions
which are like (107) except that an adjective replaces the participle, as in (109):
(109) Youve seen me naked before, . . . (BNC HA9 2353)
The question, then, is whether we can assimilate these constructions to one of the other
cases, or whether they constitute a separate type. Dik & Hengeveld argue that provided
we assume that examples such as (107) and (109) entail I saw the keeper and youve
seen me respectively, they are best dealt with in terms of predicative adjuncts encoding
circumstantial satellites to the predication, as in (110) and (111), where irrelevant details
have been omitted:
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
(110) Decl: E: X: Past ei : see [V] (xi : I)ProcExp (xj : keeper)Go

(Sim ej : Progr struggle [V] (xj )Ag )Circ
(111) Decl: E: X: Pres Perf ei : see [V] (xi : you)ProcExp (xj : I)Go
(Sim ej : naked [A] (xj ) )Circ
In this way, the SoA in the predicative adjunct can not only be related to the matrix SoA,
but also specified as a property of the Goal entity, through the referential index xj .
Examples such as (108) could be analysed as the IPSoA type, but also as IPI if interpreted in terms of the entity a chicken struggling in Red Hands grasp. Finally, Dik &
Hengeveld discuss examples with an infinitival complement such as (112).
(112) She heard him drive off. (BNC ABW 1436)
Here it is not the case that she heard him, but rather that she heard the sound of his driving
off, so necessitating the IPSoA interpretation.
.... Layering and complementation: Some problematic issues. Work by Bolkestein

(1990, 1992a) on sentential complementation in Latin raises some important questions
with regard to the pleasingly tidy patterns proposed by Dik and by Hengeveld. We saw in
1.2.2.3 that Bolkesteins demonstration of the need for illocutionary operators in indirect
speech complements has now been addressed by Diks later proposal that both direct and
indirect speech complements are full clauses, but that the former are placed directly into
the complement slot whereas the latter are embedded in a clausal term acting as complement. However, Bolkestein also discusses other behavioural properties of sentential
complements which suggest that refinements of the basic Dik & Hengeveld scheme are
needed. For instance, not all complements which appear to be propositional are equally
able to take propositional operators and satellites. Furthermore, complements consisting
of extended predications are of two types: either they may have independent temporal reference, in which case they are factive, or they may not be able to contain tensed verbs, in
which case they are non-factive. Bolkestein (1990: 94) suggests that this distinction should
be shown in the lexical entry for the matrix predicate. The difference between factive and
non-factive types of predicational complement is accompanied by differences in pronominalisation and reflexivisation possibilities. Finally, Bolkestein (1990: 95) notes that tense
operators and temporal satellites in Latin do not share the same distribution, and so may
not characterise the same level in the hierarchical structure.
... Functional properties of complex terms
Dik (1997b: 121122) notes that embedded constructions can fill any term position which
is compatible with their semantics, whether for an argument or a satellite. For an embedded construction in second argument position, it may be possible to assign the Subject
syntactic function (p. 123), though such assignment is also complicated by pragmatic considerations, as we shall shortly see. Dik also asserts (p. 125) that embedded constructions
can have any pragmatic function that can be carried by an ordinary term, and is cautious
about accepting the claim, made by various scholars, that the information in subordinate
constructions tends to be backgrounded/presupposed, whereas that in main clauses is normally foregrounded/asserted. He points out that it is often the subordinate clause which
carries the main burden of the communication. Some examples, similar to those provided
by Dik, are given below.
(113) I think youve got the wrong idea about your position here, . . . (BNC ANY 2797)
(114) I believe he is still alive . . . (BNC ANL 3582)
(115) . . . I am sorry to say that we will not be taking up your offer to publish.
(BNC AP1 1196)
... Formal properties of complex terms

Complex terms also differ in their formal properties, and although part of this variation is language-dependent, Dik (pp. 125141) demonstrates that there are some general
properties that are shared across languages of different types.
Firstly, although we shall normally expect that the position of an embedded construction in the matrix clause will depend primarily on whether the language is of the Prefield or Postfield type, there are three further considerations which, according to Dik, also
come into play. One is the complexity of the embedded material: we saw in 3.2.3 of Part
1 that the Language-Independent Preferred Order of Constituents (LIPOC) states that
constituents tend to be arranged in order of increasing complexity, with clitics at one end
of the scale and subordinate clauses at the other. This means that subordinate clauses may
occur in positions later in the matrix domain than their pattern position. Such a principle
would explain, for instance, the fact that Subject nominal clauses, especially if long, tend
to be extraposed in English, despite the fact that the normal constituent order is SVO.
Compare the following:
(116) That it came to this shows how involved Priestley was in the religious disputes and
politics of his day. (BNC B71 1363)
(117) It had never occurred to her that he came from the sort of background where servants were a matter of course and all one had to do in order to eat was pull a bell.
(BNC JXU 535)
In (116), we have a short Subject clause in initial position. In (117), however, we have a
long embedded construction with conjunction, and extraposition is virtually obligatory,
as witness the unacceptability of (118), or even perhaps the equivalent structure with just
the first of the coordinated clauses:
(118) *That he came from the sort of background where servants were a matter of course
and all one had to do in order to eat was pull a bell had never occurred to her.
Dik (p. 129) suggests that constructions such as that in (117), with an anticipatory dummy
element, may arise historically from grammaticalisation of constructions in which the
subordinate clause acts as a Tail to the clause itself.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
The fact that (fairly short) subordinate clauses can indeed appear initially in English
is to be expected on the grounds that the clause-initial P1 position is claimed to be universally relevant for constituents with special pragmatic functions, and complex terms can,
as we have seen, take any pragmatic function. There is thus competition between LIPOC
and the tendency for constituents with particular pragmatic functions to occur in P1.
The placement of the subordinate clause in P1 rather than the Subject position in examples such as (116) is suggested by the fact that we cannot add a further P1 constituent
(Dik, p. 132):
(119) *Does that it came to this show how involved Priestley was . . . ?
(120) *Because that it came to this shows how involved Priestley was . . .
LIPOC also predicts that languages which are basically of the Prefield type may sometimes
put subordinate clauses into the Postfield, though we shall not expect Postfield languages
to use the Prefield as a normal position for subordinate clauses.
Dik (pp. 132135) also suggests that semantic function is relevant to the position
of embedded constructions in the matrix domain. What he has in mind is the effect of
iconicity on the ordering of conditional, purpose and temporal clauses with respect to the
main clause. As predicted by Greenberg (1966), conditional clauses are, in the unmarked
case, placed first, reflecting the conceptual precedence of the condition over its conclusion.
Similarly, purposes come conceptually after the state of affairs for which they are a purpose. Similar iconicity principles predict that events which occur before other events will
be mentioned first, so that we predict the normal order after X, Y, but X, before Y. Such
predictions are in conflict with other ordering principles: for instance, placing conditional
clauses in the Prefield will go against not only LIPOC, but also the normal ordering in a
Postfield language.
A further positional issue is concerned with formal markers of subordination. Most
languages have such markers, and the Relator principle mentioned briefly in 3.2.3 of Part
1 predicts that the subordinator will be placed between the two constituents that they
relate. In general, then, we expect Postfield languages to have initial subordinators, and
Prefield languages final subordinators (Dik, p. 136). English, as expected, has subordinators which are initial in their own clauses, and where the subordinate clause follows the
main clause, this means that the Relator principle is adhered to. If, however, the subordinate clause precedes the main clause (as in the present sentence), clearly the subordinator
is removed from the generally preferred position between the two clauses. Dik observes
that in such cases, there may be an alternative version of the construction which does have
a relator in the intermediate position. For instance, in a sentence with an initial if -clause,
we may place then in initial position in the main clause.
There are also generalisations to be made across languages in relation to the ordering
of other constituents within the embedded construction. Dik (p. 138) states that subordinate clauses never have more freedom of word order than main clauses, citing the existence
of languages in which the subordinate clause order must be SOV, although the main clause
order can be quite free. He also points to languages, such as Dutch and German, in which
order in subordinate clauses differs systematically from that in main clauses. As shown by
Genee (1994) in her work on verbal noun complements in Early Irish, pragmatic factors
may influence ordering within embedded constructions.
Dik also notes (pp. 138140) that subordinate clauses in the Postfield tend to be finite, whereas embedded constructions in the Prefield are more usually non-finite. Partly
this is explicable in terms of LIPOC, in that non-finite constructions often have the form
of a complex NP or adpositional phrase, and these are less complex, in terms of LIPOC,
than subordinate clauses. Another possible factor advanced by Dik is that a subordinate
clause in the Prefield, in a characteristically Prefield language, runs the risk of being misinterpreted as a main clause, because the element indicating its subordinate status is not
encountered until the very end of the clause. This may lead either to Postfield placement
of subordinate clauses, or to the marking of embedded elements in the Prefield in such a
way that they are clearly distinguished from main clauses, for instance by making them
non-finite.
Finally, Dik (pp. 140141) observes that the mood characteristics of subordinate
clauses may differ from those of main clauses. For instance, in Spanish, the subjunctive
appears mainly in subordinate clauses, and the choice of indicative or subjunctive in such
clauses depends on the matrix predicate and/or on the meaning. Compare the following:
(121) Y yo creo
que no he
nacido
para
and I think-pres.1sg that neg have-pres.1sg be-born-past.part for
eso. (HCM 2, 22)
that
And I think I wasnt born for that.
(122) . . . yo no creo
que hablemos
como los
de
I neg think-pres.1sg that speak-pres.subjunc.1pl like those from
Burgos . . . (HCM 10, 179)
Burgos
. . . I dont think we speak like people from Burgos . . .
The positive predicate in (121) triggers the indicative in the subordinate clause, while the
negative predicate in (122) creates a non-factual context in which the subjunctive is required in the dependent clause. For a further example of the relationship between mood
and the grammar of sentential complementation, see the work of Genee (1998, 2000) on
Irish. More generally, this work describes systematic correlations between the pragmatics
and semantics of complementation on the one hand and its syntax and morphology on the
other. A set of parameters is postulated, which interact to account for the grammar of Irish
sentential complementation. Diachronic developments from Old Irish, through Middle
and to Early Modern Irish are analysed as shifts in the application of these parameters.
Dik (pp. 143168) also discusses a cross-linguistically relevant typology of embedded constructions, in which non-finite embedded constructions can be divided into those
with nominal properties (nominalisations) and those without (infinitival and participial
constructions). Nominalisations have already been dealt with at some length in 7.2.1.7 of
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Part 1. For more detail on the particular properties of infinitival and participial constructions, readers are referred to Diks own discussion.
... Adverbial clauses in FG

Although Dik (1997b) does not discuss adverbial clauses in any detail, he assumes (p. 95)
that the discussion of complex terms in argument positions will also apply to those in
satellite positions. In Dik et al. (1990), adverbial clauses are discussed within the context
of a typology of adverbial satellites in general, in relation to the hierarchical structure
of the clause. Just as with the perception verb complements discussed earlier, Dik et al.
show that subcategorisation according to the four layers of the hierarchical structure is
not only motivated semantically, but also correlates with a number of coding and behavioural properties. Representational (predicate and predicational) satellites belong to
the extended predication: together with the core predication, they form a single information unit; they fall under the scope of operators at Levels 1 and 2; and they are usually
sensitive to other representational properties, such as those pertaining to the classification of SoAs, whereas interpersonal (Levels 3 and 4) satellites tend to be conditioned by
other interpersonal properties (e.g. probably cannot occur within the scope of an interrogative speech act). Coding and behavioural differences between satellites at Levels 1 and 2,
and between those at Levels 3 and 4, are also discussed, as is the behaviour of all types of
satellite with respect to negation.
The level at which a satellite is attached is referred to by Dik et al. as the external
complexity of the satellite. Of particular relevance to our current concerns is the internal
complexity of satellites, that is whether they themselves consist of a predicate, a term, a
predication or a proposition. Clearly, the last two types can give rise to adverbial clauses.
The authors claim (Dik et al. 1990: 62) that all combinations of internal and external complexity are possible, with the exception of predicate satellites consisting of a proposition.
For the combination predicate satellite consisting of a predication, Dik et al. specify Force
as a possible satellite function. However, this function does not appear in relation to satellites in either Dik et al. (1990) or Dik (1997a). Some examples of satellites consisting of
predications or propositions are given below.
(123) After closing the door, she stood leaning against it . . . (BNC AT7 1964) [predication
satellite of Circumstance, with internal complexity of a predication]
(124) . . . she assumed she would recover all of a sudden, because her illness had come
on so suddenly. (BNC AS0 1146) [predicational satellite of Reason, with internal
complexity of a predication]
(125) . . . in case you hadnt heard, I dont wet my bed anymore. (BNC ALH 748) [illocutionary satellite of Condition, with internal complexity of a predication]
(126) Such leaks were important, because they could allow radiation to escape. (BNC
AN9 152) [predication satellite of Reason, with internal complexity of a proposition]
(127) And you must know that, because we are all here. (BNC A0N 696) [propositional
satellite of Motivation, with internal complexity of a predication]
(128) Anyway, since you ask, the rings were black and there were ten of them, all on her
right hand. (BNC AR2 566) [illocutionary satellite of Motivation, with internal
complexity of a predication]
Dik et al. (1990) also distinguish between restrictive and non-restrictive satellites, claiming
that predicate satellites are necessarily restrictive, as they contribute to the specification
of the SoA, while predication satellites can be either restrictive or non-restrictive, and
propositional and illocutionary satellites are necessarily non-restrictive.
Hengeveld (Hengeveld 1996, 1998)18 has presented a detailed semantically-based classification of the internal complexity of adverbial clauses, taking into account previous
work in FG, but also influenced by various other accounts, especially that of Noonan
(1985). Hengeveld proposes four parameters for classification: entity type, time dependency, factuality and presupposedness. Entity type is concerned with the order of entity
represented by the adverbial clause itself (the internal complexity of the clause, in terms
of the account given in Dik et al. 1990).19 The earlier account of Dik et al. is expanded
to allow Level 4 adverbial clauses giving an explanation for a speech act (e.g. a justification for a particular assertion). The parameter of time dependency, taken from Noonan
(1985), is concerned with whether the time encoded in the SoA in the adverbial clause is
dependent on that encoded in the main clause (e.g. in clauses of the type He did X while
doing Y), or the two clauses are temporally independent. Factuality deals with whether the
adverbial clause represents the SoA as real or unreal, while presupposedness is concerned
with whether the adverbial clause offers pragmatically presupposed information or not.
For each of the four parameters, Hengeveld proposes an implicational hierarchy
which is hypothesised to be correlated with differences in the ways in which adverbial
clauses are realised cross-linguistically: the proposal is that the higher the position of a
particular semantic type in the hierarchy, the greater the chance of its being realised by a
dependent verb form (one which is used in subordinate constructions only) rather than
an independent verb form (one which can be used in main clauses, though this may not
preclude it from being used in subordinate clauses too). For instance, differences in the
. See also Prez Quintero (2000) for a discussion of approaches to adverbial clauses in FG, including
Hengevelds classification.
. Hengeveld (1998: 345) proposes that adverbial clauses can represent zero, second, third or fourth order
entities, first order entities being referred to only by NPs. It is pointed out that examples such as They escaped
by sliding down a rope (Hengevelds example (12), p. 345), in which there is obligatory argument sharing
between the main and subordinate clauses, represent single, complex events, and this is taken to indicate that
the adverbial clause represents a zero order entity. This analysis is clearly incorrect: the semantic status of
the non-finite adverbial clause here is that of a predication. Hengeveld (personal communication) has since
revised his view on this, recognising that argument sharing represents a separate, though still typologically
important, parameter. I shall therefore ignore any claim relating to the zero order cases in the summary
which follows.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
behaviour of adverbial clauses of different entity types in English lead to the formulation
of an entity type hierarchy in which the second order type comes above third order, and
this above fourth order. Adverbial clauses expressing second order entities are coded using
either dependent or independent forms, but third and fourth order only by independent
forms. The hypothesis for cross-linguistic testing is thus that for each possible combination of the other factors (e.g. factual, non-presupposed, time dependent), if a language
employs a dependent verb form to express an adverbial clause which designates an entity at some point on the hierarchy, it will use a dependent form for adverbial clauses at
any point higher up on the hierarchy (i.e. of lower order), and vice versa for independent
forms. Similar hypotheses are set up for the factuality hierarchy (factual > nonfactual)
and the presupposedness hierarchy (presupposed > nonpresupposed). Data from a typologically diverse range of languages,20 selected according to the method of Rijkhoff et al.
(1993), are examined for each hierarchy, and for each possible combination of the other
three factors. The hypotheses are supported almost without exception.
Further discussion of Hengevelds classifications is presented by Prez Quintero
(2002), who then proceeds to supplement Hengevelds cross-linguistic work through a detailed corpus-based analysis of adverbial clauses in written English, using a representative
sample from the Lancaster-Oslo-Bergen (LOB) Corpus. A short account of some aspects
of this work is also available in Hengeveld & Prez Quintero (2001). The hypothesis is that
inter-linguistic variation will be reflected in the intra-linguistic frequency distribution of
the different types. It is found, for example, that adverbial clauses of means (still treated
here as representing zero order entities: but see Note 19) are always expressed by means
of the non-finite -ing form, and that the percentage of clauses expressed with independent verb forms then rises from second order (68%) to third and fourth order (100%)
(Prez Quintero 2002: 115). The results of this study are taken to confirm the validity of
the parameters of entity type, time dependency, factuality and presupposition, not only
individually, but also in combination.
The type of adverbial clause which has attracted most attention in FG is the conditional clause (Cuvalay 1996; Dik 1990; Rijksbaron 1986; van der Auwera 1986; Wakker
1992, 1994, 1996).21
Rijksbaron (1986), analysing data from Dutch and Classical Greek, finds that both
conditional and temporal clauses tend to occur in initial position in the sentence,
so appearing to contradict the Language-Independent Preferred Order of Constituents
(LIPOC) proposed by Dik, which predicts a late position for such clauses.22 Rijksbaron
shows that these clauses have properties which allow their classification within FG as extraclausal Themes, so removing them from the clause proper, and from the scope of LIPOC.
Assignment of Theme function is also shown to offer an explanation of differences in tense
and mood between the main and subordinate predications.
. 25 languages were studied in Hengeveld (1996), 45 in Hengeveld (1998).
. See also Harder (1989, 1997: 443465) on the specific issue of tense in conditionals.
. See, however, Diks own later comments on this situation, summarised in 3.2.4.3.
Dik (1990) distinguishes between propositional and illocutionary conditionals: the

latter type was illustrated in (125) above, and relates to the communicative relevance
of the speech act expressed in the main clause; the propositional type is exemplified in
(129) below.
(129) If you know that you feel fit and well during the course of the day, then you are
getting sufficient sleep for your own needs. (BNC AYK 299)
The protasis of a condition (the conditional clause itself) may appear in the P1 or X (final) position of the clause, or in the extraclausal positions P2 (pre-clausal) and P3 (postclausal), but there is a strong preference, across languages, for placement in P1 or P2.
Dik explains this in terms of the function of most (though probably not all) conditional
clauses, which he claims is to set up a hypothetical picture differing in particular ways
from the speakers current picture, a picture being a mental representation which consists
of perceptual representations (images) and conceptual representations coded as propositions in FG. Given this function, it is natural, as we saw in 3.2.4.3, that conditional
clauses should preferentially occur in initial position. Dik goes on to classify propositional
conditionals further into potentialis and irrealis types, depending on whether the protasis
is considered by the speaker as uncertain or false, respectively. An example of a potentialis
propositional condition is the one in (129) above; an irrealis example is given in (130).
(130) If you hadnt stopped to give me a lift this morning, Id still be shuffling along the
road to Tangiers. (BNC ARJ 2996)
Dik also suggests further classifications within each of these subtypes, and interprets each
of his types of conditional clause within the framework of Functional Grammar and
Functional Logic.23
Wakker (1992) finds that although the distinction between propositional and illocutionary conditionals is justified if regarded as a semantic difference, the two types of conditional clause do not in fact share all the properties attributed to propositional and illocutionary satellites in Dik et al. (1990). Working with Ancient Greek conditionals, Wakker
argues that propositional conditionals can, pace Dik et al. (1990), be either restrictive or
non-restrictive. Restrictive conditionals are subject to the illocutionary operator of the
main clause, while non-restrictives often are not, and, Wakker claims, should have their
own illocutionary operator. This would give non-restrictive propositional conditionals
the same underlying structure as illocutionary conditionals, apart from the specification
of the semantic function of the conditional satellite as either propositional condition or
illocutionary condition.
In later work, Wakker (1994, 1996) shows that the problems she discusses in her 1992
paper can be solved if three, rather than two, groups of conditionals are postulated. This
is in itself in accordance with Dik et al. (1990), in which conditional satellites can be attached at the predication, proposition or illocutionary levels. In Wakkers view, however,
. The concept of a Functional Logic was introduced in 3.6 of Part 1.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
the definitions of such satellites given by Dik et al. are confusing since, although they are
concerned with what I earlier called the external complexity of the satellite, they bring in
the internal complexity: for instance, a predication conditional satellite specifies an SoA
on the occurrence of which the occurrence of another SoA depends (Dik et al. 1990: 34).
And yet, as we have seen, the two types of complexity are considered by Dik et al. to
be independent, cross-cutting dimensions. Wakker suggests a more consistent classification of conditionals, still into predicational, propositional and illocutionary types, but
based solely on the level at which the satellite is attached in the hierarchical structure
of the matrix clause. She also studies in more detail the differences between restrictive
and non-restrictive conditionals, concluding that restrictive predicational conditionals in
Ancient Greek can have their own tense and mood operators, so arguing against the FG
claim that restrictive satellites are within the scope of the operators at the level where they
are attached.
Cuvalay (1996) also presents a detailed classification of conditional satellites, taking into account both the level at which they are attached (i.e. as predicate, predication, proposition or illocution satellites) and their internal complexity, and illustrating
her classification from Classical and Modern Standard Arabic.
Finally, we should note the work of Crevels (1994, 1998) on concessive clauses in
Spanish, in which she distinguishes predicational, propositional and illocutionary concessives, corresponding to the various layers in the underlying structure of the clause, as
well as textual concessives which normally modify a set of propositions from the preceding discourse. She postulates a hierarchy of concessive types: predicational > propositional > illocutionary > textual, and goes on to hypothesise that expression by means
of a finite clause, and by indicative rather than subjunctive verbs, will increase as we
move from predicational to textual types. Both of these hypotheses are supported. Crevels
also demonstrates that the probability that a concessive conjunction will be morphologically complex increases through the hierarchy, and that the categories of concessive clause
which can be introduced by a given conjunction cover continuous parts of the hierarchy,
in an implicational fashion: aunque (although) can be used for all four levels of concessive clause, a pesar de (despite) for predicational, propositional and illocutionary types,
and aun + V-ndo (even + -ing) only for predicational and propositional types.
.. The semantics and syntax of complementation in the Functional Lexematic Model

Before we leave the FG account of complex sentences, we should remind ourselves that, as
pointed out in 3.5 of Part 1, recent work by Faber & Mairal Usn (1994, 1998a, 1998b,
1999) within the Functional Lexematic Model has made explicit links between the semantic hierarchies for lexical domains and the syntactic typology of each lexical subdomain,
according to the Principle of Lexical Iconicity, which holds that the higher up the semantic
hierarchy a lexeme is, the more extensive will be the range of complementation patterns it
enters into.
Complex sentences in Role and Reference Grammar
..
Nexus, juncture and their relationships: A brief overview

We saw briefly in 7.2.2.3 of Part 1 that RRG accounts for the structures of complex sentences in terms of three types of nexus relation (coordination, subordination, cosubordination), rather than just the two recognised in most theories (coordination and subordination). Coordinated units are independent and non-embedded, and subordinate units
dependent and embedded, while cosubordinate units show grammatical dependence on
the unit with which they are linked, but are not part of it, and so not embedded. Each of
these nexus types applies to any of three levels24 of juncture (nuclear, core, clausal), giving
nine logically possible combinations,25 all of which are attested in the languages of the
world, with just a few languages, such as Korean, apparently having all nine types. Table
3.2 gives examples of all seven types of nexus/juncture combination found in English.
Table 3.2. Types of nexus/juncture combination in English
Nexus
Juncture
Coordination
Nuclear
He pushed open the door, . . .

(BNC ASS 72)
. . . it made her cough.

(BNC ATE 3140)
. . . she must tell him to He must try not to faint . . .
leave, . . .
(BNC B20 2160)
(BNC CKD 1234)
. . . you can watch a
One can sit leafing through
glossy English magazines, . . .
Seminole Indian
wrestle an alligator . . . (BNC AHK 1788)
(BNC AL3 1455)
His face collapsed with . . . the landlord came up
relief, and then he took again shouting abuse
her arm again.
through the door.
(BNC AN7 3643)
(BNC HH5 313)
Bandeira walked to a chair
and sat down in it.
(BNC APY 2694)
Core
Clausal
Cosubordination
Subordination
. . . she resented his breaking

the mood. (BNC H8X 2405)
That it came to this shows how
involved Priestley was in the
religious disputes and politics
of his day. (BNC B71 1363)
I persuaded him that we
should go away together, . . .
(BNC G2V 1459)
The conditional bail had been
granted after she had been
arrested for shouting scab at
working miners.
(BNC ASB 1677)
. There is also a fourth, minor juncture type involving relationships between sentences, as defined in
RRG see below.
. The default is combination of units at the same level of juncture (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 442), though
there is also one type of mixed juncture, involving linkage of a clause with a core.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Table 3.2 brings out a particularly important aspect of the RRG account: the nexus
relations are abstract syntactic relationships, which can correspond to more than one construction type. Indeed, while the clausal types of coordination and subordination correspond quite closely to the traditional model, when these relations apply to nuclear and
core junctures they do not yield structures which would be recognised as coordinate or
subordinate in most approaches. Let us, then, examine the argumentation behind the
analyses proposed.
.. Types of juncture
The abstract schemas for the three main juncture types are shown in (131).
(131) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.2), 1997: 442)
[CORE . . . [NUC PRED] . . . + [NUC PRED] . . . ] Nuclear juncture
[CLAUSE . . . [CORE . . . ] . . . + . . . [CORE . . . ] . . . ] Core juncture
[SENTENCE . . . [CLAUSE . . . ] . . . + [CLAUSE . . . ] . . . ] Clausal juncture
Let us begin by comparing nuclear and core junctures in English (Van Valin & LaPolla
1997: 444ff.). In (132) is the RRG constituent projection for the example it made her
cough given in Table 3.2, while (133) shows the projection for he told me to fetch it (BNC
F99 1126).
(132)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
NUC
NUC
PRED
ARG
PRED
NP
NP
it
made
her
cough
SENTENCE
(133)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NUC
PRED
NP
NP
he
told
me
CORE
to
PRED
ARG
NP
fetch
it
In (132), two verbal nuclei are joined to form a single complex predicate make cough,
while in (133) the relationship is between two cores, each of which has its own arguments.
The two types have different syntactic properties. Some core junctures demand a complementiser (e.g. to in (133)),26 while nuclear junctures such as that in (132) cannot have
one, as witness the ungrammaticality of (134):
(134) *It made her to cough.
Also, some types of nuclear juncture can have the two nuclei adjacent, as with he pushed
open the door, as well as a version with the two nuclei separated (he pushed the door open)
while with the core juncture we cannot have a structure with told to fetch in it.
Note that, as pointed out by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 446447), an example with a
transitive verb in the second nucleus, such as (135), despite its apparent similarity to (132),
is in fact an instance of core juncture with the structure in (136), similar to that in (133).
(135) You made me love you. (BNC AR2 494)
. We shall see in 3.3.4 that complementisers can be seen as members of a more general class of clause
linkage markers.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
SENTENCE
(136)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
CORE
ARG
PRED
NUC
PRED
ARG
NP
NP
NP
You
made
me
love
you
The evidence for this analysis comes from the possibilities for reflexivisation. The antecedent of a reflexive pronoun must be a syntactic co-argument in the same core. This is
the case, for example, for the nuclear juncture in (137), and for (138), where the reflexive
and antecedent are in the same core in a core juncture.
(137) . . . Mr Smithi will have made himselfi miserable for days in advance.
(BNC AYK 844)
(138) Shei told herselfi to be calm. (BNC EDN 127)
However, if the pronoun and antecedent are in different cores, as in (139), reflexivisation
is not possible, as shown by the ungrammaticality of (140).
(139) Frank has asked me to marry him. (BNC ASE 1577)
(140) *Frank has asked me to marry himself.
If we now go back to example (135), we see that it is the non-reflexive pronoun that is
used, reflexivisation being ungrammatical:
(141) *You made me love yourself.
The pronoun and antecedent must therefore be in different cores, and we have an instance
of core juncture.
In English, there are heavy restrictions on nuclear juncture: as Van Valin & LaPolla
(1997: 446) point out, the second nucleus must be intransitive, since, as we have seen, the
use of a transitive verb construction creates core juncture.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 444445) demonstrate that in French a different situation
obtains: semantically causative constructions with faire (make) plus infinitive show nuclear juncture even when the second nucleus is a transitive predicate, while constructions
with laisser (let) have core juncture. For Spanish, Pars (1999) has argued that causatives
with hacer (make) can represent either nuclear cosubordination or core coordination,
depending on the possibilities for the morphosyntactic coding of the causee.
To complete our brief survey of the juncture possibilities of English, let us look at an
example of clausal juncture taken from Table 3.2:
(142) His face collapsed with relief, and then he took her arm again. (BNC AN7 3643)
Here, each clause is independent of the other, both structurally and in terms of the operators concerned.
Finally, we should note that Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 469) mention a special type
of juncture which they call simply sentential juncture, in which two or more complete
sentences, with the possibility of left-detached elements, are linked. An example is given
in (143), where the second clause has a left-detached element starting with as for:
(143) Prices came down in the street and as for having a purse snatched, well, such things
didnt happen to army wives. (BNC H9N 12)
.. Nexus relations
First, let us remind ourselves of the characterisation of the three nexus relations, as set out
in 7.2.2.3 if Part 1.
Coordination refers to an abstract linkage relation involving a relationship of equivalence and independence at the level of juncture (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 454).
Subordination refers to a relationship in which there is structural dependence between the two units concerned, one acting as either an argument or a modifier within the
other, the subordinate unit being unable to stand alone (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 454).
Cosubordination refers a relationship in which there is dependence between units,
but not in structural terms: rather, there is operator dependence; [t]hat is, the non-matrix
unit(s) must be dependent upon the matrix unit for the expression of at least one operator at the level of juncture (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 455, emphasis in original). Such a
relationship was originally proposed to account for switch-reference and serial verb constructions in Papuan languages (see Olson 1981; Roberts 1988). In switch-reference constructions, we have a series of clauses which are added together rather as in coordinated
structures, but which differ from coordination in that tense and illocutionary force are
signalled only on the final clause, on which prior clauses are thus dependent.
In the following discussion, which is based closely on Van Valin & LaPolla (1997:
8.4), I shall first look at the various combinations of nexus and juncture in English, using
the examples in Table 3.2.
... The three types of nexus in relation to clausal junctures

.... Clausal coordination. Clausal coordination is exemplified by (142) above. Each
clause in such a structure is able to make independent selections of operators at all levels.
As we saw in 3.2.2.2, even clauses with different illocutionary forces can be coordinated.
Example (8) is repeated as (144) below:
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(144) . . . modern apprenticeships are going to help that process even further and why arent
modern apprenticeships being welcomed? (BNC JSH 179)
The structure of (142), with both constituent and operator projections, is shown in
(145).27
(145)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
CONJ
CLAUSE
PERIPHERY
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
PRED
NP
His face
collapsed
NUC
PP
with relief, and then
NP
he
took
V
NUC
NUC
CORE
CORE
CLAUSE
ARG
PRED
CLAUSE
PERIPHERY
TNS
CLAUSE
IF
NP
ADV
her arm again
TNS
CLAUSE
IF
SENTENCE
.... Clausal subordination. Clausal subordination is illustrated by (146) and (147).

(146) I persuaded him that we should go away together, . . . (BNC G2V 1459)
(147) The conditional bail had been granted after she had been arrested for shouting scab
at working miners. (BNC ASB 1677)
. The analysis of and then as a complex conjunction was suggested to me by Robert Van Valin (personal
communication).
The clauses that we should go away together and after she had been arrested for shouting
scab at working miners are structurally dependent, being unable to stand alone. They
are, however, capable of taking the normal operators at the clausal level or below. For
instance, we can add expressions indicating different degrees of epistemic modality in the
two clauses, as shown in (148):28
(148) I might have persuaded him that we should certainly go away together.
There is one exception to this generalisation: as noted by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 457),
a subordinate clause does not have a free choice of illocutionary force. Similar considerations apply to (147).29 Incidentally, it might be thought that in (146) we had an example
of core subordination rather than clausal subordination. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 464
466) make this point, observing that the that-clause in such examples is a semantic argument of the verb, and so should be a core argument syntactically. They argue, however,
that although Subject that-clauses are indeed core arguments, Object clauses are not. The
argument rests on the positioning of peripheral adverbials. Consider the following:
(149) I persuaded him with difficulty that we should go away together.
(150) ?I persuaded him that we should go away together with difficulty.
(149) is not only grammatical, but in fact more natural than (150). That is, the most natural place for the adverbial is before the that-clause, and yet we know that peripheral adverbials must follow all core material. In (149), then, the that-clause must fall outside the core.
The reason for the increased naturalness of (149) is no doubt that heavier constituents
tend to follow lighter ones, but this does not alter the fact that anything coming after a
peripheral element must be outside the core. Furthermore, in some cases positioning the
adverbial at the end causes ambiguity:
(151) I persuaded him that we should go away together yesterday.
The adverbial here could modify either the matrix or the subordinate predicate. Moving
it forward resolves the ambiguity:
(152) I persuaded him yesterday that we should go away together.
Thus, Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 467) conclude, placement before the that-clause results
in structures which are unambiguous and which can be taken to correspond to the default
interpretation placed on these constructions by speakers.
. Because most varieties of English do not allow combinations of modals, I have used a modal adverb in
the dependent clause. Remember, though, that such adverbs are represented in the operator projection as
well as in the constituent projection (see 4.11.2 of Part 1).
. It might be argued that the subordinate clause does not, in fact, have a free choice of tense, as witness
the ungrammaticality of *The conditional bail had been granted after she has been arrested for shouting scab
at working miners. But this has to do with the effect of after, rather than with the subordinate status of the
clause as such.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Below is the structure for (146). Note that the subordinate clause is dominated by the
clause node of the matrix structure. As it is this matrix clause node to which the illocutionary force operator is attached, this representation indicates that the subordinate clause has
no independent choice of illocution. However, as Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 468) observe,
what prevents the subordinate clause from having its own illocutionary force is its place
in the structure, not its own form, since it is only the complementiser which prevents it
from standing alone as an independent assertion.
SENTENCE
(153)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
NP
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
PRED
V
I persuaded
PERIPHERY
him
that
NP
we should
NUC
ADV
go away
together
V
NUC
MOD
CORE
CLAUSE
CLAUSE
CORE
CLAUSE
TNS
IF
SENTENCE
The structure of (147) is given in outline in (154): the full structural complexity of the
final prepositional constituent is not analysed. Note that in (154) the adverbial clause is
an adjunct modifier of the matrix core, and this is shown in both the constituent and
operator projections.
(154)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
PERIPHERY
ARG
NUC
PP
NP
PRED
CORE
NUC ARG
The conditional bail had be-en granted
PRED
P CLAUSE
V
ASP
NUC
PERIPHERY
after CORE
ARG
NUC
NP
she had
be-en arrested
V
PP
CORE
NUC ARG
PRED CORE
P
ASP
NUC
for shouting
scab at
working
miners
CORE
CLAUSE
CORE
CLAUSE
CLAUSE
SENTENCE
TNS
IF
TNS
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
.... Clausal cosubordination. Although, as we have seen, the category of cosubordination was put forward in order to account for phenomena in Papuan languages,
it is also needed for a wide range of other languages, including English. Consider the
following examples:
(155) . . . the landlord came up again shouting abuse through the door. (BNC HH5 313)
(156) Bandeira walked to a chair and sat down in it. (BNC APY 2694)
In most accounts, the participial construction in (155) would be analysed as being a subordinate adverbial clause, and (156) would be treated as coordination. First let us compare
(155) with the example of clausal subordination in (147). Note that in (147) we could
insert separate epistemic and evidential modifiers in the main and subordinate clauses:30
(157) The conditional bail was certainly granted after she had allegedly been arrested for
shouting scab at working miners.
In (155), however, we cannot do this:
(158) *The landlord certainly came up again allegedly shouting abuse through the door.
An epistemic modifier added to the first junct modifies the whole complex:
(159) The landlord certainly came up again shouting abuse through the door.
Here, what is presented as certain is that the landlord came up again shouting abuse
through the door, not just that he came up again.
If we turn now to (156), we see that there is a clausal operator, illocutionary force,
which is obligatorily shared between the two clauses, as demonstrated below:
(160) Did Bandeira walk to a chair and sit down on it?
(161) *Bandeira walked to a chair and did sit down on it?
In (160), the interrogative illocution applies to the whole complex walk to a chair and sit
down on it, and (161) shows that we cannot have a version in which only the second junct
is questioned (see the similar example in Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 520521). We saw
earlier, however, that in clausal coordination there is indeed the possibility of different
illocutionary forces in the two halves. As we saw earlier, the obligatory sharing of at least
one operator at the level of juncture is the hallmark of a cosubordinate construction. The
structure of (156) is shown in (162) below.
. Remember that status adverbials are represented in the operator projection, as well as modal expressions
of status.
(162)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CLAUSE
CONJ
CORE
ARG
NUC
CLAUSE
NUC
AAJ
PRED
PRED
NP
Bandeira
walked
TNS
PP
NP
to a chair and
NUC
NUC
CORE
CORE
TNS
PP
pro sat_down
CLAUSE
PERIPHERY
ARG CORE
on it
CLAUSE
CLAUSE
IF
SENTENCE
... The three types of nexus in relation to core junctures

.... Core coordination. Core coordination was illustrated Table 3.2 by means of the
following examples:
(163) . . . she must tell him to leave, . . . (BNC CKD 1234)
(164) . . . you can watch a Seminole Indian wrestle an alligator . . . (BNC AL3 1455)
Note that the deontic modality (a core operator) in (163) has scope over only the first core:
she is under an obligation to tell him, but he is not obliged, through this modality, to leave.
Similarly, in (164) the ability modality (treated as a core operator in RRG) applies only
to the watching, not to the wrestling. Here then, we do not have sharing of the core-level
operator between the two cores, so that we are dealing with core coordination here, rather
than with core cosubordination.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
.... Core subordination. The following illustrate core subordination:

(165) . . . she resented his breaking the mood. (BNC H8X 2405)
(166) That it came to this shows how involved Priestley was in the religious disputes and
politics of his day. (BNC B71 1363)
Note that here, the units his breaking the mood and that it came to this are themselves direct
core arguments of the matrix predicates resent and show respectively. It is this which determines, for junctures involving the core, that they should be treated in terms of subordination. We have one complication here, which is noted by Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 462
463). The subordinate unit in (165) is a core: note that it cannot itself take clausal operators such as epistemic modalities. We thus have a clear case of core subordination. In
(166), however, the first argument of show is a clause, which can take its own clausal operators (note the grammaticality of, for example, that it had possibly come to this). This,
then, is the one case in which we have joining of units at different levels of juncture, one a
clause, the other a core.
.... Core cosubordination. Now consider the following:

(167) He must try not to faint . . . (BNC B20 2160)
(168) One can sit leafing through glossy English magazines, . . . (BNC AHK 1788)
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 461462) note that such examples have traditionally been described in terms of subordination, but that in fact their behaviour is quite different from
that of truly subordinated units. It will be recalled that subordination involves the occurrence of a unit as an argument or modifier of the matrix clause. Van Valin & LaPolla
demonstrate that this is not the case for sentences such as (167) and (168). The evidence
here comes from passivisation and clefting. Compare the following:
(169) It was his breaking the mood that she resented. (cf. the non-clefted version in (165))
(170) His breaking the mood was resented (by her).
(171) *It is not to faint that he must try.
(172) *Not to faint must be tried (by him).
(173) *It is leafing through glossy English magazines that one can sit.
(174) (*Leafing through glossy magazines can be sat. is ungrammatical anyway, because
the verb is intransitive, so the clause is not an Object)
Van Valin & LaPolla conclude that while in examples such as (165) we have a core in a
subordinate relation, this is not the case in (167) and (168).31
. There is, however, a problem here which is not addressed by Van Valin & LaPolla. Examples with thatclauses, such as (166), cannot be clefted or passivised as they stand, even though they are regarded as core
arguments: *It is that it came to this that shows how involved Priestley was . . . , *How involved Priestley was
What, then, is the relationship involved in (167) and (168)? Once more, operator
scope allows us to decide the issue. It will be remembered that in the cases of core coordination described in 3.3.3.2.1, a root modality attached to the first core has scope over just
that core. On the other hand, in (167) and (168) the modality has scope over both cores: in
(167), what he must do is try not to faint, rather than just try; similarly, in (168) what one
is able to do is sit leafing through glossy English magazines, not just sit. Here, then, there
is obligatory sharing of the core operator, and we have a case of core cosubordination.
... The three types of nexus in relation to nuclear junctures

We saw earlier that in English there is no contrast of nexus types in the case of nuclear
junctures. We must therefore look to other languages for examples of such contrasts, and
for this I shall rely on Van Valin & LaPollas examples, in view of the scarcity of corpus
materials in most of the worlds languages. All three types of nuclear juncture may be
illustrated from the Papuan language Barai, described by Olson32 (1981), whose work is
cited by Van Valin & LaPolla. In the course of the discussion, it will also become clear what
type of nexus is involved in the type of nuclear juncture found in English.
.... Nuclear coordination. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 457) cite the following example
of a serial verb construction from Olsons description of Barai:
(175) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.29b), 1997: 458)
Fu vazai ufu furi numu akoe.
3sg grass cut finish pile throw-away.
He finished cutting, piled and threw away the grass.
They state that the verb furi acts as an aspect operator which modifies only ufu (cut),
not the other two nuclei (numu (pile) and akoe (throw away)). As this operator is not
shared across the nuclei, the three nuclei are in a coordination relationship. The structure
of (175) is given in (176).
. . . is shown by that it came to this. In order for these to work, we need to insert the fact in front of the
that-clause. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 462) avoid examples with that-clauses when illustrating clefting
and passivisation possibilities. As Van Valin (personal communication) notes, however, this behaviour is
explicable not in terms of the status of that-clauses as arguments of the passive, but rather by the fact that
the preposition by, in common with many other prepositions, takes only NP objects.
. The term cosubordination was taken over by RRG from Olsons work.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(176) (= part of Van Valin & LaPollas Figure 8.7, 1997: 458)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
ARG
NUC
NUC
PRED
NUC
NUC
PRED
PRED
NP
NP
Fu
vazai
ufu
furi
numu
akoe
NUC
NUC
V
NUC
ASP
CORE
CLAUSE
SENTENCE
.... Nuclear subordination. Note that in (176) the verb furi is shown as not constituting a predicate (so there is no PRED node for it), since it does not contribute an argument
to the core. Rather, furi is seen as a nucleus which acts as a modifier of another nucleus (in
this case, ufu). The use of serial verbs as aspectual operators is regarded by Van Valin &
LaPolla (1997: 459) as the clearest example of nuclear subordination, since the subordinate
verb acts as a modifier of the matrix verb, just as an adverbial subordinate clause modifies
a matrix clause.
.... Nuclear cosubordination. Finally, let us compare the following sentence from
Barai with that in (175).
(177) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.29a), 1997: 457)
Fu kai
fu-one kume-fie va.
3sg friend 3sg-gen call-listen continue
He continued calling and listening for his friend.
Here, both kume (call) and fie (listen) fall under the scope of the verb va (continue)
which, like furi in (175), acts as an aspect operator. We therefore have an operator shared
over two nuclei, in other words nuclear cosubordination, with the structure in (178).
(178) (= part of Van Valin & LaPollas Figure 8.7, 1997: 458)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
NUC
ARG
ARG
NUC
NUC
NUC
PRED
PRED
NP
NP
Fu
kai fuone
kume-
fie
NUC
NUC
NUC
va
ASP
CORE
CLAUSE
SENTENCE
Nuclear cosubordination is also the one nuclear pattern found in English. Consider the
following example:
(179) A few seconds later Matilda Jenkins had pushed open the bedroom door.
(BNC CR6 120)
Here, the Perfect aspect nuclear operator carries over into the second part of the juncture: the pushing and becoming open are both completed and have relevance to a past
reference point. As a further example, take (180):
(180) Playing and working outside, and eating good Yorkshire food, has made him strong.
(BNC FS2 1056)
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Here again, the Perfect aspect nuclear operator in has made him strong carries over to the
second junct: both the making and the becoming strong are completed, and both have
current relevance to the moment of utterance.
.. Clause-linkage markers
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 469477) argue for a class of clause linkage markers (CLMs)
which are involved in expressing meanings within complex constructions. For English, the
set of clause linkage markers includes not only that, usually regarded as a complementiser,
but also to and from, in constructions such as those below.33
(181) . . . the bank forced him to step down as head of Pathe . . . (BNC ABG 2668)
(182) . . . banking laws prevented him from saying anything about the case of the Fayed
brothers, . . . (BNC ABE 1978)
Van Valin & LaPolla point out that such constructions are similar in that they are core
coordinations, resistant to clefting:
(183) *It was to step down as head of Pathe that the bank forced him.
(184) *It was from saying anything about the case of the Fayed brothers that banking laws
prevented him.
The difference between the to and from constructions is that the latter indicates causation
of a negative situation. The fact that from contributes negative meaning in such cases is
particularly clear in pairs such as the following (cf. Van Valin & LaPollas (8.44), 1997: 471).
(185) Dave kept them talking . . . (BNC AJY 926)
(186) . . . Michael kept him from talking too loudly. (BNC ATE 1771)
Van Valin & LaPolla also suggest that to is not just a semantically empty formal marker, but
contributes meaning to the constructions in which it occurs. They compare the following
sentences:
(187) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.45a), 1997: 471) Will you help me clear the table?
(188) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.45b), 1997: 471) The book helped me to see the truth.
Following Quirk et al. (1972: 841), they claim that in (187), the table clearing constitutes the help, whereas in (188) the helping and the seeing are distinct processes. They
go on to interpret these claims in temporal terms, suggesting that the actions in examples
such as (187) overlap, at least partially, in time, whereas this is not necessarily the case
for (188), the preferred interpretation being that the actions are sequential. Corpus evi. Van Valin (personal communication) has informed me that in a forthcoming treatment of RRG he
intends to extend the class of clause linkage markers to include conjunctions such as and, which in Van
Valin & LaPolla (1997) are treated as hanging from the SENTENCE node.
dence, however, suggests that these claims are somewhat simplistic. Consider (189) and
(190) below.
(189) Farther into the light at gallery level are sculptures of those who helped build the
Cathedral: Charles IV, his mother, his third and fourth wives and his son, . . .
(BNC APT 146)
(190) You see, he helped to build the Opera House. He built secret passages underground,
and his secret house on the lake. (BNC FPL 763764)
In (189), it is hardly likely that the monarch and his family were actually involved in
the building process; rather, they presumably provided funds, ideas or whatever for the
later process of building. On the other hand, in (190) the context makes it quite possible,
though not certain, that the person under discussion was actually involved in the building
process. There are many examples in the corpus where the difference between bare and to
infinitives after help is very difficult to discern.
A similar situation obtains with from. Van Valin & LaPolla claim that in (191), which
they say is marginal for many speakers, the activity must already have started and is then
terminated, while in (192) the activity is totally prevented.
(191) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.47a), 1997: 472) Robin stopped Kim singing Advance
Australia Fair.
(192) (= Van Valin & LaPollas (8.47b), 1997: 472) Robin stopped Kim from singing
Advance Australia Fair.
In my dialect at least, (191) is perfectly acceptable, but does not necessarily imply that
Kim had already started singing. Again, corpus evidence also shows that by no means all
examples conform to the simple pattern proposed by Van Valin & LaPolla.
(193) . . . the socks stopped her catching him with her toe nails. (BNC AC3 1657)
(194) . . . the only thing that had stopped her being thrown about like a rag doll was her
seatbelt. (BNC JY8 539)
In (193), it is clear that the socks totally prevented her from catching him with her toe
nails, rather than that she was catching him with them, and then the socks prevented this
from continuing. Similarly, in (194) she was presumably prevented by the seat belt from
being thrown about.
Equally doubtful is the claim (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 472) that the start to and start
-ing constructions differ in the way proposed for to/from above, i.e. that start to X indicates
temporal separation of start and X, while start Xing indicates overlap in time. It is easy to
find examples where this is not the case.
(195) But he had started to drink heavily . . . (BNC EF1 2152)
(196) She started drinking heavily. (BNC JXS 4159)
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
There is surely no distinction here: in both cases start simply indicates ingressive aspect.
Many similar examples can be drawn from the corpus. Here are just two more:
(197) He started to shout, . . . (BNC CML 1733)
(198) Suddenly Brian started shouting, . . . (BNC FS0 927)
More convincing, however, are Van Valin & LaPollas comments regarding to-infinitive
and -ing participial clauses in cases such as (199) and (200):
(199) We sat down to read. (BNC ARB 655)
(200) He took it home with him that night and sat reading the words. (BNC AP0 774)
Clearly, in (199) the sitting and the reading are different, sequential actions, while in (200)
they are simultaneous. Similarly, Van Valin & LaPolla correctly predict that in direct perception constructions such as that in (201) (cf. their (8.50a and a ), which necessarily
involve simultaneity, to cannot occur:
(201) I saw him (*to) disappear . . . (BNC AS7 284)
They also comment on the fact, strange at first sight, that in the passive, to, far from being
impossible, is actually obligatory:
(202) A typical half embryo was seen to emerge . . . (BNC ASL 413)
(203) *A typical half embryo was seen emerge.
Van Valin & LaPollas (1997: 474) explanation is that active perception constructions, with
the PERCEIVER as Privileged Syntactic Argument, favour the direct perception interpretation, that is the one in which the process is actually observed to occur, while the passive
counterpart, with the STIMULUS as PSA and downgrading or even omission of the PERCEIVER, favours an indirect perception interpretation, in which what is seen is not the
process itself, but evidence that it has occurred. Therefore, since the zero form (i.e. omission of to) is incompatible with an indirect reading, we would expect to in the passive. For
this argument to be acceptable, of course, we would need to demonstrate that the passives
are indeed preferentially interpreted as involving indirect perception: certainly examples
such as (202) are not most easily interpreted in this way.
I shall leave the matter of clause-linkage markers here: readers are recommended to
consult Van Valin & LaPollas account for information on such markers in languages other
than English.
.. The Interclausal Relations Hierarchy

Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 477) observe that the units in complex constructions vary in
the tightness of the bonding between them. Contrast example (168) (repeated below as
(204)), an example of core cosubordination, with (147) (repeated as (205)), illustrating
clausal subordination:
(204) One can sit leafing through glossy English magazines, . . . (BNC AHK 1788)
The linkage between one can sit and leafing through glossy English magazines in (204) is
clearly tighter than that between the adverbial clause and the main clause in (205), where
the order of the clauses could in fact be reversed.
There are two ways of looking at tightness of linkage, syntactic and semantic, and
both are reflected in the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy. Syntactically, the various combinations of juncture and nexus vary in the degree of independence of the units from
the point of view of operators and the coding of semantic arguments as direct core arguments. Figure 3.1 is based on Van Valin & LaPollas Figure 8.18 (1997: 481), with additional
exemplification.
Figure 3.1. The Interclausal Relations Hierarchy
In terms of syntactic linkage, we have seen that nuclear junctures are the tightest and
clausal junctures the loosest, as evidenced by the degree of independence of operators
and the coding of semantic arguments as distinct core arguments. In a clausal juncture,
each semantic argument can be allocated to a distinct core in the syntactic structure, and
(with certain specifiable exceptions) the clauses have a free choice of operators. At the
other end, in nuclear junctures, the complex of nuclei behaves as a single unit: it is not
possible to allocate semantic arguments to one or other of the nuclei, nor can the nuclei
take separate operators. Core junctures lie between these extremes. Within a particular
juncture type, the nexus relations also form a hierarchy, cosubordination being the tightest
kind of nexus, and coordination the loosest: for instance, we have seen that a defining
feature of cosubordination is sharing of operators between the linked units.
For the semantic part of the hierarchy, Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 480) cite the work of
Silverstein (1976) and Givn (1980), in which it is claimed that semantic relations differ in
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
terms of the degree to which a particular construction represents aspects of a single state
of affairs, or different states of affairs. For instance, causation expresses two phases of a
single event, as do the aspectual relations of beginning, continuing or ending some event
or action. On the other hand, combinations of clauses in which the temporal ordering of
the events is unspecified represent the loosest semantic cohesion between units.
These same authors are credited with the important observation that the relationship
between the syntactic and semantic hierarchies is an iconic one: in general, the tighter
the semantic link, the tighter the syntactic link used to express the meanings. There is
not, however, a one-to-one relationship between categories on the two hierarchies. For
one thing, it is clear that there are more semantic than syntactic categories (and Van
Valin & LaPolla stress that the list given is not meant to be exhaustive). Furthermore,
although every language can express all the possible semantic relations we have already
seen that languages differ in the number of combinations of juncture and nexus attested.
Even within a single language, then, one type of syntactic linkage can code more than one
type of semantic linkage: for instance, in English, as pointed out by Van Valin & LaPolla
(1997: 481), complement that-clauses, which are just one kind of clausal subordination,
can express propositional attitude, cognition and indirect discourse types of meaning. It
is also the case, however, that a given semantic linkage type can correspond to more than
one syntactic type: for instance, causative relations in English can be expressed by at least
six syntactic linkage types.
There are nevertheless some strong universal constraints on which semantic types can
be realised by which syntactic linkages:
. . . the tightest syntactic linkage realizing a particular semantic relation should be
higher than or as high on the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy as the tightest syntactic linkage realizing semantic relations lower on the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy.
(Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 483)
For instance, since the tightest type of semantic link is causation, this should always be
capable of realisation by the tightest type of syntactic linkage found in a particular language: for English, this is nuclear cosubordination, and as we saw in 3.3.3.3.3, this type
of linkage can indeed code causation in English. The general principle stated above makes
clear predictions about types of semantics/syntax relation which should not be attested in
any language: for instance, if causative relations can be realised by core cosubordination
as the tightest syntactic type, then it should not be possible for, say, jussive relations to be
realised by some type of nuclear juncture.
To complicate matters still further, a single verb may be capable of taking more than
one juncture-nexus type, corresponding to different meanings of the verb (Van Valin &
LaPolla 1997: 482). Consider the following examples:
(206) . . . Piaf had persuaded him to make the trip. (BNC BP4 1177)
(207) Your master has persuaded me that you found our correspondence helpful . . .
(BNC AE0 2077)
In (206), persuade is a psych-action verb, analysed in terms of causing someone to

want something,34 as shown in (208); while in (207) it is a verb of propositional attitude/cognition, analysed as causing someone to believe something, as in (209).
(208) [do (Piaf, )] CAUSE [want (he, [make (he, the trip)])]
(209) [do (your master, )] CAUSE [believe (I, you found our correspondence helpful)]
The type of structure in (208) is common to all psych-action verbs, since all such verbs
code a situation in which the person who has a mental disposition towards some action is
involved in doing it. Similarly, the type of structure in (209) is common to all propositional
attitude/cognition verbs, since they take a proposition as their second semantic argument,
and this is canonically realised as a clause, in the case of an embedded proposition more
specifically a that-clause.
The extremely important conclusion which can be arrived at as a result of this line
of argument is that the complementation patterns which a verb may take need not be
specified explicitly in the lexicon, since they are fully predictable from the semantics of
each sense of the verb, as formalised in the logical structure. As we saw briefly in 6.2.2.2
and 8.4.4 of Part 1, this has been demonstrated by Van Valin & Wilkins (1993) for the
English verb remember and semantically related verbs in the Australian Aboriginal language Mparntwe Arrernte. Three basic Achievement35 senses of the verb are recognised,
as illustrated below:
(210) The next night he remembered to pick up a video on the way home from work.
(BNC A0R 985)
(211) She remembered him laughing kindly as he said this, . . . (BNC CFY 819)
(212) In time, she remembered that it was Tuesday, . . . (BNC AD1 487)
In (210), remember is a psych-action predicate involving a disposition to act; examples
such as (211), according to Van Valin & Wilkins (1993: 512) represent a perceptual sense;
and in (212) we have a predicate of propositional attitude/cognition. The authors propose, as a basic unitary semantic representation for all these senses of remember, the
structure in (213).
(213) BECOME think.again (x) about something.be.in.mind.from.before (y)
The element something.be.in.mind is generalised from a more specific set of elements
located in a set of semantic redundancy rules in which the nature of what is in mind is
. This is Van Valin & LaPollas formulation, but it might be more accurate to substitute be willing for
want here.
. The classification Achievement is used in Van Valin & Wilkins (1993) for verbs with logical structures
of the type BECOME predicate (x) or (x, y), which in present-day would be Achievements only if punctual,
otherwise Accomplishments. For full discussion see 8.4.4 of Part 1.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
made more explicit: something.x.intends/knows/believes/perceived.be.in.mind. It is the

nature of what is in the mind which determines the semantic type: if what is present in xs
conscious mind is a previous intention to do something, we have a psych-action reading;
when it is a perceptual event, we have the perceptual sense; when it is knowledge or belief,
we get the propositional attitude/cognition reading.
Van Valin & Wilkins go on to show how the type of syntactic linkage involved can
be predicted from the semantics, in accordance with the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy.
For instance, as we saw earlier, with a psych-action predicate such as persuade in (206), one
argument must be shared between the want predicate and the predicate in the embedded
construction, and this means that the nexus must be cosubordinate (Van Valin & Wilkins
1993: 516). Such a juncture-nexus combination is unmarkedly instantiated in English as
a same-Subject infinitive construction. Similarly, in the perception interpretation we have
a structure which is the same as that for other direct perception verbs such as see, viz. an
accusative + -ing complement. And we have already seen that we can motivate the relation
between propositional attitude/cognition senses and that-clause complementation.
As Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 484) note, the fact that in some languages the semantic relations at the top of the hierarchy (notably causation) are coded morphologically
rather than syntactically should not be taken as evidence against the principles discussed
above. Rather, such phenomena support the hypotheses advanced, in that morphological realisation represents an even tighter form of formal relationship than the tightest
syntactic relation.
.. Focus structure in complex sentences

Van Valin & LaPolla, following a proposal made originally in Van Valin (1993b: 121),
state a general constraint on what can occur in the potential focus domain in complex
sentences:
A subordinate clause may be within the potential focus domain if it is a direct daughter of (a direct daughter of . . . ) the clause node which is modified by the illocutionary
force operator. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 485)
No limitation on the depth of direct daughter relations is proposed, so that either a language should have its potential focus domain restricted to main clauses, or it should be
able to penetrate to the deepest subordinate clause of any given sentence.
According to this principle, the elements of a that-clause complement in English
should be within the potential focus domain for the whole sentence, since the complement
clause is a direct daughter of the clause node to which the illocutionary force operator attaches. For instance, in example (146), repeated as (214) below, the clause that we should
go away together is a direct daughter of the main clause node, as shown in the structure
given in (153) earlier.
(214) I persuaded him that we should go away together, . . . (BNC G2V 1459)
This should mean that the that-clause and its contents are within the potential focus domain, and this seems to be true, as witness the exchange in (215) (cf. Van Valin & LaPollas
example (8.62), 1997: 486):
(215) A. Did you persuade him that you should go away together?
B. No, separately.
Van Valin & LaPolla go on to claim that adverbial clauses, by contrast, are outside the
potential focus domain. Their example is given below:
Q. Did Pat see Mary after shei arrived?
A. a. No, Sally.
b. No, before.
c. *No, shei left.
They argue that the replies in (a) and (b) are possible because Mary is a constituent of
the main clause, and after part of a peripheral PP again in the main clause, so that both
should be within the potential focus domain. On the other hand, arrived is part of the
embedded clause she arrived, which is not a direct daughter of the clause node to which
the illocutionary force operator attaches, so the general principle correctly predicts that it
should not be in the potential focus domain.
What Van Valin & LaPolla do not note, however, is that although it seems difficult to
make the main predicate in an adverbial clause the focus of an answer to a question, it is
often possible to do this with other constituents, as shown in relation to example (147),
repeated as (217) below, which can be questioned as in (218):
(218) A. Had the conditional bail been granted after she had been arrested for shouting
scab at working miners?
B. No, for shouting traitors / for shouting scab at working bus drivers.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 487492) also discuss the way in which, in languages with overt
focus-marking particles, such as Lakhota, the distribution of such particles in embedded
clauses can be used to investigate the potential focus domain in complex sentences.
.. Clausal postmodification in noun phrases

We saw in 7.2.2.1.1 of Part 1 that RRG postulates a layered structure for the noun phrase
which is quite closely parallel to that for the clause, having core and peripheral elements,
with a nominal nucleus within the core, relating to a referring entity, rather than to a
predicating entity as in the case of the nucleus in a clause core. In addition to the core
and periphery, there is a possible NP-initial position, in which arguments, adjuncts or whwords can appear. 7.2.2.3 of Part 1 dealt with those types of complex NP which do not
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
involve clause embedding, and we saw that the nexus relations of coordination, cosubordination and subordination were also relevant to the NP. In the present section, I shall
look at cases where restrictive relative or appositional clauses appear within a NP.36
... Relative clauses

RRG treats externally-headed restrictive relative clauses as instances of NP subordination
(Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 497503).37 The relative clause is in the periphery of the NP,
since, like an adverbial clause attached to a main clause, it is always syntactically optional.
There is also a semantic parallel between relative clauses in NPs and adverbial clauses
attached to main clauses, in that both allow the speaker/hearer to locate a referent: in the
case of a relative clause, an individual specified partly through the subordinate clause, and
in the case of an adverbial clause a state of affairs (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 493). The
structure of the NP in bold type in example (219) is given in (220).
(219) Geldof s idea and the money which was raised cannot be faulted, . . .
(BNC ART 1158)
. McGregors (1997: 189) comment that RRG has almost nothing to say about linkage involving clauses
and nominals, based on Van Valin (1993b), would certainly be unjustified today, as we shall see in what
follows.
. RRG has not given much attention to non-restrictive modification as yet.
(220)
NP
the
COREN
PERIPHERYN
NUCN
CLAUSE
REF
PrCS
CORE
NP
NUC
money
PROREL
PRED
which
NUCN
was
raised
V
NUC
CORE
COREN
DEF
CLAUSE
TNS
NP
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 499503) also discuss examples from languages, such as
Lakhota, in which relative clauses are internally headed: that is, the head is within the
relative clause, but is also interpreted as an argument of the main clause.
Headless relative clauses such as that in (221) below occupy an argument position in
the matrix core, and are treated as clauses forming an NP which lacks a layered structure,
as shown in (222) (see Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 504505). Note that the relative pronoun
is coindexed to the NP which forms the argument of the matrix clause.
(221) . . . he knows what you need. (BNC C8N 1155)
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
SENTENCE
(222)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
NP1
CLAUSE
he
TNS
IF
knows
PrCS
NP1
ARG
NUC
NUC
PROREL
NP
PRED
CORE
what
CLAUSE
CORE
V
you
need
CLAUSE
SENTENCE
NUC
CORE
TNS
CLAUSE
... Appositional clauses

Restrictive postmodifiers in NPs can also be of an appositional nature, as in the following
examples.
(223) About half of the people detained under the Immigration Act powers in general do
not wish to challenge the decision that they should leave . . . (BNC B0N 111)
(224) Consumer confidence and spending were improving ahead of the decision by John
Major to call an election, . . . (BNC AJ2 184)
Modification by means of a that-clause as in (223) is analysed as CoreN subordination, as
shown in (225).
(225)
NP
COREN
ARG
NUCN
N
REF
the
CLAUSE
decision
CORE
ARG
NUC
NUCN
NP
PRED
V
that
they
should
leave
V
NUC
MOD
TNS
COREN
CLAUSE
COREN
DEF
NP
On the other hand, postnominal infinitive clauses are instances of coreN cosubordination
(Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 494), as evidenced by the fact that there is obligatory sharing
of an argument between the deverbal nominal and the infinitive, as shown in (226).
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(226)
NP
COREN
NUCN
ARG
PP
REF
the
decision
N
by
NUCN
CORE
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
NP
COREN
COREN
NUCN
NUCN
REF
REF
NPROP
John Major
to
an
call
election
NUC
NUCN
CORE
COREN
INDEF
NP
COREN
DEF
NP
Further evidence for core cosubordination in such cases comes from the fact that the core
operators of number and quantification spread their influence over the whole complex: in
the many decisions of John Major to call an election, the quantification and plurality apply
to the whole of decision of John Major to call an election.
.. Linking algorithms in complex sentences

... Introduction: Linking in simple and complex sentences
In 4.13 of Part 1, I summarised the algorithms proposed in RRG for linking semantic and
syntactic representations, in each direction, for simple clauses. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997:
Chapter 9) show that these algorithms are also valid for certain types of complex sentence,
but that in other types the rules need to be modified. They provide a very detailed discussion, which it will be impossible to do full justice to here. Rather, I shall indicate some of
the main points and give a few examples, leaving the reader to expand on this picture by
consulting Van Valin & LaPollas account.
Basically, the position advanced by Van Valin & LaPolla is that linking in clausal and
nuclear junctures is adequately catered for by the apparatus proposed for simple sentences.
In clausal junctures, the component clauses behave, for linking purposes, largely like independent clauses; while in nuclear junctures, the complex of nuclei behaves like a single complex predicate. Non-subordinate core junctures, on the other hand, do present
additional challenges with regard to linking.
... Linking in clausal junctures

Consider an example such as (227):
(227) Once we went to a fish stall and he bought 30 crab sticks for 20p each.
(BNC CBC 1055)
Linking in such sentences is determined by the rules which apply to each clause individually. Only slightly more complicated is the situation for a subordinate clause such as
that in (228):
(228) They stood in front of a blazing log-fire before they parted. (BNC ARK 2547)
The adverbial clause before they parted is an adjunct to the main clause, and so is dealt
with by means of the same rule which was used in the example analysed in 4.13.2 of Part
1, assigning such adjuncts, by default, to the periphery.
Now consider cases such as the following (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 520523), sometimes referred to as conjunction reduction:
(229) Helen Brotherton moved to Dorset after the end of the Second World War and has
lived there ever since. (BNC ANP 917)
The difference between this construction and the one in (227) is that there is no overt
Privileged Syntactic Argument in the second clause, but rather a zero anaphor. Such zero
coding is possible only for highly topical elements: what we have in (229) is conjoined
predicate focus constructions where the Privileged Syntactic Argument, a pragmatic pivot,
is topic. Since illocutionary force is obligatorily shared between the conjuncts, we have an
instance of clausal cosubordination. Again, the basic linking algorithms work well, but the
construction itself constrains the linking of non-initial conjuncts, in that the zero anaphor
must represent the pragmatic pivot of the clause.
We saw in 4.8 of Part 1 that the grammatical structures of a language are stored as
a set of constructional templates. Such templates for complex sentences need to include
more information than those for simple sentences: for instance, the English conjunction
reduction template (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 522) specifies the construction type (occurrence of pro as the first element of the non-initial conjunct(s), and its coindexing with the
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
initial pragmatic pivot), also the juncture and nexus types (clausal, cosubordination). Any
special properties of the syntactic templates required for the constituent clauses in a construction can also be specified, as can any constraints on linking (here, that pro must be the
pragmatic pivot). Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 523) stress that the constructional template
for English conjunction reduction is in fact much more general than might at first appear,
since it also represents the criterial properties of parallel constructions in various other
languages of different types. Indeed, it can even be shown to underlie the formation of
topic chains in languages, such as Dyirbal and Tepehua, which have the type of referencetracking system which Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 287) refer to as switch-function, in
which one primary participant is tracked by always being represented as a syntactic pivot,
any changes in the function of this participant being indicated by changes in voice coded
in the verbal system.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 523529) also discuss linking in two further types of
clausal juncture in English: what is often called VP ellipsis, as in (230), and sentences
where it is used in a core argument position which refers to an extraposed that clause,
as in (231).
(230) Our heart went out to her and Im sure that yours will too. (BNC KS9 12)
(231) It surprised some that he did not retire to Cambridge. (BNC A68 31)
They comment that although conjunction reduction and VP ellipsis have usually been
considered as evidence for a VP node in the structure of English clauses, RRG succeeds in
explaining these phenomena in terms of the layered structure of the clause and associated
focus structure.
... Linking in nuclear junctures

Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 529) point out that the logical structures of clauses with nuclear
junctures such as that in (232) are very similar to those of lexical causatives such as (233).
(232) You could paint it red afterwards. (BNC A1C 2067)
(233) He opened his eyes. (BNC CEU 3754)
In accordance with their semantic similarity, the two types of structure have similar linking
patterns, so that no extensions to the algorithms are needed here. Van Valin & LaPolla also
show that no extensions are needed in order to account for linking in causative nuclear
junctures in French, using faire + infinitive. Constructional templates for this construction, and also for serial verb nuclear junctures in Mandarin and Barai, are presented.
... Linking in core junctures

.... Core subordination. As pointed out earlier, it is in the case of complex sentences
with non-subordinate core junctures that modifications to the linking algorithms for
simple sentences are needed.
First, however, let us deal with the relatively unproblematic case of core subordination,
as in example (165), repeated as (234) below.
(234) . . . she resented his breaking the mood. (BNC H8X 2405)
The semantics-to-syntax linking for this sentence is shown in (235).
(235)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
PRED
NP
Undergoer
she
resented
CORE
Actor
ARG
NUC
ARG
PRED
Actor
NP
NP
his
breaking
the mood
Undergoer
resent(she, [[do (he, )] CAUSE [BECOME broken(mood)]])
As can be seen, the default positions in the core of the embedded clause are filled by the
Actor he and the Undergoer the mood (he taking the form his because it precedes a gerund),
and the whole of the embedded clause acts as the Undergoer of the matrix clause, with
she as Actor in this clause. The semantics-to-syntax linking is thus unproblematic. So is
the reverse linking, from syntax to semantics, which starts with the first clause in linear
order, as must be the case if this linking is part of the comprehension process (Van Valin
& LaPolla 1997: 539).
.... Non-subordinate core junctures. Let us now turn to the more problematic nonsubordinate core juncture type. The complications here arise from the sharing of a semantic argument between the linked cores. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 540575) discuss
two subtypes: control constructions (sometimes known in formal linguistic theories as
equi-NP deletion), and matrix-coding constructions (raising to Subject or Object and
exceptional case marking constructions). I shall deal briefly with each in turn.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
..... Control constructions. In control constructions, the linked core is short of one
syntactic argument, and this argument is obligatorily interpreted as identical with one of
the matrix core arguments, the controller. Examples are given below.
(236) She tried to see him objectively . . . (BNC JXW 641)
(237) They told him to ignore it . . . (BNC CCC 485)
(238) But she had promised Peter to stay. (BNC JXU 1056)
Semantically, in (236) she is the Actor of see as well as try; syntactically, we have she as
the controller, and since this would be the Subject of the matrix clause in most theories,
the phenomenon is often known as Subject control. In (237), him represents both the
Undergoer of told and the Actor of ignore, but here we have Object control, since him is
the Object of the matrix clause. (238) again illustrates Subject control. Clearly, since RRG
does not operate with the categories of Subject and Object, an explanation must be found
in terms of types of Privileged Syntactic Argument and/or macroroles.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 540) contrast such control constructions with the type
illustrated in (239).
(239) Since then, the Government has introduced national limits on the benefit paid in
order to control the escalating cost. (BNC AP5 496)
Again, we have control, since there is a syntactic argument missing in in order to control the
escalating cost, and in the example given, this argument is interpreted as identical to the
Subject of the matrix clause, the Government. The difference between this type and that
in (236)(238) above, however, is that the control in the (239) type is optional, in that it is
possible to have an explicit syntactic argument in the purpose clause, as shown in (240).
(240) Since then, the Government has introduced national limits on the benefit paid in
order for the administration to control the escalating cost.
No such explicit argument can be introduced in the case of the obligatory control constructions in (236)(238):
(241) *She tried (for) Sue to see him objectively . . .
(242) *They told him (for) Gail to ignore it.
(243) *She had promised Joe (for) Peter to stay.
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 541543) review accounts of obligatory control within Government and Binding theory (in which control is explained in terms of closeness to the
embedded unit in the structural tree) and in Lexical Functional Grammar (in which it is
accounted for in terms of a hierarchy of grammatical functions), and demonstrate that
these explanations run into several difficulties: ad hoc solutions are needed in order to
account for control with promise-type verbs; control phenomena are very similar in languages such as English and in languages, such as Dyirbal, where immediate constituent
representations are inappropriate; they are also similar in languages such as Mandarin
and Acehnese which, according to RRG, have no grammatical relations,38 so making the
LFG account unattractive.
The RRG account offers a semantic rather than a syntactic explanation for control. As
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 543) point out, control in examples such as (236), with only
one argument available for sharing, is trivial: the problem arises when there is more than
one, as in (237) and (238). Verbs such as tell and persuade, which take Object control,
are a subset of verbs coding situations in which an Actor acts on an Undergoer and the
Undergoer then performs the action. When the Actor acts by non-verbal means, the verbs
are said to be causative, when the means are verbal, the label jussive is used. The RRG
theory of obligatory control, first proposed by Foley & Van Valin (1984), is as follows:
Theory of obligatory control
1. Causative and jussive verbs have undergoer control.
2. All other (M-)transitive39 verbs have actor control.
Clearly, with M-intransitive verbs the single argument is controller. This semantic account has a number of advantages over previous syntactic accounts (Van Valin & LaPolla
1997: 544545). Since it is formulated in terms of macroroles, it applies just as well to
Dyirbal, Acehnese, etc., as to English. It also makes the correct predictions for promisetype verbs without the need for ad hoc mechanisms, in that these commissives are neither causative nor jussive, and so would be expected, by point 2 in (244) above, to have
Actor control. It also explains the fact that although the pronoun he in (245) and (246)
below could theoretically be coreferential with either of the arguments in the matrix core,
the default interpretation is for he to be coreferential with the Actor God (and him in the
second core with him in the first) in (245) (an interpretation that is actually confirmed by
subsequent clauses in the text), but with the Undergoer Miles in (246).
(245) . . . God promised him that he would be with him . . . (BNC ACG 646)
(246) Charles persuaded a rather grudging Miles that he had time for a quick bath before
they left. (BNC GUF 1283)
The RRG account predicts that if a verb can be used as a causative or non-causative (or a
jussive or non-jussive), there will be differences in control between the pairs. They cite examples of the type shown in (247), which are claimed to be ambiguous, for some speakers,
between a jussive interpretation (in which the person represented by her is asked to have a
coffee) and a non-jussive one (where the request is for permission for the speaker to have
a coffee).
(247) I felt so lonely I asked her to have a coffee. (BNC BMR 2131)
. See 4.12 of Part 1.
. M-transitivity is macrorole transitivity: see 8.2.6 of Part 1.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Clearly, in the jussive interpretation there is Undergoer control, whereas in the non-jussive
counterpart there is Actor control, as predicted by (244). Van Valin & LaPolla also observe that interpreting control in terms of macroroles accounts for the differences in
passivisation behaviour between persuade-type verbs and promise-type verbs.
Let us turn now to the actual linking mechanisms in control constructions (Van Valin
& LaPolla 1997: 545560). Firstly, we need to add a universal qualification to the syntactic
template selection principle which was discussed in 4.13.1 of Part 1 and is repeated below:
The number of syntactic slots for arguments and argument-adjuncts within the core
is equal to the number of distinct specified argument positions in the semantic representation of the core. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 173, 324)
The qualification is as follows:

The occurrence of a core as the linked core in a non-subordinate core juncture reduces
the number of core slots by 1. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 546)
Armed with this qualification, we may now show, still following Van Valin & LaPollas account, how the correct semantics-to-syntax linking may be achieved in control constructions, through the interaction of the linking algorithms, the theory of obligatory control
and the Completeness Constraint, which is again repeated below from the discussion in
4.13.1 of Part 1.
All of the arguments explicitly specified in the semantic representation of a sentence must be realized syntactically in the sentence, and all of the referring expressions in the syntactic representation of a sentence must be linked to an argument position in a logical structure in the semantic representation of the sentence.
First let us look at the simplest case where only one argument is available for linking,
exemplified by (236). The structure of this sentence and the semantics-to-syntax linking
are shown in (248).
SENTENCE
(248)
CLAUSE
CORE
CORE
CORE
PERIPHERY
ARG
NUC
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
PRED
NP
she
tried
Actor
to
see
him
ADV
objectively
Undergoer
do (3sgFi, [try (3sgFi, [objective (see (yi, 3sgM))])])
Note that even though the y argument in the embedded logical structure is not linked
directly to any syntactic item, it is coindexed with the argument 3sgF, and this in turn
is indeed linked to the syntax, so that no violation of the Completeness Constraint is involved. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 547548) point out that there is another possible coindexing pattern for a logical structure such as that in (248), as shown in (249), in which the
semantics of the irrelevant adverbial has been omitted.
(249) do (3sgFi , [try (3sgFi , [see (3sgM, yi )])])
If we now try to map such a structure on to the syntax, however, we find that there is
nothing for the argument 3sgM to map on to, since it is now the Actor of the embedded
structure, and the grammar of English does not allow an Actor to link to the post-nuclear
argument position. This blocked situation is shown in (250).
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
SENTENCE
(250)
CLAUSE
CORE
CORE
CORE
ARG
NUC
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
PRED
NP
V
She
tried
to
see
Actor
Actor
do (3sgFi. [try (3sgFi, [see (3sgM, yi)])])
The impossibility of this linking explains the ungrammaticality of (251):

(251) *Shei tried [him] to see _____i
Van Valin & LaPolla also discuss the corresponding sentences with a passive in the embedded structure. The important point to be made here is that, as Van Valin & LaPolla
(1997: 549) observe, there is no need to specify, in the lexical entry for try, that it obligatorily shares an argument with the logical structure of its complement, since this falls
out naturally from the operation of the Completeness Constraint. The same is true for
the control structures in (237) and (238), as well as for similar control constructions in
Dyirbal, Lakhota, Sama, Acehnese and Mandarin Chinese.
A further theoretically important point arises out of Van Valin & LaPollas account of
semantics-to-syntax linking in control constructions. Parallel to example (238), repeated
for convenience as (252) below, we have (253).
(252) But she had promised Peter to stay. (BNC JXU 1056)
(253) But she had promised Peter that she would stay.
These have the same logical structure, as shown in (254).40
. As we saw in 4.10 of Part 1, Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 116118, 551) also postulate a more detailed
logical structure for verbs of saying, involving the structure do (x, [express().to.().in.language.() (x,
y)]). For our present purposes, the simpler formulation is adequate.
(254) [do (3sgFi , [say (3sgFi , Peter)])] CAUSE [BECOME obligated (3sgFi , [do (yi ,
[stay (yi )])])]
The difference between (252) and (253) semantically, according to Van Valin & LaPolla,
emerges only when we consider a fuller semantic representation including operators, as
shown below.
(255) IF DECTNS PASTASP PERF[do(3sgFi , [say(3sgFi , Peter)])] CAUSE [BECOME
obligated (3sgFi , [do (yi , [stay (3sgFi )])])]
(256) IF DECTNS PASTASP PERF[do(3sgFi , [say(3sgFi , Peter)])] CAUSE [BECOME
obligated (3sgFi , [TNS PASTSTA PSBL[do(3sgFj , [stay(3sgFj )])] ])]
In (255), corresponding to sentence (252), the lack of operators for the embedded logical
structure means that we must have a core juncture here. The theory of obligatory control
stipulates that one of the arguments in the embedded logical structure must be unfilled
lexically, and coindexed with the Actor in the logical structure of the matrix. In (256),
however, corresponding to sentence (253), the embedded logical structure has its own set
of clausal operators, and so is realised as a finite clause, in a clausal subordination pattern.
Furthermore, there is no shared argument, so the she of the embedded clause may or may
not refer to the same person as the she of the matrix clause (i.e. i = j or i = j). The important
general point is as follows:
Thus, the same logical structure can be the basis of two different semantic representations which can be realized by different juncture-nexus types and by correspondingly
different formal constructions. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 552)
So far, I have considered only the semantics-to-syntax linking for control constructions.
Let us turn now to the reverse linking, from syntax to semantics, which requires that the
correct decisions be made regarding the assignment of the controller in the core of the
matrix unit. This is achieved by adding, at the appropriate point in the linking algorithm,
a statement reflecting the theory of obligatory control:
In non-subordinate core junctures, one of the arguments of the matrix core must
be linked to an argument position in the embedded logical structure, following [the
theory of obligatory control]. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 559)
Below is the structure and syntax-to-semantics linking for (252).41
. The initial conjunction in the example is ignored as irrelevant to our present concerns.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
SENTENCE
(257)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NUC
NP
PRED
NP
PRED
V
She
had promised
Peter
stay
non-Actor
direct core arg
to
Actor
Actor
CORE
Undergoer
2
Actor
2
[do (xi, [say (xi, y])] CAUSE [BECOME obligated (xi, [do (zj , [stay (zj )])])]
The numbers in the above diagram correspond to the steps in the linking process. In Step 1
we determine the functions of core arguments: note that this will need to be done for both
clauses. Since English is a syntactically accusative language, the linking rules state that since
the voice in the matrix clause is unmarked (i.e. active), the PSA is the Actor. The macrorole
status of Undergoer must therefore be assigned to the other direct core argument. In the
embedded unit, there is only one possibility: the PSA is the Actor. In Step 2, we determine
the Actor and Undergoer assignments for the logical structures of the predicates, following
the Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy. We then link the arguments determined in Steps 1 and 2:
the Actor of the matrix logical structure to the Actor as determined in Step 1 (she); the
Undergoer to the non-Actor direct core argument (Peter). This still leaves the Actor of the
embedded unit unlinked: the theory of obligatory control stipulates that since we have a
core juncture, and since promise is neither jussive nor causative, we have Actor control, so
that the so far unlinked argument in the embedded structure must be linked to the Actor
of the matrix structure, as shown by the thick line in (257).
..... Matrix-coding constructions. The term matrix-coding construction is intended as a theory-neutral label for what have often been referred to as raising, either
to Subject or Object. In (258) we have matrix coding as PSA, and in (259) as non-PSA.
(258) This principle appears to prohibit disclosure of personal data to third parties; . . .
(BNC BNE 777)
(259) Antrobus considered archaeologists to be another kind of meddling vandal, . . .

(BNC B7A 476)
Note that as with the control constructions discussed earlier, for both of these types of sentence there is an alternative construction, not necessarily having exactly the same meaning,
with a that-clause:
(260) It appears that this principle prohibits disclosure of personal data to third parties.
(261) Antrobus considered that archaeologists were just another kind of meddling vandal.
First let us consider matrix-coding as PSA, which occurs with English verbs such as appear, seem, and also with be likely/certain, as well as with certain predicates in a number of
other languages, including Icelandic, the Bantu language Kinyarwanda and the Polynesian
language Niuean (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 562). The verbs seem and appear, in common
with meteorological verbs such as rain, snow, are atransitive: that is, they are exceptional
in not having any macroroles associated with them. We can see this from the fact that
although they have the logical structure verb (x, y), x being an individual with the semantic role of PERCEIVER and y a proposition, neither argument can appear directly in
the core, the former being realised, if at all, as a prepositional phrase and the latter as an
extraposed clause, as in (262), rather than as a direct core argument acting as PSA (Van
Valin & LaPolla 1997: 154).
(262) It appears to us that the point is a thoroughly esoteric one . . . (BNC FDW 213)
(263) *That the point is a thoroughly esoteric one appears to us.
This property would be indicated by the designation [MR0] in the lexical entry for these
verbs.
The logical structure is the same for (258) and (260), and is shown in (264). Skeleton
semantic representations are given in (265) and (266).
(264) appear (, [do (this principle, [prohibit (this principle, disclosure of personal
data to third parties)])])
(265) IF DECTNS PRESappear (, [do (this principle, [prohibit (this principle, disclosure of personal data to third parties)])])
(266) IF DECTNS PRESappear (, TNS PRES[do (this principle, [prohibit (this
principle, disclosure of personal data to third parties)])])
The fact that there is no tense operator in the embedded logical structure in (265) indicates
that we are dealing with a core juncture here; in (266), on the other hand, the embedded
structure will be realised as a tensed clause. The semantics-to-syntax linking for the logical
structure in (265) is shown in (267).
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(267)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
CORE
ARG
NUC
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
PRED
NP
This principle appears
to
Actor
prohibit
the disclosure ...
Undergoer
appear (, [do (this principle, [prohibit (this principle, disclosure...)])])
Although there is a position for a direct core argument in the matrix core, the logical
structure of appear, as we have seen, has no argument which can be used to fill this position. Instead, it is filled by the semantic argument which would usually act as PSA for
the embedded unit, which cannot function in this unit because the prenuclear core argument is missing in a core juncture. In this way, violation of the Completeness Constraint is
avoided. We are not, however, dealing here with the same nexus type as in the control constructions. Recall from 3.3.3.2.3 that try-constructions are cosubordinate: for instance, a
deontic modality operator modifies the whole core complex, not just the first core. With
appear, however, there is no argument which could be under the influence of obligation,
permission and the like. The nexus, then, is not cosubordinate but coordinate.
As far as syntax-to-semantics linking is concerned, in order to accommodate the
matrix-coding as PSA type of construction, Van Valin & LaPolla add a further modification to that introduced to cover control constructions. The new version reads as follows:
In non-subordinate core junctures, one of the arguments of the matrix core must be
linked to an argument position in the embedded logical structure:
a.
b.
if the matrix predicate is a control verb, this follows [the theory of obligatory
control]; otherwise,
if the matrix predicate is not a control verb, then link the unlinked syntactic argument in the matrix core to the logical structure argument position of the pivot of
the linked core. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 566)
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 567) note that the matrix-coding as non-PSA type of construction, as in (259), has been a topic of some controversy among syntacticians. Within
the transformational generative literature, there was a debate about whether the surface
structure of such constructions conformed to the pattern in (268) or to that in (269).
(268) [S Antrobus [VP considered archaeologists [VP to be just another kind of meddling
vandal]]]
(269) [S Antrobus [VP considered [S archaeologists to be just another kind of meddling
vandal]]]
Evidence that, in RRG terms, considered and archaeologists belong in the same core
comes from reflexivisation (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 567568). In English, the controller and the reflexive must both be syntactic arguments in the same core.42 Compare
(270) and (271).
(270) Muelleri considered that hei /*himi /*himselfi was now in a much stronger position
. . . (BNC AC2 200)
(271) . . . Lord Diplock considered *he/*him/himself to be stating a general rule with
exceptions. (BNC FCA 179)
Whereas in the version with the finite clause complement, only he is grammatical, in the
matrix-coding version reflexivisation is obligatory, showing that Lord Diplock and himself
must be in the same core.
The semantics-to-syntax linking for (259) is shown in (272).43
(272)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NUC
NP
PRED
NP
PRED
NP
Antrobus considered archaeologists
Actor
to
be
just another kind of

meddling vandals
Actor
consider (Antrobus, [be (archaeologists, [vandals ])])

. See also 2.3.6 and 3.3.2.
. The complexities of the predicative NP just another kind of meddling vandals are omitted as irrelevant
here: it is assumed that vandals is the semantic head.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Following Foley & Van Valin (1984), Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 569) note that when a
verb takes a clausal complement in core juncture, not only the embedded core, but also
the matrix, has its S-transitivity reduced by 1. For instance ask someone a question has 3
core arguments, but ask someone to do something has only 2; want something has 2, but
want to do something only 1. Verbs appearing in matrix-coding to non-PSA constructions,
however, are exceptions to this general rule: consider something (2), but not *consider to
be something (1), but rather consider X to be something (2). Given this fact, the linking in
(272) above becomes possible. Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 569) propose an amendment to
the syntactic template selection principle to deal with this situation. Syntax-to-semantics
linking for matrix-coding to non-PSA works in basically the same way as in the PSA type.
... Linking in complex NPs

Finally, we must deal briefly with linking in complex NPs, especially those with restrictive
relative clauses. Consider example (273).
(273) . . . he named the girl whom I knew (BNC CDX 2561)
As Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 593) note, the semantics-to-syntax linking must take account of the fact that an attributive logical structure must be placed in the argument
position occupied by the head noun, this noun acting as its first argument, and the logical structure of the verb in the relative clause acting in the pred slot. The structure and
semantics-to-syntax linking for (273) are shown in (274).
(274)
SENTENCE
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
NP
COREN
PERIPHERYN
NUCN
CLAUSE
REF
PrCS
CORE
NP
ARG
NUC
PROREL
NP
PRED
V
he
named
Actor
Undergoer
the girl
Actor
name (3sgM, [be (girli, [know (1sg,
whom
knew
Undergoer
whomi)])])
The semantics-to-syntax linking in (274) proceeds according to the normal algorithm.

The first argument of name (x,y), that is he, is assigned as Actor and the second (girl) as
Undergoer, according to the Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy. In the embedded logical structure, this hierarchy specifies that the first argument of know (I) is Actor, the second (the
relative pronoun whom) Undergoer. As the latter is a wh-item, it must go into the pre-core
slot of the embedded clause.
Syntax-to-semantics linking in externally-headed relative constructions requires the
following addition to the algorithm:
a.
b.
Retrieve from the lexicon an attributive logical structure and substitute the logical
structure of the verb in the relative clause for the y argument.
If there is no pre-/postcore slot element in the relative clause, then treat the head
noun as if it were in the pre-/postcore slot for linking purposes; if there is an element
in the pre-/postcore slot in the relative clause, coindex the head noun with it.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
c.
Coindex the x argument in the attributive logical structure with the argument in the
relative clause logical structure linked to the head noun in (b). (Van Valin & LaPolla
1997: 593)
For our example, we start the syntax-to-semantics linking, as usual, by determining the
functions of the core arguments in each core. The main clause and relative clause are
both active, so that the PSA is the Actor in each case, and the other direct core argument is
Undergoer. We then retrieve the logical structures for the predicate in each clause, and link
the Actor to the PSA argument in the syntactic structure and the Undergoer to the other
argument position in each case. Part (b) of the above addition to the linking algorithm
specifies that since there is an element (whom) in the pre-core slot of the relative clause, the
head noun girl must be coindexed with it. Part (c) of the rule says that the x argument of
the attributive logical structure (girl) must be coindexed with the argument in the relative
clause logical structure (whom) which we have just linked to the head noun. The resulting
linking pattern is shown in (275).
SENTENCE
(275)
CLAUSE
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
NP
PRED
NP
COREN
PERIPHERYN
NUCN
CLAUSE
REF
PrCS
CORE
NP
ARG
NUC
PROREL
NP
PRED
V
he
named
the girl
whom
Main verb:
voice active so
PSA = Actor
Actor
knew
Rel clause verb

active so
PSA = Actor
Non-actor
direct core arg
Coindexing
Actor
Undergoer
Actor
Undergoer
name (v, w) be (x, [know (y, z)])

Coindexing
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 598604) also discuss internally-headed relative clauses in languages such as Lakhota and the Niger-Kordofanian language Bambara. They further note
that as all the constraints on linking in relative clauses are construction-specific, they need
not form part of the general algorithm, but can be stated once so that reference can be
made to them by relative clause constructional templates.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Finally, it should be noted that Van Valin & LaPollas account of linking in complex
sentences contains much more than it has been possible to provide here, for example concerning case assignment, constraints on linking in complex wh-questions,44 and reflexivisation phenomena. They also provide detailed analyses of data from languages other than
English: readers are referred to the original for further details.
.. Descriptions of complex sentences in particular languages

Considerations of space preclude any account of the detailed work done on complex sentences in a variety of languages, within the RRG framework. Among the relevant recent
references which interested readers should consult are Hasegawa (1992) on TE-linkage in
Japanese, Ohori (1992) on diachronic aspects of Japanese clause linkage, Cutrer (1993) on
control in English, Hansell (1993) on serial verbs and complement constructions in Mandarin, Jacobsen (1993) on clause combining in Nootka, Watters (1993) on clause linkage
in Turkish, Yang (1994) on complex sentences in Korean.
Complex sentences in Systemic Functional Grammar
.. The Sydney grammar account

... The concepts of clause complex and sequence
We saw in 5.2.2 of Part 1 that in Scale and Category Grammar, the highest unit on the
grammatical rank scale was the sentence, which consisted of one of more clauses. It was
also mentioned at that point that Halliday later replaced the label sentence by clause
complex, when referring to grammatical properties. This change was suggested by the
work of Huddleston (1965), who, in a detailed discussion of univariate and multivariate
structures in English, demonstrated that units at any rank could be formed into complexes. In 7.6 of Part 1 we saw that various classes of group can form group complexes;
Huddleston also recognised word and morpheme complexes. He then took the further
logical step of handling coordination and subordination of clausal units in terms of complexing, leading to the abandonment of the grammatical unit of sentence in favour of the
clause complex. Halliday adopts this practice in his later work:
We shall assume [. . . ] that the notion of clause complex enables us to account in
full for the functional organization of sentences. A sentence will be defined, in fact,
as a clause complex. The clause complex will be the only grammatical unit which we
shall recognize above the clause. Hence there will be no need to bring in the term
sentence as a distinct grammatical category. We can use it simply to refer to the orthographic unit that is contained between full stops. This will avoid ambiguity: a sen. I shall return to the area of complex wh-questions in 5.2.2, since it is very relevant to the RRG approach
to language acquisition.
tence is a constituent of writing, while a clause complex is a constituent of grammar.

(Halliday 1994a: 216)
In 8.3.1.1 of Part 1, we saw that recent work in SFG has recognised a semantic unit, the
sequence, corresponding congruently to the clause complex in the grammar: sequences
consist of figures, which in turn consist of elements.
... Types of relationship between clauses: An introduction

Halliday proposes two intersecting dimensions of variation in the ways in which clauses
can be combined into clause complexes, both of which we have already met in Part 1.
Firstly, the relationship between clauses can be characterised in terms of taxis, as either
paratactic or hypotactic. The difference is explained by Halliday as follows:
The general term for the modifying relation is hypotaxis. Hypotaxis is the relation
between a dependent element and its dominant, the element on which it is dependent.
Contrasting with this is parataxis, which is the relation between two like elements of
equal status, one initiating and the other continuing. (Halliday 1994a: 218)
Any pair of clauses related by taxis is referred to as a clause nexus, made up of primary and
secondary clauses. In a paratactic nexus, the initiating clause is primary and the continuing
clause secondary; in a hypotactic nexus, the dominant clause is primary and the dependent
clause secondary.
Cross-cutting the taxis dimension is that of logico-semantic relation. This is a set
of categories which will be familiar from earlier discussion, since they are regarded in
present-day SFG as fractal, in that they pervade the linguistic system, appearing in units
of various sizes, although they were first elaborated in relation to clause linking. The main
distinction is between expansion and projection, each of which has sub-categories:
1.
2.
Expansion: the secondary clause expands the primary clause, by (a) elaborating it,
(b) extending it or (c) enhancing it.
Projection: the secondary clause is projected through the primary clause, which
instates it as (a) a locution or (b) an idea. (Halliday 1994a: 219)
Both taxis and logico-semantic relation are seen as part of the logical metafunction,45
though Halliday (p. 225)46 reminds us that this term refers to the natural logic of language
itself, not to formal logical categories. In the following sections I shall look at these types
of relationship in much more detail, before summarising briefly some of the challenges
which have been made to Hallidays account.
... Parataxis and hypotaxis

Consider the following examples:
. The logical metafunction, in its turn, is treated as part of the ideational function in some of Hallidays
writings, as we saw in Part 1.
. All further references to Halliday in 3.4.1 will be to Halliday (1994a), unless otherwise specified.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(276) At least Nails was not afraid of suffering a bit; he had come by his name because he
was so hard. (BNC AT4 2082)
(277) The crowd parted, and they stood gazing up at the canyon, . . . (BNC AT3 636)
(278) The straps were fabric instead of rubber, so they kept flopping. (BNC ASV 287)
(279) I said, Were you aiming at that flag? (BNC ASA 1889)
(280) I thought to myself, How do you write a novel? (BNC GWL 801)
(281) Harriet rode close by the demonstrators, which surprised me. (BNC CEB 2326)
(282) As late as 1937 only 10 per cent of women were attending post-natal clinics, whereas
54 per cent received ante-natal care. (BNC GUW 289)
(283) Theres a grudge against Tom because he drops in on everyone. (BNC ASV 496)
(284) She said she was tired after the journey. (BNC ATE 2490)
(285) Alice thought she would get the business of ringing Electricity over with.
(BNC EV1 475)
Examples (276)(280) show paratactically related clauses: the initiating and continuing
clauses are clamed to be of equal status. (281)(285), on the other hand, have hypotactic relationships: one clause (the second, in the case of the examples given above) being
dependent on the other.
Halliday uses different notational conventions for paratactic and hypotactic relationships: paratactically related clauses are numbered 1, 2, etc., while hypotactically related
clauses are labelled , , , etc. Both relationships are univariate: that is, multiple relationships within a series are of the same kind. Consider (286) and (287):
1
(286) They moved up to one of the white banquettes, sat down and ordered Caesar
salads. (BNC G0V 2185)
(287) Please amend the declaration on your Application if you wish to see
any report before it is sent to us. (BNC AYR 529)

The relationship between 1 and 2 in (286) is the same as that between 2 and 3: each pair
of clauses is in a coordinative relationship. Similarly, in (287) the clause is dependent on
the clause in the same way that the is dependent on the . Note, incidentally, that the
paratactic type of construction is basically transitive (though other factors can neutralise
this relationship), so that (286) also implies They moved up to one of the white banquettes
and ordered Caesar salads; on the other hand, hypotactic relationships are not transitive,
so that (287) does not imply Please amend the declaration on your Application before it is
sent to us.
Paratactic and hypotactic relationships can, of course, be present in the same clause
complex; furthermore, there can be nesting, or internal bracketing, of relationships. Let
us look at the more complex example in (288), the structure of which is given in (289).
(288) If this were true, and if oceanic crust was being generated at all the oceanic ridges in
the world at this rate throughout geological history, then the entire present organic
crust could have been formed in a mere couple of hundred million years, and therefore, without some other kind of process acting, there would be a vast quantity of
spare oceanic crust lying around. (BNC ASR 143)
(289)
If this were true
2 1
2
2
and if.. history
without.. acting
then..years
and therefore ... there .. around
Here, the basic structure is composed of a dependent element (If this were true . . . geological history) followed by an independent element (then .. lying around). Both have internal
complexities: the initial dependent element consists of two paratactically related halves
(hence the labels 1 and 2) If this were true and and if .. history; the independent element likewise consists of two elements in paratactic relation (1 and 2) then .. years
and and therefore .. lying around.47 This last unit itself has an independent clause (2)
and therefore . . . there would be a vast quantity of spare oceanic crust lying around, within
which is included a dependent clause (hence 2). This example also illustrates the fact
that dependent clauses can be either finite or non-finite, an instance of the latter being
without some other kind of process acting.
It is typical of Hallidays account that he presents a number of examples of similar
or even greater complexity, to reflect the kinds of structure found in samples of authentic
interaction. Example (288) is taken from the written part of the British National Corpus:
as Halliday (p. 224) points out, even more complicated patterns of semantic movement
can be attested in spoken language.
I noted briefly in 2.4.1.2.5 that clause complexes display thematic relationships in
similar ways to simplex clauses, in that a hypotactic complex can have either the head or
the dependent clause first. For instance, in example (287), we have the unmarked thematic
ordering of clauses, whereas in the top level structure of (288), the dependent () element,
complex in itself, precedes the dominant () element.
. Note that Halliday includes coordinating conjunctions in the second of the linked clauses.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
One important further point should be noted before I begin to explore the logicosemantic relations into which clauses enter within clause complexes. Halliday has always made a sharp distinction between hypotaxis and embedding (often referred to as
rankshifting48 ), the latter being severely restricted. For instance, the Subject that-clause
in (290) below is embedded, but the that-clause after confirms is not, being regarded as
hypotactically related to the preceding clause; the restrictive relative clause in (291) is embedded in the structure of the nominal group, but the non-restrictive clause in (292) is
hypotactically related to the main clause; and finally, the adverbial clause in (293) is seen
as hypotactic rather than embedded. Clearly there are major differences here from other
theories,49 and I shall need to revisit this area in what follows.
(290) That they were not prepared to countenance Maxse at his most radical confirms
that those ends were indeed Conservative. (BNC A6G 1190)
(291) Rosina, a Yugoslavian, and the woman who was to become his wife, arrived in the
same town five years later. (BNC AT1 1484)
(292) The woman, who will be scarred for life, was treated in hospital for a number of
injuries including a 3in cut to her neck. (BNC A5R 649)
(293) He had always skipped swimming because he got teased about his bones sticking
out. (BNC AT4 521)
... Logico-semantic relations

.... The range of types of relation. As we saw earlier, the different types of logicalsemantic relation apply to both paratactically and hypotactically related clauses. In Table
3.3, examples (276)(285) are classified in terms of both dimensions (cf. Hallidays Table
7(2), p. 220).
The primary split is between expansion and projection types of logico-semantic relation. The term expansion is virtually self-explanatory: one clause expands on the content
of another in some way. The term projection is perhaps less transparent; Halliday explains
it as follows:
. . . the logical-semantic relationship whereby a clause comes to function not as a direct representation of (non-linguistic) experience but as a representation of a (linguistic) representation. (Halliday 1994a: 250)
. See 5.2.2 of Part 1. Note that although in SFG rankshifting and embedding are normally used with
the same meaning, McGregor (1997: 127136), in the Semiotic Grammar framework he has elaborated in
reaction to what he sees as deficiencies in SFG, distinguishes between the two terms. Rankshifting is the
reclassification of a unit of given rank to one of lower rank, while embedding is rankshifting in which the
rankshifted unit acts as a constituent of a unit of equal or lower rank, thereby playing an experiential role in
it. The distinction is necessary because of McGregors particular view of the scope of constituency relations
and their relationship with metafunction (see 5.8.2 of Part 1).
. Hallidays analyses also differ from those in the Cardiff version of SFG: see 8.3.2.4 of Part 1 and the
discussion in 3.4.2.
Table 3.3. Clause complexes classified by taxis and logico-semantic relation

Logicosemantic
relation
Taxis
Paratactic
Hypotactic
Expansion
elaboration
At least Nails was not afraid of

suffering a bit; he had come by
his name because he was so
hard. (BNC AT4 2082)
The crowd parted, and they
stood gazing up at the canyon,
. . . (BNC AT3 636)
Harriet rode close by the

demonstrators, which surprised
me. (BNC CEB 2326)
I said, Were you aiming at that

flag? (BNC ASA 1889)
I thought to myself, How do
you write a novel?
(BNC GWL 801)
She said she was tired after the

journey. (BNC ATE 2490)
Alice thought she would get the
business of ringing Electricity
over with. (BNC EV1 475)
extension
enhancement
Projection
locution
idea
As late as 1937 only 10 per cent

of women were attending
post-natal clinics, whereas 54
per cent received ante-natal care.
(BNC GUW 289)
The straps were fabric instead of Theres a grudge against Tom
because he drops in on everyone.
rubber, so they kept flopping.
(BNC ASV 287)
(BNC ASV 496)
Thus, in the last four examples in Table 3.3, we have a representation of something
linguistic, projected through a verb of saying or thinking. I shall unpack this notion in
later discussion.50
.... Relations of expansion

..... Elaboration. Elaboration involves the expansion of the meaning of one clause
by another, not though introducing any new element, but by characterising in more detail
an element already present, in terms of restatement, refinement, or clarification, often by
addition of an explanatory comment (Halliday p. 225).
When elaboration operates within the environment of paratactically related clauses,
the restatement type leads to an appositional structure in which (some element of) the
first clause is expressed in different words: Halliday (p. 226) refers to this as exposition.
An example is (294) below, in which something being congenital is rephrased as you must
have inherited it.
(294) Masochism is congenital; that is to say, you must have inherited it. (BNC AE0 2287)
. In his Semiotic Grammar, McGregor (1997: 188) treats projection as a framing relationship which
forms part of the interpersonal rather than the logical semiotic: see 5.8.2 of Part 1. He does, however,
follow Halliday in distinguishing the three types of logical expansion to be discussed in the next section,
illustrating these from both English and Gooniyandi.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
The refinement type of relation again leads, in paratactic environments, to an appositional structure, this time one in which further specificity is introduced, often through
exemplification, as in (295).
(295) The chances of having a mentally handicapped child may be considerably heightened, however, under certain circumstances; for example, older women are much
more likely to have Downs Syndrome babies. (BNC ANA 86)
Clarification in the context of parataxis reinforces what is said in the primary clause by
giving some kind of explanatory comment, as in (296).
(296) They do not need to be too smart; in fact, it is better if they do look rapidly produced,
in response to an immediate threat. (BNC AR9 301)
When the logico-semantic relation of elaboration combines with hypotaxis, we get a nondefining (or non-restrictive) relative clause. According to Halliday (p. 227) such clauses
can be finite or non-finite. The finite type is identical in grammatical form to a defining/restrictive relative clause, but adds supplementary rather than defining information.
Halliday (p. 227) notes that the domain to which the relative clause adds a further characterisation can vary. It can be the whole of the primary clause, or at least a part of the
clause which is more than a nominal group, as in the example given in Table 3.3; it can
be a nominal group such as that in example (292) where the relative clause adds further
information about the woman; or it can be an expression of temporal or spatial location,
in which case the relative clause has the relative adverbs when/where, as in (297).
(297) In other places, where even the Norfolk reed is scarce, the reed is used as a capping
ridge to straw thatch. (BNC AS4 181)
Halliday (p. 228) claims that non-defining relative clauses in English are clearly signalled,
marked off in the written language by punctuation and in the spoken language by allocation to a separate tone group, which is uttered on the same tone as the primary clause,51
as illustrated in (298), translated into Hallidayan notation in (299),52 where all the tone
groups have falling tone (Tone 1 in Hallidays system).
(298) we ^started this procession down the :c\orridor# . ^very l\ong _corridor# which
went a^long and along and al\ong# and then ^round a c\orner# (LLC 1 3 590593)
(299) //1 we / started this procession down the / corridor //1 very / long corridor // 1 which
went a / long and along and a / long / and then //1 round a / corner//
However, even a cursory glance at a prosodically transcribed corpus shows that this picture of tone concord is far too simple: when the non-defining relative clause has as its
. More strictly, tone concord is with that part of the primary clause which constitutes the domain of the
relative clause: see below.
. For notes on transcription conventions, see 2.2.1.3 and 2.4.1.3.
antecedent the whole of the clause on which it depends, we often get a mismatch, as in
(300)/(301), where the tone group corresponding to the main clause has falling tone (Tone
1), while that corresponding to the relative clause has rising tone (Tone 2); and even where
the relative clause has only part of the primary clause as its domain, we still sometimes get
different tones in the two parts, as in (302)/(303), where the tone in the tone group carrying the main clause is rising, but that in the relative clause tone group is falling-rising
(Tone 4). Clearly other factors are involved in codetermining the tone choice.
(300) [@m] - ^they *( - - - laughs)* interviewed me f\irst# which Î thought was a bit
/ominous# (LLC 1 3 487489)
(301) /1 they interviewed me /first which //2 I thought was a bit /ominous//
(302) were ^having this meeting of :CSC as:sistant((s)) on the !fourth of Jul/y# which is a
^S\/aturday# (LLC 1 1 182183)
(303) // 2 were / having this meeting of /CSC as / sistant(s) on the / fourth of Ju / ly which
is a //4 Saturday //
Halliday (p. 228) notes that there is one group of non-defining relative clauses which
represent extension rather than elaboration:
(304) Evans played with a pencil as he leaned over his desk, staring at Morgan, who stared
back with a bleak expression. (BNC ARK 1416)
(305) Becky looked across at Elspeth, whose big eyes told her she didnt know either.
(BNC ATE 1112)
In this type of case, the relative pronoun could be paraphrased semantically using and:
and he stared back with a bleak expression / and her (Elspeths) big eyes told her she didnt
know either.
Halliday treats clauses such as those in (306)(308) as non-finite analogues of nondefining relative clauses, the meaning relationship being indicated less explicitly than in
the finite version.
(306) The song, featuring several different sections, was a fine summary of the bands
sound at the time. (BNC AT1 1909)
(307) . . . I looked down and saw an ant, crawling into the wind. (BNC AT3 298)
(308) When he returned after the weekend he brought with him a tool that sums up his
management style a wedge, to keep his door open. (BNC CBV 1082)
Like full non-defining relative clauses, these non-finite clauses contrast with defining
counterparts:
(309) A woman arranging flowers around an anaemic statue told me that Father Burne
was even now, in the sacristy. (BNC ARB 2183)
(310) There is an elegant staircase with a gate to keep the dogs downstairs . . .
(BNC AP8 339)
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Halliday (p. 229) even includes, in the same category of non-finite non-defining clauses,
those with an explicit Subject: his example is given in (330) below:
(311) John went off by himself, the rest of us staying behind.
It is difficult to see how such a clause could be considered any kind of equivalent to a
relative clause. In (309), (310) and similar sentences, we can at least add a relative pronoun
and auxiliary, so converting the structure into a full relative clause:
(312) A woman who was arranging flowers around an anaemic statue told me that
Father Burne was even now, in the sacristy.
(313) There is an elegant staircase with a gate which is to keep the dogs downstairs.
In (311), on the other hand, there is no such possibility. Rather, the non-finite clause
seems to have an extending function: note that we can paraphrase with and the rest of us
stayed behind.
..... Extension. Extension (Halliday pp. 230232) is the relationship in which the
secondary clause adds something to the meaning of the primary clause. Two main subcategories are recognised: pure addition and variation, the former being subdivided into
additive (positive X and Y, or negative not X and not Y) and adversative (X and conversely Y), the latter into replacive (not X but Y), subtractive (X but not all X) and
alternative (X or Y). Again, these types of logico-semantic relation can combine with
either parataxis or hypotaxis.
Paratactic extension gives what is generally known as coordination, often realised by
one of the conjunctions and, nor, or, but. Some examples follow:
(314) On Wednesday evening there was a sports programme on the BBC World Service,
and Saturday was the day of the football results. (BNC AT3 678) [addition, additive,
positive]
(315) They have been a power behind the scenes for centuries, but now theyre coming to
the fore. (BNC AT7 1287) [addition, adversative]
(316) I would not bother you again, only I have a last request. (BNC AE0 1543) [variation,
replacement]
(317) Either you agree with it or you dont agree with it. (BNC AJD 542) [variation,
alternative]
The same basic semantic relations can be expressed through hypotactically related clauses.
In the following examples, the secondary clause is finite:
(318) Thus, whereas a basic forearm block simply deflects the opponents punch, the more
advanced version deflects the opponent. (BNC A0M 737) [addition]53
(319) Youd have thought they were best friends or something, except that girls dont have
proper friends the way boys do. (BNC A0D 1808) [variation, subtractive]
whereas in those below it is non-finite:
(320) Apart from suffering from confused objectives, appraisal schemes may fail for a
variety of reasons: . . . (BNC AYJ 388) [additive]
(321) John left without saying goodbye to his mother, . . . (BNC ASC 1029) [adversative]
(322) . . . you may simply decide to walk to work instead of going by car or bus.
(BNC AYK 237) [replacive]
(323) Hoomey pushed the front seat up and leaned over, groping about on the back seat.
(BNC AT4 1759) [additive]
Example (323) is included in order to illustrate Hallidays point (p. 232) that when there
is no conjunctive expression (such as apart from in (320)), an additive or adversative
non-finite extending clause may be formally identical to the elaborating counterpart (see
e.g. (307)), but without the tone concord claimed for such elaborating clauses. Furthermore, Halliday states that if the dependent clause precedes the independent clause, the
interpretation may be neither extending nor elaborating, but enhancing (see below).
..... Enhancement. Hallidays category of enhancement (pp. 232239) covers cases

where the meaning of the primary clause is expanded through reference to time, place,
manner, cause or condition.
Paratactic enhancement is a further type of coordination, one in which there is an
added circumstantial meaning, such as can be realised by, for example, (and) then or and
at that time, etc. for temporal meaning, (and) there, etc. for location, (and) in that way for
manner, and so on. Examples are given in (324)(327).
(324) Yet the more she sipped the more sick she felt; and then she began to have a cramp in
her stomach. (BNC AT7 657) [temporal]
(325) . . . the back door opened and there, revealed in the gaslight, was Jessie.
(BNC AT7 570) [spatial]
(326) And by the way, I have an appointment in the city around eleven, so I may not be
back to stand in for the dinner breaks. (BNC AT7 707) [cause followed by effect]
Hypotactic enhancement corresponds to what are normally called adverbial clauses, with
the same range of meanings as listed above. Finite dependent enhancement clauses are
. Halliday (p. 231) comments that there is no clear line between the additive and the adversative in
hypotactic addition.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
introduced by a subordinating conjunction, which may be a simple conjunction (327), a

conjunction group (328), or derived from a verb (329), noun (330) or adverb (331).
(327) Wherever you are, it is alright to yell if somebody is trying to hurt you.
(BNC ARA 67) [simple temporal conjunction]
(328) Even if you are not chairman, someone should be. (BNC AYJ 1813) [condition,
conjunction group]
(329) A horse will soon become used to the excitement of a show provided that he goes
out on a regular basis from an early age. (BNC ASH 262) [condition, derived
from verb]
(330) But they know Im here, in case anything happens. (BNC ATE 2970) [cause (reason), derived from noun]
(331) Damp is acceptable so long as the cellar is not in use . . . (BNC AS1 1205) [condition,
derived from adverb]
Halliday states (p. 236) that non-finite enhancing clauses are introduced by a conjunction
(332) or by a preposition acting conjunctively (333),54 though he also gives examples,
similar to (334), where there is nothing before the non-finite verb.
(332) Politicians and diplomats frequently exhibit these characteristics when dealing with
foreign affairs. (BNC AYJ 1001) [temporal, conjunction]
(333) This programming has influenced our thinking and our pattern of ability without us
knowing it. (BNC AYK 1368) [condition (concession), conjunctive preposition]
(334) Being a photographer, I understand how photographers can manipulate a situation;
. . . (BNC APL 426) [cause (reason)]
..... Expansion where subtype is not explicit. Halliday (pp. 239241) recognises that
especially in cases where clauses are not explicitly linked by any conjunction, it is often
difficult to decide how to analyse a given text sentence in terms of the kinds of logicosemantic relation proposed. He also points out that there is a cline, in terms of explicitness
of information, between expression as an independent finite clause, through dependent finite clauses and non-finite clauses, to prepositional phrases at the other end. The following
examples are similar to those given by Halliday (p. 241) to illustrate this point.
(335) Going south down Corso Venezia, away from Porta Venezia and the Lazaretto, you
will reach the Planetarium, . . . (BNC ANB 823)
(336) Turn left when you reach the fortifications . . . (BNC APT 580)
. Halliday appears to treat the conjunctive preposition as a conjunction for the purposes of the clause
analysis: an alternative interpretation would be that it is acting as a preposition, in a prepositional phrase
with the non-finite clause as complement.
(337) Come over Kirkstone Pass towards Ullswater, and on reaching the valley, turn off to
the right . . . (BNC AP8 479)
(338) Which way do we go at the traffic lights? (BNC HTU 4741)
..... Embedded expansions. As remarked earlier, the role of embedding is very restricted in Hallidays SFG. Indeed, he claims (p. 242) that there are only the following
types in English:55
(339) He put down the money that had been initially agreed upon. (BNC APC 1753)
[finite clause as postmodifier in nominal group]
(340) . . . some of the money being channelled into development should be redirected into
more stringent enforcement of anti-doping measures. (BNC AJ3 671) [non-finite
clause as postmodifier in nominal group]
(341) She had to take all the money in his wallet, . . . (BNC AC3 335) [phrase as postmodifier in nominal group]
(342) What I said was stupid. (BNC APM 2663) [finite clause as Head of nominal
group]
(343) For us to be reduced to the level of a Balkan state is very hard. (BNC AE8 1064)
[non-finite clause as Head of nominal group]
(344) Out of doors is the best place for Brownies, really, . . . (BNC B0B 2130) [phrase as
Head of nominal group]
(345) As it happened, the lecture ended earlier than I had expected. (BNC ANL 3700)
[finite clause as postmodifier in adverbial group]
(346) Shed come back much earlier than expected. (BNC B0B 1442) [non-finite clause
as postmodifier in adverbial group]
(347) The VHS video system was launched in Japan and the US earlier than in Britain.
(BNC B7J 1120) [phrase as postmodifier in adverbial group]
In what follows, I shall discuss each of these types of embedding. The distinction between
embedding and hypotaxis, and the place at which the boundary is drawn, will be discussed
again later, when I review other views on this area of SFG.
Embedded expansions, like paratactic and hypotactic ones, can be of the elaborating,
extending or enhancing types, though Halliday (p. 243) remarks that the distinction is of
very much less relevance for embedded clauses.
Just as hypotactic elaborating clauses are non-restrictive relatives, so embedded elaborating clauses are restrictive (or defining, the term adopted by Halliday) relatives. As we
. It should be remembered that Halliday treats adjective-headed groups as a type of nominal group, so
that constructions such as It was so loud that everybody jumped (BNC ATE 2999) are seen as instances of a
finite clause as postmodifier in a nominal group.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
saw earlier, they are claimed not to have a separate tone group allocated to them, but rather
to be part of the same tone group as the element they characterise, because they do not
constitute separate, newsworthy information. Defining relatives, like their non-defining
counterparts, can be finite (as in (339) above) or non-finite (340). Within the non-finite
type, further distinctions are proposed: examples such as (340) are labelled as imperfective (clearly they can be passive, as in this example, or active), while ones with infinitive
clauses as postmodifier (which can again be active or passive) (e.g. (348)) are said to be
perfective.56
(348) Whats the best time to hold a meeting? (BNC AND 772)
Non-finite embedded clauses with a preposition are elaborating where the clause is in an
appositional relation, though most constructions of this structural type, as we shall see,
are enhancing.57
(349) However, the task of setting EC wide standards remains daunting and progress has
been slow. (BNC AMK 172)
Note that in an example such as (342), which would be called a headless relative clause in
some approaches, Halliday treats the whole construction what I said as a nominal group
which has just a head, filled by the clause itself. This analysis is clearly somewhat unusual,
and I shall have cause to comment further on it later.
The only type of embedded extending clause, according to Halliday (p. 245), is one of
possession, as in (350).
(350) This was counter-productive in alienating those sectors of the community whose cooperation was essential to criminal investigation. (BNC AS6 766)
It is difficult, however, to see how such clauses differ in their logico-semantic type from
those with non-possessive relative pronouns. Furthermore, Halliday himself (p. 227) includes non-defining relative clauses with whose under elaboration, as we might expect.
Enhancing embedded clauses can again be finite or non-finite, and Halliday (p. 245)
distinguishes two types: one in which the circumstantial meaning which characterises the
category of enhancement is present in the embedded relative clause itself; another in which
the circumstance is contained within the lexical item acting as head in the nominal group
within which the clause is embedded. Let us start with the finite type. In (351) and (352)
the circumstantial meaning of place is realised in the relative clause.
(351) At the first hotel I worked in, I had shared an office . . . (BNC A0F 771)
. The somewhat idiosyncratic usage of these terms was explained briefly in 9.4.1.2 of Part 1.
. It is surely implausible for of to be analysed as conjunctive in such constructions: the case for analysing
such constructions as examples of a prepositional phrase acting as postmodifier, the preposition having a
non-finite clause instead of a nominal group as its complement, is even stronger here than in cases such
as (333): for instance, in the (somewhat inelegant) version the task of the setting of EC wide standards the
analysis would presumably be preposition plus nominal group.
(352) We arrived again at the street where we had heard the news of the assassination
attempt. (BNC ARB 630)
On the other hand, in the following sentences, the circumstantial meaning (location in the
first instance, reason in the second) is present in the head noun (in ordinary type in the
examples) whose meaning is enhanced by the relative clause.
(353) . . . Ill go back to the place I was before, . . . (BNC AC5 2436)
(354) The reason why there is such a consensus about Europe in Germany is that everyone can unite around this vague concept. (BNC AMK 1225)
These examples also illustrate a further characteristic of this type of enhancing finite
clause: the circumstantial meaning can be present only in the head noun, as in (353),
or in both the noun and the relative clause, as in (354) (reason + why).
Enhancing non-finite embedded clauses are again of two types. The first is parallel
to the corresponding finite type, and is exemplified in (355), which can be related to the
finite form something one can talk about.
(355) But, more importantly, a Smiths gig is merely part of a night out, something to talk
about in the pub afterwards. (BNC ART 1520)
The second type is parallel to the non-embedded clauses with conjunctive preposition
(e.g. (333)), and is illustrated in (356).
(356) The problem with encouraging the creation of pressure groups is that the pressure
might be applied against you! (BNC AND 1144)
There are also non-finite embedded clauses acting as postmodifiers to head nouns which
encapsulate the circumstantial meaning: indeed, Halliday (p. 247) points out that some
such nouns (e.g. purpose, result, point, aim) actually require the preposition plus non-finite
construction rather than a finite clause.58
(357) In reconciling the needs of these groups it is sensible to separate appraisal for the
purpose of judging performance from that of dealing with pay and promotion.
(BNC AYJ 364)
Halliday (pp. 248250) also discusses a type of embedded clause, with no head noun,
which is a nominalisation of a process, and which he therefore calls an act. An example is
given below.
(358) Criticizing anyone is a definite art. (BNC AYJ 506)
. See Notes 54 and 57 for comment on the analysis of the postmodifying elements in examples such as
(356) and (357) as clauses rather than prepositional phrases.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
.... Relations of projection. Projection, as we saw briefly in 3.4.1.4.1, is the relationship whereby a clause acts as the representation of something linguistic rather than as a
direct representation of some non-linguistic aspect of the world. Matthiessen characterises
projection as developing a clause complex by projecting one clause onto a plane of existence higher than the other clause, as the symbolic content of that clause (Matthiessen
1995a: 130, emphasis in original). The clearest examples involve constructions with verbs
of saying, such as those in (359)(361).
(359) You should worry, said Hilda. (BNC ATE 1333)
(360) Susan said that she had no intention of letting him into her life, . . . (BNC AP0 1348)
(361) The often-heard statement that Hitler and Mussolini made the trains run on time
can be seen in this context as a profoundly political one. (BNC AR0 270)
The quoted material you should worry in (359), the indirect speech clause that she had
no intention of letting him into her life in (360), and the appositive clause that Hitler and
Mussolini made the trains run on time in (361), are all representations of linguistic events.
We shall see below that the first type is analysed by Halliday as paratactic, the second as
hypotactic and the last as embedded.
..... Paratactic projection: Quoted speech and thought. The relationship between direct (quoted) speech and its quoting clause is seen as paratactic because, according to
Hallidays analysis (pp. 250, 269), the two halves (e.g. you should worry and said Hilda in
(359)) have equal status in that both are wordings, entities at the lexicogrammatical level:
we shall see below how this contrasts with what Halliday regards as hypotactically related
clauses involving indirect speech. Halliday (p. 250) observes that the distinction between
projecting and projected material is signalled in written English by punctuation, and that
in spoken English the projecting (quoting) clause is less salient phonologically than the
projected (quoted) material. Either half can come first in the complex: example (279),
given earlier, is repeated as (362) below.
(362) I said, Were you aiming at that flag? (BNC ASA 1889)
Furthermore, the quoted material can be more extensive than just a single clause. The
verbs which can occur in the quoting clause include not only those such as say, ask, remark,
shout, but also, especially in fiction, those whose primary use is to indicate some other
action accompanying speech, e.g. breathe, sob.
It is also possible to use quotation after verbs of thinking, as illustrated by example
(280), repeated as (363).
(363) I thought to myself, How do you write a novel? (BNC GWL 801)
Whereas what is quoted in (362) is what Halliday calls a locution, the quoted material in
(363) represents an idea.
..... Hypotactic projection: Reported thought and speech. Consider (364), presented
as (285) earlier:
(364) Alice thought she would get the business of ringing Electricity over with.
(BNC EV1 475)
Here, the idea projected by the clause Alice thought is not an actual wording as in (363),
but rather a meaning: therefore, for Halliday, the two halves have different status, the projected part being dependent on the mental process, and hence hypotactically related. As
he points out (p. 253), hypotactic projection presents the projected clause from the deictic
viewpoint of the utterer of the whole complex, so that Alice is referred to as she and the
past time of the main clause is projected into the dependent clause as the remote form
would, whereas in the corresponding paratactic, direct speech version, the quoted clause
would have I and will.
We can, of course, also report speech, as in (365), seen earlier as (284):
(365) She said she was tired after the journey. (BNC ATE 2490)
What is reported is again a meaning (this time one relating to a locution) rather than a
wording: indeed, the wording may, as Halliday (p. 254) observes, be quite different from
the original, while preserving the gist. He also notes (p. 255) that whereas in direct quotation the speech act force of the original utterance is preserved, in reported speech this
must be rendered through the choice of reporting verb (e.g. ask as opposed to state).
Halliday points out that we can also quote an idea, but that this is much rarer than
reporting a locution. He also comments on the association of the different combinations with particular registers of English, and (pp. 260261) on the phenomenon of free
indirect speech.
..... Projecting proposals. So far, I have discussed only the projection of what
Halliday calls propositions (i.e. statements and questions). It is also possible, however,
to project proposals (offers and commands), and again the projection can be either
paratactic or hypotactic. Examples of projected commands are given below.
(366) No, please stop, I said. (BNC AT3 428) [paratactic, verbal process]
(367) Kiss me, she willed him, kiss me. (BNC HHA 2848) [paratactic, mental process]
(368) The Gendarme nodded and told me to wait outside. (BNC EE5 227) [hypotactic,
verbal process]
(369) His father wanted him to go to Harvard Business School. (BNC ASV 2518) [hypotactic, mental process]59
The following examples illustrate projected offers:
. In 7.6 of Part 1, I discussed Hallidays analysis of examples similar to this one, except that there is no
overt Subject in the infinitive clause (X wanted to Y). We saw that although he concedes the possibility of
an analysis in terms of hypotaxis, he argues for the superiority of a different analysis in such cases, involving
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(370) Ill build a house in readiness, promised Edward. (BNC ASE 161) [paratactic]
(371) Id promised my mother Id buy her some new central-heating, . . . (BNC ASA 2148)
[hypotactic]
As Halliday (p. 259) points out, although both propositions and proposals are projected
by mental processes, the subclass of process is different in the two cases: cognitive for
propositions, but affective for proposals.
..... Embedded projections. Projections can also be embedded to act as postmodifier to a head noun, which itself is the projecting element. Halliday (pp. 263264) lists a
number of nouns which can enter into such constructions, the associated grammar depending on whether we are projecting a statement, question, offer or command, as shown
in Table 3.4, derived from Hallidays list.
Table 3.4. The grammar of embedded projections
Type of projection
Finite projected clause
Non-finite projected clause

of + -ing
whether/wh- + infinitive
Proposition
Statement
Question
Proposal
Offer
that-clause
if/whether-clause OR wh- +
indirect indicative
future
Command
modulation or future
infinitive clause
OR of + -ing
infinitive clause
Some examples are given below: note the convention that an embedded clause is indicated
by [[. . . ]].
(372) I shall concentrate upon the claim [[that there is a fruitful analogy between the development of species through natural selection and the growth of knowledge]].
(BNC CM2 183) [statement, locution, finite]
(373) Braintree provided five more good reasons to justify their claim [[of being the most
attack-minded team in the whole league]]. (BNC CF9 1038) [statement, locution,
non-finite]
(374) Christina left him in Todneys office with a gnawing suspicion [[that he was up to
something]]. (BNC FRS 2620) [statement, idea, finite]
(375) Martin McGuinness, a leader of Sinn Fein, was arrested in Dublin last night on
suspicion [[of being a member of an unlawful organisation]]. (BNC AKY 79) [statement, idea, non-finite]
a verbal group complex within a single clause. For cases with an overt Subject, however, he prefers the
hypotactic analysis (see Halliday 1994a: 290). I shall return to these points later.
(376) I write in reply to Difficult Decision December Post Bag which posed the question
[[whether a Border Collie could cope with a front leg amputation]].
(BNC ACM 543) [question, locution, finite]
(377) Mr Kenneth Baker probably wisely turned down the offer [[of becoming Secretary of
State for Wales . . . ]] (BNC AKH 401) [offer, locution, non-finite]
(378) Embedded within discussions of human rights is the intention [[that we should not
so organise our social institutions that they promote some people and inhibit
others ]]. (BNC CMU 176) [offer, idea, finite]
(379) Last night, a ministry official delivered a notice to the monastery, stating that officers
intended to return this morning to carry out the order [[to slaughter the birds]].
(BNC A3N 53) [command, locution, non-finite]
All the embedded projections I have considered so far have involved a projecting clause
with a verbal or mental process, or a projecting noun. There is, however, one type where
the projected clause comes as it were ready packaged in projected form, without the need
for any projecting element (p. 264). Halliday calls this type a fact, without in any way
intending to imply anything about their truth or falsity. As an example, consider (290),
repeated as (380) below.
(380) [[That they were not prepared to countenance Maxse at his most radical]] confirms
that those ends were indeed Conservative. (BNC A6G 1190)
The Subject that-clause is a projection, but no verbal or mental process, and no nominalisation of such as process, is present to project it. Such facts can also occur as postnominal
modifiers of nouns such as fact itself:
(381) The fact [[that food and water were running out due to slow progress]], demoralized
me still further. (BNC AT3 2201)
Halliday (pp. 266267) recognises four subtypes of fact noun, which he labels cases
(nouns simply indicating a fact), chances (nouns indicating a modality), proofs (indicating caused modalities such as proving or implying [i.e. making something certain
or probable], and needs (nouns indicating modulations of necessity, expectation, etc.).
Example (381) illustrates the first category; examples of the others are given below.
(382) We should be prepared to countenance the possibility [[that there will be children who
leave school with little or no literary knowledge]], . . . (BNC ASY 722) [chance]
(383) The closed eyes are an indication [[that the horse is relaxed]]. (BNC ASH 1131)
[proof ]
(384) But there is no obligation [[to keep rigidly to this rule]], . . . (BNC ASY 1399) [need]
It should be noted that even where a verb of saying or cognition is present, it is possible for
a projected element to occur which is a fact, rather than being projected by the process. An
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
example is given in (385), where the projected clause could be made into a postmodifier
by being prefaced by the fact.
(385) Having recognized [[that emotion does not buy God]], I now fell into the trap of
believing that the right method does. (BNC AT3 1243)
... System networks for the clause complex

Matthiessen (1995a: 126160) presents system networks which formalise, and to some extent extend, Hallidays account of the clause complex. He begins with a network distinguishing between clause complex and clause simplex. For a clause complex, there are two
simultaneous systems: taxis ([parataxis] vs. [hypotaxis]), and type of interdependence
(initially [expansion] vs. [projection]). As far as taxis is concerned, Matthiessen stresses
that these relationships involve a relational interdependency structure rather than a constituency structure. In terms of interdependency type, [projection] clause complexes are
subdivided into [idea] and [locution], while [expansion] complexes are further characterised as [elaborating], [extending] or [enhancing]. Matthiessen (p. 150) also presents a
much more delicate network for each of the three types of expansion, reflecting the classification in Halliday (1994a). He also adds a recursive system to allow the addition of
further paratactic or hypotactic relationships, so expanding the complex further.
Matthiessen (pp. 133138) also brings together the various ways in which the distinction between parataxis and hypotaxis is reflected. Firstly, the functional potential (i.e.
the ability to carry out a function in the structure of some other unit) of a paratactic
complex as a whole differs from that of a hypotactic complex: for parataxis, the complex
has the same potential as each clause; for hypotaxis, the potential of the complex is that
of the head clause. The following examples are similar to those provided by Matthiessen
(p. 135). << . . . >> in the second example represents the inclusion of the hypotactically
related clause within the head clause on which it depends.
(386) Leapor is firm that her friend will be happier with a man [[who is dependable and
who lives within his means]]. (BNC AN4 1166)
(387) . . . a taxi driver in New York regularly addressed his fare in a manner [[which << if
repeated in London>> would end in some sort of fracas]], . . . (BNC AR3 150)
In (386), both halves of the paratactic complex are relative clauses, and the complex acts
as a postmodifier to the head noun man, just as a single relative clause would; in (387), on
the other hand, what matters is that the head of the hypotactic complex is a relative clause,
and the hypotactically related clause does not directly modify the head noun manner. This
difference in functional potential is related to the difference in status of the clauses in the
complexes: in a paratactic complex all are free or all are bound, and if bound, they must be
of the same type, whereas in a hypotactic complex the dependent clause is always bound.
Matthiessen (p. 136) also observes, following Halliday, that paratactic complexes and
hypotactic complexes with the dependent before the independent clause have different
default intonation patterns for the initial clauses (low rising in a paratactic relationship,
falling-rising for a ^ hypotactic complex), the unmarked intonation for the continuing
clause being a fall.
Matthiessen (p. 137) also comments on the explicit marking of tactic relationships,
usually in the continuing clause in English, by means of a structural Theme (conjunction,
preposition or wh-element).
He further notes (pp. 151152) the work of Nesbitt & Plum (1988), in which it is
shown that the selection of the different options in the clause complex networks and their
combinations are by no means equi-probable in the texts they examined. For instance, extension is very much more common with parataxis than with hypotaxis, whereas enhancement is much rarer with parataxis. Projection of locutions is most likely to be paratactic,
whereas projection of ideas is more usually hypotactic.
Matthiessen expands somewhat on Hallidays account of the possibilities for thematic
ordering in clause complexes, presenting a network (p. 154) which indicates the potential
for the dependent clause to precede, follow or be included in the dominant clause, for the
different types of logico-semantic relationship. He also discusses briefly the possibility of
Theme predication60 in hypotactic complexes, as illustrated by the following example.
(388) It was because we were unable to bear troubles like these that we came into the Party.
(BNC ATA 1465)
Ellipsis and substitution in the clause complex are also mentioned (pp. 158160).
Martin (1992a: Chapter 4) also presents networks for the kinds of relationship covered
in this section, but since his account generalises such relationships to cover cases where
they are represented by relationships between, rather than just within, clause complexes,
it will be left for brief discussion in Chapter 4.
... The semantics of clause complexes: Sequences and their realisation

In 5.6 and 8.3.1.1 of Part 1, we saw that in recent work, Halliday and Matthiessen have
proposed a distinct upper level of semantics, which is realised by the lexicogrammar. At the
upper semantic level, a clause complex corresponds, in the congruent (unmarked) case, to
a sequence, consisting of figures made up of processes, participant roles and circumstantial roles, these being elements of the figures (see Matthiessen 1995a: 160168; Halliday &
Matthiessen 1999: Chapter 3). This congruent pattern is often found in restricted registers
such as recipes: an example, similar to that in Matthiessen (1995a: 161), is given below.
(389) Add the chopped pepper and the cumin seeds to the saucepan and bubble gently over
a medium heat for 810 minutes until the pepper is soft. (BNC AK6 1239)
This clause complex represents what Matthiessen calls a subprocedure in a set of procedural instructions:
. For the concept of Theme predication see 2.4.1.2.4.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(390)
Add chopped pepper/cumin seeds to saucepan
and
Bubble gently over medium heat, 810 minutes
until
pepper is soft
On the other hand, it is possible for one or both of two figures in a sequence to be
downgraded through the operation of grammatical metaphor:
(391) In 1918, shortly after publication of Moments of Vision, he wrote to John Galsworthy.
(BNC AS5 214)
(392) The creation of a powerful State thus preceded the creation of a popular nationalism
for these countries . . . (BNC ANT 452)
In (391), what could have been expressed as an enhancing clause in a clause complex
(shortly after Moments of Vision had been published) is instead expressed by means of a
nominalisation (publication) in a prepositional phrase. In (392), we have two instances of
the nominalisation creation, the congruent version being as in (393).
(393) A powerful State was created, and then a popular nationalism for these countries
was created.
The above examples involve the logico-semantic relation of expansion; Matthiessen also
shows similar processes at work in projection, as in (394) and (395).
(394) A judicial investigation into his case ordered the arrest of a member of the national
police. (BNC A03 391)
(395) Marchers and speakers at this years demonstration called for immediate British
withdrawal from Ireland . . . (BNC ARW 1245)
In both examples, the material projected by the verbal process clause is expressed as a
nominalisation (arrest/withdrawal).61 Matthiessen discusses a range of types of example,
but those given above should serve to show the principles involved.
... Some controversial aspects of the Sydney account

.... Hypotaxis vs. embedding. Huddleston (1988), in his review of the first edition of
Hallidays An Introduction to Functional Grammar, voiced a number of criticisms concerned with the distinction between hypotaxis and embedding. These, together with
. In the first example there is, of course, a further nominalisation (investigation).
Huddlestons criticisms in relation to other areas of the grammar, became one topic of
the rather heated debate with Martin and Matthiessen to which I have already referred on
several occasions. In what follows, I shall use Huddlestons examples.
..... Hypotaxis vs. embedding in Hallidays enhancement. Huddleston first points

out that the clause in bold type in (396) would be treated differently from the phrase in
(397):
(396) (= Huddlestons (4a), p. 144) he left before the vote was taken.
(397) (= Huddlestons (5a), p. 145) he left before the debate.
(396) is a clause complex, with before the vote was taken in hypotactic relation to he
left; (397), on the other hand, is a simple clause, with before the debate as an Adjunct.
Huddleston (p. 145) observes that it is odd that in a strongly function-based theory such
as Hallidays these pairs should be given such different analyses because of the difference in
structure of the final units, especially since Halliday provides no evidence for differences
in function. Huddleston points out that there are good reasons for saying that the elements in question are, in fact, functionally similar: in (396)/(397) both clause and phrase
can be fronted (before the vote was taken/before the debate he left), both can be focussed in
an interrogative (did he leave before the debate/before the vote was taken?), and they can be
coordinated (he left before the debate or (at least) before the vote was taken).
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 2430) present a number of counterarguments to
Huddlestons alternative analyses of the above examples. Firstly, they claim that the issues
raised by Huddleston are descriptive rather than affecting the theory of rank. Huddleston
(1991: 87), however, does see them as very much a theoretical issue, in that the theory,
while allowing downward rankshift (e.g. from clause to group), bans upward rankshift,
and so is unable to account structurally for certain other types of example which I shall
consider later.
Matthiessen & Martin point out that while Huddlestons grouping of (396) with (397)
foregrounds one kind of relationship, Hallidays analysis emphasises another, namely that
between the hypotactic he left before the vote was taken and the paratactic he left, then the
vote was taken, a relationship which recurs throughout Hallidays grammar, and allows
an explanation of why we can argue about the content of the hypotactically and paratactically related clauses (they claim that Was it? is an appropriate rejoinder to either version), whereas embedded clauses are not accessible to such argumentation in discourse.
Huddleston (1991: 89) replies that the argument here is far too brief to be convincing, and
in any case makes unjustifiable claims. He points out that Was it? is much more natural
in reply to the paratactic version than to the hypotactic one, and analyses a further set of
examples to demonstrate that questioning the content of what Halliday regards as a hy-
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
potactically related clause is sometimes very marked, and that the content of rankshifted
clauses can indeed be challenged in some contexts.62
Matthiessen & Martin also observe that the parallel made by Huddleston can be captured within Hallidays framework in terms of the because-element in both (396) and (397)
being an example of enhancement.
A further factor mentioned by Matthiessen & Martin is that debate in (397) is not
just a normal noun, but rather a nominalisation, the product of grammatical metaphor,
so suggesting a dual analysis in which a clause complex (e.g. he left before they started to
debate) has been reinterpreted as a single clause. This point is also made by Matthiessen &
Thompson, who claim:
Rewording the adverbial clause with a prepositional phrase to show that it is an
adverbial does not show that at all; it shows that the result of representing the event
[. . . ] as if it was an adverbial is a metaphor. (Matthiessen & Thomspon 1988: 280)
This, however, seems to confuse syntactic function with semantic (or, some would say,
pragmatic) import: there seems to be no necessary contradiction between the claim that
before the debate is metaphorical and the claim that before the vote was taken is, in terms of
its structural function, an adverbial clause.
Matthiessen & Martin also take issue with the argument Huddleston presents to substantiate his contention that the because-elements in (396) and (397) are functionally similar. On fronting, they say that by itself, the recurrence of the thematic principle does not
constitute an argument that thematic elements must all have the same grammatical function in the other functional components (p. 26).63 On focussing in interrogatives, they
observe that this is a matter of the distribution of information into information units,
which is a variable independent of the distribution into clauses (p. 27). And on coordination of before the debate and (at least) before the vote was taken, they claim that this can be
accommodated within Hallidays account either by taking the before-clause as rankshifted
in this environment, or in terms of ellipsis of he left. Huddlestons rejoinder (1991: 88
89) concentrates on the issue of coordination, pointing out that both of Matthiessen &
Martins solutions face problems: the rankshift suggestion is inconsistent with the theory,
since rankshifted elements, according to an early paper by Halliday, occur only within
structures which are themselves multivariate, while the proposed solution would involve
rankshift into a univariate structure; the ellipsis solution runs into difficulties because of
the semantic changes which can occur when the putatively ellipted elements are put back:
as Huddleston points out, (398) and (399) do not have the same meaning.
. Note also that Martin (1988: 247), reviewing the arguments for the embedding/hypotaxis distinction
from possible responses, comments that although the tests work well for clause complexes involving projection, [i]t is not clear how far these interpersonal arguments apply beyond projection [. . . ] to expansion.
. Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 26) also state that Huddleston makes use of the possibilities for clefting as
an argument for the functional similarity of the because-elements; however, I can find no reference to this
argument in Huddlestons review.
(398) (= Huddlestons (26i), 1991: 89)

No-one left before the debate or before the vote was taken.
(399) No-one left before the debate or no-one left before the vote was taken.
Furthermore, Huddleston shows that such difficulties are not restricted to examples where
there is grammatical metaphor.
Finally, we should note the argument in Matthiessen & Thompson (1988: 280282)
to the effect that a clause can combine with a combination of clauses, and that in such
cases there is no single clause of which it could be an embedded constituent. They cite an
example from Halliday (1985a: 270).
(400)
Child:
Parent:
Child:
Parent:
Child:
How do you see what happened long ago before you were born?
You read about it in books?
No, use a microscope to look back.
How do you do that?
Well, if youre in a car or youre in an observation coach, you look back
and then you see what happened before but you need a microscope to see
what happened long ago because its very far away.
Matthiessen & Thompson note that in the childs last utterance, the part in bold type consists of a disjunction of two clauses (if youre in a car or youre in an observation coach),
which condition a pair of coordinated clauses (you look back and then you see what happened before). They conclude, correctly, that [t]here is no simple clause that the condition
could be analyzed as embedded in (1988: 281). This, however, surely does not constitute
evidence against the embedding analysis as such: each pair of clauses forms a unit (albeit
a complex unit), and we could therefore still analyse one unit as being embedded in the
other, as an Adjunct. We shall see in Chapter 4 that Matthiessen & Thompson also argue
for the hypotaxis/rankshift distinction in terms of the correlation they propose between
lexicogrammatical and rhetorical structures in texts, the latter being described in terms of
a relational theory of text known as Rhetorical Structure Theory.64
..... Hypotaxis vs. embedding in Hallidays projection. Huddlestons review (1988:

144145) also points to functional similarities between the elements in bold type in (401)
and (402).
. Rhetorical Structure Theory will be discussed in relation to discourse structure in Chapter 4. Kwee
(1999a) has argued for adoption of the Matthiessen & Thompson proposals into an account of adverbial
clauses in FG, on two sets of grounds. Firstly, he shows that current layering proposals in FG are unable to
explain the difference in scoping between structures of the type S1 before [S2 because S3] and the type [S1
before S2] because S3], and appears to accept Matthiessen & Thompsons claim that the possibility of clauses
combining with clause combinations rules out the treatment of adverbial clauses as embedded. Secondly,
Kwee regards favourably Matthiessen & Thompsons view of clause combination as reflecting discoursebased hierarchies (see Chapter 4) as more in keeping with the professed pragmatic-discoursal orientation of
FG than Diks own proposals for the analysis of adverbial clauses.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(401) (= Huddlestons (4b), p. 144) he assumed that she was guilty.

(402) (= Huddlestons (5b), p. 145) he assumed too much.
(401) is a clause complex, with the that-clause hypotactically related to he assumed; (402)
is a simple clause, with a nominal group as Complement. However, Huddleston observes
that the function of the clause that she was guilty is the same as that of the phrase too much
with regard to passivisation (too much was simply assumed/that she was guilty was simply
assumed [or its extraposed version it was simply assumed that she was guilty]). Furthermore, examples of the type that she was guilty was simply assumed are treated by Halliday in terms of embedding rather than hypotaxis in other words, quite differently from
(401). So the relationship between the active and passive versions is different from that in
everyone assumed her guilt/her guilt was assumed by everyone.
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 28) point out that, just as with the enhancement examples already discussed, Hallidays analysis foregrounds a different contrast, that between
parataxis (403) and hypotaxis (as in (404)):
(403) (= Matthiessen & Martins (49), p. 28)
(404) (= Matthiessen & Martins (509), p. 28)
I said She is guilty.

I said that she was guilty.
They also claim, consistently with their observations about hypotactic enhancement
clauses, that the content of the secondary clause in examples such as (404) is available
for argumentation.65
Matthiessen & Martin further point to the difference in phoric reference possibilities
between hypotactic and embedded clauses: so is used to refer to the content of that she was
guilty in reply to a question such as Is she guilty?, whereas it cannot be used to refer to an
embedded clause (i.e. I regret (the fact) that she is guilty corresponds to I regret it, not *I
regret so).
..... Non-restrictive relative clauses. A further example of the assignment of different structures to constructions with similar functional relations is seen with nonrestrictive relative clauses and prepositional phrases.
(405) (= Huddlestons (i), p. 145, fn. 7) this is my new house, which Jack built
(406) (= Huddlestons (ii), p. 145, fn. 7)
have you seen my new hat, with the

feather in it?
Under Hallidays analysis, the non-restrictive relative clause would, as we have seen, be
analysed as hypotactically related to the whole of this is my new house, while in (406) the
phrase with the feather in it would be related hypotactically just to the nominal group
my new hat. Huddleston points out that no similar distinction is made with respect to
the restrictive versions: this is the house that Jack built and have you seen my hat with the
feather in it? both have the corresponding units embedded as postmodifiers to the head
. See also Martin (1988: 247).
nouns in a nominal group. There is therefore no unified treatment of the contrast between
restrictive and non-restrictive.
Furthermore, Huddleston (1991) observes that examples such as the following pose
even greater problems:
(407) (= Huddlestons (9), 1991: 79)
Both Kim, who hadnt been before, and Pat, who had been many times, enjoyed the
performance immensely.
Under Hallidays analysis, presumably both relative clauses are dependent on a discontinuous main clause both Kim . . . and Pat enjoyed the performance immensely, but they are
not themselves related in any way, so that we cannot postulate an structure with a
nested . Huddleston states that in Hallidays earlier work the structure would be i ii,
but points out that no such structures are given in IFG, and his view is that they do not,
in any case, conform to the characterisation given for univariate structures.
..... Hypotaxis and wh-interrogatives. Huddleston (1988: 146) points to a second

way in which examples which Halliday would analyse as hypotactic clause complexes
behave as single clauses:
(408) (= Huddlestons (6a), p. 146) She said he wanted something
(409) (= Huddlestons (6b), p. 146) What did she say he wanted?
Although Halliday does not deal with examples such as (409), one would, Huddleston says, expect a systemic grammarian to want to see (408) and (409) as declarative
and wh-question counterparts, and yet mood is a system of the clause, and not of the
clause complex.
As Huddleston (1991: 91) remarks, Matthiessen & Martin (1991) do not address the
issue of the domain of mood in their rejoinder, and neither do they provide a congruent
analysis for the structure of examples such as (409). They do present an analysis of an example with similar structure, (410), which in Huddlestons review is contrasted with (411)
to illustrate the differences in the concerns of systemic and transformational generative
linguists:
(410) What does she think he used?
(411) *What is she furious because he used?
Matthiessen & Martins (1991: 15) explanation of the difference in grammaticality is that
we find wh-selections beyond the simple clause with projection but not with expansion.
Their analysis is in terms of grammatical metaphor, (410) being seen as a metaphorical
version of (412):
(412) What in her view did he use?
Huddleston (1991: 91) sees two problems for such an analysis: firstly, Hallidays own account of metaphors of modality makes a clear distinction between first person I think plus
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
a clause, and third person s/he thinks, only the first being seen as a metaphor for it is probably; secondly, Halliday makes it clear that in cases of grammatical metaphor a congruent
as well as a metaphorical structure should be postulated.
..... Some further issues. Huddleston (1988: 147) also claims with regard to hypotaxis and embedding that no clear principled basis emerges for making the distinction,
citing cases such as the following:
(413) (=Huddlestons (7a), p. 147; Hallidays (a), 1985a: 245)
it strikes me that theres no-one here
(414) (=Huddlestons (7b), p. 147; Hallidays (b), 1985a: 245)
it worries me that theres no-one here
(415) (=Huddlestons (7c), p. 147; Hallidays (a), 1985a: 334)66
it seems likely that Mary knows
Halliday (1985a: 245) analyses (413) as an instance of hypotaxis, but (414) as embedding, claiming that the difference is paralleled by distinct intonation patterns. Huddleston,
rightly in my view, questions the necessity for any intonational distinction. He also points
out that (415) (because of the presence of likely) is like (414), but unlike (413), in being
able to take fronting of the that-clause instead of extraposition, whereas Halliday analyses
it as a hypotactic complex, just as he does with (413).
Finally, in the light of Hallidays (1985a: 167, fn.) comment that the hypotaxis/embedding distinction is not usually made in formal grammars, Huddleston (p. 147) remarks
that such grammars can make a distinction which works better, and that its superiority
is due to the fact that it does not depend on a rank-based approach. He contrasts the
following:
(416) (= Huddlestons (8a), p. 147) she has gone home early because of an appointment
she had with her solicitor
(417) (= Huddlestons (8b), p. 147)
pointment with her solicitor
she has gone home early because she had an ap-
(418) (= Huddlestons (8c), p. 147) she has gone home early because her light is off
Huddlestons point is that for Halliday both (417) and (418) are clause complexes, but
(416) is a single clause; functionally, however, (416) and (417) should be grouped together,
in that they both give a reason for her going home early, while (418) gives a reason for the
claim made by the speaker. This distinction can be made in a grammar which is not rankbased, by allowing the because element to combine with she has gone home early in (418),
but with gone home early in (416) and (417). A similar distinction needs to be made in the
following examples, both given by Huddleston:
. Huddleston gives the page reference, incorrectly, as 343.
(419) they had already read the report very carefully

(420) they had already read the report, rather surprisingly
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 2930) point out that in (419) very carefully is part of the
experiential structure of the clause, whereas in (420) rather surprisingly is part of the interpersonal structure. Huddleston (1991: 87) observes not only that the ban on upward
rankshift in SFG precludes a solution in which rather surprisingly is shifted to occupy a
higher position in the constituent structure of (420) than very carefully occupies in (419),
but also that he is not claiming that Halliday has no way to differentiate the two cases, the
argument having to do with constituent structure, and not with functional labelling.
.... Maximal and minimal bracketing. As we saw in Chapter 5 of Part 1, structures

in SFG are flat, having minimal bracketing, rather than the maximal bracketing of the
immediate constituent approach. Huddleston (1988: 149151) notes that the problems
discussed in relation to examples (396)/(397) and (401)/(402) are compounded when we
add a further element. The arguments in this area are very detailed and complex, and I
can do no more than indicate some of the main points here.
The examples on which Huddlestons case rests are reproduced below.
(421) (= Huddlestons (11), p. 149) Ill tell him the truth under such circumstances.
(422) (= Huddlestons (12), p. 149) Ill tell him you called if you like.
Under the Hallidayan analysis, (421) is a simple clause with a multivariate, maximallybracketed structure containing an Adjunct (under such circumstances), while (422) is a
clause complex with minimally-bracketed univariate structure. Huddleston (1988: 149)
claims that this difference is simply an artefact of the model and the description.
(422) contrasts, in terms of scoping, with (423):
(423) (= Huddlestons (13), p. 149) Ill tell him youll be there if you can.
We have seen that such clauses can be differentiated structurally in terms of layering in the
univariate structure. The structure of (422) is as shown in (424):
(424) (= Huddlestons (14), p. 149)
Ill tell him
you called
if you like
Huddleston points out that given this analysis, one would expect (423) to have the structure in (425):
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
(425)
Ill tell him youll be there
if you can
According to Huddleston, however, Halliday assigns the structure ^^ to structures of

this type.67 Huddleston cites earlier work in which Halliday accepts that these structures
are empirically equivalent, but argues for the minimally bracketed ^^ on the grounds
of simplicity. Huddleston himself, however, believes that the argument for ^^ is
stronger, since it allows us to distinguish more clearly between hypotaxis, with just a
two-way contrast involving only two elements at each layer, and parataxis, where a threeway contrast is present, with the possibility of all three elements being at the same layer,
as shown by his examples egg and bacon or stew (11^12^2), hotpot or fish and chips
(1^11^12), pork, lamb or beef (1^2^3). Furthermore, Huddleston (1991: 77) argues,
Hallidays theory provides for two hypotactic structures, ^^ and ^^, and actually uses both structures at various points in his work,68 but nowhere provides consistent
criteria for assigning one or the other: indeed, Huddleston points to occasions on which
one and the same sentence is given both analyses, at different points in IFG (see Halliday
1985a: 199, 270).
Huddleston also notes that for the nominal group, the two-way hypotactic contrast is
analysed in terms of structures ^^ (very small animals) and ^^ (splendid electric
trains) (a sequential variation on ^^), despite the fact that splendid does not modify electric in the way in which, for example, if you can modifies youll be there in (423).
Huddleston therefore concludes that the ^^ structure is both unmotivated and interpreted inconsistently. Furthermore, since layered univariate structures were originally introduced in order to deal with problems arising in association with the rank-based model,
Huddleston takes the above argument as constituting evidence against such a model.
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 32) counter Huddlestons claim that the difference in
analysis of (421) and (422) is a mere artefact of the model and description, by saying that
if this claim were true, we should be able to find different bracketings in the clause as well
as in the clause complex: in other words, we should be able to spot an analogue of the
^^ vs. ^^ distinction. They imply that there is no such systematic alternation, but Huddleston (1991: 82) points out that exactly such an alternation gives rise to
the systematic ambiguity in examples such as (421). The interpretation under which un. Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 32) dispute that this is the analysis Halliday assigns to this type of clause,
claiming that the analysis of similar examples in IFG is ^^. Huddleston (1991: 7677), however, claims
that the examples cited by Matthiessen & Martin differ in various ways from those under discussion, and
that none is assigned ^^ structure.
. Here, Huddleston corrects the mistaken statement in his original view, to the effect that ^^ does
not occur.
der such circumstances gives a condition for telling him the truth corresponds to a structure in which there is a separate Adjunct, while the meaning Ill tell him what the truth
under such circumstances is has the phrase under such circumstances as a postmodifier of
truth. The scoping differences are, Huddleston claims, just those which are diagrammed by
Matthiessen & Martin (their Table 5, p. 32), but assumed not to be systematically available
in the clause grammar.
Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 3336) also argue that Hallidays use of ^^ is neither unmotivated nor inconsistent. They cite the following examples, due to Halliday, of
hypotactic nominal group structures:
(426) (=Matthiessen & Martins (72), 1991: 33)
infant birth rate
record birth rate
still birth rate

Huddleston (1991: 7879) raises a number of problems with these analyses, concerned
with compounding vs. phrasal modification and the glosses given by Matthiessen &
Martin. He concludes that just three examples, given without further discussion, cannot provide a satisfactory basis for a systematic three-way distinction throughout the
grammar (1991: 78).
According to Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 33), in the following example (originally
from the work of Plum) the assignment of ^^ structure removes the need to choose
between ^^ and ^ ^:
(429) (= Matthiessen & Martins (75), 1991: 33)
it appeared that Teddy,
who owned the most magnificent dachshund,
which was Lurid Liberace, . . .
Huddleston (1991: 79), however, points out that there are, as we saw earlier, problems
with Hallidays analysis of non-restrictive relative clauses, which make it difficult to base
any general conclusions about hypotaxis on such structures.
Huddleston (1991: 82) also makes the point that problems arise from the uncertainty
concerning the applicability of constituent structure to univariate structures. Halliday
(1985a: 201, repeated in 1994a: 224) says that the notation used to represent hypotaxis
expresses both constituency and dependency at the same time, while Matthiessen &
Martin (1991: 22) state that complexes are non-constructional that is, their elements
are not to be seen as parts of wholes; the interpretation of clause complexes is through
interdependency rather than constituency.
.... Parataxis in relation to rank. Huddlestons review (1988: 151153) also raises
questions about the relationship of coordination, the most central form of parataxis, to
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
the rank-based nature of SFG. He points out that in an example such as (430), SFG has
to postulate ellipsis of the Subject in the second clause, since came into the room and sat
down by the fire are not units in this approach.
(430) (= Huddlestons (16), 1988: 152)
John came into the room and sat down by the fire.
On the other hand, there is no need to postulate ellipsis in an example such as He searched
the dining room and the study, because the two nominal groups can be seen as in paratactic
relationship.
Huddleston makes three points here. Firstly, he shows that Hallidays own analyses are
not always consistent. For instance, in the example from Halliday given below, whether its
a he or a she is analysed as a paratactic clause complex rather than involving a paratactic
nominal group complex:
(431) (Halliday 1985a: 200, repeated in 1994a: 223)
Our teacher says that if your neighbour has a new baby and you dont know whether
its a he or a she, if you call it it well then the neighbour will be very offended.
Huddlestons second and more important point is that the minimal bracketing of SFG
imposes more ellipsis than is necessary in an IC type of approach, where what would
usually be called VPs can be coordinated. Thirdly, Huddleston shows that in some cases,
restoring the putatively ellipted material results in semantic problems.
(432) (= Huddlestons (17), 1988: 153)
you cant join a debating society and not speak
He points out that the non-ellipted version you cant join a debating society and you cant
not speak has a quite different meaning from (432). The natural solution, to conjoin join a
debating society and not speak, is not available within a rank-based grammar.
In countering Huddlestons claims, Matthiessen & Martin (1991: 3637) first point
out that coordination can occur between clauses of different transitivity types, so that
different first participant roles might be required for the two clauses (e.g. an Actor and a
Senser), so making the VP-conjoining analysis problematic for a SFG even if such conjoining were allowed in other respects. In order to explain the difference between (432) and
the non-ellipted version, they point out that the latter is perfectly grammatical, and claim
that [t]he issue is systemic, not structural (p. 36, original emphasis). As is often the case,
they see the solution as involving grammatical metaphor: (432) is a metaphorical version
of the congruent form if you join a debating society you cant not speak, just as conditions
can also be implied by conjoined clauses in which the first has imperative mood (Make
another move and Ill shoot) examples which, they claim, show that the issue is not one
of ellipsis.
Huddleston (1991: 85) regards this explanation as completely lacking in credibility.
He demonstrates that there are other examples, such as (433), where filling out the ellipsis leads to semantic problems, but where there is no plausible explanation in terms
of metaphor.
(433) (= Huddlestons (19i), 1991: 86, see also 1988: 146, fn. 8)
Who went out and left the gate open?
.... The relationship between lexicogrammar and semantics in the area of the clause
complex. In 8.3.1.1 of Part 1, I commented that the new account of ideational semantics in Halliday & Matthiessen (1999) leaves us in a position of considerable uncertainty
as to the relationship between this semantic account and the lexicogrammatical picture
painted in Halliday (1994a). It is unclear whether the concepts of process, participant and
circumstance belong to the semantics, the lexicogrammar, or both, and if both, then what
aspects are to be accounted for at each level. We are in a similarly unfortunate position
with regard to the logical metafunction, as manifest in the clause complex.
We have seen that at the upper level of semantics, a series of related figures, made up
of configurations of process, participants and circumstances, can form a sequence. When
Halliday & Matthiessen (1999: Chapter 3) discuss the natural logic of sequences, they
give an account of the relationships of expansion and projection which, as we have seen,
also form the basis for the lexicogrammatical account given in Halliday (1994a). Certainly,
on reading the new account, the reader has the impression that the semantic aspects are
being foregrounded, but the relationship between the 1999 and 1994 accounts is never
made fully explicit. It appears to be suggested that some categories are recognised on both
levels. For instance, in a discussion of temporal sequences, we find the following:
From this we could derive a wide range of more complex enhancing relations: variations on the simple temporal sequence (after, before, at the same time, immediately
after, &c.) and further circumstances such as cause, condition, concession, and their
subcategories. We shall not try to enumerate these here; they are familiar as categories
at the level of lexicogrammar . . . (Halliday & Matthiessen 1999: 117)
These categories at the level of lexicogrammar are to be found, say the authors, in
Halliday (1985a: Chapter 7) and in Matthiessen (1995a: Chapter 3). So are categories such
as enhancement and their sub-categories intended to be semantic, lexicogrammatical or
both? Their designation as logico-semantic categories in IFG suggests they may indeed
belong at the upper level.
Interestingly, although logico-semantic relations are discussed as organising principles for sequences, the parataxis/hypotaxis distinction is not. Are these, then, to be seen as
lexicogrammatical? The following might be taken to suggest that this is the case:
Relations of expansion are typically realized in the grammar by conjunctions or conjunctive expressions linking a pair of clauses, either paratactically or hypotactically . . .
(Halliday & Matthiessen 1999: 118)
But remember that taxis and logico-semantic relations are presented as cross-cutting categories, with the implication of being at the same level, in IFG. And this seems reasonable:
whether a secondary clause is presented as of equal status or as dependent is surely no less
a semantic matter than whether the relationship is one of expansion or of projection. The
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
following quotation from Halliday & Matthiessens review of modes of meaning suggests
that at this point, they are indeed seeing taxis as at the same level, though now as semantic:
Probably some such system of logical relationships between processes will be found in
all languages, though as always there is great variation in the formal resources that are
deployed, and also in the systematic semantic organization of the relationships themselves. In English, and many other languages, the grammar makes a systematic distinction in the relative status that is accorded to the two processes entering into such a
logical nexus. Either the two are construed as being equal in status, or one is construed
as being dependent on the other. In principle, any particular type of expansion or projection can be interpreted in either way, either as paratactic or as hypotactic; but in
fact there is some degree of partial association: . . . (Halliday & Matthiessen 1999: 521)
The construction of this passage could be taken as indicating that the relative status signalled by the grammar of English and many other languages is part of the systematic
semantic organisation of the relationships.
In the days when it was simply being claimed that the lexicogrammar was itself pushed
towards the semantics, this indeterminacy could have been seen as part of the indeterminacy of the level of patterning itself, but now that we have a model with an upper semantic
and a lower lexicogrammatical level, we need not only to be persuaded of the justification
for such an evidently extravagant account, but also to know exactly what belongs where.
.. Complex sentences in the Cardiff grammar

I had occasion in Part 1 to mention major differences between the Sydney and Cardiff
grammars in relation to the analysis of complex sentences. In 7.6 we saw that while
Halliday treats constructions such as want to + infinitive, try to + infinitive, keep + -ing
form of verb, as verbal group complexes, the infinitive or participle is considered in the
Cardiff grammar to belong to a non-finite clause acting as Complement to want/try/keep.
In 8.3.2.4 we found that the that-clause which can occur after verbs such as know is regarded in the Cardiff grammar as a Complement of the verb, whereas we have seen that
Halliday treats it as a separate, hypotactically related clause. The Cardiff reanalysis exemplifies a crucially important general difference between the two versions of SFG, which
I commented on briefly in 5.7 of Part 1: in the latest incarnation of the Cardiff model,
the concept of rank is dispensed with, there being no general expectation that elements
of a particular unit (for example, a clause) will be filled by units of the rank of unit
next below (in this case, group). Embedding, rather than being heavily restricted as in
Hallidays grammar, is seen as one of the main sources of complexity in language, and
is taken to include not only complement that-clauses, but also clauses acting as Adjuncts
in the structure of other clauses (again treated by Halliday as hypotactic), and relative
clauses. The Cardiff analysis thus avoids the criticisms of Hallidays position on hypotaxis
and embedding made in Huddlestons review.
Let us examine in a little more detail the complementation of verbs such as know.
Consider the following:
(434) . . . he knows Spanish. (BNC HGH 192)

(435) He knew that his master must have paid dearly for such a magnificent beast . . .
(BNC C98 434)
As we saw earlier, under the Hallidayan view, Spanish in (434) is the Complement of knows,
and acts as Phenomenon in the mental process clause; but the that-clause in (435) is a
separate, hypotactically-related clause, rather than constituting a participant in the mental
process clause itself. For Fawcett, on the other hand, both are Complements (since both
are predicted by know), and both represent a Participant Role in the mental process clause
(Fawcett 1996: 309).
The system network for transitivity in mental process clauses (see 8.3.2.4.1 of Part 1)
includes features which label the underlying semantics of knowing that something is the
case (as in (435)), knowing when/where/why/how something happened, knowing whether
it happened, and so on. Each of the options concerned with a dependent situation as
Phenomenon has an associated realisation rule which gives preferences for the preselection
of features in the dependence network, which specifies the options within the internal
structure of the dependent clause. Because it is a separate network, entry to which can
be controlled by combinations of features from any other relevant part of the semantics,
it can be used to handle not only the structure of Complement clauses, but also those of
other types of dependent clause, such as relative clauses, adverbial clauses, etc. The effect of
this mechanism is to show how a wide range of types of meaning can be realised through
just a few distinctions in the internal make-up of dependent clauses.
The features in the dependence network specify, for example, whether the dependent
situation is simply a propositional situation (i.e. that something is the case), a relative
situation (corresponding to a relative clause), a situation with polarity sought (if/whether
something is the case), and so on. The attached realisation rules then specify, for instance,
that a [propositional situation], if [overt], is realised through the complementiser that,
and if [covert] by a zero complementiser; a [situation with role sought] is realised by a
clause with whether (if the tenor of interaction is specified as formal) or if (where the
tenor is informal), and so on. This network, together with its associated realisation rules,
would thus deal with the complementiser structures of the clauses in bold type in the
following examples:
(436) Everyone knows that both sexes work with horses . . . (BNC ASH 143)
(437) Everyone knows he is not as good as The Smiths were . . . (BNC AT1 2080)
(438) I also asked whether he would be giving his information to the police . . .
(BNC ASN 2924)
(439) . . . he asked if he might come too. (BNC ASC 1237)
(440) Now it is not my intention here to criticise any particular type of food or the individual who wishes to consume it. (BNC AYK 33)
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
In this final section, I shall compare the treatment of complex sentences in FG, RRG and
the Sydney and Cardiff versions of SFG, under three main headings: the units involved
in complexing, in relation to the layered structure of clauses; the nature of the relationships between the units; and the relationships between semantics and syntax in this area.
Matters relating to language typology will emerge along the way. The chapter ends with a
description of four example sentences in terms of each approach.
..
Units and layering in complex sentences

The accounts of complex sentences in FG and RRG, in particular, are very closely bound
up with the underlying structures proposed for the clause in the two theories. We have seen
that FG makes distinctions, within structures involving complex terms, according to the
level in the underlying structure of the clause at which the embedded complement functions: some predicates, such as say and ask (whether/if), require their second argument to
refer to a speech act, and so take embedded clausal terms; others, such as believe, persuade,
know, take embedded propositional terms; yet others, such as request, ask (someone to do
something), force (someone to do something), manage (to do something), are claimed to take
predicational terms; some types of predicate (e.g. perception verbs such as see) can take
either propositional or predicational terms, depending on the meaning.
The account of complex sentences in RRG is also crucially dependent on the conception of underlying clause structure in the theory. We have seen that three main kinds
of juncture are proposed, in which the units combined correspond to the hierarchically
arranged components of the layered syntactic structure of the clause: clause, core and
nucleus. A further, minor type of juncture involves the highest syntactic unit, the sentence.
The fact that mainstream FG has no explicitly syntactic level of description complicates the search for parallels between the FG account of complex sentences and what is
accounted for in RRG in terms of nexus type. Furthermore, we saw in 6.2.1.1.1 of Part
1 (see especially Table 6.1) that although the semantic predicate in FG corresponds to the
(semantic) predicate and to the (syntactic) nucleus in RRG, there is no one-to-one correspondence between the RRG core and any of the semantic units of FG: the RRG core
consists of the FG predicate and arguments, but also certain elements which would be
treated as satellites in FG. We might therefore expect to find some parallels between FG
clause combining and RRG clausal junctures, and between FG predicate combining and
RRG nuclear junctures, but we would predict that FG would have no unified treatment of
the phenomena which fall under core juncture in RRG. Let us follow up this suggestion in
a little more detail.
Table 3.5. Clausal junctures in RRG and their analysis in FG and SFG
Example
RRG analysis
FG analysis
Sydney SFG analysis
His face collapsed with relief,

and then he took her arm
again. (BNC AN7 3643)
I persuaded him that we
should go away together, . . .
(BNC G2V 1459)
The conditional bail had
been granted after she had
been arrested for shouting
scab at working miners.
(BNC ASB 1677)
. . . the landlord came up
again shouting abuse
through the door.
(BNC HH5 313)
Bandeira walked to a chair
and sat down in it.
(BNC APY 2694)
Clausal
coordination
Coordination of full
finite clauses
Clausal
subordination
Embedding of
propositional complex
term
Embedding of finite
clause as satellite
Paratactic
enhancement,
temporal
Hypotactic projection,
proposal
Clausal
subordination
Hypotactic
enhancement,
temporal
Clausal
cosubordination
Embedding of
non-finite clause as
satellite
Hypotactic extension,
additive
Clausal
cosubordination
Coordination of finite
clauses with zero
anaphora
Paratactic extension
As expected, all the types of clausal junctures in RRG discussed in 3.3.3.1 are dealt
with in terms of relationships between clauses in FG, as can be seen from Table 3.5.69 However, the table also demonstrates that complex sentences falling under the clausal juncture
type in RRG are not given a unitary treatment in terms of the underlying structure of the
clause in FG: the FG analyses range from coordination of full finite clauses, with or without zero anaphora in the second conjunct, through the embedding of propositional terms,
to the embedding of finite or non-finite clauses as satellites.
Let us, then, see whether we can find any closer parallels at the level of the FG predicate and RRG nucleus. In 3.2.2.3, we came across examples in which Dik (1997b: 211)
postulates coordination of two predicates into a complex which behaves like a single predicate. Dik gives examples with go and get (for a similar example, see example (21), given
earlier) and try and explain ((441) below). Dik points to restrictions on such constructions, such as the lack of independent tense choice and the non-negatability of the second
predicate, as evidence for the unity of the complex predicate.
(441) (= Diks (86b), 1997b: 210) Ill try and explain the rules to you.
It is, however, not clear how this would be analysed in RRG (recall from 3.3.3.3.3 that
English is regarded as having only one kind of nuclear juncture, the cosubordination type
illustrated by examples such as make + intransitive predicate). Note also that the semantic
relationship between the predicates seems to differ in the two examples from Dik: go and
. For now, I shall deal only with the FG and RRG columns of this table and the next; the SFG column will
be discussed later.
Complex sentences
Chapter 3
Table 3.6. Core junctures in RRG and their analysis in FG and SFG
Example
RRG analysis
. . . she must tell him to

Core coordination
leave, . . . (BNC CKD 1234)
FG analysis
Sydney SFG analysis
Embedding of
predicational complex
term
Embedding of
predicational complex
term
Hypotactic projection,
proposal
. . . you can watch a

Core coordination
Seminole Indian wrestle an
alligator . . .
(BNC AL3 1455)
. . . she resented his breaking Core subordination Embedded
the mood. (BNC H8X 2405)
nominalisation
Embedded clause as
nominalisation (act),
related to expansion
Embedded clause as
nominalisation (act),
related to expansion
That it came to this shows Core subordination Embedded finite clause Projected clause as fact
how involved Priestley was
with Subject function
in the religious disputes
and politics of his day.
(BNC B71 1363)
He must try not to faint . . . Core
Embedding of
Single clause with
(BNC B20 2160)
cosubordination
predicational complex hypotactic verbal group
term
complex (conation)
One can sit leafing through Core
Embedded non-finite
Hypotactic extension,
glossy English magazines, . . . cosubordination
clause as satellite
additive
(BNC AHK 1788)
get is close in meaning to go (in order) to get, and while try and explain is near to try to
explain, this is not a purposive relationship.
Let us turn now to core junctures in RRG. The examples discussed in 3.3.3.2 are given
in Table 3.6, and reanalysed in FG terms. All the FG analyses involve embedding, but as
with analogues to the clausal junctures of RRG, the nature of what is embedded varies
widely, and there is no consistent distinction which marks off all the examples in Table 3.6
from those in 3.5. It seems, then, that FG does not recognise a class of constructions which
is parallel to the core junctures of RRG.
We must conclude, then, that because of the different natures of the proposed layered clause structures in FG and RRG, the two theories give quite disparate accounts of
relationships within complex sentences, as far as the nature of the combining units is
concerned.
In SFG, we have a model of underlying clause structure which differs even more from
those of FG and RRG than these do from each other. The recognition of several strands of
functional structure in the clause is certainly reflected in the Sydney account of the clause
complex: we have seen that Halliday regards the relationships of clauses in complexes as
constituting part of the logical (sub)function of the grammar. This, however, is a blanket
categorisation of the whole set of possible relationships within clause complexes, rather
than differentiating the various types, as is the case with the layered clause structures of
FG and RRG.
We can, however, find a role for other metafunctions within Hallidays account of the
clause complex. Recall from 3.4.1.4.3.3 that within the area of projection by verbal and
mental processes, Halliday distinguishes between the projection of propositions (statements and questions) and of proposals (offers and commands), these being categories at
the interpersonal level. I also noted in 2.4.1.2.5 and 3.4.1.3 that clauses within hypotactic clause complexes can occur in different orders, this constituting a kind of thematic
patterning, at the textual level.
.. The nature of the relationships between the units

The classifications of examples given in Tables 3.5 and 3.6 remind us that the proposed
categories of relationship between the units involved in complex sentences also differ considerably in the three theories: FG uses the categories of coordination and embedding;70
RRG those of coordination, subordination and cosubordination; the Sydney version of
SFG recognises, in addition to embedding, relationships of parataxis and hypotaxis, as
well as the logico-semantic relationships of expansion (with subtypes) and projection;
and the Cardiff grammar works with coordination and embedding. From this brief summary, it seems that the closest parallels may be between FG and the Cardiff grammar, so
this time I shall start with a comparison of FG and SFG.
Both the Sydney and Cardiff versions of SFG recognise relationships which are parallel to the coordination category of FG: the Cardiff grammar actually calls it coordination,
while Halliday factorises out the components of parataxis and types of expansion. As we
saw in 3.4.2, there is a much more extensive role for embedding in the Cardiff grammar
than in the Sydney version. Adverbial clauses, rather than being hypotactically related to
the main clause as in the Sydney grammar, are treated as embedded in Adjunct positions
in the clause, and this is precisely analogous to the embedding of clauses to satellite positions in FG. Furthermore, the treatment of complement clauses is broadly similar in
the Cardiff and FG accounts, in that they are again seen as embedded, rather than hypotactically related as in the Sydney grammar. Both versions of SFG coincide with FG
in treating restrictive relative clauses as embedded.71 The situation with regard to nonrestrictive relative clauses is rather more complicated. We saw in 3.2.3.3 that a number of
proposals have been made within FG: Dik (1997b) proposes that non-restrictive relatives
should be analysed as parenthetically adjoined open clauses attached to complete terms;
Hannay & Vester (1987) propose a combination of core and non-core predications; while
van der Auwera (1990) modifies slightly the version on which Diks account is based in
order to answer some of Hannay & Vesters criticisms of this version. All, however, agree
that non-restrictive modifiers, though attached to the term they modify, should be given
. Though we shall see shortly that cosubordination, in the RRG sense, has been discussed in relation to
FG by van der Auwera (1997).
. McGregors Semiotic Grammar, however, departs from the systemic framework from which it originated, in analysing restrictive relatives as dependent, within the logical semiotic, on nominal units within
other clauses (see McGregor 1997: 198199).
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
an analysis different from that of restrictive modifiers. The Sydney SFG account of nonrestrictive relative clauses (3.4.1.4.2.1) not only proposes that these clauses should be
given a quite different status from the restrictive type (being treated in terms of hypotactic
elaboration rather than as embedding within a nominal group), but also that they relate
not to the nominal group itself, but to the whole of the main clause. We have seen that
there are various problems with this latter claim. The Cardiff grammar treats both restrictive and non-restrictive relatives as embedded within the nominal group, but recognises
the semantic distinction between them, and also the realisational differences in terms of
intonation and punctuation.
There is clearly nothing in FG (or, indeed, in RRG) which parallels the Sydney logicosemantic relations of expansion and projection but then, these categories have no place
in the Cardiff version of SFG either. This is one of the considerable number of points at
which the Cardiff grammar is more similar to FG and RRG than to the Sydney grammar,
and it clearly reflects the rather different priorities involved: Hallidays grammar is always
oriented towards what the speaker or writer is doing in the discourse (in this case, expanding on a previous meaning, projecting one meaning through another, etc.); the Cardiff
grammar, like FG and RRG, gives an account of the semantics which is more oriented to
the effects on formal realisation than to the contribution made to the discourse.72
Turning now to RRG in relation to the other two theories, it is crucial to emphasise
that the term coordination in this theory refers to a purely abstract relation at the level of
juncture, defined in terms of the equivalence and independence of the related units. Van
Valin & LaPolla (1997: 454) emphasise the importance of distinguishing between coordination, as an abstract relationship, and conjunction, a formal construction of the general
form X conjunction Y. This formal construction type can realise the abstract relation of
coordination, as in the first example in Table 3.5, but also that of cosubordination, as in
the last example in that table. It is hardly surprising, then, that RRG treats as coordination
relationships which would not be so categorised in either FG or SFG (see, for instance, the
first and second examples in Table 3.6).
The most innovative aspect of the RRG nexus relations, of course, is the recognition
of the category of cosubordination, intermediate between coordination and subordination. Table 3.7 is a reminder of the properties of these three types of nexus. As we saw
earlier, this proposal derives from work on switch-reference and serial verb constructions
in Papuan languages, and reflects the importance given in RRG to the study of a very wide
range of languages, in the pursuit of typological adequacy. Given the relatively low priority
accorded to typological matters in the development of SFG, we would perhaps not expect
systemicists to focus attention on the kinds of construction which most clearly call for a
proposal of the RRG type. We might, however, expect that the considerable emphasis on
typological adequacy in FG would lead to serious consideration of such matters, and indeed van der Auwera (1997) has discussed how the phenomena analysed in RRG in terms
of cosubordination might be handled in FG.
. This is not to say, however, that discourse structure is neglected in the Cardiff model see Chapter 4.
Table 3.7. Properties of the three nexus types in RRG

Nexus type
Properties
Coordination
Independent
Dependent
Subordination
Cosubordination
+
Structural
dependence
Operator
dependence
+
+
Van der Auwera (1997: 5) notes that there have been occasional references to the RRG
concept of cosubordination in the FG literature: de Vries (1992) agrees with the RRG view
on serial verb constructions, and Hengeveld (1989) also mentions the RRG work. Van der
Auweras own starting point is the definition of cosubordination in terms of units which
are dependent but not embedded. He argues that the extraclausal constituents discussed
in FG conform to such a definition, and furthermore, that we can find other constructions
(e.g. correlative and extraposed structures) which fit the definition and yet have not been
considered as extraclausal constituents. With regard to the Papuan type of cosubordination, he argues that in FG terms, the units so joined can be either Level 4 (clausal) or Level
2 (predicational) entities. He also claims that the relationship between the main and cosubordinate clause is, in FG, coordinative, in that it expresses what English expresses with
the conjunction and (1997: 19): this, however, is to fall into the error which Van Valin &
LaPolla have warned us against, viz. that of equating the abstract relation of coordination
with the formal construction type of conjunction.
The RRG concept of cosubordination is also mentioned in the SFG literature: Martin
(1988: 241) suggests that the three-way distinction proposed by Olson (1981), on which
the RRG scheme is based, is partly parallel to the SFG distinction of parataxis, hypotaxis
and embedding. Martin goes on to point out that the embedding interpretation of what in
Sydney SFG is treated as hypotaxis is favoured by an approach from the experiential metafunction, where structures are organised in terms of constituency, while the hypotactic
interpretation itself is favoured by the dependency structuring characteristic of the logical
function. He points out that the two approaches are combined in Hallidays analysis of
the nominal group, and that such an analysis could be extended to the clause complex if
reasons were found for not wanting to draw too sharp a line between the hypotaxis and
embedding solutions (p. 243). He compares this situation to that in RRG, where cosubordination is characterised in terms of dependence (cf. logical function) but no embedding
(cf. experiential function), and subordination as both embedding and dependence. Unfortunately, he does not pursue the comparison any further. The discussion and examples
presented earlier in this chapter in fact show that any parallels which can be drawn are far
from exact. In 3.3.3.1.3 I looked at one example (155) of clausal cosubordination in RRG
which would clearly be analysed as hypotactic and another (156) which would be paratactic in SFG. Furthermore, clausal subordination (with embedding) in RRG, as in example
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
(146), would be treated as hypotaxis in SFG. The SFG classification simply does not make
the same kinds of distinction as the RRG one.
Finally, it is of interest, in relation to the issue of embedding vs. hypotaxis, to note that
in a typological study of speech reports in 40 languages representing all phyla, de Roeck
(1994) concludes that there is a great deal of linguistic variation in behaviour regarding the
complement status and embedding of speech reports, and that there was no clear dividing
line between direct and indirect reports. However, the number of languages in the sample
where speech reports showed clear signs of embedding was far smaller than the number
in which such constructions appeared to be paratactic or hypotactic.
.. The relationship between syntax and semantics in complex sentences

We saw throughout 3.2 that Diks account of complex sentences has a dual perspective:
consistently with the rest of the theory, the underlying semantics is emphasised, but due
attention is also given to the formal realisation of the various types across a diverse range
of languages, and typologically relevant generalisations are made about word order, structural types of embedded construction, and so on. We have also seen that correlations between position in the lexical hierarchy and the availability of different complementation
types have been proposed within the Functional Lexematic Model. However, FG practitioners have not so far presented a systematic account of the expression rules linking
underlying semantics and surface syntax for complex constructions. In this respect, the
RRG account of this area offers a considerable advance, in that detailed algorithms are
proposed for linkage from semantics to syntax and vice versa, distinguishing those steps
which appear to be the same across a diverse range of languages from those which are
language-dependent. Furthermore, explicit predictions are made, within RRG, about the
relationships between semantically and syntactically-based hierarchies of relationships in
complex sentences.
With regard to SFG, as pointed out in 3.4.1.7.4, we have two types of account of the
clause complex. That presented in Halliday (1994a) appears to situate distinctions of taxis
and of logico-semantic relations within a lexicogrammar which is itself oriented towards
the semantics, while that discussed in Halliday & Matthiessen (1999) proposes an account
of logico-semantic relations at a higher, explicitly semantic level, the relationships between
the two accounts remaining unclear.
In the Cardiff grammar we have a very detailed set of systemic networks and realisation rules for one part of the area of complex sentences, that of complementation with
mental process verbs of cognition, giving explicit rules not only for the paradigmatic organisation of meaning in this area, but also for the realisation of the meanings at the
level of form.
.. Some final examples

In order to emphasise some of the differences alluded to above, I shall end this chapter by
looking briefly at how two further pairs of examples would be handled in FG, RRG, and
the Sydney and Cardiff versions of SFG. First, consider (442) and (443).
(442) Toby was persuading a buxom young waitress to bring him a bottle of champagne
from the supper room. (BNC ANL 3905)
(443) They must also persuade local officials that they, too, must be involved . . .
(BNC ALF 402)
In FG, (442) is analysed in terms of the predicate persuade taking a predicational complex term: the persuading involves a State of Affairs, i.e. bringing him a bottle of champagne from the supper room. In (443), on the other hand, the predicate takes a propositional complex term: (that) they too must be involved is something which is presented as
an arguable claim.
The two examples also receive different analyses in RRG. (442) is an instance of core
coordination: the relationship is between the two cores Toby was persuading a buxom young
waitress and bring him a bottle of champagne from the supper room; furthermore, a deontic
modal operator, acting at the core level, modifies only persuade, not the second core, in a
sentence such as Toby was having to persuade the waitress to bring him a bottle of champagne,
showing that we are dealing here with coordination of the cores, not cosubordination,
which would require deontic modification of the whole, complex core. (443), on the other
hand, is an example of clausal subordination.
In SFG, however, no distinction is made between the the types of clause combining
in the two examples, both having a hypotactically related clause of projection involving a
proposal, though obviously the difference in finiteness between the two dependent clauses
would be recognised. I am also unable to find any distinction between the two types in
the underlying networks provided by Matthiessen (1995a), though this could, of course,
be a matter of the delicacy to which the description has so far been pursued. In the Cardiff
grammar, both examples would involve embedding of the complement clauses and again,
to my knowledge, no relevant systemic distinction has yet been published, though one
would in principle expect such a distinction, on a par with those for cognition verbs,
when networks are elaborated for this part of the semantics.
Now let us look at examples (444) and (445).
(444) I was going with someone and he was going with someone . . . (BNC AP0 1334)
(445) She was in a coma at first, and then she suffered complications because her blood
pressure became unstable. (BNC AS0 1140)
FG, RRG and the Cardiff grammar would analyse both examples in terms of clausal coordination. The Sydney grammar, however, allows a more delicate analysis, since although
both show the relation of paratactic expansion, (444) is an instance of extension, while
(445), because of the explicit indication of sequence (then), is analysed as enhancement.
Chapter 3
Complex sentences
Such examples serve to emphasise the important general point that while FG and RRG
make more use of their model of layering (predication vs. proposition, core vs. clause) in
their analysis of complex sentences, and pay more attention to matters such as scoping,
Sydney SFG prioritises the detailed analysis of types of meaning relationship, seeing these
as part of what the speaker or writer is achieving within the discourse.
Chapter 4
Introduction
In Chapter 1 of Part 1, it was argued that since we do not normally communicate through
the utterance of single sentences, a truly functional theory of language, which places the
communicative properties of language centre stage, cannot limit itself to the study of the
sentence and its parts, but must also have a model of discourse. It is with this aspect of
linguistic patterning that the present chapter is concerned.
In any discussion of discourse phenomena, we come up against the problem of defining terms, the main difficulties being the meaning(s) of the term discourse itself, and the
relationship(s) between discourse and text. This is not the place to go into a detailed discussion of this complex area, and in any case some of the issues will emerge again during
later discussion, so that I do not want to prejudge them here. It would, however, be as well
to establish preliminary working definitions at this point.
One view simply treats discourse and text as alternative terms with the same meaning. The following quotation appears at the beginning of a chapter on the processing of
discourse from a textbook on psycholinguistics.
Discourse refers to a lengthy discussion of a subject, either written or spoken (American Heritage Dictionary, p. 376), and text is defined as any passage, spoken or written, of whatever length, that does form a unified whole (Halliday & Hasan, 1976,
p. 1). Thus, the two terms are synonymous. (McCabe 1998: 277)
We shall see later that McCabe is wrong to equate Hallidays conception of text with the
dictionary definition of discourse she quotes, but from our present of view, the important
point is that she regards the two terms as equivalent. This is not uncommon in the literature: for instance, Halliday (1994a: 366) himself appears to equate text linguistics with
the study of discourse, and Chafe (1992a: 356), while recognising that the terms are used
in various ways in the literature, states that [b]oth terms may refer to a unit of language
larger than the sentence: one may speak of a discourse or a text.
These views are noted by Seidlhofer & Widdowson (1999: 205) who, however, themselves argue that it is misleading to treat the terms text and discourse as synonymous. For
these authors, [d]iscourse [. . . ] is the process of conceptual formulation whereby we draw
on our linguistic resources to make sense of reality, and text is the linguistic product
of a discourse process (1999: 206). The discourse process, then, is a dynamic, constantly
changing activity in which communicating language users are engaged, each of these users
operating within a context which is an internal construct of concepts, continually modified as individuals relate to the world and to their interlocutors. Text, in this model, can
be seen as a very imperfect and at times unreliable trace of what happens during such a
discourse process, and as Seidlhofer & Widdowson observe, establishing solid grounds for
relating the text to the discourse is a key problem of discourse analysis.1
Seidlhofer & Widdowsons discussion raises several other issues. One such issue is the
relationship between static and dynamic perspectives. Discourse, as they see it, is clearly
a dynamic process, and a text can be viewed as the static product of such a process. We
shall see later that both static (or synoptic) and dynamic approaches have found a place
in systemic functional accounts. The question of medium is also relevant here: Halliday,
for instance, comments as follows:
The process/product distinction is a relevant one for linguistics because it corresponds
to that between our experience of speech and our experience of writing: writing exists, whereas speech happens. A written text is presented to us as product; we attend to it as product, and become aware of its process aspect as a writer but not
as reader or analyst, unless we consciously focus on the activities which led to its
production. Spoken language on the other hand is presented to us as process; . . .
(Halliday 1994a: xxiixxiii)
This aspect has led, in the work of some writers, to a usage in which discourse is confined
to the spoken language, text to the written mode, though Halliday himself does not follow
this usage, and neither shall I.
A further issue is the relationship between the text and the sentence. Seidlhofer &
Widdowson (1999: 207) point out that under their definition, a text does not necessarily
consist of more than one sentence: indeed, a single word (e.g. PRIVATE) or even a single
letter (e.g. P indicating a parking place) can constitute a text in the sense of the record of
a discourse process.
The text/sentence dichotomy also surfaces in discussion of text linguistics (or discourse analysis, depending on the orientation of the writer) in relation to sentence linguistics. Cook comments:
We have, then, two approaches to language: sentence linguistics and discourse analysis. It is not a question of setting these two up as irreconcilable enemies, trying to make
one a hero and the other a villain, for both have an invaluable contribution to make to
the understanding of language, and both ultimately need each other. The distinction,
though convenient for us at the moment, is not absolute, and just as we cannot com. See also Cornish (2002: 472), who defines discourse as the hierarchically structured, situated sequence
of utterance, indexical, and illocutionary acts carried out in pursuance of some communicative goal, as
integrated within a given context, while text is the connected sequence of verbal signs and nonverbal signals
in terms of which discourse is coconstructed by the participants in the act of communication.
Chapter 4
municate with only the rules of semantics and grammar, so we just as surely cannot
communicate very well without them. (Cook 1989: 12, emphasis in original)
Cook goes on to contrast the two approaches in terms of a set of differences between the
data they use: the data of sentence linguistics is isolated, grammatically well-formed sentences, decontextualised and often invented or at least idealised; the data of discourse analysis, on the other hand, consists of observed stretches of language which achieve meaning
in context, and which are perceived as constituting some kind of unity.
In what follows, I shall, of course, respect the usage of the authors whose work I am describing, even where this leads to some indeterminacy. However, I shall attempt in my own
discussion to use the term discourse consistently, in three ways,2 Firstly, as an uncountable
noun, it refers to the ongoing negotiation of meanings in an interaction including the
interaction between writer and intended reader which we can take to underlie the process
of writing. Secondly, again as an uncountable, it refers to the area of a linguistic theory
(which may, but need not, be a separate component or level) in which the discourse process and/or its imperfect reflection in text is handled. Thirdly, as a count noun, it can be
used to refer to a particular bounded speech event: as Werth (1999: 1) puts it, a discourse
is a complete language event, i.e. one with a perceived beginning and end. The term text,
as has just been implied, will be used, as in the work of Seidlhofer & Widdowson, to refer to the written or spoken trace (not necessarily multi-propositional) of the discourse
process which we can record and analyse, either simply to investigate language use (e.g. in
corpus analysis), or in an attempt to reconstruct (aspects of) the discourse it partially represents. It can thus be used as either a count noun (we can speak of a text as the record of
a discourse) or as a mass noun (text as referring generically to the record of discourse).
In conformity with the overall orientation of the present work, discourse and text will
be viewed here primarily in relation to the resources of the (sentence) grammar: that
is, I shall give an account of this area which is slanted towards the interface between the
sentence grammar (i.e. the form and meaning of sentences and their parts) and discourse.
This is not to say, of course, that the model of discourse and/or text proposed should necessarily be merely a continuation of the grammar upwards, though this is, as we shall see,
one of the possibilities. Rather, what is excluded from the present perspective is any account of discourse which is not explicitly and firmly related to the grammatical and lexical
resources on which the organisation of discourse must ultimately depend. This means, for
example, that any work which, although inspired by Systemic Functional linguistics, pays
little attention to the grounding of discourse and text in the grammar itself, will be taken
to lie beyond the scope of the present account. Nevertheless, because of the long history
of work on text and context by systemic linguists, discussion of this work will inevitably
occupy a very large proportion of this chapter.
There is one more terminological issue which should be mentioned before I embark
on an exploration of our three theories in relation to matters of discourse and text. In
. This systematic ambiguity will not, I hope, present problems to the reader, since the co-text of use should
clearly indicate which sense is intended.
many (perhaps most) models, a close relationship is assumed between an often undefined concept of discourse and that of pragmatics. Brown & Yule, for instance, comment
as follows:
Any analytic approach in linguistics which involves contextual considerations, necessarily belongs to that area of language study called pragmatics. Doing discourse
analysis certainly involves doing syntax and semantics, but it primarily consists of
doing pragmatics. (Brown & Yule 1983: 26)
It is frequent to find the term discourse pragmatic(s) referring to a range of phenomena

which, depending on the approach concerned, may or may not be regarded as falling outside the scope of the grammar. I shall retain this term where it is used within the theory
under discussion at the time.
I have, of course, already discussed a number of concepts, such as those involved in
the analysis of information structuring and illocution, which are of the greatest relevance
in the construction of discourse and so in the textual records of discourses: indeed, the
subtitle of this volume was chosen in order to emphasise the close relationships between
grammar and discourse. This chapter, while referring back to previously analysed ideas
at the beginning of each major section, will concentrate on certain additional aspects of
discourse and text.
Discourse, text and context in Functional Grammar
.. Introduction
In view of the line taken by Dik in most of his writings, it is not surprising that in the years
since the publication of the first major exposition of FG, most work in this framework has
been concerned with semantic and morpho-syntactic issues. There has, however, always
been a section of the FG community whose interests extended into matters concerned
with text. The growing importance of pragmatics and discourse within the theory was
recognised at the 5th International Conference on Functional Grammar, held in Antwerp
in 1992, and it was decided that the 6th International Conference, held in York in 1994,
should take as its main theme Discourse and pragmatics in Functional Grammar. A collection of papers from that conference, under the same title, gives a good idea of the kinds
of work which began to appear in these areas (Connolly et al. 1997). This collection is
mentioned at the very end of the final chapter of Dik (1997b), which reflects Diks own
recognition of the importance of discourse for FG.
It is possible, at the risk of oversimplifying a complex picture, to discern several
strands in FG approaches to issues relating to texts and their underlying discourses.
The work of Classical scholars in Amsterdam, prominent among whom are Bolkestein,
Kroon and Risselada, has made major contributions to the study of textual phenomena in Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek. The discourse-related work of Bolkestein,
largely in relation to Latin, goes back to the early years of the development of FG.
Chapter 4
Recurrent themes include: cohesion (see e.g. Bolkestein 1985, 1986); the discourse
functions of subordination and embedding (e.g. 1987, 1991a); pragmatic functions
of word order (e.g. 1995, 1996); anaphora and participant tracking (e.g. Bolkestein
1992b; Bolkestein & van de Grift 1994). Bolkesteins work always attempted to push
forward what she saw as an important and attractive feature of Diks functional theorising, . . . to reconcile the potential advantages of a more formal approach with the
ideals of functionalism (Bolkestein 1991b: 109). Kroons work on discourse has been
largely in the area of connectives and particles in Latin texts (see Kroon 1994, 1995,
1997), while Risseladas contribution, again chiefly in relation to Latin, is mainly in
the textual study of illocution, as we saw in Chapter 1.
As we saw in Chapter 2, the work of Mackenzie, Hannay and Keizer, separately or
together, has considerably expanded the FG treatment of pragmatic phenomena in
relation to English texts, especially in the areas of Topic and Focus, nominalisation,
existential constructions and reference. The work of Downing and of Martnez Caro
on information distribution in English and Spanish was also mentioned in Chapter
2, as was the work of de Vries on the function of Topic and Focus in the Papuan
languages Wambon and Kombai.
The work of Nuyts, leading to his Functional Procedural model, was outlined in 3.6
of Part 1 and has been mentioned at various points throughout our discussion.
We saw in 1.2.2.4.4 and 2.2.2.2.1 that recent work in FG has postulated a modular approach within a theory which is expanding to accommodate the need for an
account of discourse-related phenomena. Van den Berg (1998) proposes a tripartite
arrangement of grammatical, pragmatic and message modules, the last of these being
a rather more detailed version of the interface between grammatical and pragmatic
modules postulated by Vet (1998a). The central controlling module is the pragmatic
one, in accordance with Diks assertion that in FG the syntax is subservient to the semantics, and the semantics subservient to the pragmatics. Prez Hernndez & Ruiz
de Mendoza (2001) also propose a modular scheme, intended to increase the levels of pragmatic and psychological adequacy in FG, which builds in the concepts of
prototype and idealised cognitive model.
Both Dik (1997b) and Hengeveld (1997, forthcoming a, forthcoming b) have proposed expansions of the existing FG model to accommodate certain aspects of text
structure. Kroon (1997) has proposed an alternative model, which is in some ways
similar to that of Vet (1998a). Mackenzie (1998, 2000, forthcoming) proposes a model
(Incremental Functional Grammar) which seeks a compromise between the two types
of account.
Finally, recent contributions suggest that ideas from other approaches to discourse
and text are now finding their way into FG accounts.
In what follows, I shall concentrate on those aspects which have not been dealt with in
detail in earlier chapters.
.. A classification of approaches
Mackenzie (forthcoming) provides a useful classification of approaches to the relationship between grammar and discourse in FG. Firstly, there are approaches which model
grammar and discourse separately, but link them by means of an interface of some kind:
Mackenzie mentions Kroon (1997) and Vet (1998a) as examples, but we could also add
the models of Liedtke (1998) and van den Berg (1998). Secondly, we have attempts to
model discourse by analogy with the grammar: here, Mackenzie mentions the work of
Dik (1997b), Hengeveld (1997, forthcoming a) and Moutaouakil (forthcoming). Thirdly,
there are approaches which attempt to model the production of discourse, and concomitantly the expression of the clause, as a dynamic process which occurs in real time: Nuyts
FPG is clearly a forerunner here, and the recent work of Mackenzie (forthcoming) and
of Bakker & Siewierska (Bakker 1999, 2001; Bakker & Siewierska, forthcoming) also takes
this line.
In what follows, I shall expand slightly on Mackenzies classification to include, as a
fourth category, some recent approaches which attempt to reconcile the upward layering
accounts of Dik and of Hengeveld (1997) with the modular proposals of Kroon and Vet. I
deal first with Diks account and the early model of Hengeveld, which essentially attempt
to model the structures of discourse by analogy with those of the grammar, since these
are the basis for the reactions which followed. I shall then go on to look at the modular
approaches of Kroon and Vet. There follows a section on the various accounts which try
to integrate the approaches discussed so far, and here I shall include Hengevelds latest
proposals since, as we saw briefly in 3.7.1, these do involve an element of modularity as
well as analogies with grammatical organisation. Part of the motivation for Hengevelds
scheme is the aim of providing greater psychological adequacy for FG, and I shall end
by discussing recent work which prioritises this aspect by attempting to provide accounts
angled towards processing considerations.
A theme which will emerge frequently during the following discussion is the openness
of discourse-related work in FG to developments in other areas. An idea of this permeability can be obtained by scanning the index of names at the back of Connolly et al. (1997).
For instance, Gulla (1997) proposes a combination of FG with Rhetorical Structure Theory (Mann & Thompson 1987, 1988; see also 4.4.3.4.2 and 4.4.5.2) in the context of a
computational system which produces paragraphs of coherent text. Other major contributors to the study of discourse, such as Longacre, Keenan, Prince and Givn are also well
represented in the bibliography to this collection of articles.
.. Modelling discourse by analogy with grammar

... Diks model
Dik recognises the importance, for FG, of an account of (what he refers to as) discourse,
but is characteristically wary of the difficulties which such an account might pose:
. . . the theory of FG, if it is to live up to its self-imposed standards of adequacy, should
in the long run account for the functional grammar of discourse. In other words, it
Chapter 4
should show how clauses can be combined into coherent stretches of talk, conversation, or written text. At the same time, it is evident that this is a very high aim for
a theory of grammar to strive for, and that we have only the bare outlines of what a
theory of discourse should look like. (Dik 1997b: 409)
The first point of note here is the equation of the functional grammar of discourse with
how clauses can be combined into coherent stretches of talk, conversation or written text.
In other words, although Diks conception of discourse embraces both spoken and written
language, it appears to be limited to the study of clause combinations, so, at least implicitly,
ruling out single words or phrases which could, in the terms I defined earlier, be seen as
constituting whole texts.
His account, in Chapter 18 of TFG2, of the bare outlines referred to in the above
quotation builds on work concerned with the development of a modular model of the
natural language user (MNLU), for use in a computer implementation of FG, the ProfGlot system (Dik 1989b, 1992; see also 3.2.3 of Part 1). He first sets up a model of the
knowledge base which the user needs in discourse production (Dik 1987, 1989b: 1115,
1997b: 411412). Long-term knowledge is divided into linguistic (lexical, grammatical,
pragmatic) and non-linguistic, and short-term knowledge into situational and textual.
Non-linguistic long-term knowledge and textual short-term knowledge are split into three
types: referential (knowledge about entities), episodic (concerned with states of affairs in
which entities are involved), and general (rules and principles which apply in the real
world and in possible worlds). Such categories are clearly capable, in principle, of enabling
links to be made between linguistic form and both contextual and co-textual factors. Dik
himself comments:
In discourse production and interpretation each of these types of knowledge may play
a crucial role. Usually, many of these types of information interact in determining the
correct interpretation of a discourse, or the correct formulation of what the Speaker
is going to say. (Dik 1997b: 412)
Unfortunately, despite lip-service to an eventual synthesis within a modular framework,

contextual factors still remain, in Diks discourse framework, at the level of programmatic
suggestion and untried hypothesis.
Dik (1997b: 412413) proposes that as a discourse develops across time, the participants call upon their long-term knowledge, but also build up a short-term, partial and
dynamic mental representation of the discourse itself, which he terms a Discourse Model.
The role of co-textual information3 is recognised:
. . . later parts of the discourse may rely upon contextual information which has been
provided in the preceding context. Following context, however, also plays a crucial
role: each step in the discourse typically projects structure onto the discourse that is
yet to come; each move creates an expectation pattern about the further steps that are
yet to be taken. (1997b: 413)
. Dik himself uses the term contextual for what I have called co-textual information (that available within
the text itself).
Diks further discussion is organized in terms of three perspectives: global discourse decisions (1997b: 415422); the global structural patterns which can be seen in a discourse
seen as a finished product4 (pp. 422432); and the factors which make for coherence in
discourse (pp. 433441).
By global discourse decisions, Dik means:
. . . such settings as are relevant to the whole discourse or to one of its subparts, rather
than accidentally to the wording of a single clause. (1997b: 416)
The highest level of decision is whether to engage in a particular discourse event at all.
A discourse event, for Dik, is defined in similar terms to the speech event of Hymes
(1971/1972):
A discourse event is a social, interpersonal event defined by conventions and institutions regulating at least the following parameters [. . . ]:
(i) the participants (S(s) and A(s)) and their mutual relations.
(ii) the rights and duties of the participants, both with respect to interaction (who
may speak when and where?), and with respect to content (who can say what
when and where?)
(iii) the time and place and setting of speaking. (1997b: 416)
A further high level discourse choice is that of genre, defined according to parameters
of medium (spoken/written), participation (monologue/dialogue/polylogue), participant
relation (degree of directness, from face-to-face to the production and reception of a written text), formality, and communicative purpose (e.g. narrative/argumentative/aesthetic,
etc). Among the examples of genre listed by Dik are conversation, lecture, telephone call,
meeting, fairy tale.
The choice of genre constrains further aspects of the discourse: the style in which the
interaction occurs, the kind of discourse world which is created (e.g. a fictional world,
that of a dream, etc.), the default illocution (e.g. declarative for narratives, though the
default can of course be temporarily suspended), time specification decisions affecting
whole sequences of clauses, and the degree of topic continuity in the discourse.
Diks discussion of global structures in discourse ranges over the nature of discourse
structure, the units into which it may be divided, and the relations between these units.
The model proposed is one in which there are close parallels between the structure of discourse and that of the clause. Just as a clause has a hierarchical, layered type of underlying
structure, so does a discourse, this structure being constantly monitored by interactants
through markers of transitions between phases, features of form and meaning (e.g. tense)
which are characteristic of particular sections, and explicit metacommunicative elements
which refer to the hierarchical structure of the discourse itself. The higher level discourse
units are claimed to show functional layering of a similar type to that found in the clause: a
discourse event has an interpersonal layer, with interactional and attitudinal components,
. That is, a text, in our terms. I shall continue to use the term discourse since this is the term Dik uses
throughout.
Chapter 4
and a representational layer, concerned with organisation of content and the elements
which transmit that content. Thus Dik takes over for his description of discourse the labels
used by Hengeveld for levels within clause structure. Corresponding to these functional
layers are various strategies, of interaction management, attitude specification, discourse
organisation and discourse execution, which the speaker may use in order to create the
discourse. A further parallel between discourse and clause structures is that both are considered to involve recursion: for instance, sequences can contain (side)-sequences within
them, just as a clause can contain another clause.
Corresponding to the two functional layers are two sets of units, again hierarchically
arranged. At the interpersonal layer, individual speech acts, represented by single clauses
(either simple or complex) combine to form speech act sequences which show dependency relations; single speech acts or a sequence of them make up a turn, seen as one
stretch of language by the same speaker, and turns can again combine into sequences with
dependency between the turns. At the representational layer we have propositions and
predications in simple or complex clauses, which combine to form episodes (which may
have sub-episodes in them). The relationships between units of the two layers need not be
one-to-one, though Dik (p. 430) proposes that a turn sequence normally coincides with
an episode, such as establishing agreement on a dinner invitation.
The discourse can viewed not only from a structural viewpoint, but also in terms
of the functional relationships between units. Here, Dik appears to favour the correlation between rhetorical structures in discourse and the functional organisation of complex clauses, proposed by the Rhetorical Structure Theory account of Matthiessen &
Thompson (1988), mentioned in 3.4.1.7.1.1. When this approach is discussed in greater
detail in 4.4.3.4.2, we shall see that it proposes that clause combining in the grammar
arises from the grammaticalisation of rhetorical structures in discourse. Dik, however,
while appearing to consider himself in agreement with Matthiessen & Thompson, talks of
the projection of relations within the complex clause on to those of discourse, and this is,
as we have seen, just what his own model attempts to do. As Kwee (1999a: 31) observes,
Dik in fact clearly reverses the direction of the RST proposal.
Let us now turn to Diks discussion of discourse coherence.5 He believes that the same
linguistic devices are used to create coherence at both local and global levels, giving the
example of connectors, which can be used to join two clauses, or a clause and a higher
discourse unit.
One source of coherence can be captured through the notion of the frame, defined
as a structured mental representation of acceptable actions and speech events in relation
to a given institutional setting (Dik 1997b: 434). Frames can be concerned with structure
(e.g. the permissible number of lines, rhyme schemes, and so on, in a sonnet) or with content (e.g. what sorts of things can be said within the conventions of a love poem). Such
frames, which are assumed to be part of our long-term general knowledge, can be used to
. It is interesting to note that when introducing the concept of coherence, Dik gives references not only to
the work of Longacre, but also to that of Halliday and Hasan. As we shall see later, their work is actually
concerned primarily with linguistic resources used for cohesion, rather than with coherence as such.
evaluate the coherence of a discourse, or to create that coherence by means of inference. A

second source of coherence is iconic sequencing, for instance the placing in the discourse
of earlier events before later ones, causes before their effects, events before their results,
conditions before their consequents, or actions before their purposes. Also important in
establishing coherence is topic continuity, achieved by mechanisms including anaphoric
reference, syntactic parallelism, switch reference and obviation phenomena. Relationships
between Given Topics and Sub-Topics (see 2.2.1.2) can also play a part in the creation of
coherence. Dik furthermore observes that the placement of focus in discourse sequences
also affects the degree of coherence. A further mechanism is what is referred to as TailHead linking, in which a clause starts with a constituent which briefly summarizes a
crucial part of the preceding clause or context (1997b: 438). This clearly has much in
common with the type of thematic development discussed in systemic linguistics and also
in Prague School linguistics, in which what SFG would label the Theme of one clause takes
up the Rheme of the preceding clause (see 2.4.1.7.2). Finally, Dik mentions connectors
as a source of coherence, and points out that these are not coterminous with coordinators, which function within the sentence grammar, although sometimes the two may be
identical in form (as, for example, with and, but, or).
Before we leave Diks account, a little more should be said about Diks account of
anaphoric relations, mentioned above as one important factor in establishing coherence
in a text. Dik gives the following characterisation of anaphora and its elements:
I speak of anaphora when an element of underlying clause structure refers to an entity
which has already been established, directly or indirectly, in the preceding discourse
(discourse anaphora) or is being established in the same clause (sentence anaphora).
The element which so refers will be called an anaphorical element (anaphorical term
if the anaphorical element has term status). The expression with which the entity
in question has been or is being established in the discourse is the antecedent of the
anaphorical element. Notwithstanding its etymology, the antecedent may in certain
cases follow the anaphorical element in the linear order of the sentence. The relation
between anaphorical element and antecedent will be called an anaphorical relation.
(Dik 1997b: 215216)
Dik points out that anaphorical elements are not always coreferential with their antecedents: for example, the anaphorical element may refer to a member of a set evoked
by the antecedent, or to a Sub-Topic which can be inferred from the entity invoked by
the antecedent; furthermore, the antecedent may itself be a non-referring expression. Dik
stresses (1997b: 217) that strictly speaking anaphorical elements do not themselves refer
to their antecedents, since it is speakers, rather than expressions, that can be said to refer. Furthermore, speakers when using anaphors do not normally refer to antecedents
themselves (the linguistic expressions), but rather to entities established by means of
those antecedents. According to Dik, all anaphorical elements have some antecedent in
the discourse.
The concept of anaphorical relation is deliberately defined abstractly, since from a
functional viewpoint the important thing is whether, from a particular position in a clause,
Chapter 4
it is possible to refer anaphorically to some entity defined by an antecedent. It is then possible to ask what forms an anaphorical element can take, and here Dik (1997b: 220221)
postulates that both structural and pragmatic factors are involved. Structurally, the expression type depends on the order of the antecedent entity6 and, in the case of first order
entities, the type of anaphorical relation and the distance between anaphorical element
and antecedent in underlying clause structure. Even in the expression of anaphorical reference to first order entities, however, a wide range of forms may be involved, ranging from
items with nominal heads, though pronouns of various types, to inflections and even zero
realisation. These realisations form a scale of explicitness, from nominal terms at one end
to zero at the other. Dik cites the work of Givn (1983a) on the correlation between explicitness of anaphor coding and topic continuity in discourse. He also refers to the work
of Bolkestein & van de Grift (1994) mentioned earlier in 4.2.1.
Dik goes on to examine briefly the ways in which anaphorical reference can be made
to zero, second, third and fourth order entities: see the examples given in Chapter 3 of
Part 1, where the possibility of referring anaphorically to various types of linguistic unit is
discussed as evidence for the need for variables representing the different types of unit in
the underlying structure of the clause.
Dik acknowledges the debt owed by his account of anaphora to the work of Cornish
(1986). More recently, Cornish (2002) has offered a constructive critique of Diks (1997b)
account. He points to what he perceives to be a basic contradiction in Diks (1997b: 215
216) characterisation of anaphora, cited earlier. In the first part of this quotation, an
anaphor refers to the mental representation of an entity established in the previous discourse, but in the second part the relationship is between the anaphor and a linguistic expression, the antecedent. Thus Dik appears to view anaphora as at once a quasigrammatical, text-based phenomenon involving the co-indexing of textual antecedent
and anaphor, and as a means of accessing relevant (parts of) existing discourse representations. Furthermore, Cornish disputes Diks claim that all anaphors have an antecedent
in the discourse:7 he shows that there are many instances where some referent, mutually
assumed by the discourse participants, is evoked by an anaphor without there having been
any previous mention of that referent in the text itself. All that is needed is what Cornish
calls an antecedent trigger8 which enables the addressee to retrieve an appropriate referent, which may, for example, be obtained from mutually available stereotypical framebased knowledge, or from specific knowledge shared by the participants in the interaction. Anaphora is thus seen as a semantic-pragmatic relationship between the antecedent
trigger, a salient discourse representation and an appropriate anaphor.
. For the concept of entity order, see 7.2.1.1.2 of Part 1.
. Cornish reasonably assumes that by discourse, Dik means what Cornish himself refers to as text, that is
the physical trace of the discourse (see the note in 4.1). As noted earlier, Dik himself does not make this
distinction.
. For discussion and justification of this concept see Cornish (1999: 2.4.1).
Cornish also criticises Dik for postulating an overly neat correlation between the expression types of anaphors (definite or demonstrative NPs, various types of pronoun, zero
expression, etc.) and the orders of entity they denote. Cornish demonstrates that the correlations Dik proposes are nothing more than preferences, which can be overridden by
other factors. Prominent among such factors is the nature of the predicating element in
the clause. For instance, although in English the pronoun it most usually has a first-order
referent, when used with a verb such as look or sound (as in Cornishs example (8): Mary
said she felt weak and ill. She certainly {looked/sounded} it.) it has a zero-order referent, the
property of being weak and ill.
In Cornish (1999: 7083) the effects of the predicator on anaphor interpretation are
considered in greater detail. The sense which the predicator has, in its context, selects some
sense property which is then transferred to the anaphor it governs: for instance, when the
French pronoun y is used anaphorically in a clause with a predicator formed from the
verb assister ( quelque chose) [to witness (something)], the anaphor is assigned a second order denotation type, since what is witnessed must be an event of some kind; on
the other hand, if the predicator is sattendre ( quelque chose) [to expect (something)],
the anaphor receives a third order interpretation, since what is expected must be at the
propositional level. Cornish (1999: 8398) also documents the effects, on the interpretation of an anaphor, of the aspect, tense and mood/modality of the indexical elements
immediate co-text. These various contextual effects are shown to be more important,
for the interpretation of the anaphor in context, than the properties of the antecedent
trigger itself.
Finally, Cornish (2002) takes issue with the representation of anaphors in Diks account, arguing that since determination of the referent of an anaphor requires access to the
discourse (in Cornishs own sense of the term) rather than just to the text itself, anaphoric
terms should not be indexed in the linguistic representation itself; rather, the determination of the referent is a matter for the process by which a clause becomes integrated, not
only with other clauses but also with the context, in a representation of the discourse of
which it forms a part.
... Hengevelds 1997 model

Hengeveld has also attempted to expand the FG model to cover certain discourse-related
phenomena. As we saw in 3.3 of Part 1, he first proposed a further level (numbered
5) in the underlying structure of the clause, to accommodate a satellite slot occupied by
adverbials which relate the clause to its discourse context:
. . . in order to account for textual relations, there is a class of clause satellites
(5 ), which has no grammatical equivalent. Satellites of this class capture the lexical means through which the speaker locates his utterance within the context of
the discourse and thus restricts the set of potential perlocutions of this utterance.
(Hengeveld 1990: 1213)
As an example, Hengeveld gives the satellite expression in bold type in (1) below:
Chapter 4
(1) (= Hengevelds (25e), 1990: 13)

Honestly, you certainly danced beautifully yesterday, if I may say so.
through which, he claims, the speaker comments on the felicity of the speech act, as
expressed within the communicative setting of the utterance.
In a later paper, Hengeveld (1997), building on insights provided by Kroon (1995),
presents a programmatic sketch of a model of discourse grammar, which is then used for
the description and classification of cohesion phenomena. Hengeveld demonstrates that
in a narrative text taken from Koryak (a Chukchi-Kamchatkan language), the discourse
as a whole and the episodes (which Hengeveld calls moves) and changes of scene, are all
marked off by specific linguistic elements which are typical of narrative rather than other
types of discourse. He concludes from this that
. . . one should be able to represent three different units: (i) the discourse as a whole,
(ii) the components parts of a discourse, i.e. moves, and (iii) the type of discourse
involved. (1997: 3)
This model is organised on two axes, the hierarchical and the relational:
The hierarchical axis concerns the segmentation of discourse into successively smaller
units. The representation of this axis results in a layered description of discourse structure. The relational axis concerns the connections obtaining between layers of one
and the same level. The representation of this axis results in a linear description of
discourse structure. (Hengeveld 1997: 1)
His elaboration of the hierarchical axis with respect to former models involves the postulation of a Rhetorical level in addition to the existing Interpersonal and Representational
levels. This new level has variables for the discourse itself (D), the type of discourse (T)
and the moves (M) which constitute the discourse, as shown in (2), which also shows the
relationship between the new level and those of his previous model.
(2) (= Hengevelds Figure 1, 1997: 4)
D1: [(T1: TYP (T1)) M1: [
(E1: [(F1: ILL (F1)) (S) (A) (X1: [
] (M1)) (MN)] (D1) Rhetorical level
] (X1))] (E1)
(e1: [(f1: Pred (f1)) (x1) (xn)] (e1))
Interpersonal level
Representational level
As before, the basis of the representational level (symbolised by (e)) is the predicate frame,
in which the relationships between arguments (x) are specified; and the basis of the interpersonal level (E) is the illocutionary frame (F), in which the relationships between
speaker (S), addressee (A) and the content of the speech act (X) are specified; similarly the
basis of the new rhetorical level (D) is the discourse frame (T), in which the relationships
between moves are specified. The variable M designates a move, whose underlying unit is
a paragraph; the variable T designates a discourse type, for which the underlying unit is
the discourse frame; and the variable D designates a discourse, for which the underlying
unit is the text.
Unfortunately, no definitions are provided for key terms such as discourse frame,
move and paragraph. Mackenzie (2000: 31) regards Hengevelds discourse as equivalent
to Diks discourse event, move as approximately equivalent to Diks turn, and speech
act to Diks clause. The term paragraph is particularly problematic. It would appear
that Hengeveld intends it to apply to spoken as well as written language, since he uses it
in referring to structure in a spoken monologue. It is not, however, entirely clear what he
means by the term. No definition is given, and the few examples provided do not enable
the reader to deduce one with any certainty.
In order to move the model in a direction which will accommodate dialogue,
Hengeveld suggests a modification of the basic structure of the interpersonal level to indicate which participant is acting as speaker at any one moment: in (3), the participant
labelled as P1 is the speaker, whereas P2 is the addressee.
(3) (= Hengevelds (3), 1997: 5) (E1 : [(F1 : ILL (F1 )) (P1 )S (P2 )A (X1 )] (E1 ))
This type of formulation enables us to account for, for example, the use of the correct
gender forms according to the identities of the participants in a language such as Spanish,
and also shifts between person forms in dialogue, as illustrated in (4), where the feminine
ending on the adjective contenta is conditioned by the fact that the addressee is female,
and we have second person verb forms in the first utterance, but first person in the reply.
(4) A. Ests
contenta de como llevas
be-pres.2sg.familiar happy of how carry-pres.2sg.familiar
encauzada
la vida?
channel-past.part the life
Are you happy with the direction in which your life is going?
B. Yo vivo
muy al
da sabes? (HCM 4, 84)
I live-pres.1sg very to-the day know-pres.2sg.familiar
I live very much from day to day you know?
On the relational axis, Hengeveld recognises two kinds of relationship: combining (basically, paratactic and hypotactic), which is a relation between layers of the same level
within the boundaries defined by the next level up in the hierarchy; and chaining (e.g. the
setting up of topic chains in the discourse), which is a relation which operates across the
boundaries of the next higher level.
Finally, Hengeveld (1997: 914) considers cohesive relations in texts. Like Halliday
(see 4.4.2), he describes cohesive relations in terms of the kinds of linguistic phenomena which realise them; also, however, he classifies them in terms of level, nature and
domain. Topic chaining, for example, is accounted for at the term level, while lexical cohesion belongs to the predicate level (f). Temporal chaining and event foregrounding or
backgrounding are seen as involving the predicational level (e), while chains of argumentation are at the level of the proposition (X). The sequencing of illocutionary acts in, for
Chapter 4
instance, question-answer pairs is a matter for the illocutionary level (F), while the way
in which one speech act can be seen as the motivation for a second concerns the utterance level (E). What was labelled tail-head linkage in the summary of Diks model given
earlier is a matter for the paragraph level (M). Cohesive phenomena can also be classified
according to whether they are of a combining or a chaining nature. Finally, we can specify
the domain of such relations: that is, Hengeveld sees his model as providing the means
of specifying the domain of application of cohesive relations such as anaphora or serial
verb forms.
There are clearly similarities between Hengevelds and Diks models of discourse, in
that both attempt to extend the clausal hierarchy in an upward direction; there are, however, also important differences. As Mackenzie (2000: 30) has pointed out, Hengevelds
model postulates a single hierarchy with no fewer than nine different layers, grouped into
three levels, while Dik, as we have seen, views the grammatical and discourse hierarchies
as separate, though related; furthermore, Diks model sees the structure of discourse itself
as containing representational and interpersonal levels, while Hengevelds simply adds a
rhetorical level to the other two.
... Moutaouakils generalised parallelism hypothesis

Moutaouakil (forthcoming) represents what is perhaps the most extreme attempt to
model discourse structures on those of the grammar. He proposes that discourse is formally mediated through the categories of text, clause, term phrase and word, with the possible addition of the sentence as a category between text and clause. He also takes over the
representational, interpersonal and rhetorical levels of Hengevelds proposal. Moutaouakil
takes his inspiration from three sources: Diks (1997b: 424) view that the hierarchical nature of discourse is comparable to that of the clause; the element ordering principles,
which in Diks work are said to apply to both clauses and term phrases; and the work
of Rijkhoff on parallels between the structures of propositions and terms (see 7.2.1.3 and
7.2.1.5 of Part 1). On the basis of these antecedent suggestions he proposes a generalised
parallelism hypothesis according to which each of his discourse categories is organised
along similar lines.
At the representational level, the claim is that texts, as well as clauses and term phrases,
can be seen as modified by locational, quantitative and qualitative operators and satellites,
with scoping in the order just given. At the interpersonal level, there is again a tripartite set
of operators and satellites, this time involving an interactional type (covering, for instance,
the function of expressions such as listen/look clause-initially, regarded as grammaticalised
interactional devices), phenomena concerned with discourse illocution, and with modality. At the rhetorical level, the three sets of operators/satellites are concerned with choices
in Diks categories of discourse event, discourse type (e.g. conversation, narrative) and
discourse style (formal/informal, etc.). Unfortunately, the rather restricted extent of the
exemplification provided means that Moutaouakils proposals are as yet little more than
programmatic suggestions.
.. Modular approaches
... Kroons model
Hengevelds (1997) model dispenses with the term clause as used in Diks approach, replacing it by speech act. Mackenzie observes that this introduces an element of doubt
concerning the continuity of grammar and discourse:
Whereas clause, proposition, predication, etc. are concepts used to identify various aspects of the formal constructs that result from linguistic activity (the product), speech
act, move, turn and discourse event can only be understood as naming instances of
the linguistic activity itself (the process). (Mackenzie 2000: 3132)
This, as Mackenzie notes, has led to the proposal of alternatives to the Dik/Hengeveld
upward layering models. One important characteristic of Hengevelds 1997 model is that
it is based on the putative equivalence of the highest unit in the layered clause structure
(the speech act) and the lowest in the discourse structure: in other words, as we saw above,
what Hengeveld is attempting to do is extend the grammatical model upwards. Kroon
(1997), who refers to the lowest unit in the discourse structure as a discourse act, takes a
very different view:
In my opinion a discourse act should be defined as the smallest identifiable unit of
discourse whose specific communicative function is largely determined by its position within a larger communicative structure. A speech act, by contrast, is defined in
Functional Grammar in strictly intrasentential terms, that is, its specific illocutionary features are determined by the lexical and grammatical properties of the isolated
clause. (Kroon 1997: 27)
This is an important distinction, which we shall come across again, in a rather different
guise, later in our discussions.
Kroon discusses three types of problem for the upward layering approach of
Hengeveld. Firstly, there are elements, such as Theme and Tail extraclausal constituents,
which can be assigned a function as discourse acts, in the sense defined above, but which
do not have their own speech act function. For instance, Kroon would regard (5) below as
constituting two separate discourse acts:
(5) That Paisley, hes a terror! (BNC ADM 1419)
As evidence for this, Kroon cites the fact9 that in a sequence of two independent clauses,
which constitute two discourse acts, a NP from the first can be referred to in the second not
only by using an anaphoric pronoun, but alternatively by means of a definite expression,
whereas this is not possible when the second clause is embedded in the first, and so cannot
constitute a separate discourse act. Examples are given in (6) and (7).
(6) Faith returned, driving the caretaker before her. The poor man looked terrified.
(BNC H9P 249250)
. Noted originally by Roulet (1991), on the basis of work by Berrendonner (1990).
Chapter 4
(7) But Anne decided that the woman must be exaggerating. (BNC G16 168)
In (6), consisting of two independent clauses realising two separate discourse acts, it is
perfectly possible to use the NP the poor man to refer to the person previously referred to
as the caretaker. In (7), on the other hand, the NP the woman in the complement clause
must be interpreted as referring to a woman other than Anne, suggesting that a construction consisting of a main plus a subordinate clause, which constitutes a single discourse
act, does not allow the use of a coreferential full NP, though a pronoun could indeed be
coreferential (if we substitute she for the woman, then it is possible for the pronoun to refer
to Anne herself).
Kroon argues that a NP acting as extraclausal Theme (in the FG sense) can be picked
up using a definite NP in the clause itself, and that the extraclausal constituent thus
constitutes a separate discourse act. As an example she gives the sentence in (8).
(8) (= Kroons (18c), 1997: 28) My neighbour, he/the poor guy is incurably ill.
My intuitions as a native speaker of English are, however, that it is rather odd to recapitulate a Theme using a full NP as with the poor guy in (8). I have also been unable to find
an example in the British National Corpus.10 On the other hand, in Spanish it is indeed
perfectly possible to do this, as shown by (9) below:
(9) . . . ese, por ejemplo, concejal
que le
machacaban
ayer,
that for example councillor that him beat-up-imperf.3pl yesterday
el pobrecillo lleva
toda la noche tambin all . . .
the poor-dim carry-pres.3sg all the night also
there
. . . that, for example, councillor that they were beating up yesterday, the poor
thing has spent all night there too . . . (Referencia ACON026A.ASC)
It would seem that Kroons claims in this area need to be investigated rather more thoroughly before we can reach any firm conclusion as to their validity.
A second problem for the upward layering model commented on by Kroon is that, as
is well known from other studies of discourse structure, exchanges can be embedded, for
instance as side sequences, inside the structure of a complex move,11 and this would seem
to be a problem for any FG discourse model which postulates straightforward upward
layering. Thirdly, Kroon cites data from her work on the Latin discourse marker at (a
partial equivalent of English but), showing that it can be used to simulate dialogue within
monologue, where the speaker uses an embedded voice, against whose supposed views
s/he argues. Such examples underline the separation between the grammatical structure
(here, the linking of a subordinate and a main clause) and the discourse structure (two
alternative moves in a simulated interactional exchange).
. It is, however, difficult to search for such examples by computational means, in view of the minimal
formal clues available, so it is possible that I have missed data which would conform to Kroons pattern.
. The terms exchange and move are being used here as in the work of Sinclair & Coulthard (1975): see
below.
She concludes:
. . . discourse act and illocutionary/speech act (as the latter is defined in the FG clause
model) are conceptually different items which belong to different systems of structure:
the first to a discourse system, the second to a sentence system. (Kroon 1997: 2829)
In Kroons model, then, there are two separate modules, one concerned with sentence
structure, the other with discourse structure, which are related via the speech act (in the
first module) and the discourse act (in the second). The discourse module, like the rhetorical layer in Hengevelds model, shows both hierarchical and relational structuring. The
hierarchical structure is assumed to be modelled in terms of the rank scale of act, move,
exchange, transaction and interaction proposed by Sinclair & Coulthard (1975).12 The
relational structure involves at least three kinds of relationship between units of equal
rank: discourse units may be coordinated; one unit may be subordinated to another (e.g.
one act may act as a preparation, or introduction, to another, main act; a central move
may be expanded by a subsidiary move); or two moves in an exchange can be in what
Kroon calls an interactional relation, which specifies the functional relationship between
the two in the interaction (e.g. invitation + acceptance). Kroon (1997: 23) emphasises
that interactional relations are quite different from rhetorical relations, in that the former are assigned at what she calls the interactional level of discourse, while the latter are
assigned at the presentational, or rhetorical level: for example, in a single move acting
as an invitation at the interactional level, there may be two acts, the first of which functions, at the presentational/rhetorical level, as a preparation for the second. Both of these
types of relationship are different from the illocutionary function, which is a property of
the individual utterance rather than of the relationship between a discourse unit and its
discourse context.
In order to accommodate the data from her Latin study, Kroon (1997: 2426) also postulates two further factors relevant to discourse structuring: relations between discourse
units and the extratextual context, and thematic structure as evidenced in topical chains.
She shows (the most detailed exposition being in Kroon 1995) that all of the above factors
are needed for an adequate account of discourse markers in Latin texts.
... Other modular accounts

Similar to Kroons model in their postulation of separate grammatical and discourse modules are the models of Vet (1998a), Liedtke (1998), van den Berg (1998) and Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza (2001),13 already discussed in relation to illocution in 1.2.2.4.4
and 1.2.2.7, where we saw that van den Berg, in particular, has gone some way towards
a specification of the interface between modules. These approaches, though extremely
interesting, are highly programmatic and I shall add nothing further about them here.
. For discussion of this model, see 4.4.3.2.1.
. As we saw in Chapter 1, the account of Prez Hernndez & Ruiz de Mendoza (2001) stands out from the
others in having a stronger cognitive orientation; it also sketches how illocution might be handled during
language production and reception.
Chapter 4
.. Reconciling the upward layering and modular approaches

... Gmez Solios extension of Hengevelds proposals
Gmez Solio (1996: 5464), writing in response to the proposals made by Hengeveld at a
1994 conference, which were later published as Hengeveld (1997), points to the question of
whether a text/discourse14 is the result of a bottom-up accumulation of utterances, with
their respective local values, or the product of a top-down implementation of discourse
structural patterns, both interpersonal and representational. Gmez Solios view is that
both are important, so that the bottom-up view taken in previous FG work needs to be
supplemented by a top-down approach, in which the discourse itself imposes representational and interpersonal values on the utterances of which it is composed. This suggestion
gives rise to a hierarchical structure in which both the discourse dimension and the utterance dimension are characterised in both representational and interpersonal terms, each
of the four cells in this matrix being divided into three layers as in Hengevelds more restricted proposal. The characterisation of the utterance dimension corresponds exactly to
Hengevelds representational and interpersonal levels.
Within the representational level of the discourse dimension, utterances are organised
into text blocks, designating moves, by means of which the addressee forms macrostructural combinations or complies with the requirements of a particular text frame, designating a textual relation, and taken from a set of such frames available in the linguistic
and cultural environment in which communication is taking place. The instantiation of
such text frames gives rise to textualisations, by means of which the addressee designates
a particular state of the world. An example of a textualisation type cited by Gmez Solio
is the narrative structure which Labov & Waletzky (1967) characterised in terms of orientation, complication and resolution. Each text block fulfils a rhetorical function, which
Gmez Solio sees as similar to those proposed in Rhetorical Structure Theory. Where a
text block offers additional, non-essential information, we may recognise the expansion
of a core textualisation into an extended textualisation, by analogy with the core and
extended predications postulated in the underlying structure of the clause. Some of the
text blocks of which a textualisation is composed will have textual functions which characterise the way in which a particular state of the world is being presented: in this way,
phenomena such as foregrounding/backgrounding can be handled.
At the interpersonal level of the discourse dimension, Gmez Solios model handles the discourse as a communicative act, rather than as a textual representation of a
state of the world. The lowest unit here is the message, which designates a part of the
discourse content and which is one of the arguments of a discourse frame, designating a
genre. Other arguments in the discourse frame include the participants in verbal interaction and any relevant bystanders (in Rijkhoff s sense see 1.2.2.3). The highest unit at
the interpersonal level of discourse is the discourse itself, realising a communicative act.
The nature of the social relation between participants, and in some cases the presence of
particular types of bystander, may determine the ways in which the discourse is realised.
. Gmez Solio himself uses this dual characterisation in his presentation.
Gmez Solio offers a brief analysis of a short narrative text in terms of the model
summarised above.
... Steutens model of dialogue

As we saw in 4.2.3.2, Hengevelds 1997 model is concerned with monologue, although
he also contemplates one change which would be needed if it were extended to cover dialogue. Steuten (1998) suggests modifications to the model in order to make it applicable to dialogic discourse, as exemplified by business conversations.15 She notes that while
monological discourse consists of a single move, within which acts or complexes of acts
are linked by rhetorical functions, dialogic discourse consists of initiating and reactive
moves linked by interactional functions. She replaces Hengevelds rhetorical level by what
she calls the interactional level, the structure of which, like that of the hierarchical component of Kroons model, is based on Sinclair & Coulthards (1975) model of classroom
discourse: a dialogical discourse (D), corresponding to the structural unit business transaction, consists of one or more exchanges (T), corresponding structurally to an exchange
frame; exchanges, in turn, consist of acts (M), corresponding to the unit interactional
act.16 Steuten regards this level as corresponding to the pragmatic module in the proposals of Vet (1998a), and refers to this module in her model as the communicative unit,
while the interpersonal and representational levels together form the grammatical unit.
... Hengevelds Functional Discourse Grammar
In his account of the Functional Discourse Grammar model, described in 3.7.1 of Part
1, Hengeveld (forthcoming a) explicitly claims that it represents an integration of the layering and modular approaches. In actual fact, the model would seem to be a compromise between the two approaches rather than embracing both. The modules to which
Hengeveld refers are the interpersonal, representational and expression levels of the linguistic component of the model, the other components in this presentation of the model
being cognitive (long-term linguistic and non-linguistic knowledge)17 and communicative (short-term knowledge derived from the discourse itself and the situation of commu. For further discussion of FG, and also of conversation analysis, in relation to the structure of business
conversations, see Steuten (1997).
. Sinclair & Coulthards model has the rank of move between exchange and act. Steutens proposal is
perhaps intended to stay as close as possible to the tripartite pattern of Hengevelds model. There is, however,
some confusion here, as Steuten (1998: 71) says that [t]he interactional level determines the functional
relationship between the constituent moves of an exchange.
. Inchaurralde (forthcoming) differentiates between (i) the knowledge of external reality that we obtain
through sensory and bodily experience, internalised as representations of spatial and temporal interactions
between entities, the properties of and relationships between these entities, and the causal structure of
events, and (ii) knowledge of word classes and other grammatical categories. He assumes that long-term
experiential knowledge is mapped on to categorial linguistic knowledge within the cognitive component
of Hengevelds model. Inchaurralde also puts forward an analogical model of the interactions among the
various components of Hengevelds scheme, based on the layer model of computer systems architecture.
Chapter 4
nication). These modules are thus rather different from the pragmatic and grammatical
modules proposed by other scholars. In the latest presentation of FDG (Hengeveld, forthcoming b), modified in response to reactions to the initial model, the components are
restyled as grammatical (consisting of interpersonal, representational and structural levels), conceptual (concerned with the development of communicative intentions and their
combination with appropriate conceptualisations), and contextual, with the further addition of an acoustic component or its equivalent in non-vocal modalities. Perhaps here we
can see rather more clearly the possible links with other modular approaches. The changes
to the model will be taken up again in 4.2.6.3.
The linguistic/grammatical component builds in discourse structure as the outermost
layers of the interpersonal level. A move in discourse expresses the communicative intention of the speaker through one or more discourse acts, each of which corresponds to an
expression with its own illocution, functioning over a communicated content which may
involve ascriptive acts, referential acts, or both. Thus the act, which needs to be defined
in terms of the discourse structure, is still the unit which bears illocution as coded in the
expression, a position which, as we have seen, has been rejected by Kroon.18 Hengeveld
(forthcoming b) provides a clue to the nature of the difference between these approaches
when he states that an interpersonal representation corresponding to a discourse act does
not represent the act itself, but rather the interpersonal function of the linguistic unit
which performs that act. It will be interesting to see how the dialogue between the various
positions develops, but clearly we need a much more detailed exposition of this model,
with complete analysis of whole stretches of authentic discourse, in order to be able to
evaluate it properly.
Hengeveld also notes that in addition to the downward layering which is now proposed for both the interpersonal and representational levels, upward layering will be required at all levels in a more adequate model. At the interpersonal level this may involve
discourse units such as turns and exchanges; at the representational level narrative units
such as episode and story; and at the expression level units of formatting such as sections
and chapters in writing.
... Hannays model

Hannay (1998) stresses that whatever the form of the grammatical and discourse/pragmatic
components of an overall model may turn out to be, they will need to be compatible. He
attempts to establish the conditions for compatibility by means of a top-down approach
rather than the bottom-up route which characterises, for example, the thinking behind
. We may also note here that Harder (forthcoming) has argued for a rather more clearly modular approach
than in Hengevelds model. Analysing data on comment clauses in English and Spanish, he concludes that a
perspicuous account requires an interpersonal level which is more clearly oriented towards the relationships
between discourse elements, as well as a representational level in which all linguistically represented content,
including that involved in realising choices at the interpersonal level, is fully specified. These modifications
to Hengevelds model would, Harder believes, allow maximum profit to be made from the interfacing of the
two modules.
Hengevelds (1997) model. Following Roulet (1997), Hannay assumes that each discourse
act introduces or activates some idea, which he regards as much the same as Hallidays
(1994a) information unit. Such units are realised by intonational units in spoken language,
and by punctuational units in writing (Chafe 1994). Discourse acts may convey substantive information or they may be regulatory (Chafe 1994; Stenstrm 1994), the latter type
often corresponding to the functions of Diks extraclausal constituents. Again following
Roulet (1997), segmentation of acts in accordance with contextual and co-textual factors
leads to periodical movements, seen as the basic units of texts, and equatable with orthographic or prosodic sentences. There follows a formulation phase, during which choices
are made in intonation, clause type, types of subordination, and other syntactic areas, as
well as in terms of particular lexical items.
Hannay adopts Kroons definition of a discourse act as:
. . . the smallest unit of linguistic activity undertaken by a language producer which
entertains a rhetorical relation with another act. (Kroon 1995: 75)
As a model of the rhetorical relations involved, Hannay cites Rhetorical Structure Theory
(see 4.4.3.4.2). He then goes on to demonstrate that such discourse acts cannot always be
taken as corresponding to intonation units, but that there is nevertheless a strong correlation between the two types of unit. Hannay stresses that the message units may, but need
not, have the form of predications: here, he cites Mackenzies (1998) work on holophrastic
expressions, reviewed briefly in 3.7.2 of Part 1.
Finally, Hannay examines the implications of his proposal for the analysis of clause
combining, non-restrictive relative clauses and illocutionary satellites. All of these, he suggests, can insightfully be analysed as a combination of two different message units rather
than in terms of the underlying structure of the clause itself. The result of these proposals,
as Hannay observes, is to put less of a burden on the grammatical module and more on
the discourse/pragmatic component of the model.
This model is developed further in work on orientational devices at the beginnings
of sentences in written English (Hannay, forthcoming), already mentioned in 2.2.2.1.1
and 3.2.3.3. Here, Hannay assumes a modular approach, such as those already described,
in which, in the productive mode, the output of the discourse module specifies certain
properties of the utterance to be generated, including which discourse acts will be performed and what relationships obtain between these acts. The acts will include those with
orientational functions.
... Connollys eclectic model of discourse representation

Connolly (forthcoming) discusses the various proposals which have been made in FG
for the representation of discourse, and suggests a model of representation which covers
the various types of information relevant to discourse structure and function, including
sequencing, hierarchical structure, different levels of analysis, and relational phenomena
such as adjacency sequences and rhetorical relations. Concepts are brought in from approaches other than FG where appropriate: Situation Theory (see Connolly (1998) and
the references given there), Firth, Hymes and Searle are all influences which are acknowl-
Chapter 4
edged by Connolly. Although his paper is intended as a contribution to the study of discourse representation as such, it actually constitutes an interesting proposal for a model
of discourse in its own right.
Connolly proposes four levels of representation: contextual, interpersonal, representational and expression. The contextual level is meant to reflect Diks distinction between the discourse itself and the discourse event, seen as a social construct. This level
in Connollys model is very rich, covering a wide range of factors: the identity, attitudes, statuses and backgrounds of the participants; any other voices (in the sense of
Bakhtin) which may be relevant, for example in the reporting of speech or in adopting
the stance/voice of some other institutionalised role; the presence of any bystanders (see
Rijkhoff 1995, also 1.2.2.3); the non-linguistic characteristics of the medium, or media,
used for communication; any non-verbal communication which accompanies the language used; time, place and other features of setting; the cultural, social and institutional
conventions relevant to the interaction; the referents of terms employed in the interaction;
and any preconditions, postconditions and results of discourse acts.
The interpersonal level is hierarchical in structure, and as with Kroon and Steuten,
Connolly takes the Sinclair & Coulthard model as a basis. Each unit is marked off by a
pair of delimiters (e.g. enter transaction tr3 , leave transaction tr3 ). At the rank of
transaction, the model first specifies the topic of the transaction, and its overall illocutionary force (cf. Diks discourse illocution). There follows the (sequence of) exchange(s)
which constitutes the transaction. For each exchange, the topic is specified, and the (series
of) move(s) of which the exchange consists is then set out. For each move, the speaker
and addressee are specified, followed by a statement of the essential characteristics of the
move for example, to convey two messages, by means of two acts. For each act, the
essential characteristics are given (e.g. asserting a particular message), together with the
illocutionary force of the act (expressed in Searlian terms), and a specification of acts of
reference and ascription and the referents (given in the contextual level) to which the linguistic expressions refer. Other information, such as rhetorical function (e.g. elaboration
of a previous act), relationships within adjacency pairs (e.g. functioning as a response to a
question), or attitude, can also be specified for any act.
The representational layer, which is not discussed in detail in Connollys paper, contains the underlying structure for each utterance in the discourse. Connolly also discusses how the full structure of a discourse segment can be represented on paper in an
economical, clear and legible manner.
.. Models oriented towards processing

... Nuyts Functional Procedural Grammar
Nuyts FPG has already been dealt with in some detail in 3.6 of Part 1 and in Chapters 6
and 9 of that volume, and I shall therefore not say any more about it here.
... Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar

Mackenzie (2000: 34) claims that his Incremental Functional Grammar is a compromise
between the layering and modular approaches, and it could therefore have been dealt with
in 4.2.5. We also saw in 3.7.2 of Part 1, however, that it is Mackenzies intention
to bring FG closer to work in the modelling of production and comprehension and
thereby to increase its claim to psychological adequacy. (Mackenzie 2000: 34)
Mackenzie (forthcoming) gives a more detailed account of how this might be done. He,
like Hengeveld, takes the speakers move as a point of departure. Each move consists of
one or more acts, and each act corresponds, in the unmarked case, to a single intonation unit, though many factors can intervene to motivate other alignments. Consider the
following example:
(10) Oh, God, please help her. (BNC CR6 3734)
We can analyse this as a move consisting of two acts: the first, A1 , is realised by oh, God,
expressing shock, and the second, A2 , is characterised as a request.19 A1 is a simple act, in
that it consists only of a single focused element; A2 , on the other hand, is a complex act,
involving a subact of reference (to an unspecified but definite female human being)20 and
one of predication, treated as a type of attribution as in Hengevelds latest model.
Each act, as we have seen, must contain at least an expression with Focus function,
realised intonationally in the spoken language: in the first act, God would receive intonational prominence, in the second the prominence would normally fall on help. It is
Mackenzies contention that the focused element corresponds to the cognitive element
which is activated first during production: it is, after all, the getting across of the focused
element which justifies the production of the utterance. Associated with the subact in focus (rather than with the entire act) is an illocutionary stance: in the case of A1 there is
just the one element, and the associated illocutionary stance is that of expressing shock or
surprise; in A2 , the focused subact of predication is associated with the force of a request.
The focused part is supported here by the production of the subact of referring to the textually given referent of her. At the interactional level, then, we may represent the second
subact of (10) as in (11) below:
(11) (pol M1 : (request A2 : (SA2:1 : (T: help)Foc ), (SA2.2: (R: <human, female>))))
In this representation the numbered elements labelled SA represent the two subacts, T represents an ascriptive subact and R a referential subact; elements in small capitals represent
concepts; the items in bold are operators for politeness and illocutionary stance.
The representation of the various acts and subacts at the interactional level is thus
linear and intended to reflect the sequence in cognition: Focus subact first, then any sup. Conceivably three acts, if Oh and God are seen as expressing two different acts indicating shock, as could
be suggested by the commas which are presumably intended to reflect intonation.
. Although the addressee is clearly implicated in the requestive speech act, s/he is not actually referred to
in the utterance.
Chapter 4
porting subacts. The production of the final utterance through the expression component
can also be modelled as a linear process, in real time, as shown by the work of Bakker &
Siewierska on expression rules (see 3.4 of Part 1, also 4.2.6.3 in the present chapter).
Mackenzie holds that some elements of the interactional structure can be sent straight to
the expression rules, bypassing the grammar itself: in our example, oh, God is one of a
group of stock expressions for expressing shock, while please conventionally realises request status. Mackenzie assumes that such acts do not involve the lexicon, but rather that
there is a stock of forms in the expression component which provide the realisation directly. On the other hand, the subacts of reference and predication in A2 need to call upon
the representational component, and so do involve the grammar. Mackenzies claim is that
whereas the interactional and expression components are dynamic and procedural, generating structures in real time, the representational component is static and declarative,
providing a set of constraints on the way in which intentions are translated into articulations. In order that the various constraints of the representational component may be
satisfied, it will not always be possible to realise cognitively activated elements immediately; instead, they will need to be placed into a buffer until such time as tensions between
the various constraints can be resolved.
For act A2 in our example, the first cognitively activated element is the predicate
HELP. In the lexicon, this is associated with an Agent and a Patient. There is the possibility of using the predicate with an unspecified Patient (giving the utterance Help!), but
then there would have been ambiguity as to who needed the help. The speakers intention
thus requires the explicitation of the Patient. The Agent, though present in the underlying
representation, can remain implicit in the final structure, and this is handled by the expression rules for English, as are, for example, the tenseless nature of the imperative and
the ordering of the constituents.
Mackenzie points out that the contrast between the cognitive priority of focused information and its often late placement in the clause can be understood in terms of the fact
that the cognitive identification of material to be focused, and the appropriate selection
of lexical items, requires time, while topical information, being already available, can be
more quickly accessed and so is naturally generated earlier in the production process.
... Bakker & Siewierskas speaker model of Functional Grammar

Bakker & Siewierska (forthcoming) present a critique of Hengevelds Functional Discourse
Grammar as presented in Hengeveld (forthcoming a) and suggest modifications which
permit the synthesis of this model with Bakker & Siewierskas own model of the expression
component (see 3.4 of Part 1), to give a model of discourse production by the speaker. In
what follows, Bakker & Siewierskas critique will be interleaved with Hengevelds (forthcoming b) response to both Bakker & Siewierskas paper and other reactions to the original
FDG proposals.
Bakker & Siewierska note that Hengevelds original proposals for FDG combine aspects of a model of the grammar (specifying the components of the grammar and their
interaction) and of the speaker (offering an account of the process of discourse production). They point out that nothing is said about the genesis of the structures proposed
within the linguistic component, or about the psychological status of these structures.
Furthermore, the grammar, taken to encompass the interpersonal, representational and
expression levels, is seen as separate from the cognition and communicative context components,21 while the communicative competence of the language user is in the cognitive
component. Bakker & Siewierska deduce that the interpersonal, representational and expression levels are therefore just levels of representation. On the other hand, the cognitive
component contains the entire store of the speakers knowledge in long-term memory,
and the communicative context component deals with aspects of the ongoing discourse
stored in short-term memory, with a link to the cognitive component to facilitate feedback during monitoring of output, enabling certain features of past discourse units to be
available to units under planning. Furthermore, the interpersonal level, which Bakker &
Siewierska characterise as pragmatic, and the representational level, seen as semantic, have
independent links to the final output via the expression rules, so making it possible to test
the model in terms of its performance properties, via the pragmatics/expression link. On
these grounds, then, Bakker & Siewierska see Hengevelds proposals as, at least in part, a
model of the speaker. Hengeveld (forthcoming b) makes it clear that FDG is intended as
a model of linguistic patterning rather than of the processes of language production and
understanding, although it can be given a dynamic interpretation which is intended to
reflect the language production process.
Bakker & Siewierska go on to make a number of modifications to FDG whose aim is
to increase its plausibility as a model of discourse production by the speaker. They point
out that as there is, in principle, no limit to the complexity of a speakers move, because of
the possibility of recursion, it is unlikely that all individual moves will fit, in their entirety,
into short-term memory, since this has been shown to be capable of holding information relevant to only a short stretch of language, taking a few seconds of time. Bakker &
Siewierska in fact prefer to use the more dynamic concept of working memory, and assume that this is where information from the three linguistic levels is at least partially held,
together with the rules required to work on this information. The grammar and lexicon,
together with the various mental models needed, are stored in semantic memory and
information on events in event memory, both being components of long term memory
storage. Bakker & Siewierska also suggest that a preliminary version of the content to be
communicated is present in semantic memory, but that there is a feedback loop from the
semantics of the utterance, at the representational level, which updates the version stored
in semantic memory.
Bakker & Siewierska also observe that although the representations at the representational and expression levels can be fairly clearly characterised, the first in terms of the
FG underlying structure of the clause up to the propositional layer, the second in terms of
Bakker & Siewierskas own proposals for expression rules, representations at the interpersonal level are less clear. Hengeveld models them in much the same way as the representa. Bakker & Siewierska refer to the cognitive and communicative context components as modules, but as
we saw in 4.2.5.3 Hengeveld uses this term to refer to the three levels of the linguistic component. I shall
continue to use the term component here.
Chapter 4
tional structure, in terms of variables and operators, together with reference to speech act
participants. The acts of reference and ascription which form the core of an act, however,
achieve semantic status only through being projected on to the representational level, and
it is the nature of this relationship which Bakker & Siewierska feel to be unclear. They
themselves propose that utterance planning proceeds in terms of abstract concepts which
are highly independent of the particular language being used, and that mapping between
the interpersonal and representational levels involves the translation of these concepts into
predicates of the language by means of the meaning definitions of the lexicon. As we saw
in 4.2.5.3, the revised FDG model in Hengeveld (forthcoming b) takes on board the abstract concepts involved in utterance planning, in the form of the new conceptual level in
the model.
Bakker & Siewierskas own speaker model is based on the hierarchy from pragmatics,
through semantics, to form. They propose that in the production of a move, information on the pragmatic aspects begins to be sent from the interpersonal level to working
memory, at which point the semantic (representational) level begins to operate on this
information. At the same time, the interpersonal structure is further developed. When
the first packet of information, probably corresponding to something of the size of an information/intonation unit (or perhaps even smaller on occasions), has been processed semantically, the expression component begins to work on this material, while the semantics
starts work on the second packet delivered from the pragmatics. These ideas are reflected
in the dynamic implementation of the revised FDG model in Hengeveld (forthcoming
b), in which the different levels of the model operate simultaneously, though with lower
levels lagging slightly behind upper levels: for instance, only when a particular choice at
the interpersonal level has been made can the representational level be activated to select
appropriate elements at that level; similarly, the structural level is activated when there is
enough information from both the interpersonal and representational levels to allow the
formation of grammatical structures.
In Bakker & Siewierskas scheme, information from the interpersonal and (especially)
the representational level is fed back into semantic memory, where it is used by a process which builds up a picture of the whole discourse. However, very little information
from the expression level is fed back to the store, since it is known that language users
tend to remember the content rather than the form of what is said. Bakker & Siewierska
point out that their model is perfectly compatible with the idea that much of what we say,
at least in conversation, is incomplete, both in terms of move and act structure, and in
terms of the normalised grammar. It thus fits well with, for example, Mackenzies claim
for the holophrase as a basic unit from which fuller utterances can be derived. The tendency towards incompleteness can be seen, in processing terms, as arising from the limitations of working memory. Bakker & Siewierska provide a detailed illustration of how their
proposals might work, on the basis of a single move from authentic conversational data.
... Gmez-Gonzlezs Functional Cognitive Discourse Grammar model

Gmez-Gonzlez (forthcoming), building on Hengevelds Functional Discourse Grammar, Nuyts Functional Procedural Grammar and Mackenzies Incremental Functional
Grammar, but also incorporating elements from Langackers Cognitive Grammar, proposes a further model of discourse production in which packets of information are generated incrementally. Such packets of information are, in the unmarked case, coextensive
with intonation units, and are seen as contextually and co-textually delimited events organised along the two dimensions of conceptualisation and expression. The expression
level involves expressive devices of all kinds: segmental, suprasegmental, paralinguistic,
kinesic. At the conceptual level is modelled the interlocutors perception of what, borrowing from Cognitive Linguistics, Gmez-Gonzlez calls the ground, including the speech
event itself, the speaker(s) and addressee(s) and the immediate circumstances surrounding the speech event. Also part of the conceptual level is the Cognitive Discourse Space,
representing all those entities and relations regarded as shared by the interlocutors at a particular moment in the progression of the discourse, including the context of speech, at the
centre of which is the ground as defined above. As the discourse proceeds, so the focus of
attention of the participants changes, so that the camera angle from which the discourse
is viewed alters, and the discourse is structured in terms of separate attentional units or
episodes. There may be unmarked and marked choices of attentional framing. One important area of the mental scanning involved in such processes is the information structuring
choices made. Gmez-Gonzlezs proposals in this area were reviewed in Chapter 2.
... The separation of pattern and process: Fortescues account

Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar can be seen as an attempt to remodel the
(discourse) grammar itself in such a way that it is sensitive to processing considerations.
Fortescue (forthcoming), on the other hand, believes that it is important to maintain a
clear separation between what he calls pattern and process perspectives on FG.22 He
bases this claim on data from the Nootka language of Western Canada, which shows an allpervasive effect of context on form. For instance, the element chosen as the main predicate
in a Nootka clause, which is placed initially and receives a certain degree of emphasis, can
be something corresponding to an adverbial or even a quantifier, the choice being determined by the degree of newsworthiness in the discourse context, which is not reducible to
a simple dichotomy of Focus vs. non-Focus pragmatic function. In this and other respects,
discourse pragmatics penetrates right down into the linguistic structure, even determining the choice of basic predicates and arguments, so that treatment in terms of discourse
and grammatical modules would either have to assign an uncomfortably large proportion
of the morphosyntax to a discourse module, or allow factors such as newsworthiness to
determine low-level grammatical phenomena such as predicate selection.
Fortescue maintains that a more acceptable solution is to recognise separate pattern
and process interpretations. In terms of pattern, Nootka can be described in terms of the
grammatical templates it allows, taking account of the fact that the link between individual lexical predicates and the types of States of Affairs in which they can be used is
much looser in Nootka than, for example, in English. However, the selection of a partic. For further discussion of pattern and process as complementary perspectives, see Fortescue (2000).
Chapter 4
ular element to act as main predicate is a matter of process, subject to a complex set of
contextual factors which we may encapsulate in the term newsworthiness. Process is seen
in terms of actual entities rather than variables, and as conditioned by a complex, interlocking set of communicational intentions. Fortescue sees pattern and process in terms
of complementarity rather than as aspects of a unitary model or separate modules on the
same ontological plane.
Discourse, text and context in Role and Reference Grammar

Although no model of discourse or of text structure as such has been developed within
RRG, Van Valin & LaPolla assign a key role in the theory to discourse pragmatics:
. . . one of the things our inquiry has revealed is how discourse-pragmatics, often but
not always in the guise of information structure, literally permeates grammar. That
is, factors relating to information flow, the cognitive status of referents, and other
aspects of discourse pragmatics can interact with and affect grammar at all levels.
This interpenetration of discourse pragmatics and grammar was evident throughout the
discussion of information structuring in 2.3. In the present section I shall endeavour
to bring together the main areas of RRG where discourse-related factors are crucially
involved. The discussion will follow the lines suggested in Van Valin & LaPollas Figure
7.35 (1997: 429), intended to illustrate the pervasive part played by discourse pragmatics
in grammar.
In 2.3.1 we saw that RRG has taken over, and expanded, Lambrechts model of the
cognitive status of referents in the speakers mind (see Lambrecht 1994; LaPolla 1995).
Referents are, at any particular moment in the ongoing construction of the discourse,
unidentifiable (either anchored to some more easily identifiable referent or not) or identifiable, and if the latter, then active, accessible (textually, situationally or inferentially) or
inactive (see Van Valin & LaPollas Figure 5.1, 1997: 201). The activation status of referents can have effects on focus structure, the selection of Privileged Syntactic Arguments
(controllers and pivots), the choice of syntactic templates, and lexical choice. Consider the
following example:
(12) What did you give her? (BNC BNG 612)
The constituent and focus structure projections for this sentence are shown in (13). Note
that since it is the function of this type of wh-question to ask for information about a referent whose identity is unknown, the referent of what must be unidentifiable (UNID) to
the speaker. In other words, the cognitive status of the referent is part of what determines
the selection of the particular syntactic template for this construction. Furthermore, activation status affects the selection of items from the lexicon to fill the NP positions: a
pronoun can be selected only if its referent is at least accessible (ACS), if not currently active as the focus of consciousness (ACV). The addressee is a situational given, so the most
normal form of reference is the second person pronoun you; but in order for her to be
used as the second argument of give, its referent must also be accessible.
(13)
SENTENCE
Syntatic inventory
CLAUSE
PrCS
CORE
ARG
NUC
ARG
PRED
NP
WhatUNID
NP
did youACV

NP
give
herACS
Lexicon
Focus structure
As an example of the interaction of focus structure with constructional templates and with
the lexicon, and the relationship of both with the structure of the discourse, we may take
presentational constructions, used in the discourse to present a referent as new on the
discourse scene, as illustrated from English in (14) and (15) below.
(14) But there came a point when beautiful stories and analogies wore thin.
(BNC A0L 2475)
(15) Into this climate came Channel 4, . . . (BNC ATA 249)
This type of construction obligatorily takes sentence focus, so that the constructional template must reflect this (see Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 235). As Lambrecht (1987: 193, cited
in Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 429) observes, many languages impose constraints on the
kinds of verb which can appear in presentational constructions: came in the above examples is one of a small range of intransitive verbs which have as part of their meaning
the appearance or disappearance of some referent in relation to the discourse setting. The
interaction of focus structure, constructional template and lexicon for example (15) is
shown in (16).
Chapter 4
(16)
SENTENCE
Syntatic inventory
CLAUSE
CORE
AAJ
NUC
ARG
PRED
PP
NP
Into this climate
came
Channel 4
speech act
Lexicon
Focus structure
A further example of the importance of activation status in relation to grammar and

discourse can be seen in the area of voice choices. Consider example (17):
(17) The buildings derived their interest from these towers and from the complex interrelationship of the elements. In architectural detail they were austere, with surfaces
rendered in adobe and roofed in tiles. The style was given a powerful fillip by the
expositions held at San Francisco and San Diego in 1915 to celebrate the opening
of the Panama Canal. As a result, a new interest in the Latin American world led to
the Spanish style finding favour until the 1930s. (BNC AR0 871874)
The choice of the passive voice for the main clause of the sentence in bold type is motivated
by the need to adapt the information structure to the flow of the discourse. The referent
of the style is to be found in the description of architectural details from the previous
sentence, and is activated in the writers mind, acting as the primary topical participant.
The passive construction not only allows this topical participant to be coded as Privileged
Syntactic Argument, but also permits focus on the by-phrase, serving to mark this as the
most salient information. The consequences flowing from this information are then taken
up in turn in the following sentence.
As Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 429) point out, a device such as that in (17) would
not be possible in a language such as Lakhota, in which Privileged Syntactic Argument
modulation of this kind, with a Recipient as pivot/controller, is not allowed. In such a
language, a lexical alternative would have to be found, e.g. an equivalent of the style received
a powerful fillip.
As a final example of the interaction of grammar and discourse patterning, let us
look briefly at reference tracking devices in different types of language. Van Valin &
LaPolla (1997: 287) distinguish two types of reference tracking systems: switch-function
and switch-reference. In a switch-function system, one participant is tracked by being re-
alised as syntactic pivot throughout a stretch of discourse and any change in semantic
function is indicated through the verbal system. An example from English is given in (18).
(18) Drew became less punctual, he muffed his lines, and was often replaced by an understudy. (BNC ANK 550)
The topical Privileged Syntactic Argument of the first clause, Drew, is taken up again by
an anaphoric pronoun as the PSA of the second clause, and then by zero anaphora in
the third; since English is an accusative language, the active voice in the second clause
indicates that the PSA is the Actor, while in the third clause the passive shows that the PSA
is the Undergoer. In an ergative language such as Dyirbal, the default is for the Undergoer
to be the PSA, and when there is a switch to the Actor as PSA, this is marked by the
verbal system.
In switch-reference systems, usually found in verb-final languages, a morpheme at
the end of one clause indicates whether the PSA of the next clause will have the same
referent as that of the current clause. Van Valin & LaPolla give an example from the Native
American language Zuni, which is reproduced below.
proi kwato-p proj
An lelonal-kwin proi teci-nan lelo-nan
arrive-SP box-inside
enter-DfP
his box-at
an-alt-u-nan
proj iteh-kaia-kae
indirective-be-closed-cause-SP
throw-river-past
Hei came to where the box was lying; hei entered the box and hej (the other)
closed it for himi and proj threw it into the river.
The suffix -nan in the first and third clauses indicates that the following clause has the
same pivot (SP), while -p on the verb of the second clause shows that the next clause has a
different pivot (DfP).
Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 288289) also discuss languages, such as the Algonquian
group, in which third person referents are assigned different degrees of topicality by means
of morphological devices which mark one such referent as being topical. They also mention languages such as Yate Zapotec which use noun classification systems to help track
referents.
Although Van Valin & LaPolla do not deal in any detail with the discourse functions
of grammatical systems for reference tracking, such functions have been explored in detail
in other frameworks (see, for example, the work of Givn (e.g. 1983a, 1990, 1995) and
other West Coast Functionalists23 ).
. Although such approaches, for reasons explained in Chapter 2 of Part 1, lie outside our present remit, a
comparison with RRG would be an interesting exercise.
Chapter 4
Discourse, text and context in Systemic Functional Grammar
.. Introduction
We have seen throughout Parts 1 and 2 of this work that the highest priority in SFG is to
give an account of the resources available to speakers and writers for the construction of
texts. This concern permeates the whole of systemic thinking, and strongly conditions the
kind of analysis proposed, just as the concern of FG and RRG for typological adequacy
greatly influences the nature of the proposals in those theories. We can nevertheless pick
out a few areas, from the discussion so far, where there is a particularly clear orientation
towards discourse as manifest in text.
As shown in 1.4.1.1, the account of mood and its underlying semantics in Hallidayan
SFG is explicitly related to the construction of spoken text, in that the four basic types
of speech function recognised (statement, question, offer, command) are related to
the speech roles set up in dialogue, and sets of what in other theories would be called
adjacency pairs are formed by the pairing of each primary speech function with its
expected reaction (e.g. question + answer), or with a dispreferred (e.g. challenging)
reaction (e.g. question + disclaimer).
As discussed at some length in 2.4.1.7, the meanings of the categories of Theme
and Rheme, also Given and New, are closely bound up with the functioning of these
elements in the construction of texts.
Also strongly linked with the structuring and typology of texts in Sydney SFG is the
concept of grammatical metaphor, which has been mentioned at various points in our
discussion, but is perhaps seen at its clearest in Hallidays treatment of nominalisation
(see 7.2.3.6 of Part 1).
In what follows, I shall concentrate on further aspects of discourse and text, grammar and
meaning in Sydney SFG. I shall first make some brief general comments about work on
cohesion, starting with a book which has been highly influential in later studies, Halliday
& Hasans Cohesion in English (1976). I shall then look at SFG work on discourse and text
under two broad headings: discourse and text in relation to metafunction (experiential
and logical components of the ideational function, interpersonal and textual), and relationships between discourse, text and context. I shall then give a brief summary of work
on discourse and text in the Cardiff version of SFG.
.. Texts and cohesion: An initial orientation

The work of Halliday & Hasan (1976) is still widely regarded as a very important contribution to our knowledge of how cohesion works in English texts. A text is defined there
as any passage, spoken or written, of whatever length, that does form a unified whole
(Halliday & Hasan 1976: 1). The authors are at pains to point out that the text is a semantic unit, and that texts do not consist of, but rather are realised by, clauses or sentences
(p. 2). Cohesion is seen as one of the two factors24 which confer on a stretch of English the
property of texture, that is, of being a text rather than just a concatenation of sentences.
Halliday & Hasan claim that since readers are able to judge whether a particular stretch
of English does indeed constitute a text, there must be linguistic properties which serve to
distinguish texts from non-texts. Cohesion is thus seen as a semantic relation within the
language system itself and is defined as follows:
Cohesion occurs where the interpretation of some element in the discourse is dependent on that of another. The one presupposes the other, in the sense that it cannot
be effectively decoded except by recourse to it. (Halliday & Hasan 1976: 4, emphasis
in original)
The relationship between two units which show this kind of dependence is known as a
(cohesive) tie. As cohesion is concerned with what distinguishes a text from a non-text,
it is clearly part of the textual metafunction. It differs, however, from other aspects of the
textual function, such as Theme/Rheme or Given/New, in being non-structural: cohesive
ties are not confined to some grammatical unit such as the clause or even the sentence,
but can occur between as well as within sentences, and may indeed involve items which
are quite far apart in the text. Halliday later expresses this as follows:
. . . a very wide range of semantic relationships is encoded through the clause complex.
But in order to construct discourse we need to be able to establish additional relations
within the text that are not subject to these limitations; relations that may involve
elements of any extent, both smaller and larger than clauses, from single words to
lengthy passages of text; and that may hold across gaps of any extent, both within the
clause and beyond it, without regard to the nature of whatever intervenes. This cannot
be achieved by grammatical structure; it depends on a resource of a rather different
kind. These non-structural resources for discourse are what are referred to by the term
cohesion. (Halliday 1985a: 288, repeated with minor variation in 1994a: 309)
Halliday & Hasan themselves normally discuss examples of cohesion between, rather than
within, sentences, arguing that cohesive ties between sentences stand out more clearly
because they are the only source of texture, whereas within the sentence there are the
structural relations as well (p. 9, emphasis in original).
Halliday & Hasan (pp. 1819) observe that although cohesion is defined as a potential,
a set of devices which constitute one factor in making a text hang together, the actualisation of these devices in the creation of an actual text is a dynamic process. This is echoed in
Hallidays later comment that [c]ohesion is, of course, a process, because discourse itself
is a process (Halliday 1985a: 290, 1994a: 311).
Several types of cohesive device are recognised:25
. The other factor involved in texture is coherence with respect to the context of situation, and will be
discussed later.
. For further comments on these types of cohesive device within the framework of Semiotic Grammar,
see McGregor (1997: 311339).
Chapter 4
Reference: by means of personal pronouns, demonstratives, comparatives (a semantic

relation).26
Substitution: the replacement of one item (nominal, verbal, clausal) by another (a
grammatical relation).
Ellipsis: omission of an item, nominal verbal or clausal (equivalent to substitution by
zero).
Conjunction: by conjunctions and adverbials (therefore, nevertheless, on the contrary, etc.)
Lexical cohesion: reiteration by means of the same word, a synonym or near synonym,
a superordinate or a general word (e.g. thing); collocation.
I shall refer to each of these types at appropriate points in what follows. For now, though,
it should be noted that Halliday & Hasans proposals, though eagerly taken up by many
whose interest lay in the description of texts, also attracted criticism from various quarters. A summary of criticisms which arose after the publication of Cohesion in English can
be found in Butler (1985a: 183188). We shall meet some of them in our discussion of
particular types of cohesion.
One aspect of Halliday & Hasans account of cohesion which has been queried even
from within SFG is the line they draw between grammar (structural) and cohesion (nonstructural). We shall see, especially when examining conjunctive relations, that there are
very clear and close parallels to be drawn between intrasentential and intersentential
types of relationship, so that, as Martin has pointed out, their account fails to bring out
the continuity between the structural [. . . ] and non-structural [. . . ] resources (Martin
1992a: 19). As we shall see, Martins own discourse semantics model is able to generalise
across environments to include structural and non-structural relations.
.. Discourse and text in relation to metafunction

In examining the relationship of grammar and meaning to discourse and text in SFG, a
useful framework is the metafunctional organisation which, as we have repeatedly seen,
pervades both the lexicogrammatical and the semantic levels.27 Lexical cohesion is predominantly related to the experiential content of a text; on the other hand, the organ. Hallidays use of the term reference clearly differs from the uses to be found in the majority of the
literature see later.
. The idea that the discourse semantics is metafunctionally organised goes back to the early 1980s work
of Hasan on a semantic network for the analysis of mother-child interaction, summarised in Hasan (1996).
Hasan postulates a rank scale of semantic units consisting of the whole text, rhetorical units within the text
(see Cloran 1994), message, and what Cloran calls message component, which Hasan characterises as a text
radical. At message rank, she distinguishes, in what she calls progressive messages (those realised through
a major clause in the lexicogrammar), four types of system: classification (realised through, for example,
transitivity), seen as experiential; amplification (realised through, for example, expansion), regarded as logical; role allocation (realised through mood), which is interpersonal; and continuation (realised through,
for instance, cohesion), labelled as textual.
isation of, say, a conversation or a school class discussion into units such as discourse
acts, moves and exchanges, is related to the interpersonal function. Questions of reference, substitution and ellipsis are concerned with ways in which discourse referents are
represented, so orienting these areas towards the textual function; conjunctive devices, on
the other hand, are by and large those which can also operate within the clause complex,
as part of organisation within the logical function. This way of organising the discussion will inevitably leak, in that particular areas can often be seen from more than one
functional viewpoint, but this is only to be expected in view of the fact, amply demonstrated throughout our discussions of SFG, that the metafunctions themselves cannot be
regarded as watertight compartments into which the lexicogrammar and semantics can
be conveniently parcelled.
... Discourse and text in relation to the experiential function

.... Experiential cohesive relations in Halliday & Hasans Cohesion in English. Although cohesion itself is seen by Halliday & Hasan as belonging to the textual component, the items on which it operates themselves have ideational meaning. In this section I
shall deal with cohesion in relation to the experiential component of ideational meaning;
4.4.3.4 will deal with the logical component.
Below is a passage from an article in the travel section of The Sunday Times, cited as
part of the British National Corpus. The topic of the article is a Tibetan sky burial.
(20) At this point the butcher, turning to the vultures, calls: Shoo- Tzshoo - At the signal
about a dozen vultures, the vanguard, leave the mountains and swoop onto the rock.
The butcher throws them bits of flesh as they gather around him. They are huge
beautiful birds with white necks and legs, and speckled tan and white bodies. Their
wings flutter and spread to reveal white undersides and dark brown tips. Some are
so close that we can see their bright blue eyes. The boy bundles the chopped organs
into a cloth. Several vultures try to steal bits of flesh from the boy. The butcher chases
them off the rock with kicks and abusive shouts, as though punishing them for bad
behaviour. The boy carries the bundle off the rock, the two men accompany him.
Then the butcher, facing the mountains, addresses the vultures in a shrill sing-song
voice, calling, Tria- soya - tria- Suddenly hundreds of birds fill the sky, hover in a
quivering cloud above our heads, their wings beating a nervous fluttering sound, and
descend on the rock, completely covering it. As the vultures vie for space, the ravens
cling to the edges. The butcher serves the preparation of flesh, bones and tzampa. The
tzampa has been added to make the mixture more palatable, for it is a bad omen if
anything is left uneaten. The vultures eat greedily, fighting over scraps, slipping off
the rock in their haste to consume. The ravens, uninvited guests, must be content to
scramble at the outer edges, snapping up any morsels the vultures accidentally drop.
At this point several Westerners attempt to photograph the vultures. The butcher
becomes incensed. Leaping off the rock, he rushes at two German girls, brandishing
his knife and shouting. He points the knife at the heart of one of the girls. Livid with
rage, he grabs their cameras and rips the film from them, tearing it to shreds and
Chapter 4
throwing it in the fire. The other cameras are quickly hidden.

The birds finish eating but do not leave the rock. They flutter about nervously
in staccato hops. I wonder why they linger. The answer comes quickly. The bundle
of organs is returned to the rock. They have been waiting for these choice morsels
dessert. They voraciously consume every last bit. Finally the feast is over. The vultures
take to the sky bearing the deceased with them, upwards to the heavens. The rock is
empty. An hour ago there was a body on the rock; now there is nothing. The butcher
sits with the other Tibetans around the fire in animated discussion. There is no sign
of mourning, no tears, no wailing, no prayers. Except for the two men, there are no
family or friends present. Attending a sky burial for a Tibetan must be the equivalent
of going to the morgue for a Westerner. (BNC ARB 23112348)
In this passage, we can find examples of most of the types of lexical cohesion discussed
by Halliday & Hasan. Exact lexical repetition is evident in the many occurrences of items
such as butcher, vulture, boy, rock; the use of words of very similar meaning is illustrated
by eat/consume, sky/heavens and bits/scraps; the superordinate birds is used to refer to the
more specific vultures.28 In many cases, the relevant nominal groups have the same referent, as in the case of the reiterations of the butcher; in other cases, there is no identity of
referent, and yet cohesion is still achieved because the referents are from the same class of
entities, as is the case with, for example, their cameras/the other cameras and the other Tibetans/a Tibetan. We also have a number of examples of collocational patterning in which
reference is made to members of related sets, e.g. the necks, legs, wings and eyes of the
vultures (which are parts of their bodies), the tips and undersides of the wings. There are
also collocations between items with rather looser semantic links, such as mourning, tears,
wailing, prayers, burial, morgue. Halliday & Hasan (1976: 286) observe that [i]t is very
common for long cohesive chains to be built up out of lexical relations of this kind. I shall
examine such chaining in the next section.
First, however, we must deal with a criticism of the Cohesion in English account which,
although actually relevant to the whole question of cohesion and its importance, can be
discussed most easily in relation to lexical cohesive relations. Halliday & Hasan insist that
patterns of lexical cohesion do not exist by virtue of any referential relationship, but rather
that cohesion exists as a direct relation between the forms themselves (1976: 284). They
explicitly reject any implication that cohesion is nothing more than the result of a tendency
for consistency of topic (p. 288). This claim is disputed by Morgan & Sellner (1980: 181),
who see cohesion as an epiphenomenon of coherence of content, effects rather than
causes of coherence. Counter-arguments are, however, possible: in Butler (1985a: 187) I
point out that Halliday & Hasan (1976: 289) are right in saying that the foregoing lexical
. Although the hyponym/superordinate relation is treated as one kind of repetition in Cohesion in English, and synonymy or near-synonymy as another, Halliday later treats both of these, and also meronymy
(partwhole relations), as types of synonymy, reserving the term repetition for repeated occurrence of the
same lexical item (which may take different morphological forms) (Halliday 1985a: 310312, 1994a: 330
333).
environment of an item frequently provides a great deal of hidden information that is

relevant to the interpretation of the item concerned. If I walk into a room where a conversation is going on, and I hear, in fairly close proximity, the words bowl, run, over and
gully, the collocation of these items orients me quickly towards the field of cricket, even
though each of the isolated items would give little away, having other meanings unrelated
to the game of cricket.
It is, however, doubtful that the hearer or reader is dependent on overtly signalled cohesive devices in order to find coherence in a text, as Halliday & Hasan appear to believe.
Brown & Yule (1983: 196), for instance, give convincing examples of sequences of sentences which are readily interpreted as texts but contain no explicitly marked cohesive ties,
and others which, despite a rich network of such ties, are not easily perceivable as coherent. They articulate what seems to be a very reasonable view, that [t]exts are what hearers
and readers treat as texts (p. 199) and that in trying to interpret a passage, we try to
build a coherent picture of the series of events being described and fit the events together,
rather than work with the verbal connections alone (p. 197, emphasis in original).
.... Lexical chains. In later work by Hasan (see especially 1984a, 1985a) on cohesive
harmony, the original categories of cohesion are extended and refined.29 Cohesive relations are categorised as either componential (concerned with the parts of messages) or
organic (concerned with relationships between messages). Organic relations include conjunctives (conjunction in the earlier model) and also adjacency pairs in the textual trace of
a discourse. Componential relations are grammatical or lexical. Grammatical componential relations can involve coreference (usually realised through the cohesive device termed
reference in the 1976 model, though it can also involve lexical reiteration) or coclassification, a relationship between items whose referents are different but belong to the same
class (usually realised by substitution or ellipsis). Lexical componential relations can
also realise the category of coextension, in which two items belong to the same semantic area. Lexical relationships can be general to the language under analysis, or instantial,
arising only through the local conditions within a text (e.g. the possible use of an equivalence between my mother and Mary in a text written by me, but not in one written by
someone whose mothers name is not Mary). General relations are exact lexical repetition and the frequently discussed semantic relations of synonymy, antonymy, hyponymy
and meronymy; instantial relations are divided into those of equivalence, naming and
semblance (e.g. as set up by similes in the text).
Hasan (1984a) goes on to use the above classification in an exploration of the concept
of lexical chain which, as pointed out earlier, was mentioned in the 1976 account. Relations
of coreferentiality give rise to identity chains, and those of coclassification and coextension to similarity chains. A preliminary step in analysis is the replacing of pronouns by
the lexical expression with which they form a tie, and the similar filling in of substitutions
and ellipsis, these processes being known as lexical rendering. Items participating in lexi. The following summary is based on that given in Butler (1989).
Chapter 4
cal chains are relevant tokens, others are peripheral tokens. Hasan demonstrates that the
proportion of relevant tokens in a text is not a sufficient predictor of readers judgments of
text coherence, but that we can obtain interesting correlations with coherence judgments
if we look at properties connected with the interaction between chains. Two chains interact if there are at least two items in one chain which stand in the same transitivity relation
to items in the second chain, for instance in terms of Actor material Process Goal,
or Senser mental Process Phenomenon. An example of a simple chain interaction is
given in (21).
(21) You like coffee? Or you prefer something stronger? (BNC FPM 10761077)
The relationships involved may be diagrammed as in (22):
(22)
Senser Mental process Phenomenon

you
like
coffee
you
prefer
something stronger
Relevant tokens which are members of interacting chains are labelled as central, others
as non-central. Any chain which interacts with a large number of others is focal. Hasan
proposes and tests several hypotheses about the relationship between perceived coherence
and the various ratios of central, peripheral, relevant and total tokens in a text. The results emphasise the importance of the central/total and central/peripheral ratios in the
achievement of coherence. The work of Parsons (1990, 1991) tests and, where necessary,
modifies Hasans claims in relation to written production by native and non-native writers of English. Fries (2002b) also examines lexical chains and their interaction, as well as
relationships between type of Theme (person, time, thing, etc.) and information type
(event, potential event, setting, evaluation), in a discussion of aspects of conversational
coherence.
Hoey (1991) seeks to provide a complementary perspective to Hasans work on coherence and cohesive harmony. He investigates interactions between sentences which form
part of interacting chains in a passage of political philosophy and a newspaper item, and
finds that sentences which are connected by a number of ties which is above the average
for the text have related messages. Hoey postulates a number of coherence processes which
create the cohesion of sentences with significant cohesion. He also raises the question as
to whether the chains postulated by Hasan have any psychological validity as part of a
mechanism for processing during reading and writing.
.... Martins ideation. Martin (1992a: Chapter 5) presents an extremely detailed account of ideational lexical relations, both systemic and structural, in English text, building
on the work of Halliday and of Hasan. The following comments are of necessity extremely
brief, and readers are recommended to read Martins original work for further detail.
Martin (p. 293) sets up a semantic unit of message part, which underlies the lexical
item and enters into cohesive lexical relations. The concept of message part is linked to
the contextual parameter of field, which will be discussed further in 4.4.4: for now, let us
take the definition by Halliday from which Martin (p. 291) himself starts:
The field of discourse refers to what is happening, to the nature of the social action that is taking place: what is it that the participants are engaged in, in which the
language figures as some essential component? (Halliday 1985b: 12)
This concept of field is developed by Martin in terms of sets of activity sequences oriented
to some global institutional purpose (p. 292), these sequences being further decomposed
as follows:
i.
ii.
taxonomies of actions, people, places, things and qualities

configurations of actions with people, places, things and qualities and of people,
places and things with qualities.
iii. activity sequences of these configurations (Martin 1992a: 292)
A message part is then seen as realising one of the taxonomising features, one of the actions
entering into activity sequences, or one of the associated qualities. Consider (23):
(23) The batter hit the ball well. (BNC CGA 281)
Here, we have simple expression of the message part person as batter, action as hit,
thing as ball, and quality as well. More complex lexical realisations of message parts are
also possible (e.g. cricket ball instead of just ball).
Martin uses these three main categories to develop his networks for lexical relations,
with examples mainly from texts where the language mirrors iconically the action which
is going on.
Taxonomic relations (pp. 294304) are divided into a superordination types, based on
subclassification, and a composition type, based on the relationship between the whole
and its parts. For instance, the overall category of classical music might be divided into
various cross-cutting subcategories (e.g. orchestral, chamber, solo; mediaeval, baroque,
classical, romantic, impressionist, etc.), and these subcategories, or combinations of them,
into finer categories (e.g. chamber music into duos, trios, quartets, quintets, etc.; orchestral music of the romantic period into tone poems as well as the symphonies, overtures
and other genres which it shares with the classical period; and so on). Such relationships
are of the superordination type. On the other hand, composition relationships organise
people, places and things, still in relation to a particular field such as that of classical music,
by means of part/whole rather than class. An example of such a relationship would be that
of the organisation of a classical orchestra: we might first distinguish between those with
management functions and the players themselves, and within players between those in
the string, woodwind, brass and percussion sections, arranged in particular conventional
spatial configurations, with more delicate subdivisions within each category.
Superordination relationships are divided into those of classification, contrast and
similarity. Classification involves relations of hyponymy, superordinacy and the like (e.g.
flute and clarinet are co-hyponyms of the superordinate woodwind instrument). Contrast can be binary (e.g. converses such as buy/sell, gradable antonyms such as long/short
or complementaries such as male/female) or non-binary (scales such as that from hot,
through warm, etc., to cold; or non-gradable ranks such as morpheme, word, group, clause
in SFG). Similarity can be subdivided into synonymy (and here Martin distinguishes
Chapter 4
an experiential type (e.g. big/large) and an attitudinal type (e.g. beat/trounce)30 ), and
repetition of the same lexical item, with or without morphological variation.
Composition relationships (pp. 294325) are, as we have seen, based on the
part/whole relationship we call meronymy. Martin proposes three basic types: collective,
constitution and consistency. Collective relationships are those which are concerned with
aggregates (e.g. flock sheep), while consistency relations are to do with the material of
which an object is made (e.g. spoon wooden). For constitution, Martin postulates two
simultaneous subsystems: co-meronymy vs. meronymy, and alienable vs. inalienable. For
instance, door and window name different parts of a house (co-meronymy), and a house
may be part of a village (meronymy). The relationship of inalienability can be illustrated
by means of the pair teapot spout, while that of alienability is exemplified by bush
garden.
Let us now turn to relationships involving configurations (pp. 309325) which Martin
terms nuclear. Martins strategy here is to attempt to penetrate further into what has usually been looked at in terms of collocation, by analysing the semantic relationships involved, making use of the general logico-semantic relations of elaboration, extension and
enhancement (i.e. the three types of expansion which occupy such an important place as
fractal categories in SFG), as applied to the clause and to nominal and verbal groups. In
the clause, this means showing how a process can be elaborated, extended or enhanced
through combination with particular types of participant: examples of elaboration would
include have bath, play chess, tell tale, where the participant is a Range (see 8.3.1.3.3
of Part 1) which represents the process itself in another way; extension covers cases such
as climb hill, play trombone, cross road, where the Range represents an entity showing
the extent of the process; enhancement is in terms of items representing circumstantial
relations. Within the nominal group, elaboration is found in combinations such as white
wine, silk scarf, noun phrase, the back of the building, a kind of spade; extension in structures
with epithets which add qualities rather than classify, such as white jacket, square table, excellent meal; and enhancement in qualifiers representing place, time, etc. as in the table in
the kitchen, the trouble with John. Elaboration in the verbal group takes the form of phrasal
and prepositional verbs such as run over (a plan), look after (ones children); extension is
involved in verbal group complexes such as try to X, succeed in -ing; and enhancement
in modification of the process expressed in a verbal group, by means of a manner adverb
such as slowly.
Relationships involving activity sequences (pp. 321325) are concerned with expectancy or implication. Expectancy is involved in sequences of events such as those in
a game: Martin illustrates this from tennis, in which a match consists of sets, and these
of games, involving the scoring of points, which in turn entails the playing of shots. Implication is involved where one event is presented as conditional upon another, and such
sequences may then build into more complex ones.
Having presented the systemic part of his analysis, Martin (pp. 326370) goes on to
show how the relationships summarised above are involved in the formation of lexical
. Note that we are dealing with interpersonal meaning here.
chain structures (or, as he calls them, lexical strings) in texts. He discusses the kinds of
lexical rendering which are needed, expanding somewhat on Hasans procedure. Lexical
strings are analysed in terms of a simplified subset of relations which collapses some of
the more delicate distinctions discussed above. Each textual analysis involves three passes
through the text, each corresponding to one of the three main areas of the systemic network: taxonomic, nuclear and activity relations. In the taxonomic analysis, bidirectional
dependency links between message parts are labelled with the type of relation involved.
Message parts are related back only to the nearest related message part, although Martin
also presents briefly a lattice representation in which all links are shown.
Although space does not permit the inclusion of full analyses, we can see that in the
passage in example (20), there are numerous lexical strings formed by items in taxonomic
relationships, only a few of which I shall comment on here. One consists of the various
repetitions (in the lexically rendered text) of the item butcher. Another, more complex
string involves repetitions of vultures and their co-occurrence with items in superordination or composition relationships with this term: birds is a hyperonym of vultures, while
wings, necks, legs, bodies stand in meronymic relation to vultures, and tips, undersides, in
meronymic relation to wings. Further chains are formed by repetitions of rock and of boy,
and by the relationships between bits of flesh, scraps and organs. There are also strings involving action processes, such as flutter and eat/consume. These lexical strings interact to
give rise to nuclear relationships entering into taxonomic relations with other such relationships: for instance, vultures leave mountains and vultures swoop onto rock can be
regarded as nuclear configurations related as co-meronyms of the overall process of movement involved. Finally, we can recognise a number of activity sequences characterised by
the density of particular lexical relationships: the beginning of the passage is concerned
with the actions of the butcher and vultures in relation to each other; there follows a descriptive passage centred on the vultures and the parts of their bodies; after a short section
centring on the actions of the boy, we return to the butcher and his actions in relation to
the vultures; and so on.
Martin (pp. 370372) comments briefly on the similarities and differences between
his analysis and Hasans work on cohesive harmony. He points out that the aims of the
two studies are rather different, Hasan being concerned with developing measures of coherence in texts, while his own analysis is oriented towards exploring cohesion in relation
to the field of discourse. Martin also observes that the nuclear relations of his analysis can
be used as a measure of the chain interaction which is so important to Hasans model.
An important difference between the two approaches is that Hasans analysis, rooted in
lexicogrammar, is based on lexical items, whereas Martins account, being explicitly semantic, is concerned with message parts, which may, but need not, consist of individual
lexical items. A further consequence of the semantic orientation of Martins model is that
his nuclear relationships analysis can recognise semantic relationships between stretches
of language which differ lexicogrammatically because of the occurrence of grammatical
metaphor. Martin (p. 385) also points out that his own model includes collocation as a
text-forming resource at the lexicogrammatical level, on the grounds that it is possible
Chapter 4
that such relations can contribute to texture independently of the semantic relationships
which would be predicted by the field of discourse.
Martin (p. 433) also points to what he perceives as some limitations in Hasans model.
Firstly, cohesive harmony measures texture, but does not account for coherence arising
from register and genre;31 secondly, it deals only with experiential aspects of texture, leaving out of account the text-forming resources related to other metafunctions; and thirdly,
it focuses on Hasans componential rather than organic relations, leaving out relationships concerned with conjunction (see 4.4.3.4.3) and what Martin calls negotiation (see
4.4.3.2.2). Martin also feels that coherence judgments, which cohesive harmony is intended to account for, are only one of the concerns of the discourse analyst, beside others
such as the effectiveness of a text in achieving its [sic] interlocutors social purpose, and
a texts role in sustaining culture as a dynamic open system (p. 433).
... Discourse and text in relation to the interpersonal function

.... The Birmingham school of discourse analysis. We saw in 1.4.1.1 that Hallidays
account of speech function proposes what are effectively adjacency pairs, such as Question/Answer or Offer/Acceptance. The principle behind Hallidays proposal is that the initiating speech act predicts the response, either the default positive kind as in the examples
just given, or a dispreferred response, as in Question/Disclaimer or Offer/Refusal.
The idea that one discourse act predicts another is also at the heart of the much more
sophisticated type of discourse analysis undertaken by the Birmingham school, pioneered
in the well-known work by Sinclair & Coulthard on classroom discourse, which is concerned with the level of the function of a particular utterance, in a particular social situation and at a particular place in a sequence, as a specific contribution to a developing
discourse (Sinclair & Coulthard 1975: 13). This work was clearly influenced by Sinclairs
earlier involvement with the Scale and Category type of Hallidayan linguistics,32 and it is
no coincidence that it was carried forward by linguists such as Berry who, as we have seen,
are very centrally placed within SFG.
The debt to Scale and Category linguistics is particularly clear in the postulation of a
rank scale for classroom discourse, consisting of the units lesson, transaction, exchange,
move, act. The lower end of the discourse rank scale overlaps with the upper end of the
grammatical rank scale, in that [d]iscourse acts are typically one free clause, plus any
subordinate clauses (p. 23). Each rank of unit, except perhaps the highest, has various
classes, each with a range of possible structures, elements of which are realised by members of next lower unit. Classification of a unit depends on what linguistic items have
preceded it, what are expected to follow and what do follow (p. 34). As an example, a
directive functions to request (and therefore expects) a non-linguistic response, whereas
an elicitation requests a linguistic response.
. See, however, 4.4.4.3.
. This relationship is explicitly recognised in Sinclair & Coulthards (1975: 20) introduction to their system
of analysis.
A lesson consists of a series of transactions with no fixed ordering. A transaction consists of at least an element of structure labelled as Preliminary and one labelled as Medial,
and may contain a Terminal element. Preliminary and Terminal elements are realised by
Boundary exchanges, while Medial elements are realised by Teaching exchanges. Boundary exchanges consist of the elements Frame and Focus, one of which may be missing:
Frame elements are realised by Framing moves, and Focus elements by Focusing moves.
At primary delicacy, teaching exchanges consist of an Initiation, followed optionally by
Response and Feedback elements, though the detailed structures depend on the subclass
of teaching exchange (e.g. Teacher Inform, Teacher Direct, Pupil Elicit, etc.). Initiations are
realised by Opening moves, Responses by Answering moves, and Feedback by Follow-up
moves. Teachers Opening moves consist of various specified combinations of the elements
of structure signal, pre-head, head, post-head and select: signal elements are realised by
the act Marker, pre-head moves by the act Starter, and head moves by Elicitation, Directive, Informative or Check; post-head elements are realised by either Prompt or Clue acts,
and select elements by Nomination, optionally preceded by Bid and Cue. Pupils Opening
moves have a head with optional select before it. Answering moves have a rather simpler
structure, consisting of just three elements: optional pre-head, realised by Acknowledge;
obligatory head, realised by Reply, React or Acknowledge; and optional post-head, realised
by Comment. Follow-up moves have the same basic structure as Answering moves, the
pre-head being realised by Accept, the head by Evaluate, and the post-head by Comment.
Framing moves have the structure head (realised by Marker) followed by qualifier (realised
by a silent stress). Finally, focusing moves consist of optional signal (realised by Marker),
optional pre-head (realised by Starter), obligatory head (realised by either Metastatement
or Conclusion) and optional post-head (realised by Comment). Each type of act is provided with a statement giving its functional definition and the types of realisation which
are possible: for instance, an Elicitation is realised by a question and is defined as an act
whose function is to request a response; a Prompt, on the other hand, is an act which is
realised by the closed class go on, come on, hurry up, quickly, and functions to reinforce a
previous directive or elicitation, by showing that the teacher is now expecting a response
(pp. 4041).
Sinclair & Coulthards pioneering work was confined to classroom interaction, a socially important type of discourse with a fairly well-defined structure. It soon led, however,
to attempts to apply a similar analytical system to other types of language, some of which
were much less clearly structured and necessitated considerable revision and extension of
the original model. These developments will not be discussed in detail here: readers are referred to the articles in Coulthard & Montgomery (1981) and Coulthard (1992) for further
work on spoken English. I shall confine myself to just two areas which offer expansions of
the Sinclar & Coulthard model, though in very different ways.
The Sinclair & Coulthard work emphasises syntagmatic discourse relations, and this
is perfectly understandable, for two reasons: firstly, it was partly a reaction to speech act
theory accounts, one of the problematic aspects of which was precisely their failure to predict restrictions on syntagmatic combinations; secondly, the work was based on the Scale
and Category model of grammar, which itself (at least in practice) paid more attention
Chapter 4
to syntagmatic relations than to paradigmatic patterning. In Butler (1985b) there is an

attempt to redress the balance: paradigmatic relations in the area of directive discourse
acts are formalised in terms of system networks, and the structural consequences spelled
out as realisation rules, the framework being based on the adaptation of the types of rule
proposed for syntax in Hudsons (1976) Daughter Dependency Grammar.33
A further development which is worthy of special note is Berrys (1981a) work on
exchange structure in relation to the Hallidayan concept of metafunction. While I have
assumed so far that structuring in terms of acts, moves and exchanges is essentially an
interpersonal matter, Berry suggests that the other metafunctions can also be seen as relevant. Berrys starting point is that there are aspects of the patterning of exchange structure
which require that we recognise that exchanges can be alike in some ways, yet different in
others. She then demonstrates that the differences can be related to metafunction.
In terms of the interpersonal function, Berry (1981a: 126) picks up a statement by
Coulthard & Brazil (1981: 101) that the exchange is the unit concerned with negotiating
the transmission of information. She goes on to analyse this idea in some detail, recognising four possible functions involved in an informational exchange. Berry illustrates these
four functions by means of the exchange in (24).
(24) (= Berrys (6), 1981a: 127)
QUIZMASTER: in England, which cathedral has the tallest spire
CONTESTANT: is it Salisbury
QUIZMASTER: yes
CONTESTANT: oh
Berry distinguishes between the primary knower, in this case the quizmaster, and the secondary knower, here the contestant. There is always a slot in which the primary knower
indicates that (s)he has the knowledge and confers the stamp of authority on it: this function is labelled k1, and is realised by the quizmasters yes in (24). The secondary knowers
attempt to demonstrate knowledge of the answer to the question is labelled k2: in the example above it is the reply is it Salisbury. In this particular case, the reply is tentatively
interrogative, but it could have been declarative or moodless: the distinction represents a
set of systemic options available to the speaker at k2. The quizmasters initial question is
labelled dk1, a mnemonic for the function of delaying the primary knowers revelation of
the appropriate knowledge. The contestants final oh, is k2f, a follow-up. Of the four functions, k1 is, as pointed out above, obligatory; dk1 and k2 predict k1, and k2f presupposes
k1 and is always optional. The four functions can occupy various slots, but they are always
ordered such that if k2 occurs it comes before k1, if dk1 occurs it comes before k2, and if
k2f occurs it comes after k1. The four functions also differ in their possible realisations:
for instance, as Berry (p. 128) observes, only k2f can be realised as oh.
The textual layer of structure consists of the turns taken by the participants in the
interaction: ai, bi, aii, bii, etc. In order to motivate turn-taking as a separate layer of struc. For other aspects of this work, in relation to the semantics of mood and modality, see 1.4.4 of the
present volume and 9.4.3 of Part 1.
ture, Berry (pp. 133134) demonstrates that it can be mapped on to the interpersonal
structure in different ways.
The ideational layer of structure consists of the functions which Berry labels propositional base, propositional completion and propositional support. In (24), the quizmasters
question is the propositional base, the proposition is completed by the contestants reply, and propositional support is provided by the quizmasters confirmation. Again, Berry
(p. 142) shows that there are different ways in which the functions at this layer can be
mapped on to those at the textual and interpersonal layers. In (25), the exchange in (24)
is shown with an analysis in Berrys terms.
(25)
QUIZMASTER:
CONTESTANT:
QUIZMASTER:
CONTESTANT:
in England, which cathedral has the tallest spire

is it Salisbury
yes
oh
dk1 ai pb
k2 bi pc
k1 aii ps
k2f bii
Berrys work is further developed in papers relating to polarity and propositional development (Berry 1981b) and metafunctional layering in directive exchanges (1981c).
.... Expansions of Berrys work by Martin and Ventola. In Martin (1985) it is recognised that Berrys account was the most descriptively adequate available at the time, making predictions about the well-formedness of exchanges and pinpointing similarities and
differences between types of exchange. Martin points out, however, that speakers have
many more options than Berrys account provides for, including interruption and repetition for the purpose of clarification. These aspects, though, are concerned with the
dynamics of ongoing interaction, and are not easily handled within the static approach
adopted by Berry. Martin therefore proposes a dual perspective on exchange structure,
arguing that we need to look at discourse both synoptically (i.e. as a product) and dynamically (i.e. in terms of the process of text creation), the dynamics being represented by
means of a flowchart notation showing possible omissions, recursions, and so on, an idea
suggested by analyses of service encounters which were being developed by Ventola at that
time. Martin (1985: 266267) presents a flowchart showing the dynamic system underlying Berrys dk1 function in an informational exchange. The work of Martin and of Berry
is synthesised and extended in Ventolas later work (see Ventola 1987: 96104), resulting
in a modified system network for the synoptic aspects of exchange structure (1987: 102),
together with discussion of the dynamic systems needed to account for what actually happens in exchanges within service encounters. Ventola (1988) also proposes that the slots in
exchange structures can be filled not only by simple moves, realised lexicogrammatically
as a single independent clause plus any dependent clauses, but also by move complexes,
realised by paratactic clause complexes. Elements in move complexes at the discourse level,
just like those in clause complexes at the lexicogrammatical level, are shown to be related
in terms of the logical relations of expansion (elaboration, extension and enhancement)
and projection.
Martins proposals are further elaborated in Martin (1992a: Chapter 2), under the
heading of negotiation, glossed as shaping meaning through dialogue (p. 31). Negotia-
Chapter 4
tion thus represents the interpersonal part of Martins model of discourse semantics, and
brings in the categories of speech function and mood already discussed in 1.4.1.2, where
we saw that speech function is handled by means of a set of systems at the rank of move in
the discourse semantics, while mood is discussed in terms of a set of systems for the clause
in the lexicogrammar.
Martin (1992a: 4676) also discusses the synoptic and dynamic aspects of the exchange. Synoptically, Martin first differentiates between attending exchanges (calling
and greeting) and negotiating exchanges (reacting and exchanging). The exchanging class is then cross-classified according to Ventolas extension of Berrys proposals (see
above). Combinations of systemic features at the discourse semantic level map on to mood
choices at the lexicogrammatical level. Martin also proposes a network for the options
which enable speakers to track the discourse, in terms of clarifying, challenging and the
like, though he does not attempt to develop a dynamic model of the processes involved.
Recently, as a result of work on literacy in the secondary school and the workplace,
Martin has developed further his account of the interpersonal part of the discourse semantics, under the headings of appraisal and involvement, both concerned with evaluative language (Martin 1997, 2000). Appraisal consists of several subcomponents: affect,
judgment, appreciation, engagement and amplification.
Affect (Martin 1997: 2023) is concerned with the expression of emotions, and consists of three major types: (in)security, (dis)satisfaction and (un)happiness. The variables
here are whether the emotion is normally construed by the culture as positive or negative,
whether we are dealing with an ongoing state (e.g. liking or hating) or a sudden burst of
emotion (as in laughing or crying), whether or not the emotion is being directed at, or
is reacting to, an external agency (as in being pleased by something), and what the intensity of the feeling is (e.g. adoring/loving/liking). Judgment is the institutionalization
of feeling, in the context of proposals34 (norms about how people should and shouldnt
behave) (1997: 2324). It thus deals with social esteem and the lack of it (admiring vs.
criticising), also social sanctions of a positive (praising) and negative (condemning) nature. Martin also proposes subcategories of these basic categories. Appreciation is the
institutionalization of feeling, in the context of propositions (norms about how products
and performances are valued) (1997: 24). This involves matters of impact, reaction, judgment of balance, complexity and worthwhileness. Engagement brings together systems
for adjusting a speakers commitment to what they are saying, while amplification deals
with systems for grading evaluations (1997: 19). Choices in the affect systems are realised by a variety of selections in the lexicogrammar, including those of evaluative lexis,
modal verbs and adjuncts, numeration and prenumeration, intensification, repetition, adjuncts of manner and extent, and also by choices in the sound system, in loudness, pitch
movement and voice quality.
Involvement systems are related to appraisal, but are related resources for negotiating
solidarity (1997: 20). They involve systems of naming, choices in technicality, swearing,
. Note that Martin uses the terms proposal and proposition in the same was as Halliday, to cover
offers/commands and statements/questions, respectively.
and the use of anti-language (see Halliday 1976), and are realised lexicogrammatically
through systems of address, technical and other specialised lexis, slang and taboo words,
secret scripts, and also through features of voice quality such as whispering.
Detailed discussion of affect, judgement and appreciation, with extensive exemplification, can be found in Martin (2000). Work in this area has also been used as a basis
for discussion of literary critical issues, and of the issue of objectivity in various types of
discourse.35
... Discourse and text in relation to the textual function

.... Reference, substitution and ellipsis in Cohesion in English. About half of Halliday & Hasans Cohesion in English (1976) is devoted to the resources in English for the
three related types of cohesion which the authors label reference, substitution and ellipsis.
The account contains a wealth of detail, and I can do no more than provide a very brief
summary here.36 Examples of each type are given below.
(26) An architect on holiday in the Scottish Highlands was out for an afternoons hill
walking. In attempting to cross a small stream at the top of a waterfall he lost his
footing, slipped and fell to his death. He was only 48. (BNC AYR 413415)
(27) Attracting candidates can often be easier than selecting the right one, . . .
(BNC AYJ 130)
(28) Were out of drink and need to steal some. (BNC AE0 838)
Reference, for Halliday & Hasan, is a property of items when instead of being interpreted
semantically in their own right, they make reference to something else for their interpretation (1976: 31). Note that what is referred to may be, and often is, a linguistic item in
the text itself. For instance, each occurrence of he and his in (26) is an example of reference, since the interpretation of each needs a semantic link to be made back to an architect
in order to find the referent. Substitution differs from reference in that rather than being
a relation between meanings (i.e. semantic), it is a relation between wordings (i.e. lexicogrammatical) (Halliday & Hasan 1976: 89). In (27), the pronoun one substitutes for
candidate. Ellipsis can be defined as substitution by zero (p. 89). In (28), the noun drink
is ellipted, so that we have some rather than some drink.
Reference can involve a link between two items which are both present in the text
(endophoric reference, with the subtypes anaphoric, involving reference to preceding text,
and cataphoric, referring to succeeding text), or between an item in the text and something
outside the text itself, in the situation of utterance (exophoric reference). In (26) above,
the personal pronouns and determiners are endophoric (more specifically, anaphoric),
while the Scottish Highlands is an example of exophoric reference (of a subtype labelled
. For SFG work on stylistics, see Chapter 5.
. The account of cohesive devices in Halliday (1985a, 1994a) is much less detailed than that in Cohesion
in English, and does not add substantially to it, except in the area of conjunctive relations. I shall therefore
base most of what follows on the earlier account.
Chapter 4
homophoric, in which interpretation does not require reference to the specific situation,
but rather the referent is identifiable because unique see Halliday & Hasan, p. 71). The
exophoric type of reference makes no contribution to the cohesion of a text (p. 53),
since it is not a relation between two items both of which occur within the text. Note that
in the top of a waterfall the function of the is not cohesive, but structural, referring to an
element in the same nominal group. Halliday & Hasan (p. 37) recognise three types of
reference: personal, demonstrative and comparative. These clearly relate to the structures
and systems of the nominal group discussed in 7.2.3 of Part 1.
Personal reference is achieved through the use of personal pronouns and possessive
pronouns and determiners (see 7.2.3.4 of Part 1). Examples were given earlier. Halliday &
Hasan (p. 48) point out that only third person forms are inherently cohesive, normally referring anaphorically to some item in the preceding text; first and second person forms, on
the other hand, are usually exophoric, referring to the speaker(s) and addressee(s) respectively. They also discuss the use of it to refer to any portion of a text, rather than just to a
particular entity (pp. 5253), and the use of one, we, you, they, it (the last in meteorological
contexts) with generalised meaning (pp. 5354).
In demonstrative reference, [t]he speaker identifies the referent by locating it on a
scale of proximity (p. 57). This type of reference is realised by the demonstrative pronouns and determiners this/these, that/those and by the parallel adverbial forms here and
there, now and then, but also by the definite article the, which is regarded as neutral rather
than selective, and merely indicates that the item in question is specific and identifiable;
that somewhere the information necessary for identifying it is recoverable (p. 71). The
definite article is cohesive only when anaphoric. Halliday & Hasan (p. 6667) also discuss the use of this/that to refer to extended portions of text (cf. it above). It is important
to remember that only endophoric uses of the demonstratives are cohesive. Examples of
demonstrative reference are given below.
(29) Payments start from as little as 6.50 a month. Thats under 22 pence a day, . . .
(BNC AYR 296297)
(30) The others got hysterical, but Nutty had to soothe him, pulling them up under his
armpits and getting Nails to find a belt. The belt went round twice.
(BNC AT4 31993200)
In (29), there is a cohesive tie between that and 6.50 a month, and in (30) between the
belt and a belt.
In comparative reference, the relationship is one of similarity or dissimilarity. A general comparison subcategory is concerned simply with identity (e.g. same, identical(ly)),
similarity (e.g. similar) and difference (e.g. other, different(ly)). The particular subcategory is concerned with comparison in terms of quantity and quality, and may be realised
in a numerative (e.g. more, fewer) or an epithet (e.g. comparative adjective or adverb).
(31) Agnes watched the young, plump, matronly lady look at the young man, whom she
imagined to be the same age as his wife. (BNC AT7 411)
(32) Managers are frequently willing to transfer responsibility for performing certain
tasks, particularly under supervision. There may be more reluctance, even strong
resistance, to a transfer of role. Task delegation is thus more common, . . .
(BNC AYJ 19601962)
In (31), same in the same age relates to the age of his wife, and in (32), the first more
refers back to transfer responsibility, and the second to a transfer of role. These examples,
incidentally, illustrate the abstract, semantic nature of reference, and the fact that the item
to which reference is said to be made need not even be nominal.
In reference, then, the cohesive effect is achieved through a semantic relationship,
relying on the recoverability of meanings from the text or situational environment; in
substitution, on the other hand, we have a relationship between items at the formal, lexicogrammatical level, within the text: [a] substitute is a sort of counter which is used
in place of the repetition of a particular item (p. 89), and this is reflected in the fact
that there are formal restrictions on what can substitute for what. Whereas in personal or
demonstrative reference the two linked items are referentially identical, substitution of a
nominal is used either when there is no identity of reference, or when some new specification needs to be added (p. 95). Halliday & Hasan (pp. 9091) distinguish three types
of substitution: nominal (involving substitution of an item in a nominal group), verbal
(involving substitution within a verbal group) and clausal.
Nominal substitution (pp. 91112) involves the forms one(s) and same. One(s) is always the head of a nominal group, and must substitute for another item which is also head
of a nominal group. Halliday & Hasan discuss in detail the meaning of this substitution
and the conditions under which it can be used. An example is given in (33).
(33) . . . Im sorry to say that Harolds figure is the correct one. (BNC ASE 352)
The item same can be used as a reference item (as in (31) above) or as a substitute (as in
(34)).
(34) Maggie said shed have a half of shandy, Susan ordered the same. (BNC AN7 724)
Here, the same refers to a half of shandy, but of course it is not the same half of shandy
which is being talked about, as would be the case with the same half of shandy, which
involves reference rather than substitution.
Verbal substitution (pp. 112129) involves the form do, acting as the head of a verbal
group, as in (35), where do stands for express your views, showing that elements other than
the verb itself can come into the domain of substitution.
(35) And I wouldnt like to be present when you express your views, if ever you do.
(BNC AT7 308)
Again, Halliday & Hasan provide a very detailed analysis of the meaning of, and constraints on, this type of substitution.
Examples such as (35) can also be considered from the vantage point of the clause.
As we saw in 1.4.1.1, the interpersonal structure of a clause consists of a Mood element
Chapter 4
(Subject and Finite) and a Residue (or, as Halliday & Hasan label them, Modal and Propositional elements: remember that Modal here refers to mood, as defined in SFG, rather
than specifically to modality). In (35) it is the Propositional element of the clause which
is substituted by do. Clausal substitution proper (pp. 130141) involves the presupposing,
by a particular linguistic item, of a whole clause, as opposed to a single constituent or a
combination of constituents which is less than a whole clause (as in (35)). The forms so
and not are used in clausal substitution, as shown in the following examples.
(36) Are you feeling better? I think so. (BNC ATE 438439)
(37) Did he stand up to be counted in the old days? I think not. (BNC AAF 292293)
In (36), so stands for I am feeling better, and in (37) not substitutes for he didnt stand up
to be counted in the old days.
Ellipsis, as we have seen, can be regarded as substitution by zero: rather than substituting some item by a counter such as one or do, nothing is placed in the relevant position.
Like substitution, ellipsis can be nominal, verbal or clausal.
Examples of nominal ellipsis (see Halliday & Hasan, pp. 147166) are given below.
(38) All the photos were taken between 1980 and 1981 and nearly all were shot in the
vicinity of Petticoat Lane. (BNC ARP 11)
(39) As my flies touched the surface, two trout, each weighing about 10oz, greedily
grabbed; and each successive cast brought two more. (BNC AS7 813)
In (38), nearly all shows a deictic with ellipsis of the photos, and in (39) the indefinite quantifier more is used with ellipsis of trout. Ellipsis of other types of nominal group component
is also possible, as Halliday & Hasan demonstrate.
The following examples illustrate some types of verbal ellipsis (see Halliday & Hasan,
pp. 167196):
(40) Have you noticed? Yes, dear, of course I have. (BNC AT4 39533954)
(41) It might be true that Rose was the father. It might not. (BNC AP0 149150)
(42) It was bitterly cold and it was raining. No, snowing. (BNC ABX 35163517)
In (40) and (41) we have ellipsis of the lexical verb: noticed in the first case, be (plus its
complement true that Rose was the father) in the second. In (42), there is ellipsis of the
finite operator was (as well as the Subject it). Halliday & Hasan discuss the possibilities
for ellipsis of the material realising choices from the verbal group systems of polarity,
finiteness and modality, voice and tense. Just as in the case of verbal substitution, we can
also see verbal ellipsis in terms of the Modal and Propositional (Mood and Residue) constituents of the interpersonal structure of the clause. In (40) and (41) the Modal element
is present in the second part, but the Propositional element has been ellipted. In (42), it is
the Propositional element which is present, the Modal element being ellipted.
There are also occasions on which a whole clause is ellipted, and this, of course, constitutes clausal ellipsis proper. This type of ellipsis is common in answers to questions and
other rejoinder sequences (see Halliday & Hasan, pp. 206216), as in (43), where there is
ellipsis of I have never tried one myself.
(43) Have you never tried one yourself? No. (BNC AT7 963964)
Full clausal ellipsis is also found in cases such as the following, in which the clausal
complement of tell is ellipted:
(44) Bob is going to fly to Finland. I can tell from his expression . . .
(BNC CN3 29192920)
Patterns of clausal ellipsis are also discussed by Matthiessen (1995a: 607613).
Before we leave the area of reference, substitution and ellipsis, we should note that
Halliday & Hasans account raises a number of theoretically important problems. Some of
these arise from the non-standard way in which the term reference is used: as Morgan &
Sellner (1980: 180) observe, the term is normally used in linguistics to label a relationship
between a linguistic item and something in the world of discourse which it picks out on a
given occasion of use; in Halliday & Hasans example Wash and core six cooking apples. Put
them into a fireproof dish. (1976: 2), we can make sense of the notion of reference only if the
cohesive tie consists in a relation of coreference between them and six cooking apples. However, as Huddleston (1978: 342), in his review of Cohesion in English, points out, six cooking
apples is not even a referring expression, since it denotes any six cooking apples rather than
six particular apples, so leaving the exact nature of the cohesive relation unclear.
The difficulties caused by Halliday & Hasans idiosyncratic use of reference are also
evident, as Huddleston (1978: 336337) observes, in the conflation, according to their definition, of endophora and exophora as subtypes of reference. In an example such as John
didnt come. Was he ill? (Huddlestons example (6)), the referent of he is the person John,
but the antecedent is the noun phrase John. On the other hand, in his example (8), I have
a headache, the pronoun I has a referent (the speaker), but no antecedent. The lack of a
distinction between the concepts of antecedent and referent leads to conflation of two very
different types of phenomenon.
Brown & Yule (1983: 199201) also question the endophora/exophora distinction,
from a rather different viewpoint. Imagine a text of reasonable length, in which there
is a succession of mentions of a particular referent: the reader or hearer would have to
go back to the first mention in order to reconstruct the identity of the referent. Brown &
Yule regard this as an unreasonable demand on the ability of the reader or listener; rather,
they say, the processor of the text constructs a mental representation of the discourse, in
which are embedded representations of the relevant referents, established on first mention, which can then be consulted on subsequent mentions of that referent. In the case
of exophora, the relationship is with the world created by the discourse; but in either
case, the reader or hearer has to relate language to something which is outside language, a
mental representation, so that the boundary between endophora and exophora becomes
indistinct.
Both Huddleston and Brown & Yule raise questions about a further distinction
which is central to the Cohesion in English model, that between reference (seen by
Chapter 4
Halliday & Hasan as a semantic relation) and substitution (a lexicogrammatical relation).

Huddlestons point (1978: 342) is concerned with the fact that although Halliday & Hasan
present substitution as direct formal replacement, there are cases where the replacement
must be inexact, because of changes needed in morphology, deictic shifts, and the like.
This is not, however, a compelling argument, since what Halliday & Hasan actually say
is that as a general rule, the substitute item has the same structural function as that for
which it substitutes (1976: 89) rather than that the wording must be exactly replaceable.
More serious, however, is the criticism made by Brown & Yule (1983: 203204), who point
out that we sometimes use substitutes such as one to pick up something which has been
expressed non-nominally, as in their example (18): The child may set the pace. Since the
literature is mostly anecdotal, we dont mind offering one of our own., where one, interpreted
as an anecdote, picks up anecdotal.
We must leave criticisms of the Cohesion in English account of reference and substitution at this point: interested readers can find a slightly expanded treatment in Butler
(1985a: 183186).
.... Martins work on participant identification in discourse. In 7.2.3.5.2 of Part 1, I

summarised the system networks presented by Matthiessen (1995a) and Martin (1992a)
for textual aspects of the nominal group. As I pointed out there, because these systems
represent choices in ways of identifying participants, they are relevant not just to structural realisation within the nominal group, but also to the role of nominal groups in the
ongoing discourse. Indeed, Martins networks are explicitly situated on the level of discourse semantics. This work will therefore be taken up again here, but now in relation to
the structuring of discourse rather than that of the nominal group itself.
Martin (1992a: 121129) discusses in some detail the phoricity distinctions made by
Halliday & Hasan (1976), relating them to Malinowskis notions of context of culture and
context of situation (se 5.1.1 of Part 1) and systematising them in the form of a network
(1992a: 124). Homophora is seen in terms of reference to the context of culture for social
institutions of varying sizes: for instance, the referents of the sun and the moon can be
taken as given within the contexts of culture of all English speakers; those of the president,
the governor within the contexts of culture of particular nations; and those of the car, the
baby, the cat within the context of a particular family (p. 122). Other types of phoricity
are regarded as related to the context of situation for a particular utterance. Endophora
is related to the preceding or following verbal context,37 exophora to the non-verbal context. Martin also discusses a number of other factors related to phoricity. There are cases
where the identity of a referent has to be established by indirect means, or bridging, which
depends on experiential connections between presuming and presumed which facilitate
the recovery of an implied identity (p. 124). In other cases, the identity of the referent may not in fact be recoverable from the verbal or non-verbal context (e.g. when a
. Martin uses the term anaphora for reference to preceding text, but reserves cataphora for reference to
text which follows beyond the group in which the other member of the cohesive tie is found; reference to a
later item within the same group is labelled esphora.
speaker mentions by name someone whose identity the addressee cannot work out), in
which case the addressee may interpret the phoric item as newly introduced or may query
the identity of the referent. Furthermore, there may be more than one possible referent
for a phoric item, thus rendering that item ambiguous. Martin (p. 126) builds these refinements into a more developed network. He also notes that options for the retrieval
of referents broach upon a dynamic as opposed to a synoptic perspective on participant
identification (p. 126), but does not attempt to model identification dynamically (though
see Martin 1985, mentioned earlier).
Martin (pp. 136137) also points to the part played by the lexicogrammar (as opposed
to the discourse semantics) in the tracking of participants: for instance, identifying or
appositional structures can be used by speakers to make explicit the relationship between
presuming and presumed, as in (45) and (46) respectively.
(45) You can write to Vincent at TIB plc (thats the company who actually manufacture
the drive). (BNC EB6 997)
(46) Most of my clothes are chosen by Emilio, my husband, and my stylist . . .
(BNC A7P 327)
Furthermore, Martin treats Halliday & Hasans categories of substitution and ellipsis as
lexicogrammatical rather than discourse semantic, for two reasons: firstly, they are not
a semantic resource with diversified lexicogrammaticalisations, and secondly they presume grammatical functions, not meanings (p. 388).
He also comments (pp. 138140) on a further aspect of participants which I have
noted elsewhere: the role of grammatical metaphor in creating participants, through the
process of nominalisation (see 7.2.3.6 of Part 1).
Finally, let us turn briefly to Martins discussion (pp. 140153) of what he terms reference chains in English text, related to Hasans identity chains, discussed earlier. Reference chains are covariate sets of items linked by relationships of dependency between
presuming and presumed. Consider the passage in (47):
(47) Mick and I were sitting beside Paddy, who was driving, when there was a loud bang.
We were thrown forward against the dashboard as the Land Rover crashed to a halt.
Paddy jumped out and seconds later leaned into the cab through the open doorway.
Its the rear off-side wheel. Theres an eighteen inch split in the inner tube and, he
paused, youre not going to like this, the bolts holding the split rim have all sheared.
The wheels clean in two. (BNC AT3 20252030)
One reference chain involves the two occurrences of Paddy and the anaphoric he. The
occurrence of the definite group the dashboard is motivated through a bridging link with
driving earlier in the text, and there is also a link with the Land Rover, to which further
items are then linked through bridging: the cab, the rear off-side wheel. There are then
more bridging links connecting the inner tube and the bolts holding the split rim back to
the rear off-side wheel. The final occurrence of the wheel also links back to the bolts holding
the split rim and so, indirectly, to other mentions of the wheel and its parts. The item this
Chapter 4
links cataphorically to the stretch of text the bolts holding the split rim have all sheared. The
wheels clean in two.
... Discourse and text in relation to the logical function

.... Conjunctive relations in Cohesion in English. Conjunction, as a cohesive device,
is concerned with an abstract relation between one proposition and another (Halliday &
Hasan 1976: 13). It is different from reference, substitution and ellipsis in that it is a relation which is no longer any kind of a search instruction, but a specification of the way in
which what is to follow is systematically connected to what has gone before (p. 227). As
Halliday & Hasan go on to observe, this is perhaps rather too concrete a characterisation,
in that conjunctive relations in themselves are not necessarily dependent on a particular ordering: for instance, in the expression of a temporal relation, the actual expressions
indicating time may occur in the order earlier time + later time or vice versa. Nevertheless, when describing conjunctive devices, the authors focus on the function they have of
relating to each other linguistic elements that occur in succession but are not related by
other, structural means (p. 227).
Conjunctive relations as such are semantic, and are realised through various lexicogrammatical devices, both structural and non-structural. Consider the following, all
of which encode the relationship of successivity between two events (nominalised in
some cases):
(48) Advances followed the development of the electron microscope. (BNC ARF 606)
(49) Not until after the development and use of atom bombs did radio-biology become
a recognised science . . . (BNC ARF 834)
(50) During the 18th century there had been a slavish adherence to Isaac Newtons methods and notation long after Continental mathematicians had developed more
efficient techniques. (BNC B7N 1276)
(51) The Russian Bear, the uneasy ally of the western powers against fascism, made its
own bid for power. It soon developed the atomic bomb. Shortly afterwards both
America and Russia developed a fusion bomb. (BNC CCE 11751177)
A similar set of examples could be found with precede, before and previously instead of
follow, after and afterwards (see Halliday & Hasans examples (5): 1ad and (5): 1a d ,
p. 228). Halliday & Hasan comment that in examples such as (51), the time relation is
now the only explicit form of connection between the two events, which in the other examples are linked also by various structural relationships (p. 228). It is, then, somewhat
confusing to find, in the very next sentence, the comment that the time sequence has now
become a cohesive agent, and it is this, the semantic relation in its cohesive function, that
we are referring to as conjunction (p. 228). The two statements appear to be contradictory: one asserts that structural relationships occur in sentences such as (48)(50) in
addition to cohesive effects, a stance which is compatible with that taken at the beginning
of the book (see 4.4.2 above), whereas the other appears to claim that there is a cohesive
function only when the relationship is realised through two separate sentences. What, one
wonders, should we do with examples such as (52)(54)?
(52) We had a great feast and lots to drink and afterwards there were recitations and a
great singsong, and those that wanted to played poker. (BNC HTG 621)
(53) All the lovely prickles and twists stopped and she was left with nothing but a feeling
of panic, able to think of nothing but how she could stop him without making him
angry. And afterwards there was just a feeling of let-down, of wanting him to hold
her and kiss her and pet her like a little girl. (BNC BMW 22952296)
(54) It was a noisy but not a violent affair, the clashes between the Blackshirts and the
Red Front outside being mainly verbal. Afterwards there was a party at a Mayfair
house, to which Joyce ensured that the visitor was invited. (BNC EDA 11701171)
In (52), we have afterwards in a clause conjoined to the previous clause with and; in (53),
we again have both and and afterwards, but now they begin a new sentence, and so would
be taken by Halliday & Hasan as representing two kinds of cohesion (additive and temporal see below); in (54), afterwards alone begins the new sentence. There is certainly a
cline here, but it does not make sense to treat (53) and (54) as cohesive, but not (52), the
distinction between (52) and (53) in this respect being particularly problematic. Halliday
& Hasan (pp. 233237) do, in fact, comment on the intersentential and intrasentential
forms of the and relation, claiming that the former relates just two sentences, which are
irreversible, while the latter can relate several elements into a whole, and the order can
be reversed (e.g. men, women and children vs. children, women and men). It is noteworthy,
however, that their examples of intrasentential and are taken from coordination within the
group, rather than between clauses in a clause complex, where the relationship is, as we
saw above, much closer to the intersentential relation. As we shall see later, Martin (1992a)
comments on the difficulty of generalising across environments in Halliday & Hasans account, and proposes a more adequate alternative. In the present section, however, I shall
follow Halliday & Hasans account.
Halliday & Hasan (pp. 238239) postulate four types of conjunctive relation: additive,
adversative, causal and temporal. We have seen that both additive and temporal relations
occur in (53) above; (55) has examples of both additive and adversative relations (signalled
by and and but respectively), while in (56) we have causal conjunction, signalled by so.
(55) No, their lives werent dull. And they had suddenly taken the dullness out of hers.
But the question was, when would she be able to wear those beautiful things?
(BNC AT7 12581260)
(56) Unpalatable truths are a threat to our self respect. So usually we avoid them . . .
(BNC AYJ 521522)
A further important distinction made by Halliday & Hasan (pp. 239240) is that between
external and internal relations, which cross-cuts the four types of conjunction illustrated
above. Consider (57) and (58):
Chapter 4
(57) Jock Lewes organized a primitive laboratory in a hut and set to experimenting with
various mixtures of plastic explosive, thermite, oil and aluminium filings. Finally he
perfected what became known as the Lewes bomb, . . . (BNC AR8 265266)
(58) There are many different ways to train for distance running, but here are some basic
rules. You need long runs to build a base or foundation of aerobic strength. Hill
running or intervals will improve your strength and leg power. Tempo runs or lowkey races increase your anaerobic threshold and give you experience running at race
pace. Finally, you need enough rest to allow for adaptation to the training.
(BNC AR7 11691173)
In the first example, finally indicates the last in a series of events being described, i.e. in the
content; in the second example, on the other hand, finally indicates the last in a series of
statements, or linguistic events. The first is an external use of the Adjunct, the second an
internal use. Halliday & Hasan (p. 240) claim that these uses are related to two different
functions of language, the external to the experiential and the internal to the interpersonal,
since it reflects the speakers own angle on the situation. Halliday & Hasan observe that this
distinction is clearest for the temporal conjunctions, but also applies to other categories.
In (59), for instance, causal so is external, since it relates two events; in (60), however, it is
internal, relating the current speech act to the preceding discourse.38
(59) I ask Rabin to make concessions, Henry Kissinger wrote in 1975, and he says he
cant because Israel is weak. So I give him more arms and he says he doesnt need to
make concessions because Israel is strong. (BNC APD 276277)
(60) You know, Im to live differently now. Ive been talking to Father OHarte, and Im
come back. I go to Mass and all. Franca was surprised. Im surprised. So you believe
in God? (BNC APM 20992104)
According to the table provided by Halliday & Hasan (1976: 242243), a wide range of
conjunctive items can be either internal or external, while others are normally internal.
Without further exemplification, however, it is difficult to assess this claim, particularly in
relation to the additive and adversative types.
. The distinction between external and internal conjunction is taken further by Verstraete (1998), who
pursues two main lines of argument in relation to causal conjunction in English, taking his inspiration
from both Halliday and Langacker. Firstly, he claims that the distinction is not simply semantic, but is
semiotically significant in that the semantics of the distinction can be related to the syntactic reactances (in
a Whorfian sense: see 5.6 of Part 1) of the two types. External conjunction is related to the instantiated type
of the main clause (the lexical verb and its arguments), while the internal type is related to the grounding
of the main clause in tense, modality and illocutionary value. Secondly, Verstraete proposes to divide the
internal type of conjunction into a speech functional subtype (where the causal clause gives a reason for
the performance of the speech act) and an epistemic subtype (where the causal clause gives grounds for
reasoning or knowledge). For a reinterpretation of Verstraetes proposals within the Semiotic Grammar
framework outlined in 5.8.2 of Part 1, see McGregor (1999), and for Verstraetes reaction to these proposals,
Verstraete (2000).
In Halliday (1985a, 1994a), the account of conjunction given in Cohesion in English is

reworked in the light of developments in the grammar during the decade or so which separated the publication of Halliday & Hasans book from that of the first edition of Hallidays
An Introduction to Functional Grammar. The earlier categories are still there, sometimes
renamed and extended, but are now subsumed under the more general categories of elaboration, extension and enhancement which, as we have seen at various points, pervade the
grammar, and are particularly prominent in the area of clause complex formation. There
is also, as we shall see, some realignment in membership of the original categories.
Halliday (1985a: 303304, 1994a: 324) postulates two subcategories of elaborating relation: apposition and clarification. In apposition, which was treated as an additive relation in Halliday & Hasan (1976: 250), we have re-presentation or restatement of an element by exposition (i.e.) or example (e.g.), as with in other words in (61) and for instance
in (62), respectively.
(61) Instead this second approach asks you to question in some depth your aims and objectives. In other words you start by asking the question What are the most important
things I have to do?. (BNC AYJ 16261627)
(62) Some behaviour patterns are learned. For instance, horses in a field on the side of a
road will totally ignore traffic rushing by because the older horses show no fear and
just continue grazing. (BNC AR5 14901491)
Clarification is a relation in which the elaborated element is not simply restated but reinstated, summarized, made more precise or in some other way clarified for purposes of
the discourse (Halliday 1985a: 303, 1994a: 324). There are various subtypes: corrective
(e.g. or rather see (63)), distractive (e.g. by the way), dismissive (e.g. anyway see (64)),
particularizing (e.g. in particular), resumptive (e.g. as I was saying), summative (e.g. in
conclusion), verifactive (e.g. actually see (65)).
(63) I know what Im talking about. Or rather singing about. (BNC AS7 364365)
(64) But she wouldnt eat curry, would she? Anyway, the stuff had no taste.
(BNC ASS 794795)
(65) Writers often mistakenly use such terms as women spinning with their distaff . Actually, a distaff takes no part in the twisting of fleece or flax to produce thread.
(BNC AP8 4647)
These relations come under a variety of headings in Cohesion in English: distractive under
complex additive relations (de-emphatic, afterthought); corrective, dismissive and verifactive under adversatives; resumptive and summative under temporal relations; in particular
and similar expressions are not mentioned, but might well be handled under emphatic
additive relations.
There are three types of extension: addition, adversative and variation (Halliday
1985a: 304, 1994a: 324325). Addition can be positive (and, also, etc. see (66)) or negative (nor). Adversatives include but, yet, on the other hand, etc. (see (67)). Variation can be
replacive (on the contrary, instead see (68)), subtractive (apart from that, except for that)
Chapter 4
or alternative (alternatively). In Cohesion in English, replacive variation is handled under

adversatives, while subtractive and alternative types are not specifically mentioned.
(66) When you view the houses on your shortlist note their age and the materials they are
made of. Also, try to make a very rough sketch of the rooms on each floor.
(BNC AS1 355356)
(67) The above indicates that there is far more to negotiating than sitting down opposite
the other party and trying to bargain. On the other hand, it can be a great deal of
fun even if the stakes are quite high. (BNC AYJ 12221223)
(68) I gathered my courage, and turned, prepared to look myself in the face. Instead, I
saw a smiling, though breathless, New Zealander. (BNC AT3 21612162)
Enhancement (Halliday 1985a: 304308, 1994a: 324327) is divided into four types:
spatio-temporal, manner, causal-conditional and matter. The spatio-temporal category is
an expanded version of temporal conjunction in Cohesion in English. The spatial subtype
is exemplified by the use of there in (69) below.
(69) No. No. Except I think I would like to get out, break away, as it were, and see the
world. Theres so much that one doesnt know about places and people, so much to
find out. Yes. Yes, youre right there. (BNC AT7 983988)
Temporal conjunction can be simple or complex, the complex type being the simple one
with some added feature of meaning co-present. Simple temporal conjunction can be following (e.g. then, next see (70) and (71)), simultaneous (e.g. at the same time), preceding
(e.g. before that, previously see (72)) or conclusive (e.g. in the end, finally).
(70) The important point is that you do make the attempt and gradually refine the questions to a point where you are reasonably satisfied with the answers. Next you begin
breaking down the aims into individual goals. (BNC AYJ 16361637)
(71) Both the particular rule it lays down and more important, the general principle it
enshrines should be accepted as part of the English law also, though it may be debatable whether there is a need for it to be put into statutory form. Next, what is the law
governing the situation when the respirator is turned off without the knowledge and
consent of the chronically dependent patient? (BNC ASK 18581859)
(72) At midday, with the tent and kit packed in the wheelbarrow, I was almost ready to
begin the second days walk. Before that, though, I opened a can of whole chicken
and ripped off a leg dribbling with jelly. (BNC AT3 241242)
Examples (70) and (71), as well as (57)/(58) and (59)/(60) given earlier, illustrate the external and internal uses of temporal conjunctive devices: in (70), next is concerned with a
sequence of events which is being narrated; in (71), it marks the next step in the argument.
Complex temporal conjunction is broken down by Halliday into seven subtypes: immediate (e.g. at once, thereupon see (73)), interrupted (e.g. soon), repetitive (e.g. next
time, on another occasion see (74)), specific (e.g. next day), durative (e.g. meanwhile, all
that time see (75)), terminal (e.g. until then), punctiliar (e.g. at this moment).
(73) Agnes asked after Kathleens help. At once, Rays wife assumed a melancholy expression. (BNC ASE 815816)
(74) But every year, and often more than once, he made the pilgrimage to Kidlington in
Oxfordshire and on one of those visits (I can not have been more than eight years
old) took me to Thame and showed me his name on the board as head boy. On
another occasion, walking across the water-meadows away from Kidlington church
towards Hampton Poyle, he told me how (during one of the school holidays) he had
read Thomas Hardys Jude the Obscure and, at the end of the day, had climbed a
haystack. (BNC ARC 3132)
(75) The Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board recently warned that a three month
war in the Gulf would send the US economy into depression. Meanwhile, grassroots
opposition is growing. (BNC ARW 553554)
The manner type of enhancement is concerned with comparison (positive, e.g. likewise,
similarly see (76), or negative, e.g. in a different way) or means (e.g. thereby see (77));
the former are assimilated to additive relations in Cohesion in English.
(76) One parent families may come about because of death, divorce or separation in a two
parent family or the ending of cohabitation or when a single woman has a baby on
her own. Similarly, a one parent family may become a two parent family through
marriage or remarriage, reconciliation or cohabitation. (BNC AP5 630631)
(77) Here, the critic is absolved from making judgements of his own by the need to report
what a jury has decided about prizes. The critics standing is thereby reduced, . . .
(BNC A04 13921393)
Causal-conditional conjunction is treated very similarly to the causal category in Cohesion
in English. Some expressions are general, as with therefore in (78); others are specific for
result (79), reason (80) or purpose (81).
(78) The advance of modern science had shown that science, even at its most theoretical level, is dependent on experiment, on practical doing as well as abstract thinking. Therefore the pre-Renaissance gulf between the pure and the applied, the
thought and the action, had disappeared. (BNC ASY 7576)
(79) Operational statistics that deal with categories of employment make no distinctions
within the self-employed group. As a result, chewing gum sellers and the successful
carpenter who has his own furniture business, fall within the same category.
(BNC AN3 11221123)
(80) Hes a pied piper of sorts, being somewhat successful in drawing young people to the
hate movement. For that reason, he is dangerous. (BNC AK9 707708)
Chapter 4
(81) So instead he decided to climb Everest. With this in mind, he spent most of the last
two years of peacetime, training in Switzerland and then in the USA.
(BNC AR8 1617)
The conditional type can be positive (82), negative (83) or concessive (84).
(82) In an extreme case, the government may insist on the surrender to it (or to the central
bank) of all foreign exchange. In that case, it has to take responsibility for allocating
all foreign exchange to the users by administrative methods. (BNC ATG 461462)
(83) From societys point of view the only question is whether those who had the benefit
of these excellent libraries in the forces will have the same access to books when they
leave. If not, there will have been a real loss, which will no doubt add to the rising
tide of semi-literacy. (BNC ARX 490491)
(84) The very existence of the idea of art, as much as that of language itself, distinguishes
man from other animals. Nevertheless there is a distinction to be drawn between the
value we must ascribe to language and that which we ascribe to art.
(BNC ASY 716717)
Conjunction involving matter can be positive (e.g. in that respect) or negative (e.g. in other
respects), and is illustrated by (85) below. It is assimilated to causal conjunction in Cohesion
in English.
(85) In a bands career, two records are more important than any others; the first ever
released and the first on a major label. In that respect Kennedy was as good as Go
Out And Get Em Boy. (BNC AT1 18671868)
Halliday (1985a: 308, 1994a: 326327) comments that various types of conjunction overlap, both with each other and with reference, and that the categories he proposes are those
which have been found most useful in the interpretation of texts, and their schematization
is such as to relate to other parts of the system of the language.
It is also noteworthy that Halliday (1985a: 308309, 1994a: 327) recognises that conjunction may be implicit rather than signalled by explicit devices in the text. For instance,
two events presented in succession in a text will often be interpreted as occurring in temporal sequence, or as having a cause-effect relationship. This point will be taken up again
in the next section.
Before we leave the area of conjunction in Hallidays work, we should note that
Matthiessen (1995a: 521531) presents Hallidays conjunction types as a system network
of the clause itself, within the textual function, on the basis that [t]he textual context
of a clause is its logico-semantic relation to the preceding text as specified by conjunction (p. 519). However, as we have seen, although cohesion itself belongs to the textual
function, the various types of cohesive device are oriented towards different functions,
and conjunction as a cohesive device is clearly very strongly related to the mechanisms
for putting clauses together to form the clause complex, which, as Matthiessen himself
recognises, belong to the logical function.
.... Clause complexes and rhetorical relations: Systemic linguistics and Rhetorical
Structure Theory. Matthiessen (1995a: 169) observes that [i]t is in the area of the clause
complex that the grammar makes contact with the rhetorical organization of text. This
idea is taken further in the work of Matthiessen & Thompson (1988), who set out to
demonstrate two things: firstly, that it is impossible to characterise the notion subordinate clause at the sentence level, without reference to discourse considerations; and secondly, that subordinate clauses in small written expository English texts can be seen as
grammaticalisations of a general property of the hierarchical nature of discourse. Their
paper is concerned with what, in Hallidayan terms, is called enhancing hypotaxis: as we
have seen, this is the type of hypotactic relation in which the secondary clause enhances
the primary clause by reference to some circumstantial meaning, of time, place, manner,
and the like. Their strategy is first to outline a theory of relations in discourse structure,
known as Rhetorical Structure Theory (RST), and then to show that the grammar of enhancing hypotaxis is a reflection of the hierarchical relations postulated in an RST analysis
of a text.
RST was originally developed, primarily by Mann and Thompson (see Mann &
Thompson 1987, 1988), in the context of the need for a theory of structure and function
in discourse, in relation to the computer-based generation of text.39 Through the analysis
of a wide range of texts, it became clear that a text which is perceived by readers as coherent can be segmented into hierarchically structured parts, each of which has a function in
the discourse. The relationships between the parts may be explicitly signalled by lexical or
grammatical devices, or implicit.
RST defines four types of object: relations, schemas, schema applications and structures. These are explained succinctly in the following quotation:
Briefly, the relation definitions identify particular relationships that can hold between
two portions of a text. Based on the relations, the schemas define patterns in which
a particular span of text can be analyzed in terms of other spans. The schema application conventions define the ways that a schema can be instantiated, somewhat
more flexibly than just literal part-for-part instantiation. The notion of the structure of an entire text is defined in terms of composition of schema applications.
(Mann & Thompson 1988: 245)
Relations hold between two non-overlapping spans of text, usually but not always adjacent, related in such a way that one of them (the satellite) is less essential to the text than
the other (the nucleus), the two having some specific functional relationship. Examples
of functional relationships between satellites and their nuclei are Background (in which
the satellite facilitates understanding of the nucleus), Elaboration (in which the satellite
provides information additional to the basic information given in the nucleus) and Preparation (in which the satellite helps the reader to anticipate and interpret the nucleus).
Some spans of text are related, not in terms of the central/ancillary type of relation, but by
relations between units of equal status, linked in terms of, for example, contrast (present. See 5.3.1.2.2 for brief discussion of this area.
Chapter 4
ing two alternatives) or sequence (the content of one span being seen as preceding that of
the other). Each relation has a definition, in terms of what the analyst (called the observer
in RST) must recognise about the text in order for that relation to be justifiably assigned.
Around 25 relations are found to be sufficient to account for the discourse structures of a
range of types of text; all are explicitly defined in Mann & Thompson (1987, 1988). The
authors nevertheless stress that the list is intended to be open-ended, in that modifications
are likely as new genres and cultural styles are analysed.
Relations are said to be of two fundamental types: those relating to subject matter,
and those which are presentational, or rhetorical, in function. For example, the relation of
Elaboration is of the subject matter type, in that the information in the satellite expands
on that in the nucleus; on the other hand, the Background relation is a presentational or
rhetorical one, in that its function is to help the reader to orient to the following text, so
facilitating its interpretation.
In order to illustrate these ideas, I shall examine a short recipe text, which forms part
of the British National Corpus and is given in (86) below.
(86) [0] Pork & Olive Casserole
Serves 6 . . .
25 g / 1 oz butter
2 x 15 ml / tbsp olive oil
1 large onion, finely sliced
2 cloves garlic, crushed
1,600 g / 3 lb boneless shoulder of pork, cut into 4 cm / 1 in dice
185 g / 6 oz can pimentos
200 g / 7 oz pack pimento stuffed olives, drained (approx 125 g / 4 oz)
400 g / 14 oz can chopped tomatoes
1 x 5 ml / tsp paprika
1 x 15 ml / tbsp tomato paste
salt and freshly ground black pepper
sugar to taste, if required
1. (1) Heat the butter and the olive oil together in a large heavy saucepan or casserole dish, (2) until the butter has melted. (3) Add the onion and garlic (4) and
cook slowly, covered, for about 10min, (5) until well softened and browned. (6)
Stir once or twice.
2. (7) Add the diced pork (8) and brown on all sides.
3. (9) Remove the pimentos from the can (10) and slice them. (11) Add to the
pan with the juice from the can, the drained olives, chopped tomatoes, paprika,
tomato paste, salt and pepper.
4. (12) Cover the pan (13) and simmer the casserole very slowly for 1-2hr, (14)
until the meat is tender.
5. (15) If the casserole is still quite liquid, (16) remove the lid from the pan (17)
and simmer more quickly (18) until the sauce is reduced.
6. (19) Season to taste (20) and add the sugar (21) if required.
(BNC ABB 952969)
The numbers in brackets inserted into the text indicate the text spans into which I, as observer, perceive that the text can be divided in terms of their function. I have adopted the
procedure used in Mann & Thompson (1988: 248), taking the clause as the fundamental
unit.40 The diagram in (87), conforming to the conventions adopted in RST, represents
my assessment of how the various text spans are related.
I have taken the title, the indication that the recipe serves 6 people, and the list of ingredients as Background to the rest of the text, facilitating the interpretation of the central
part, which is the series of instructions for making the casserole. I have then treated each
numbered instruction as a separate unit, on the grounds that the writer clearly intended
them to be seen as stages in the process. These parts are related in terms of a Sequence,
as are some of the subparts (12 and 36, 7 and 8, 910 and 11, etc.). Another relation
involved in this text is that of Circumstance, in which the satellite provides some kind of
interpretive context for the nucleus, such as when, where or how it occurs or should occur.
For instance, span 2 provides a temporal context (until the butter has melted) for the nuclear material in span 1 (Heat the butter and olive oil together in a large heavy saucepan or
casserole dish); the relationship between spans 5 and 4, 14 and 13, 18 and 17, is the same.
I have taken span 6 (Stir once or twice) as providing an Elaboration of the segment constituted by spans 4 and 5, since the stirring is not sequentially related to the cooking, but is
clearly intended as information acting as an aid to the cook in the whole process of slow
cooking until browned. Span 15 stands in a conditioning relationship to 1618, as does
21 in relation to 20.
. Mann & Thompson consider clausal Subjects and Complements, also restrictive relative clauses, as part
of the host clause. This is irrelevant to the text analysed here.
Chapter 4
(87)
[021]
Backgrd
[0]
[121]
S
[16]
[1]
[911]
[1214]
[7]
Condn
[8] [910] [11] [12] [1314]
Sequence
Sequence
[2] [3] [46]
[9]
[10]
e
[1518]
Sequence Sequence Sequence
[36]
Circ
[78]
Sequence
[12]
[15] [1618]
Circ
[13]
[1921]
Sequence Condn
[19] [20] [21]
Sequence Circ
[14] [16] [17] [18]
Elaboration
[45] [6]
Circ
[4]
[5]
After this example, let us now return to the points Matthiessen & Thompson make about
the relationship between discourse structure, on the one hand, and enhancing hypotaxis
in the grammar, on the other. They make two main claims: firstly that
. . . the relationships among the units coded by clauses in clause combinations in our
texts are of exactly the same type as those among the higher-level rhetorically defined
text spans. (1988: 300)
and secondly that

. . . clauses also combine in the same two ways as the rhetorical units of a text. Both display a kind of structure where the elements are interdependent either as the members
of a list or as a nucleus to a satellite. (1988: 300)
Furthermore, because of the structural similarities, the scoping relations shown by discourse units and by clauses are similar.
They therefore hypothesise:
Clause combining in grammar has evolved as a grammaticalization of the rhetorical
units in discourse defined by rhetorical relations. (1988: 301)
then narrowing this hypothesis to one which concentrates specifically on enhancing hypotactic clause combining. They use this hypothesis to make a number of predictions
about the properties of enhancing hypotaxis, based on the properties of the RST relations
(1988: 302):
Hypotactic enhancement, like a satellite relation, should be present in a text only

where it serves some particular function relative to the goals of the writer.
The scoping of hypotactic enhancement clauses should mirror the fact that there is
only ever one satellite per nucleus.
Since the nucleus and satellite are rhetorically distinct, we would expect grammatical
marking to be such that one clause can be identified as coding the nucleus, the other
as coding the satellite.
Since we find satellites both following and preceding their nuclei, we expect the same
to be true of the corresponding clauses in an enhancing hypotactic relation.
Nucleus-Satellite relations should be grammatically coded primarily as hypotaxis
rather than as parataxis.
Matthiessen & Thompson go on to adduce evidence in support of each of these predictions. They observe that the textual evidence bearing out the final prediction removes any
possibility of circularity in the argument, since although most Nucleus-Satellite relations
are indeed found to be coded as hypotaxis in the texts they examined, a few are expressed
by parataxis; similarly, although most listing relations are coded paratactically, a few appear as hypotaxis. Note that in the analysis of text (86) presented in (87), the sequence
relations are expressed either through paratactic clause complexes (3/4, 7/8, 9/10, 12/13,
16/17, 19/20) or as separate orthographic sentences (12/36, 910/11) or paragraphs (1
6/78/911/1214/1518/1921) in sequential arrangement. The Nucleus-Satellite relations, on the other hand, are coded as hypotactically related clauses in clause complexes,
except for span 6 which, if my analysis is correct, is an instance of a satellite coded in a
separate sentence.
The authors also claim that the formulation of the hypothesis they have tested rests
crucially on the distinction between hypotaxis and embedding, as made by Halliday. I shall
return to this claim later, when discussing alternative views.
Finally, let us note an interesting typological comment made at the end of Matthiessen
& Thompsons article:
There is an interesting consequence of these suggestions for attempts to consider
clause combining from a cross-linguistic perspective: if hypotaxis in English is a
grammaticalization of rhetorical relations, then it follows that the grammar of clause
combining may differ radically from one language to another. Indeed, preliminary
discourse-based investigations of such phenomena in unrelated languages strongly
suggests [sic] that this is the case. (Matthiessen & Thompson 1988: 317)
In the years since its launching in the late 1980s, RST has undergone some modifications, largely as a result of its implementation in computational systems. Maier & Hovy
(1993), building on earlier work by Hovy, comment on the lack of any detailed treatment,
Chapter 4
in Mann & Thompsons taxonomy of rhetorical relations, of textually-oriented relations

such as those which are concerned with the presentational sequence of argumentation.
The authors offer a taxonomy which is reorganised in terms of the functional classification
of SFG into ideational, interpersonal and textual types of meaning. Ideational rhetorical
relations are those which rely on content: various types of elaboration relation; relationships involving circumstances of place, time, means, manner, etc.; sequential relations of
various subtypes; relations of cause/result, condition and comparison. Interpersonal relations subsume those of interpretation, where the addressee gives an evaluation of content;
enablement, in which the addressee is given background which helps in the interpretation
of the text; antithesis; and various types of exhortation, including support, divided into
the categories of solutionhood, evidence, justification and motivation. Textual rhetorical relations are those of logical relation (conjunction or disjunction), presentational sequence, and the joint category taken over from Mann & Thompsons classification, for
cases where no other relation exists between adjacent segments of the text. Maier & Hovy
find that texts normally exemplify one of two patterns of discourse structure relations: a
text whose overall goal is to inform often makes use only of ideational types of relation
(though occasionally one may also find interpersonal relations); while one with a globally
interpersonal goal may contain both ideational and interpersonal relations, the former
typically arising towards the lower levels of discourse structure.
.... Martins conjunction and continuity. In 4.4.2, we saw that Martin (1992a)
comments on the limitations of an analysis which separates relationships which are found
within clause complexes from those which obtain between clause complexes. This problem is particularly acute in the area of conjunction, where the alternative realisations are
all variations on the same theme namely that of relating one part of a text to another in
terms of the natural logic of time, cause, comparison and addition (Martin 1992a: 163).
Indeed, the foregoing discussion will have shown that the relationships proposed by Halliday for intrasentential and intersentential conjunction are very similar. Martins own
approach, as we have seen, is to postulate a stratification between a level of discourse semantics at which like phenomena can be given a unitary analysis, and the level of lexicogrammar, where the realisations of particular types of meaning can vary. For instance,
examples (52)(54) in 4.4.3.4.1, which we saw as problematic with respect to Halliday &
Hasans account, present no problems under Martins scheme, since the relations of temporal succession (realised as afterwards) and addition (realised, in two of the examples, as
and) can be given the same discourse semantic analyses in all the examples, the differences
lying in the lexicogrammatical encoding of the meanings.
Martin (1992a: 170178) presents a useful overview of approaches to the logicosemantic relations which can be realised through a diversity of lexicogrammatical realisations. His own approach is to follow his own earlier work (Martin 1983b), in recognising four types: additive, comparative, temporal and consequential, which I shall describe
briefly later. Martin gives a high priority to Halliday & Hasans distinction between external and internal relations, reinterpreting this in terms of external relations being oriented to the field of discourse (they encode the institutional organisation of our culture
(1992a: 180)), while internal relations are related to genre (they encode the organisation
of text as it is formulated to construct our culture (p. 180)). Martin (pp. 183184) also
argues for the recognition of implicit conjunctive connections in texts, testing for such
connections by showing that they could have been made explicit, though he admits that
such a test will run into problems: for example, in some texts one could insert and between
almost any pair of clauses, so apparently justifying the postulation of an additive relation.
Despite making much of the need to generalise across conjunctive relations within
and between clause complexes, Martin develops his networks on the basis of the hypotactic clause complex, limiting them to those complexes which permit independent + dependent or dependent + independent orderings, commenting that [a] complete specification of the diversification of the realisations of each type of conjunctive relation is
beyond the scope of this chapter (p. 185). He does, however, give examples of what, in
Halliday & Hasans terms, would be purely cohesive relations. As usual, Martins account
is very detailed, with rich exemplification, and I shall not be able to do full justice to it in
what follows.
External temporal relations (pp. 185192) are first divided into [successive] (e.g. as
realised by after) and [simultaneous] (e.g. as realised by while). [Successive] relations can
be either [following] or [following immediately]. Each type can be either [anterior dependent] (i.e. the dependent clause codes the earlier situation) or [posterior dependent] (the
dependent clause codes the later situation). Further, more delicate options distinguish the
discourse semantics of the relevant conjunctions: after, since, now that, before, once, as soon
as, until. [Simultaneous] temporal relations are [coextensive] or [overlapping], with further distinctions related to the durative or punctiliar nature of the situations encoded in
the relevant clauses. In this way, a number of uses of while, when, as are distinguished.
External consequential relations (pp. 193202) can be related to [manner] (e.g. (even)
by, thereby) or [cause], the latter being subclassified as [consequence] (because/although,
(only) to, etc.) or [contingency]. [Contingency] relations are of either [purpose] (in order
to/without) or [condition]. [Condition] relations can be [exclusive] (unless) or [inclusive],
and the latter type either [counterfactual] (if + a past tense dependent clause) or factual,
this last type being said to vary according to the degree of modality (possible: if, probable:
provided that, certain: as long as). [Purpose] relations are divided into [fear] (lest/for fear
of ) and [desire], the latter again with a distinction which Martin describes as one related to
modality (possible: in case, probable/certain: so that/in order to/to). Each of the four main
categories, manner, consequence, condition and purpose, is said to occur also in a concessive variant: for example, there is a contrast between non-concessive manner realised
by by and concessive manner realised by even by, and similarly for condition (if/even if ).
[Condition, concessive] is further divided into [single] (even if ), [alternative] (whether)
and [universal] (whoever/whatever etc.).
External comparative relations (pp. 202205) are either of [similarity] (realised as
like/as) or [contrast], the latter divided into [exception] (except that/other than/apart
from), [replacement] (instead of/in place of/rather than) and [opposition] (whereas/ while).
External additive relations (pp. 205206) are of [alternation] (if not . . . then/or) or
[addition], the latter being either [positive] (besides/and) or [negative] (nor). Simultane-
Chapter 4
ously, these can be [non-correlative] (as with the realisations just given) or [correlative]
(both . . . and for positive addition, neither . . . nor for negative addition, either . . . or for
alternation).
Martin (p. 206) also recognises a small set of locative relations, including those realised by here/there in examples such as (69), given earlier.
Turning now to internal relations, Martin notes (p. 207) that additive and comparative relations are a richer resource in their internal than in their external use, and that
while almost all external conjunctive expressions can be used internally, there are many
expressions which can only be used internally.
Internal comparative relations (pp. 207218) are of [similarity] or [difference]. [Similarity] relations may be of [comparison] ([contiguous], realised by similarly, or [interrupted], realised by again), or of [reformulation]. The latter are divided into [rework] and
[adjust] types. [Rework] relations are of [abstraction] (either [exhaust] (that is) or [exemplify] (for example)), or of [generality], and if the latter, then [local], subcategorised
as [generalise] (in general) or [particularise] (in particular), or [global] (in short). [Adjust] relations are subclassified as [correct] (in fact) or [amplify], the latter being classifed
more delicately as [diminish] (at least) or [augment] (indeed). Relations of [difference]
are either [converse] (conversely) or [opposition], the latter being of [retraction] (rather)
or [contrast] (on the other hand).
Internal additive relations (pp. 218221) are [exchange punctuating] (oh/well) or
[turn-building], the latter being [staging] or [developing]. [Staging] relations are either
[framing] ([open] (now/well) or [close] (alright/okay)) or [sidetracking] ([depart] (incidentally/by the way) or [return] (anyway/anyhow)). [Developing] relations are of [alternation] (alternatively) or [addition], the latter being [simple] (in addition/as well/
besides/additionally) or [cumulative], these last being either [amplifying] (moreover) or
[extending] (further(more)).
Internal consequential relations (pp. 222224) are [concessive] or [non-concessive].
[Non-concessive] relations are subdivided into those which [conclude] (hence/accordingly/in conclusion/consequently) and those which [justify] (after all). [Concessive] relations are of [counterexpectation] (nevertheless/nonetheless/still) or [objection], and if
the latter, then [dismiss] (in any case/at any rate/anyway/anyhow) or [concede], this
last having modality-based distinctions (possible: admittedly, probable: of course, certain:
needless to say).
Internal temporal relations (pp. 224226), like the corresponding external relations,
are [successive] or [simultaneous]. [Successive] relations are [ordering] (first/secondly/next
etc.) or [terminating] (finally/lastly). [Simultaneous] relations are [adjacent] (at the same
time) or [interrupted] (still).
Martin (pp. 230234) also recognises a further set of meanings which are related to
conjunction, and which he refers to as continuity, these normally being realised in rhematic positions rather than thematically, as conjunction usually is. Continuity is realised
by items such as already/still/yet/any longer, etc. There are three types, which, because they
can co-occur in the same unit, are treated in terms of simultaneous systems. The first
group is [counterexpectation], which can be [aspectual] or [adjusting]. [Aspectual] re-
lations can represent either [fruition] ([precedence] (already) or [endurance] (finally/at

last)) or [continuation] (still). [Adjusting] relations can [diminish] (only/just) or [augment] (even). The second group of continuity meanings is characterised as [mood parallel], with either the Mood element or the Residue parallel (i.e. [new Residue] or [new
Mood], respectively), realised by items such as too, also, as well. The third type indicates
[repetition], realised as again.
The rather tedious lists in the last few paragraphs, which should be complemented
by a study of Martins many illustrative examples, are included in order to give some idea
of the extraordinary richness of the distinctions embodied in this work and the extent to
which such a classification might be useful in textual studies. Martin himself (pp. 234
243) goes on to indicate how conjunctive relations can form chain structures in English.
He models these structures in terms of reticula in which external relations are placed
down one side of an event line, internal relations down the other side, and in which it
is possible to indicate that a given message may be conjunctively related to more than
one other message. The reader is referred to Martins analysis of two texts (pp. 243249)
for details.
Martin (pp. 251264) also offers a critique of the proposals made by Matthiessen
& Thompson within Rhetorical Structure Theory which, as we saw in 4.4.3.4.2, draw
parallels between rhetorical structures and the structure of the clause complex. While the
RST approach treats conjunctive structures as involving a head (nucleus) and a dependent
element (satellite), Martins model regards them as covariate structures, defined as those
in which a semantic interdependency is constructed between items (which may or may
not be grammaticalised) and in which dependent items have the potential to themselves
be depended on (p. 25).
Martin raises three areas which he sees as problems for the RST account. The first is
concerned with sandwich structures in which an initiating message is replayed to culminate a logical sequence (p. 258), where Martin claims the RST analysis forces the analyst
into an arbitrary choice of either the initiating or the replayed message as head. The second
problem concerns texts in which messages are related simultaneously by different types of
conjunctive structures, which are difficult to handle in RST because of its close modelling
on clause complex interdependency. The final criticism is concerned with the preference
of RST for Nucleus/Satellite relations (parallel to hypotactic relations) rather than Listing ones (akin to paratactic clause combinations), and the fact that Satellites can precede
Nuclei, thus entailing that in some texts the relationships could be seen as working primarily backwards rather than forwards. More generally, Martin sees this as one indication
of the lack, in RST, of any concern for the dynamic modelling of text production a lack
which, as Martin himself observes, is not surprising given that the model was developed
to account mainly for the structure of written text as a product. Martin uses this criticism
as an entry point for a brief discussion of the dynamic nature of conjunctive relations in
spontaneous speech.
Chapter 4
.. Discourse, text and context

We saw in Chapter 5 of Part 1 that Hallidayan linguistics has always accorded a very high
priority to the relationships between texts and their contexts of production and reception.
Indeed, in order for a stretch of language to qualify as a text rather than a non-text, the
criterion of cohesiveness stipulated by Halliday & Hasan is complemented by another:
a text must also be coherent with respect to its context of situation (Halliday & Hasan
1976: 23).
In this section, I shall first review the original proposals for contextual variables of
field, tenor and mode, and their putative relationship with meanings in particular metafunctional areas. Here, we shall be involved with the concept of register. I shall then go
on to examine Martins development of these ideas. Finally, I shall look at systemic views
on genre and its relationship with register and with text structure. A useful survey of the
development of research on text/context relations within the Sydney framework can be
found in Martin (1998).
... Halliday on register: Field, tenor and mode and their relationship with
metafunctional meanings
From its earliest days, Hallidayan linguistics has built in an analysis of language variety,
seen in terms of the relationship between text and context. Since, as we have seen, a text is
regarded as a semantic unit, it is not surprising that Halliday makes links between features
of the situational context, seen in terms of the variables of field, tenor and mode, and
types of meaning within texts. As we shall see, these links provide us with a meaningbased definition of register, or diatypic variety, in language, i.e. variation according to the
use to which the language is put, rather than according to the characteristics of the users,
which define dialectal varieties.41
The categories of field, tenor and mode were developed by Halliday and his colleagues
in the 1960s (see Halliday, McIntosh & Strevens 1964; Spencer & Gregory 1964; Gregory
1967; also the summaries in Halliday 1978a: 142145; Gregory & Carroll 1978; and the
more critical discussion in Butler 1985a: 6467, 8890, on which the following summary
is based).
Field is
. . . that which is going on, and has recognizable meaning in the social system; typically a complex of acts in some ordered configuration, and in which the
text is playing some part, and including subject matter as one special aspect.
(Halliday 1978a: 142143)
It is what the participants in the context of situation are actually engaged in doing
(1978a: 222). So, to cite an example given by Halliday (1978a: 222), if we go into our local
. For a discussion of the concept of register in relation to Hallidayan and other studies of discourse, see
de Beaugrande (1993). A brief history of the concept of register, inside and outside systemic linguistics, can
also be found in Matthiessen (1993: 223225).
newspaper shop to buy a paper, and spend part of the time talking about the weather, the
field of discourse is buying and selling a newspaper, not meteorology.
Tenor is
. . . the cluster of socially meaningful participant relationships, both permanent attributes of the participants and role relationships that are specific to the situation,
including the speech roles, those that come into being through the exchange of verbal
meanings. (Halliday 1978a: 143)
This set of relations includes levels of formality as one particular instance (1978a: 110).
Examples given by Halliday for the types of role relation which would find a reflection
in the language used include teacher/pupil, parent/child, child/other child in peer group,
doctor/patient, customer/salesperson, and casual acquaintances on a train.
Mode is
. . . the particular status that is assigned to the text within the situation; its function in
relation to the social action and the role structure, including the channel or medium,
and the rhetorical mode. (Halliday 1978a: 143)
In order to decide on the mode, we must ask:

. . . what function is language being used for, what is its specific role in the goings-on to
which it is contributing? To persuade? to soothe? to sell? to control? to explain? or just
to oil the works, as in what Malinowski called phatic communion, exemplified above
by the talk about the weather, which merely helps the situation along? (1978a: 223)
Halliday distinguishes between mode and medium (basically spoken or written, though
this is too rigid a dichotomy, as is shown, for example, in Gregory 1967; Gregory & Carroll
1978). Some types of mode, such as persuasive uses, can be realised through either spoken
or written language, though what is said will still depend partly on the medium used.
As we saw in 6.4 of Part 1, Halliday postulates an interesting relationship between
the situational variables of field, tenor and mode and the selection, in the construction of
a text, of types of meaning from the ideational, interpersonal and textual metafunctions:
. . . the type of symbolic activity (field) tends to determine the range of meaning as
content, language in the observer function (ideational); the role relationships (tenor)
tend to determine the range of meaning as participation, language in the intruder
function (interpersonal); and the rhetorical channel (mode) tends to determine the
range of meaning as texture, language in its relevance to the environment (textual).
(Halliday 1978a: 117)
This hypothesis offers a new perspective on the concept of register, which was at first
conceived in terms of patterns of lexical and grammatical characteristics. The move from
a more formal to a more semantic definition of register clearly fits in with the shift towards
a more semantically-based grammar which occurred in the 1970s.
A register can be defined as the configuration of semantic resources that the member
of a culture typically associates with a situation type. It is the meaning potential that
is accessible in a given social context. (Halliday 1978a: 111)
Chapter 4
The concept of register thus provides the final link between situation type and text: a register is that grouping of semantic resources which is activated by a particular combination
of values of field, tenor and mode, and any text can be seen as an instance of a particular
register. From the vantage point of later developments in SFG postulating a separate semantic level, we can also view this relationship from the perspective of the overall semantic
system of the language:
The semantic level can thus be thought of as a repertoire of semantic systems that are
located somewhere in the overall semantic space of a language and which are associated with different situation types. A situation type thus puts certain meanings at
risk within the overall semantic system; and we can characterize those meanings as a
registerial variant of the overall semantic system. (Matthiessen 1995a: 41)
A related angle is that of register as probabilistic choice:

I would see the notion of register as being at the semantic level, not above it. Shifting in
register means re-ordering the probabilities at the semantic level [. . . ] whereas the categories of field, mode and tenor belong one level up. These are the features of the context of situation; and this is an interface. But the register itself I would see as being linguistic; it is a setting of probabilities in the semantics. (Halliday in Thibault 1987: 610)
Note that here Halliday makes a clear distinction between register, which is semantic, and
the categories of field, tenor and mode, which are seen as belonging to a higher interface of context of situation. The same view on the probabilistic nature of register is also
expressed much later:
. . . [registerial] variation can be construed in terms of the probabilistic nature of
the linguistic system, as variation in the probabilities associated with terms in systems. Seen in this light, a register is a particular probabilistic setting of the system; and the move from one register to another is a re-setting of these probabilities.
(Halliday & Matthiessen 1999: 563)
Attractive as the concepts of field, tenor and mode and their putative association with
metafunctional meanings are, they bring with them certain problems, as discussed in
Berry (1982) and Butler (1985a, 1991, 1996). Firstly, as Berry (1982: 75) points out, the
definitions of field, tenor and mode in Hallidays work are not precise enough to ensure
replicable analyses of contextual factors. Similarly, de Beaugrande (1993: 13), in his discussion of these categories, comments that we have difficulties determining exactly what the
status and designations of Hallidays terms may be. This problem is thrown into relief by
internal differences between systemic linguists: for example, as Halliday himself observes
(1978a: 224), the distinctions between rhetorical purposes (e.g. persuading, informing,
entertaining, etc.) which Halliday classifies under mode are treated by Gregory as a kind
of tenor: functional tenor, as opposed to the personal tenor which underlies differences
in formality (Gregory 1967: 184ff.; Gregory & Carroll 1978: 53ff.),42 and Berry (1982: 75)
. For a tabular comparison of several models of context, including the Halliday and Gregory schemes, see
Martin (1992a: 499), and for further discussion see Young (1985).
suggests that they could be handled under field, an analysis which was also made earlier
by Halliday himself (1965). The situation is further complicated by Gregorys (1988: 315)
later rejection of his category of functional tenor, precisely on the grounds that it has
no consistent metafunctional realisation. It is little wonder that Martin (1992a: 501) calls
rhetorical purpose the wild card in contextual description.
Furthermore, Gregory (1967: 186) sees technical and non-technical varieties of language as differing in field, while Halliday (1978a: 222) treats them as varying in tenor. As
Berry points out,
What is worrying here is not that there are differences of opinion, but that there
seems to be no principled basis for adjudicating between the different opinions.
(Berry 1982: 75)
If, then, the concepts of field, tenor and mode are defined in insufficiently clear terms,
it becomes difficult to test the validity of the selective relationship with metafunctional
meanings postulated by Halliday. Further, like other proposals related to metafunction,
the hypothesis is couched in probabilistic terms, so that, in the absence of a more precise
formulation, it is impossible to falsify. Hasan (1995: 225226), while recognising that this
might be seen by some as problematic, herself holds that it is not a drawback, citing work
on the sociology of knowledge to defend her position. Even if we do not demand refutability, however, it is disturbing that it is so easy to find counterexamples to the hypothesis
which involve central areas of Hallidays theorising, such as mood, modality/modulation
and ellipsis. In Butler (1996: 159162) I provide examples of pieces of text in which the
postulated variation of interpersonal meanings with personal tenor is borne out, but also
others in which what has been labelled either functional tenor or rhetorical mode has
effects on ideational choice (predicted by neither the Halliday nor the Gregory classification) as well as on choices from the textual metafunction (as predicted by Hallidays
scheme). Berry (1989b: 2930) points to apparent contradictions between Hallidays view
that each register variable tends to determine one type of metafunctional meaning, and
work by Hasan (1978) indicating that the presence of certain elements of textual structure
is controlled by a combination of features from each of the functional components.43
Before we leave the Hallidayan account of register, we should note the detailed
overview presented by Matthiessen (1993), in which register, viewed as functional variation in language, is discussed in relation to the global dimensions of systemic functional
theory: stratification, metafunctional diversification and the concept of language as a potential which is actualised in particular contexts of situation. Matthiessen goes on to discuss the role of register relative to context of situation and context of culture, and also
in relation to the users of particular varieties. He then focuses on register variation as
a dimension of the linguistic system, under three possible interpretations: that registers
are part of the general linguistic system, but with particular probabilities for linguistic
choices (which, as we have seen, is the way Halliday currently presents it); that there is
. The work of Hasan on elements of text structure and their relationship with the contextual configuration of the text is discussed in 4.4.4.3.1.
Chapter 4
a common core among registers, but that there are also mutually exclusive subsystems;
and that each register forms a totally separate system (which, as Matthiessen points out, is
unlikely). There follows a discussion of register in relation to stratification, during which
Matthiessen mentions Martins stratified model (discussed later in the chapter) and also
Lemkes (1984) notion of metaredundancy, under which realisation is seen in terms of the
whole set of relevant strata, so that context would be viewed as realized by the variation
in semantics realized in lexicogrammar realized in phonology (Matthiessen 1993: 250).
Attention is also given to the role of register in semiotic history, that is in terms of the
unfolding of the text (logogenetic), the development of language in the individual (ontogenetic) and the growth of language in the human species (phylogenetic). The relationship
between register and potentiality is discussed in relation to the potential itself and its instantiation in actual texts (the instances). Finally, there is a section on register analysis as
a descriptive activity.
... Martins model of register

Martins model differs from Hallidays in that the term register is used to refer to the
semiotic system constituted by the contextual variables of field, tenor and mode (Martin
1992a: 502), in addition to the linguistic meanings which are at risk in conditions specified by particular values of these variables. I noted earlier that Martin describes rhetorical
purpose as the wild card of contextual description (p. 501): this is so because it has no
preferential correlation with any single metafunction. Martin himself treats it separately,
under the label of genre, whose relationship with register and language will be discussed
in 4.4.4.3.2.
The register variables field, tenor and mode can then be interpreted as working together to achieve a texts goals, where goals are defined in terms of systems of social
processes at the level of genre. (Martin 1992a: 502503)
Within the semiotic of register, field is said to project experiential meanings, while tenor
projects interpersonal meanings, and mode textual meanings. Martin presents an account
of values of the field, tenor and mode variables which he himself considers to be indelicate
(p. 514), but which is certainly much richer than anything published before. As usual, I
can only reflect the salient points here.
Mode (pp. 508525), being the projection of textual meaning, puts at risk the major
textual systems in the lexicogrammar (theme, information, deixis, substitution, ellipsis) as well as the tonality and tonicity systems of the phonology.44 Furthermore,
since the textual function integrates the other metafunctions, mode has an effect on all the
discourse semantic systems. From an interpersonal viewpoint, mode mediates the semiotic space between monologue and dialogue, while [e]xperientially mode mediates the
semiotic space between action and reflection. More generally, mode mediates contex. Curiously, Martin also includes tense in his list, even though it is generally regarded as belonging to
the logical rather than the textual metafunction in SFG, and Martin himself (1992a: 13) appears to accept
Hallidays classification.
tual dependency the extent to which a text constructs or accompanies its field (p. 509).
Martin (p. 514) stresses that mode is a semiotic construct for constructing interaction,
and that the distinctions he proposes are thus semiotic rather than material ones; in other
words, categories such as dialogue are semiotic rather than completely tied to material
medium, since it is perfectly possible, as Martin observes, to write dialogue (in drama) as
well as to engage in monologue with a friend.
In the context of the interpersonal dimension of monologue/dialogue, Martin investigates the ways in which different channels of communication affect the kind of interaction
that is possible between addressor and addressee. Key factors are whether the interactants
can see each other, and whether they can hear each other: Martins network for speaking
and writing focus (p. 515) thus has simultaneous systems for visual and oral contact, each
of which has the terms [none], [one-way], [two-way]. He gives examples (p. 511) of each
of the nine combinations generated: for instance, writing, as a semiotic category, is characterised by the situation of no visual or oral contact; a silent movie by no aural contact
but one-way visual contact; mime by no aural contact but two-way visual contact; radio
transmissions by one-way aural contact but no visual contact; face to face conversation by
two-way contact, both aural and visual; and so on. Martin goes on to classify the speaking
with two-way visual and aural contact and writing situations in more detail.
In the spoken mode, the interaction can be [turn restricted] (as in a public dialogue)
or [turn free] (as in casual conversation). [Turn restricted] interaction can be [turn staged]
(a debate or meeting) or [turn controlled], and if the latter, then [quasi-dialogue] (interview) or [quasi-monologue] (either [large group], as in a speech or lecture, or [small
group], as in a seminar or tutorial). This subnetwork, then, characterises spoken interaction in terms of the degree and nature of turn taking. Martin notes that the finer
distinctions here are closely related to tenor.
Writing also reflects turn taking, in that in many cases writing expects some type of
response, often delayed. Martins subnetwork for writing is thus concerned with the degree of expectation of a reply. He first distinguishes between [public] and [private] writing. [Public] writing may be [specific] or [general]. If [specific], the interaction can be by
[computer] (e-mail) or [post] (letter, etc.); if [general], the communication may be categorised by purpose into [control] (memo, circular) or [documentation] (for [teaching],
e.g. a textbook, or [informing], as in other types of book). [Private] written communication can be for [self] (diary, journal) or [undirected] (stream of consciousness writing).
The cline of expectation of a reply goes from computer-mediated writing at the most likely
end to undirected private writing at the least likely end.
In parallel with the expectation systems for writing, Martin postulates systems concerned with the way in which the message is composed. It can be [visually objectified] or
[aurally objectified]. [Visually objectified] writing can be [solidified] (typing) or [provisional] (either [inert] or not easily reworkable (handwriting) or [dynamic] and so more
easily reworked (word processing)). [Aurally objectified] writing refers to the indirect
writing of messages by first producing them in spoken form, either to a person ([dictation]) or to a [dictaphone]. Martin sees these distinctions as representing a cline from
Chapter 4
most self-conscious, slowest and least fluent (typing) to least self-conscious, fastest and
most fluent (dictating).
Let us turn now to the experientially-oriented dimension of mode. Here, Martin is
concerned with the degree to which language is part of or constitutive of what is going on
(p. 516). He classifies texts according to the extent to which their organisation iconically
reflects activity sequences or has some other basis: with reservations about the nomenclature, Martin labels these types field-structured and genre-structured respectively.
Martin presents more detailed networks for mode in relation to field-structured texts.
He first distinguishes between texts which accompany a social process and those which
constitute such a process. In [accompanying social process] texts, the verbal action may
be either that of the participants themselves ([participation]) or that of observers of the
social action ([commentary]). [Participation] texts can be [ancillary], with only a supporting function (Martin gives the example of scoring and line calling during a tennis
match) or [monitoring] (i.e. giving a moment by moment account of what is going on, as
in demonstrating a procedure). [Commentary] texts may be [co-observing], involving a
situation in which both speaker and listener can see the action (e.g. TV sports commentary), or [relay], in which only the commentator can see the action. Martin also expands
somewhat on these categories in a fuller network (p. 522).
Texts which constitute a social process may involve either [reconstruction] of a process
which has already occurred, with consequent shifts in deictic elements, in which case the
experience on which they are based may be [shared] or [vicarious]; or they may actually
constitute the [construction] of the social process, in which case they may be of either
[fiction] or [generalisation] types. Texts which constitute the social process may also be
[episodic] (e.g. a biography) or [sequential] (e.g. narratives). Again, more detailed features
are also proposed (p. 522).
Let us turn now to tenor (pp. 523536), which refers to the negotiation of social relationships among participants (p. 523), putting at risk the lexicogrammatical systems in
the interpersonal metafunction, as well as the discourse semantic systems of negotiation.
Martins classification of tenor is based on the work of Poynton (1984, 1985/1989, 1990).
Tenor mediates relationships in terms of the three dimensions of status (referring
to the relative position of interlocutors in a cultures social hierarchy), contact (their
degree of institutional involvement with each other) and affect (reflecting the emotional
charge in the relationship) (p. 525).45 These three dimensions are associated with different
realisation principles, as shown in the work of Poynton.
The basic choice in status is between [equal], where the speakers use the same types
of choices (e.g. in reciprocal use of the T or V forms of pronouns and their associated
verb morphologies in languages such as French, Spanish, Italian, German or Russian) and
[unequal], where there is no reciprocity of choices (e.g. T from one speaker, V from the
other). The choices involved are not, of course, always as simply realised as T vs. V forms of
address: Martin (p. 529) lists a range of phonological, grammatical, lexical and discourse
. Martin points out that Hasan uses the terms social role for his own status category, and social
distance for contact see also 4.4.4.3.1.
semantic features, as well as interaction patterns, which he claims to reflect dominating or

deferring positions.
For contact, Martin first distinguishes between [involved] and [uninvolved] types.
[Involved] contact is cross-classified as [family] vs. [work] vs. [recreation], and as [regular] or [occasional]. [Uninvolved] contact is [one-off] or [phatic], the latter being divided
into contact with [neighbours] or with providers of [goods & services]. As with status, a
list of realisations at the different levels of the linguistic system is given (p. 532).
For affect, which is clearly not manifest in all texts, Martin distinguishes, as
does Poynton, between [positive] and [negative], the former being subdivided into
[satisfaction] (happiness/care), [security] (confidence/trust) and fulfilment (engagement/admiration), the latter into [discord] (misery/antipathy), [insecurity] (disquiet/apprehension) and [frustration] (boredom/desire). In parallel with these systems, Martin
suggests that affect can be [self-oriented] or [other-oriented], and can also be a [predisposition] or represent a [surge] of feeling. A table of realisations is again offered
(p. 535). These systems are the basis for part of the appraisal proposals outlined briefly
in 4.4.3.2.2.
Field (pp. 536546), the projection of experiential meaning, puts at risk the discourse
semantic systems of ideation and the various experiential lexicogrammatical systems at
clause and group ranks, as well as collocational patterning. Martin (p. 544) presents a classification of fields which runs from common sense to what he calls uncommon sense.
At the common sense end, we have [oral transmission] fields, either [domestic] or [specialised], the latter being subclassified as [recreational] (coaching, in sports or hobbies) or
[trades] (in apprenticeship interactions). At the uncommon sense end, we have [written
transmission] fields, associated with studying, and divided into [administration] and [exploration], the latter subdivided by academic discipline types ([humanities], [social science], [science]). Martin also presents networks for classifying activity sequences for the
field of linguistics (p. 539), a taxonomy for the composition of an Australian linguistics
department (p. 540) and another for theories of language (p. 541).
... Genre and its relationship with register

There is considerable fluidity, both inside and outside SFG, in the ways in which the term
genre is used, and in the relationships between genre and register which are proposed.
A useful summary of these issues can be found in Leckie-Tarry (1993: 2637, revised as
1995: 516), on which the following brief comments are based.46 Leckie-Tarry observes
. Leckie-Tarry herself proposes what she calls a conceptual model of context, which aims to capture
the dynamic, process-oriented, on-line nature of the linguistic process (1995: 31). The various elements
of a given contextual category (i.e. field, tenor or mode) overlap and interact, and there is also interaction
among the three categories. Medium is both a contextual element and a means of realisation. Field, tenor
and mode are linked to the ideational, interpersonal and textual types of meaning, as in Hallidays model.
The meaning potential available in a given context of situation is a subset of the total meaning potential of
the culture. Cultural and situational contexts are in constant two-way interaction. The categories themselves
are constantly modified as new meanings are created within contexts of situation.
Chapter 4
that Halliday himself believes register theory is itself sufficient to capture relationships between text and social process, and treats generic structure as just one characteristic of a
text which, together with textual structure and cohesion, distinguish text from non-text.
On the other hand, genre theorists such as Martin, Threadgold, Kress and Reid, while
acknowledging that their work is within the Hallidayan tradition, see register as unable,
by itself, to explain text/context relations. The fundamental reason for this, Leckie-Tarry
suggests, is that register studies prioritise the linguistic characteristics of texts (and this
remains so even in the current version of register theory, in which registers are configurations of semantic resources, rather than being recognised through formal features), so
giving too little emphasis to text as social process. Furthermore, genre theorists tend to
prioritise the broader sense of context, as context of culture, rather than the narrower
sense of context of situation which is involved in register studies.
Here, I shall restrict myself to a consideration of two influential systemic functional
models of the relationship between genre and register, those of Hasan and Martin.
.... Hasans work on generic structure potential. Hasan (1978, 1984b, 1985b) has developed a model of the structure of texts which recognises functional units of various
kinds and links the configuration of these units to register, as defined by values of field,
tenor and mode. The fundamental ideas of this model are succinctly summarised in the
following quotation:
. . . associated with each genre of text i.e. type of discourse is a generalized structural formula, which permits an array of actual structures. Each complete text must
be a realization of a structure from such an array. The generic membership of the text
is determined by reference to the structural formula to which the actual structure can
be shown to belong. A text will be perceived as incomplete if only a part of some recognizable actual structure is realized in it; and the generic provenance of a text will
remain undetermined, if the part so realized is not even recognizable as belonging to
some distinct actual structure. (Hasan 1978: 229).
It should be noted that the gloss on the term genre here is a very general one type of
discourse though, as we shall see, Hasan later goes on to define more precisely what
makes a text an instance of a given genre. As an example of an actual generic structure,
consider the following, taken from Hasans own work on customer/vendor interactions in
an Australian setting.
(88) (= Hasans Text 4.1, 1985b: 54)
C1: Can I have ten oranges and a kilo of bananas please?
V1: Yes, anything else?
C2: No, thanks.
V2: Thatll be dollar forty.
C3: Two dollars.
V3: Sixty, eighty, two dollars. Thank you.
Hasans analysis of the elements of generic structure for this text is given in (89).
(89) SR^SC^S^P^PC
where:
SR
= Sale Request (C1)
SC
= Sale Compliance (V1 + C2)
S
= Sale (V2)
P
= Purchase (C3)
PC
= Purchase Closure (V3)
Consideration of other texts in the same service encounter genre leads to formulation of
the generic structure potential (GSP) for the genre shown in (90), which is intended to represent all the possible combinations and orderings of elements for this genre (1985b: 64):
(90) [(G).(SI)^] [(SE .) {SR^SC^ } ^S^] P^PC(^F)
where:
G
= Greeting
SI
= Sale Initiation
SE
= Sale Enquiry
F
= Finis
^
= obligatory sequence
()
= an optional element
.
= elements can occur in any sequence within the limits indicated by
[. . . ]

= iteration allowed
{}
= if iteration occurs, all elements in brackets must occur an equal
number of times
Such a structure shows which elements are obligatory for this genre and which are optional, and specifies the orders in which elements may occur, and the possibility of, and
limits on, recursion. Clearly, the structure in (89) is one of those which is generated by the
general formula in (90).
What is it, then, that determines which elements can occur in a GSP and in what
configurations? Hasans answer is that they are determined by the contextual configuration (CC) of the genre, consisting of a specification of the values for field, tenor and
mode. For instance, she demonstrates (Hasan 1978: 233236) that in the interaction between a doctors receptionist and a patient who wants to make an appointment with the
doctor, the presence of elements in which the receptionist and patient identify themselves
is conditioned by features of visual contact in the mode value of the contextual configuration, and social distance between interactants in the tenor value. In the situation where
both [visual contact] and [maximum social distance] are present in the CC (i.e. a patient
who does not know the receptionist well, making an appointment by telephone), then the
identifying elements must occur; if the CC has [+visual contact] and [minimum social
distance], then the element cannot occur (i.e. people who know each other well and are
in visual contact do not identify themselves); if the CC has either [+visual contact] and
Chapter 4
[maximum social distance], or [visual contact] and [minimum social distance], then at
least one of the interactants must produce an identifying element.47
Hasan (1978: 244) points out that her model is most appropriate for small, selfcontained types of verbal interaction such as service encounters: the relationship between
contextual configuration and generic structure cannot be expected to apply to, for example, a novel. Nevertheless, Hasans later work shows that there are certain story genres
which do have a structure that is predictable enough to be accommodated within the GSP
model, even if we cannot make formalisable links with particular contextual configuration
values. In her study of the nursery tale as a genre (Hasan 1984b), she suggests the structural formula shown in (91) as a characterisation of the generic structure potential of the
nursery tale (taken as equivalent to the bed-time story).
(91) [(<Placement>)^) InitiatingEvent ^] SequentEvent^FinalEvent [^(Finale) .
(Moral)]
Following the conventions listed earlier, we may read this as follows. Any text conforming
to the nursery tale genre must, minimally, have an Initiating Event, a Sequent Event and
a Final Event, in that order. The Initiating and Sequent Events are potentially recursive.
There may, but need not, be a Placement element serving to particularise a character (e.g.
once upon a time there was a X), which can precede the Initiating Event or be interspersed
within it (this is the meaning of the angle brackets around the element). There may, but
need not, be a Finale (consisting of a conventionalised final statement about the protagonists) and/or a Moral, and these can occur in either order within the final square bracketing. Hasan discusses in some detail the various elements and their typical realisations in
terms of lexicogrammatical choice.
In conclusion, we may say that Hasans work has suggested that genres as different as
service encounters and nursery tales are characterised by structural formulas, or generic
structure potentials, which generate an array of possible structures, to one of which a text
must conform if it is to be perceived as a good exemplar of that genre. For certain types
of genre, involving small, self-contained interactions, she also postulates that the elements
and configurations of the GSP are determined by the values of field, tenor and mode: in
other words, that register determines genre. We shall see in the next section that the work
of Martin proposes a very different relationship between register and genre.
.... Martins model: Genre and register as connotative semiotics. For Martin (1985:
250), [g]enres are how things get done, when language is used to accomplish them: they
are activity types, realised through language, which are recognised in a given culture. Martin models genre as a semiotic system in its own right, so enabling him to make systematic
comparisons across the various possibilities. I have now mentioned three linguistically
. Note that this dual determination of a generic element by tenor and mode could be seen as going
against Hallidays hypothesis that particular types of meaning are preferentially controlled by particular
single elements of the context of situation, a point made by Berry (1989b) and already mentioned briefly in
4.4.4.1.
relevant semiotic systems: language, register and genre. In Martins scheme, these are arranged in a hierarchical series, linked by realisation: choices in genre are realised by those
in register, and these, in turn, by choices in language itself. Following Hjelmslev, Martin
refers to register and genre as connotative semiotics: they are semiotic systems for which
the expression plane is another semiotic system.
Genre represents at an abstract level the verbal strategies used to accomplish social
purposes of many kinds (1985: 251). These strategies can be seen in terms of the stages
through which language users move in order to realise a genre, and it is here that the
concept of schematic structures comes in. A schematic structure is closely related to the
generic structures proposed by Hasan, in that it consists of a set of functional elements in
particular orders of occurrence. Martin, however, proposes that schematic structures are
generated by genre networks, not derived from register values. He proposes a network for
service encounters (Martin 1985: 253, 1992a: 552), based on the work of Ventola (1987)
which was mentioned in 4.4.3.2.2.48 Such encounters may be [appointed] (e.g. with doctor or dentist) or [unappointed], and if the latter, then oriented towards [information]
(e.g. in a travel bureau) or [goods]. Goods-oriented encounters may be [day-to-day] (e.g.
at a greengrocers shop) or [intermittent]. In addition, [unappointed] encounters may be
[display] (e.g. in a department store) or [across counter] (as in a post office). [Intermittent, display] encounters may be either [minor], such as in the purchase of clothing, or
more [major], as in buying a used car ([negotiable]) or a fridge ([not negotiable]). Realisation statements are provided in the form of the elements of schematic structure which
must be inserted in response to particular choices: for instance, all service encounters have
the elements Service, Resolution and Closing; appointed encounters have the element Wait
(realised as, for example, Wont you have a seat; the doctor will be with you in a moment);
non-appointed encounters have Service Bid; goods encounters Pay and Goods Handover;
and so on.
As Martin (1985: 254) observes, however, such a network and set of realisation rules
will not in fact generate all the well-formed schematic structures for service encounters.
This is partly because recursion also has to be included, to cater for the case where a customer has more than one request. Also, no ordering has been specified, and the problem
here, as highlighted by the work of Ventola, is that although one can specify an unmarked
sequence for the elements, various exceptions to the norm may be found in actual service
encounter texts, without those texts being felt to be in any way anomalous. Finally, there
are points at which one or other party in the interaction can choose not to fulfil the normal expectations, by opting out of some part of the structure and so aborting the service
encounter. Such phenomena are not easily handled within a static, synoptic model consisting of systemic choices and sets of realisation statements, and this is, as Martin (p. 255)
points out, only to be expected, since schematic structures are different from clause structures in certain important ways: they are more variable, they allow escape without being
. For further discussion of genre and register in relation to service encounter texts, see Ventola (1995a),
and for an overview of the Martin model of genre and register and sample analyses Eggins & Martin (1997).
Chapter 4
ill-formed, and recursion behaves differently (e.g. there can be several Services in a service
encounter structure, but only one Subject49 or Actor in a clause).
In Ventolas work, these problems led to the suggestion that the best way to generate well-formed schematic structures, and to account for ill-formed ones, was to use a
dynamic, process-based approach, modelled as a flowchart, with decision points, actions
carried out as a result of the decisions made, and specifications of recursion possibilities.
A full flowchart for service encounter structure can be found in Ventola (1987: 7076), the
initial part of which is given in Martin (1985: 256257). As Martin (p. 258) observes, such
a representation not only allows for recursion and for abortion of the encounter, but also
models realisation as taking place over time, so that realisation of a given unit need not
wait until all decisions regarding the encounter have been made.
We may now turn to a comparison of Martins model with that of Hasan presented
earlier. We have seen that for Martin, it is genre which determines register, rather than
the other way round as in Hasans model. He offers a number of arguments for this type
of stratified model (Martin 1985: 250251, 1992a: 505507, 1998: 3134). Firstly, treating
genre as a superordinate semiotic allows us to state the restrictions which genre places on
the combinations of field, tenor and mode values which are possible in a culture. Martin
points out, for example, that in western cultures, fields such as typing, bicycle maintenance and house cleaning do not combine with a tenor of asymmetric power relations
and abstract reflective monologue as mode: in other words induction into these fields is
not normally passed on by the activity of lecturing. Martins model recognises the importance of the particular combinations of field, tenor and mode values which a culture
does routinely exploit. Secondly, establishing genre as a separate level, more abstract than
that of register, allows us to free it from any direct link with metafunctional organisation:
we can still accommodate Hallidays hypothesis of predictive relationships between register variables and meaning types, but at the same time we can classify texts into generic
types (narrative, expository, etc.). Thirdly, if we allow choices in genre systems, rather than
combinations of register values, to generate schematic structures, then we can deal more
easily with changes in the metafunctional types of meaning prioritised at different points
in a text, since genre characteristics can be used to predict the registerial changes involved.
Fourthly, treating genre as a separate, more abstract level means that we can differentiate
between the way a text develops as a process and the activity sequences associated with
field: Martin (1992a: 506) contrasts a commentary on a football match and an account of
the game in a newspaper; the two are alike in field, but the commentary is staged to reflect
the stages of the game, while the report need not be, and indeed usually begins with the
result. Finally, social processes modelled in terms of genre can be seen to have properties
which are not simply those which result from particular combinations of register variables.
The model allows us not only to specify the registerial relationships which characterise a
particular type of text (e.g. recipes), but also to relate this specific genre to others of a sim. Martins parallel is, of course, only partial: for instance, there may be more than one Complement or
Adjunct in a clause.
ilar type (in the case of recipes, other procedural genres), and thence to even more general
categories (in this case, other types of regulatory genre) (Martin 1998: 33).
It will be clear from the above that Martin regards the main difference between his
model and Hasans as residing in the postulation of a separate, superordinate level of genre.
He plays down the difference in directionality: genre being realised by register (Martin),
as opposed to generic structures being the realisation of configurations of register values
(Hasan). The reason for this can be found in the view, shared by Martin (1992a: 505) and
Hasan (1996: 110) that realisation is not a unidirectional relation. In connection with this
claim, Martin makes the following comment:
. . . to say that A realises B is to say: (i) A manifests B (i.e. makes B material); (ii)
A constitutes B (i.e. makes B come to be); (iii) A reconstitutes B (i.e. continually
renovates B, however gradually); and (iv) A symbolises B (i.e. is a metaphor for B).
(Martin 1992a: 378)
It may be that Martins view is grounded in Hallidays claim that realisation between levels is a dialectic relationship, a position which has also been espoused by Hasan (e.g.
1996: 110, 1998: 223); this dialectic, however, is between activation (A activates B) and
construal (B construes A), which are two quite different kinds of relation.
It is not clear how a statement such as that by Martin above, or similar statements
by Hasan, help to dispel the idea that realisation in SFG is indeed, de facto, directional.
It is striking that all the statements are of the form A verbs B, and so are inherently directional. Certainly, if A manifests, (re)constitutes or symbolises B, then B is manifested,
(re)constituted or symbolised by B, but this is only to emphasise the directionality involved. Would Martin wish to claim that there is mutual manifestation, (re)constitution
and symbolisation between A and B? If not, the relationship is clearly non-reversible, and
so, in this sense, directional. Perhaps what is meant is no more than that the area of realisation needs to be looked at bidirectionally, that is in terms of both activation and construal, rather than that the process of realisation is non-directional. Whatever is meant, it
seems to me that the usage of the Sydney systemicists in this area is somewhat opaque. The
suggestion that [t]echnically it may in the long run prove helpful to replace the term realisation with a less directional term like redound (Martin 1992a: 378379) only obscures
the issue still further.
So far, we have a three-level set of semiotic systems, the highest of which is genre.
Even this, however, is felt to be inadequate if we are to prevent the model from becoming too monolithic and rigidly deterministic (1992a: 507). The point Martin is making
here is that genres, registers and linguistic resources are not distributed in an even way
across social groups, and that this disparity engenders tensions which lead to changes in
the overall system. For this reason, he introduces a fourth, and highest, semiotic level,
that of ideology which, seen synoptically, is a system of coding orientations which makes
meaning selectively available depending on subjects class, gender, ethnicity and generation (p. 581), and viewed dynamically, is concerned with the redistribution of power
with semiotic evolution (p. 507). This angle on language and its use has loomed large in
systemic work in recent years, and has clear links with the critical linguistics movement
Chapter 4
evident in the work of Fowler, Fairclough and others (for a brief review, see Fowler 1991).
A good example of work in this area by Martin himself is his analysis of debates on certain
ecological issues (Martin 1986). A clear candidate for treatment in terms of ideology in
Martins model is Bernsteins work on social codes and their relationship with class and
language (see e.g. Bernstein 1971, 1973), which exerted a major influence on Hallidays
work in the 1970s and beyond. Martin (pp. 576581) reviews this work and its sequels in
the work of Hasan, Cloran and others.50
Martins alternative to Hasans model of genre and its relationship with register has not
gone unchallenged: Hasan (1995) presents a critique in which she concludes that it is neither necessary nor viable and is indeed inconsistent with the systemic functional model
(1995: 184). Hasans paper is very lengthy, and ranges over an extremely wide spectrum of
issues; space precludes any detailed discussion here, and I can only indicate the kinds of
argument put forward and the conclusions reached, focussing on three issues: dynamic vs.
synoptic accounts, connotative semiotics, and the genre/register relationship.51
Although Martin, as we have seen, allows both a static and a dynamic perspective,
Hasan understandably feels that he prioritises the dynamic approach. In her view, his conception of the dynamic perspective is seriously flawed. She interprets Martin as claiming
the centrality of real time in any conceptualization of the dynamic perspective (p. 188,
emphasis in original). If this interpretation is correct, then, she argues, the dynamic system must be able to deal with individual instances of discourse; but it must also be able
to generalise from individual instances, since it is a requirement, for something to qualify
as a system, that it should apply not just to one instance, but to other, like instances. She
concludes that
. . . the dynamic system, in as much as it is a system, must be such that, while it describes every instance as that instance, it must also possess generality enough not to
deny any instance its specificity as a unique instance of a type. Otherwise either it will
fail to be different from the synoptic system, or it will fail its dynamic duty, or it will
be no system at all. (1995: 189, emphasis in original)
She sees this as a problem for Martins account, herself preferring a different interpretation
of the dynamic perspective as specifying the conditions under which variability, optionality, and the like can occur a view which, of course, reconceptualises dynamicity in
essentially synoptic terms.
In relation to the proposal that register and genre should be seen as connotative semiotics, Hasan argues that Martins appropriation of Hjelmslevs ideas conceals crucial differences between the two, and that although Hjelmslev was indeed a major influence
on Halliday, there is no simple one-to-one correspondence between Hjelmslevs strata
. Furthermore, Halliday (in Hernndez Hernndez 2000b: 234) remarks that the early development of the
theory of register arose out of the desire, by a group of linguists with a Marxist view of language, to promote
the valuing of languages and language varieties which were not valued in either political or academic circles.
. For a much earlier account of Hasans views on context, see Hasan (1980).
and strata/levels as they have developed in SF [Systemic Functional (linguistics) CSB]

(p. 202). As a result of her detailed discussion, she concludes that
. . . if the relations of planes and levels are not revised, then theoretically the kind
of connotative semiotic Martin proposes is impossible. If the relations have been revised to make them more like realization, then the notion of connotative semiotic is
unnecessary. (1995: 214)
Hasan raises further questions about the relationships between the strata in Martins
model: if register acts as the content plane of a connotative semiotic for which the expression plane is language as a denotative semiotic, then is the relationship between the
two arbitrary? There are, claims Hasan (pp. 210211) enormous difficulties in maintaining that register is arbitrarily expressed by whatever we conceive to be the nature of
Martins level of discourse which is said to be comparable to Hallidays semantic level.
What Hasan suggests is that Martins view of the relationship between the content and expression planes of the connotative semiotic is different from that between the content and
expression planes of language as a denotative semiotic. And yet, she observes, the many
questions surrounding such a shift have never been posed, let alone answered.
Hasan also objects to what she sees as Martins amalgamation of the notions of register (which, as we have seen, is for Halliday a variety of language) and context into his
(undifferentiated) concept of register: she points out that his term, register, is used to
refer to this composite of a certain variety of linguistic patterning and its extralinguistic
correlate (p. 198). Thus Martins model leads to the somewhat contradictory position
that language itself is the expression plane of its own varieties (p. 198).
In a later paper, Martin (1998: 2930), commenting on the range of misunderstandings which the importation of Hjelmslevian concepts into genre theory has incurred, and
citing Hasan (1995) in association with this, offers brief comments which he hopes will
clarify some issues. The intention, he says, was to provide a characterisation of context
as a semiotic system, hence the appropriateness of ideas from Hjelmslev. The adoption
of the term register where Halliday uses context of situation was purely terminological,
and intended to distance the model from a materialist orientation; Martin claims that no
difference from Hallidays conception of the relationship between field/tenor/mode and
language is involved. Pace Hasan, he states that the attention given in the model to dynamic as well as synoptic aspects of patterning arose from work on exchange and generic
structure and was not seen as motivating the layered model.
In a recent exposition of her own view of context and its relationship with text, Hasan
(1998: 222) again expresses the view that in Martins dynamic model the relations of a
unique instance of practice and a non-unique system remain entirely unclear, not to say
incoherent. She develops a very detailed account which recognises that situation, culture,
text and language enter into two types of proportional relationship: situation instantiates
culture, just as language instantiates text; and language realises culture, as text realises
(context of) situation. Hasans focus here is on this last relationship, which she explores
through an analysis of three texts. In the course of this analysis she discusses critically the
criterion of register consistency originally proposed by Halliday & Hasan (1976: 23) for
Chapter 4
texthood, pointing out that there are texts whose integrity appears not to be compromised
by register changes, and exploring the kinds of social situation where such changes are
most at risk, and the kinds of formal mechanism needed for their specification. As was
noted in 6.4 of Part 1, this leads her to propose a significantly modified view of field, tenor
and mode as three interrelated perspectives on the social context with reference to which
speaking is done, rather than as separate factors in social situations (Hasan 1998: 272).
Hasan (1998: 274312) goes on to develop in much greater detail a description of
field which takes account of what she calls contextual/registral integration, that is deviation from a simple textual design with contextual/registral consistency, in order to build in
secondary concerns, so modifying the nature of the original social process. The key concept in the area of field is taken to be action, both verbal and material. Hasan proposes
simultaneous systems for these types of action. At primary delicacy, material action can
be [present] in the situation or [non-present], and if not present, then either genuinely
[absent] or [deferred], this last choice pertaining to situations in which the verbal action
specifies material action to be carried out later. The verbal action is either [constitutive]
of the activity or [ancillary] to it, and if constitutive, then either [practical] or [conceptual], the latter referring to situations in which mental work is being carried out, as in
writing an examination paper, which involves the construal of verbal semiotic constructs.
The two systems are related by what Hasan calls default dependencies rather than by the
kind of genuine dependencies familiar from the lexicogrammar: for intance, if the verbal
action is [ancillary], then clearly material action must be [present], since otherwise there
would be nothing for the verbal action to be ancillary to; likewise, if material action is
[non-present], then the verbal action must be [constitutive].
Each of the types of verbal action has secondary systems: for instance, practical verbal
actions may be carried out to [instruct], or to [plan], or for other purposes; instructional
verbal actions can relate to how to [create] an artefact or how to [manage] it; managing
the artefact may be to [install], [maintain] or [repair] it. Conceptual verbal actions may
be [relation based] (and if so, then [cooperative] or [conflictual]) or [reflection based];
they may also be [narrating] or [informing] (with a complex set of finer distinctions for
each), and [first order] or [second order] (i.e. language turned back on itself ), and if
the latter, then [reproductive] or [meta-discursive]. Later in her discussion, Hasan adds
to the system network a distinction in sphere of action between [quotidian] (subdivided
into [institutional] and [individuated]) and [specialised].52 She also introduces a system
of iteration, specifying choices arising, within the material situational setting in which
interaction is taking place,53 in whether to continue or to close field choices, the former
option leading to the inclusion of an [independent] field into the discourse at some point
(e.g. someone interrupting a conversation in order to receive a parcel), or to the selection
of an [integrated] field (e.g. a teacher switching on an overhead projector while giving a
presentation lesson), or to the incursion of an [aligned] field, which is in a logical relation
. For further discussion of institutionalisation in a systemic functional perspective, see Bowcher (1998).
. For further work on the material situational setting in relation to context and text, see Cloran (1998).
to the main field (e.g. a cricket commentary is about the game which is being described
and commented on).
Here we must leave the debate between Hasan and Martin: it is clear, however, that
there are incompatibilities between the two approaches,54 that much remains to be said,
and that extensive, systematic empirical work on a wide range of texts, investigating the
relationships between contextual parameters (perhaps according to Martins more detailed classification) and types of meaning (preferably without initial prejudice to their
putative metafunctional addresses) would help to clarify issues which threaten to become
somewhat bogged down in theoretical and metatheoretical obscurities.
.. Discourse, text and context in the Cardiff grammar

... Discourse grammars and the systemic flowchart model
We saw in Chapter 5 of Part 1 that the Cardiff grammar has been worked out largely within
the framework of the COMMUNAL project for the computer-based generation of text.
The model of discourse developed by the Cardiff team (see Fawcett, van der Mije & van
Wissen 1988; Fawcett & Davies 1992a, 1992b)55 is thus oriented towards implementation
in the computational generation system.
The Cardiff computational model assumes three levels of planning for language generation: higher planning, discourse planning and sentence planning. We have already looked
in some detail, in other chapters, at aspects of sentence planning in Cardiff SFG. The
discourse planning level is defined as
planning the deployment and often adaptation of structured patterns of behaviour
that are predominantly mediated through semiotic systems such as natural language
(so including gesture, facial expression, iconic and other graphical representations,
etc.). (Fawcett & Davies 1992a: 1, emphasis in original)
Since a sentence grammar is seen as a model of planning for text at the sentence level, a
discourse grammar is postulated to model planning at the discourse level.56 The discourse grammar recognises two main types of structure, labelled genre and exchange
structure, which are related not through realisation between strata (as for example in Martins scheme, described in 4.4.4.3.2) but by rank within a single level. In other words, they
are seen as being of the same type, though typically differing in size, since a genre can cover
a whole conversation or novel, though there are instances of genres consisting of a single
. Pace Matthiessen (1993: 232), who suggests that there is no a priori reason why they cant be interpreted
as complementaries.
. Fawcett & Davies 1992b paper is a reduced version of 1992a; I shall therefore refer only to the 1992a
version here.
. The Cardiff grammar appears not to make a clear distinction between discourse and text. However,
in view of the commitment to the view that discourse planning involves not only language but also other
semiotic systems, we might perhaps see a distinction between that which is realised in language (text) and
the whole integrated discourse which is realised multimodally.
Chapter 4
exchange (Fawcett & Davies give the example of an exchange of greetings between passersby), just as there are exchanges which consist of a single move, itself consisting of a single
act. Building on the work of the Birmingham school of discourse analysis (see 4.4.3.2.1),
Fawcett and his colleagues propose that although we need a large number of individual
grammars for particular genres, each giving rise to a different structure potential, we need
only one grammar for exchange structure (the so-called local discourse grammar), which
is valid for all types of genre. Where genres do differ is in the probabilities that particular
types of choice from systems will be made, so that, as elsewhere in the Cardiff model, such
probabilities must be included within the grammar.
Fawcett and his group intend their model of exchange structure to be as valid for
monologue as for dialogue. While most researchers in natural language generation have
begun with monologue in an attempt to avoid having to model the addressees contribution in the first instance, Fawcett & Davies (1992a: 56) argue that even in monologue
it is essential to model the changes in what the addressee can be assumed to believe, at
various stages in the interaction. They therefore treat monologue as an extended turn in
dialogue (which can in turn be extended to cover multi-party interaction), pointing out
that some types of dialogue do indeed contain substantial portions of monologue, and
some monologues contain material, such as rhetorical questions, which involve the addressees possible reactions. They also point out that although the unmarked realisation of
dialogic mode is spoken, written dialogues are by no means uncommon (e.g. plays); they
therefore feel that working with written language in the first instance will not be harmful
to the research undertaken.
Fawcett, van der Mije & van Wissen (1988) present a model for discourse grammar
which aims at socio-psychological reality and is intended to be predictive rather than
merely descriptive, and to cope with quite complex discourse structures, including many
which, though non-canonical, are perfectly grammatical within the discourse, such as
challenges, the seeking of clarifications, oblique moves which work on both an ostensible and an ulterior level, discourse addressed to oneself, self-repairs, interruptions, etc.
The model is like that of Martin and Ventola in being explicitly dynamic and in using
flowcharts to model this dynamicity. Where it differs from Martins model, however, is
that flowcharts and system networks are combined into a single generative scheme: essentially, the mechanism is that the decision boxes of the flowcharts contain a number
of small systems, which allow much more complex decisions than the yes/no answers to
questions in the usual decision box.
Rather than attempt to discuss all the distinctions in the complex systemic flowchart
model presented by Fawcett, van der Mije & van Wissen, it may be better to give an idea
of how the model works by following through the generation of discourse structure for an
example of genuine interaction.
(92) A. Erm, I, I dont think theres any question about you getting a minister
B. Do you think well get one?
A. Oh yes
B. Oh (BNC KB0 6063)
The generation of the exchange begins with the start symbol in the flowchart, in response
to which the exchange is initiated. In the original version of the model (Fawcett, van der
Mije & van Wissen 1988: 132135), there are five initial, simultaneous choices to be made
from systems. Firstly, there is a system for reality of encounter which distinguishes between real encounters where material is addressed to others, and other less typical types
of communication, such as addressing oneself or a non-speaking entity, or addressing one
person with the intention that another will overhear. For the interaction in (92), A initiates
a real encounter. Secondly, a system of [straight] vs. [oblique] distinguishes moves which
can be handled at a single level of meaning from those where we need a double analysis
taking into account not only what appears to be meant but also what is actually meant, as
frequently revealed by the following discourse: an example would be a statement intended
as a request. As initial move in (92) is [straight]. Two further systems deal with the complexity of the move, in terms of the need (or lack of need) for starter and continuer acts
in addition to the head act.57 If we ignore the hesitation marker erm and the repetition
of I, As initial move in (92) consists of a single act as head, so we choose the unmarked
options: no starter or continuer acts required.
Finally, we have a complex network for the type of move, with five initial choices:
[give information], [solicit information], [propose own action], [influence action] and
[action (verbal or non-verbal) plus optional action commentary]; the meanings of these
labels should be obvious. As first move in (92) selects [give information], and this leads
to a specification of constituency (indicated in the flowchart by a broken line), between
the move and the act(s) of which it consists. More delicate systems then allow choices in
the precise nature of this act: for As first move in (92) we have [assert] (rather than an expressive, commissive, declaration or repetition type of act), and more delicately [inform]
(there are also even more delicate choices which are left out of account here, since in our
example the unmarked option is selected).
The choice of [give information] from the move network leads to a transition to the
next move, symbolised in the flowchart by a line with an arrowhead in the middle. B
now has a choice of whether or not to produce a move which supports the expectations
of the initiating move by producing a Respond move (in this case acknowledging the information given).58 In (92), B chooses not to produce a supporting move. The systemic
flowchart offers two possibilities here: the speaker can suspend the progress of the move,
for example by making a challenge (of one of four types specified in a more delicate system) or seeking clarification; or s/he can choose not to cooperate, either by aborting the
exchange or by producing a re-initiation. It is this last choice which is taken up in Bs first
move in (92), and takes us back to the initial system of five choices for the type of move,
from which [solicit information] is chosen.
. In a later version of the model, these systems are placed in a more appropriate position, before or after
the head act, rather than in parallel with systems for the class of move (Fawcett & Davies 1992a: 24).
. Note that the concepts of support, challenge, etc., refer to responses to the expectations set up by a
preceding move: it is not the speaker, as such, who is being supported or challenged.
Chapter 4
The choice of [solicit information] has two effects, just as with the earlier choice of
[give information]. Firstly, it specifies the relation between the move and its constituent
act(s), the network then offering a choice of three types of act ([seek polarity], [seek new
content] and [seek choice of given content], corresponding to polar, open and alternative
questions respectively) from which Bs first move in (92) selects [seek polarity]. Secondly,
it passes an instruction to go to the next move in the interaction, and activates another
subnetwork for support/non-support similar to that which was described above in relation to the earlier choice of [give information]. In the case of (92), A chooses [support], in
other words the production of a Respond move, and the systemic flowchart specifies the
constituency relationship between move and act(s), then offers a choice of [give polarity],
[give new content], [try out new content] or [give choice of given content], from which
the choice of [give polarity] is made for (92).59 The flowchart also specifies, as usual, the
shift to the next move. B now has the choice of producing another supporting move, deciding that no further support is required (so closing the exchange), or producing a nonsupporting move. It is the first of these choices which is made in (92). Note that this second
supporting move is not a Respond (the strongly predicted support for an Initiate), but a
less strongly predicted Follow-up. We go through the usual cycle of constituency specification, choice of act type60 and shift to next move. Since support is recursive, A has the
opportunity to produce further support, end the exchange or produce a non-cooperative
move. The text following example (92) in the corpus actually shows that the exchange is
ended at this point.
Fawcett, van der Mije & van Wissen provide realisation rules to accompany the systemic flowchart. In the case of example (92), the initiation of the exchange requires the
insertion of an exchange unit, with the element I(nitiate) as a daughter. The feature [give
information] is realised by the filling of the I element by the give information class of
move and appending a h(ead) element as a daughter of this move. Bs [re-initiate] choice
is realised by the insertion of a RI element as a daughter of the exchange. The feature [solicit information] is then realised by the filling of this element by a move of the solicit
information class and the appending of a h(ead) element as a daughter of this move. As
support of this move is realised by the appending of a R(espond) element as a daughter of
the exchange, the filling of this element by the support class of move, and the appending
of a h(ead) element as a daughter of this move. Bs final support choice is realised by the
appending of a F(ollow-up) element as a daughter of the exchange, its filling by a move
of the support class, and the appending of a h(ead) element as a daughter of this move.
If we add the filling of the head elements by the class of act chosen, we arrive at a struc. There must be a match between the type of information solicited and the type of support given, and
Fawcett, van der Mije & van Wissen handle this simply in terms of the transparent relations between the
labels used.
. In the absence of clear definitions for act types, it is hard to know whether the Oh of (80) should be
classified as [acknowledge] or as [exclaim-evaluate]. I have (rather arbitrarily) assumed the former in the
structure given in (93).
ture for the exchange as shown in (93), in which the blank boxes represent the process of
lexicogrammatical realisation.
(93)
exchange
RI
give information solicit information
support
support
assert, inform
seek polarity
give polarity
acknowledge
A. Oh yes
B. Oh
A. Erm, I, I dont think B. Do you think

theres any question
well get one?
about you getting
a minister
... Amalgamating systemic flowcharts with Rhetorical Structure Theory

Fawcett & Davies (1992a: 2425) point out that Mann & Thompsons Rhetorical Structure
Theory,61 like the systemic flowchart model, was developed within the context of computational implementation of a systemic grammar. They regard RST as the most promising
of the current frameworks for monologue generation (p. 7): they praise the richness and
flexibility of the model, although conceding that, as pointed out in Hovy (1990), some
problems remain. What Fawcett and his colleagues propose is to integrate work in RST
with that in their own systemic flowchart framework. They see this as desirable because of
the way the strengths of the two approaches complement each other, RST being developed
for monologue, the systemic flowchart model for dialogue.
If the two models are to be integrated, then there is a need for a form of representation
which will not do violence to either. Fawcett & Davies claim that
. . . the difference between (1) a sister dependency relationship and (2) a relationship
of two daughters to a mother unit is a difference of notation whose significance has
been overemphasized. (Fawcett & Davies 1992a: 8)
They thus claim that the dependency relation of a satellite on its nucleus in RST can
be represented in terms of constituency, as a tree diagram. Consider the following short
stretch of text:
(94) Brian ORourke, the builder, had intended the castle as a war fortress for his use
when plundering neighbouring kings and chieftains. That was in 1540.
(BNC ADM 14751476)
. See 4.4.3.4.2.
Chapter 4
This consists, in RST terms, of a nucleus followed by a satellite of circumstance, as shown

in (95).
(95)
Circumstance
Brian ORourke, the builder, had intended the castle as a

war fortress for his use when plundering neighbouring
kings and chieftains.
That was in 1540.
This, according to Fawcett & Davies, can be re-expressed as in (96), were N represents
the Nucleus and S the Satellite, basis being the name of the class of span which acts as
nucleus, circumstance the class of the satellite span.
(96)
N
basis
N
basis
Brian ORourke, the builder, had intended the castle as a

war fortress for his use when plundering neighbouring
kings and chieftains.
S
circumstance
That was in 1540.
Fawcett & Davies (p. 25) see clear parallels between the relations of RST (e.g. circumstance) and the continuer acts of their own model. The exchange given in (92) and analysed earlier had a single act per move, but of course this represents only the simplest situation, and in many exchanges there are starter and/or continuer acts too. Furthermore,
because RST was developed with written texts in mind, Fawcett & Davies propose that it
is essentially a description of the moves which, in the systemic flowchart model, would
be called give information moves, and their constituent acts. Since, as we have seen, the
Cardiff discourse grammar is able to generate structures of the type required, RST relations could be incorporated into it, in the part of the networks dealing with non-head
constituents of information giving moves. Fawcett & Davies (p. 26) anticipate that there
may have to be some adjustment regarding the rank-based nature of their model, which
works with the ranks of exchange, move and act, since in RST any number of layers of
structure may be present in the analysis for a text, and each chooses from the same set of
relations. As we have seen, however, the Cardiff grammar virtually dispenses with the rank
concept in the sentence grammar, and Fawcett & Davies express a willingness to weaken
its role in the discourse grammar too, if necessary.
We have seen that in many respects proposals for the analysis of discourse and text are
more highly developed in SFG than in FG, and that RRG, although very much concerned
with certain discourse-relevant areas such as information structuring and switch reference, so far has no subtheory of discourse patterning itself. For this reason, comparison
will inevitably be limited to a few rather general comments.
The disparity just alluded to is clearly related to the aims and underlying assumptions
of the three theories. SFG is first and foremost an attempt to model the communication
which human beings achieve by means, not of isolated sentences, but of texts. From the
very beginnings of the theory in the 1960s, not only have the concepts of text and context
been central, but they have also been explicitly related, through the concepts of cohesion
and register. Attention to the demands of textual description has characterised the theory
throughout its history, and as we have seen, the book which is still regarded as Hallidays
most comprehensive account, An Introduction to Functional Grammar, is explicitly geared
to the needs of text analysts.
FG, despite Diks commitment to the study of language as the primary form of human communication, grew up largely as a sentence grammar, so that although it is possible
to find work on text being done throughout the history of the theory, this work derives
largely from application of the concepts already worked out for the grammar. Of course,
such work had the potential to feed back into the grammar itself (though we have seen
that it had rather little influence on Diks own theorising); the point is that the theory did
not start with an explicit commitment to the study of text, and this inevitably influenced
the direction in which it developed, and the subsidiary role of textual studies within it.
As we have seen, it is only recently that FG linguists have begun to suggest models of discourse itself. Furthermore, the proliferation of such models, and their currently somewhat
programmatic nature, make detailed evaluation difficult.
RRG, from its very inception, paid particular attention to languages with very different properties from those of the much-studied Indo-European group, and so has always been especially sensitive to discourse-related phenomena which, though not found
in those more familiar languages, are quite common if we look at the worlds languages as
a whole. So it is that, for example, switch reference and similar systems occupy an important place in RRG theory. Of course, these are examples of the more general category of
reference tracking systems, which occur in some form or another in all languages, and it is
therefore not surprising that RRG assigns an important place to such systems, though the
angle from which the phenomena are handled is more syntactically-oriented, and much
more specific (being related mainly to Privileged Syntactic Argument status, voice, etc.),
than in SFG. Other discourse-pragmatic concepts such as those associated with focus are
also of great importance in RRG, in both simple and complex sentences. There is nothing,
however, in the RRG literature to suggest that one of the aims of the theory is to provide
a full-blown model of discourse, though some such model would seem to be implied by
Van Valin & LaPollas (1997: 15) assertion that one of the questions with which RRG is
directly concerned is how speakers produce and understand language. It would certainly
Chapter 4
seem unlikely that such an aim could be achieved in the absence of some well-articulated
model of discourse and its planning.
Implicit in the above is the matter of the differing status of typological adequacy in
FG and RRG as opposed to SFG. The overwhelming concentration of systemic linguistics
on English, particularly during the years of its most crucial development, has ineluctably
led to a model of discourse which has a heavy anglocentric bias, despite the more recent
appearance of work on other languages. This is both a strength and a weakness: the fact
that a great deal of work has been done on English text means that detailed proposals have
been articulated for that language; on the other hand, the lack of serious commitment to
typological adequacy in the development of the theory has meant that it remains an open
question whether the models put forward for English will be adequate for other languages
without the imposition of undue distortions.
One important source of difference in discourse modelling has emerged rather
strongly from our discussions: there are relatively homogeneous models in which discourse is seen as an extension, in some sense, of grammar; on the other hand, there also
exist models in which there is a division of labour between different modules, the grammar constituting just one of the modular components, complemented by other modules
which go under labels such as pragmatic, communicative, cognitive, conceptual, etc. To
the more homogeneous type belong Diks model and Hengevelds (1997) proposal; we
might also say that, in a rather different way, systemic functional accounts of discourse
belong here, since they do not postulate any sharp division between the grammar and
the discourse, and even where an upper, discourse-oriented level of description is postulated, this is seen as a discourse semantics. To the modular type of proposal belong those
of Vet, Kroon, Bolkestein, van den Berg and Liedtke. There does appear to be a fundamental difference of approach here, and the attempts of various FG linguists to bridge
the gap between the two are not entirely convincing. Hengevelds latest model, as we have
seen, still has smooth upward layering for the linguistic component, despite the appearance of additional conceptual and contextual components in the model. Steuten simply
equates her interactional level (corresponding to the rhetorical level of Hengevelds (1997)
model) with Vets pragmatic module, without any discussion of the implications. Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar, while seen as a compromise between the modular
and the layering approaches, in practice emphasises a different but parallel dichotomy. As
Mackenzie (2000: 34) points out, the upward layering proposals are associated primarily
with a view of discourse as product, while modular proposals tend to focus on discourse
as process, and it is this tension, rather than that between layering and modularity, which
is foregrounded in Mackenzies IFG. The current trend in FG seems to favour processoriented models: we have seen that in addition to the pioneering cognitively-oriented
work of Nuyts and the IFG of Mackenzie, models which claim increased psychological
plausibility have also been proposed by Bakker & Siewierska and by Gmez-Gonzlez. We
have also seen that although the product/process distinction has played a large part in discussions of discourse patterning within the systemic functional framework, attempts to
model process are not concerned with the actual cognitive processes which are at work in
language production and understanding.
The formulation of models of discourse and text is an area where collaboration between functional theories, and between these and accounts which are not explicitly functional, could be very fruitful. Indeed, there are already signs of cross-fertilisation. Links
with Rhetorical Structure Theory have emerged at various points in our discussion: Diks
espousal of some of the ideas behind this model of discourse structure, also the Cardiff linguists incorporation of ideas from RST into their systemic flowchart model, and Gullas
(1997) suggestion of a marriage of concepts from FG and RST, in the context of computational implementations. We have also seen that concepts from Sinclair & Coulthards
hierarchical model of classroom discourse have been incorporated into three of the discourse models of FG, those of Kroon, Steuten and Connolly. We should not forget, either,
that discourse-related phenomena have been extensively researched in the work of West
Coast Functionalists such as Givn, Hopper, Thompson, DuBois, etc., which could again
provide useful as a source of valuable insights for incorporation into a more integrated
functional model of discourse, text and context.
Chapter 5
Introduction
In this chapter we move away from the grammars1 themselves to examine two further
areas: the position taken by FG, RRG and SFG on language learning, by the child acquiring a native language and by learners of varying age as a second or a foreign language;
and how they can be put to use in various applications such as computational linguistics,
stylistics, translation or clinical linguistics. Discussion of these areas is included for two
reasons: firstly, certain of them (especially first language acquisition and computational
implementations) offer important insights for the grammars themselves; secondly, their
omission would seriously distort an account of Systemic Functional linguistics since, as
we have seen, systemicists place great emphasis on the applicability of the theory and of
descriptions derived from it. The areas dealt with in this chapter are nevertheless less central to the main concerns of the book than those in previous chapters, and because of this
the level of detail will be rather lower here.
Language learning
..
Functional Grammar and language learning

As pointed out in 2.3.7 of Part 1, there have been few studies of the childs learning of the
native language within the framework of FG, despite Diks commitment to an approach
centred on communicative interaction in social contexts, rather than on innate abilities:
From a functional point of view, [. . . ] it is certainly much more attractive to study
the acquisition of language as it develops in communicative interaction between the
maturing child and its environment, and to attribute to genetic factors only those
underlying principles which cannot be explained as acquired in this interaction.
(Dik 1997a: 7)
. I am still, of course, using grammar in the widest sense here.
Clahsen (1984, 1986) studied formal and functional aspects of the acquisition of verb
markers by native German speakers, and Lalleman (1983a, 1985, 1987), discusses the development of certain linguistic features (e.g. word order, tense, the ability to express meaning by means of correct linguistic forms) in native Dutch learners and in the children of
Turkish immigrants, born and bred in the Netherlands, the language of the latter also
being studied in Lalleman (1986). Lalleman (1981, 1983b), has also worked on the spoken Dutch of Turkish immigrant workers themselves. Lund (1996) has discussed natural
sequences of development in second language learning.
Boland (1999), as noted in 3.1.4 of Part 1, has suggested the expansion of Diks standards of adequacy for FG to include acquisitional adequacy, arguing that this involves both
psychological and pragmatic factors. In her study, she sets out to discover the general principles which condition the acquisition of adverbs, her strategy being to analyse adverbs
from pragmatic, semantic and morphological standpoints, as well as in terms of their
deicticity, formulating implicational hierarchies for each of these factors based on typological, psychological and pragmatic information, and then testing the predictions made
by these hierarchies in relation to the order of acquisition of the various types of adverb
in English. This work is predicated on the assumption that the variation in acquisitional
and typological data should be restricted in the same ways by the constraints imposed by
psychological and pragmatic factors. Bolands hypotheses also act as a test bed for three of
the FG proposals on the layering of the underlying structure of the clause, those of Dik,
Cuvalay and Hengeveld, which were summarised briefly in Chapter 3 of Part 1.
The data for Bolands study were taken from the CHILDES (Child Language Data
Exchange System) database (MacWhinney 1995) and consisted of 200-utterance samples
taken from the natural discourse of each of three American children at yearly intervals.
Taking all three children together, the age range covered was 1 to 7 years. An adult
control sample, also taken from the CHILDES database, was also used.
Bolands first hypothesis is based on the premise that adverbs at higher levels in the
clause hierarchy relate to more complex communicational functions than those at lower
levels. In view of this, Boland argues, English-speaking children should acquire adverbs
that operate at Level 1 in the underlying clause hierarchy before those at Level 2, and those
at Level 2 should be acquired before those at Level 3, these first three levels of the clause
hierarchy being the ones on which various proposals for layering agree. The data bear out
the hypothesis, in that there is a clear tendency for predicate satellite adverbs (e.g. those
of manner) to be acquired before predicational adverbs (e.g. those of time and location),
and these before propositional adverbs (those indicating subjective modalities).
The second hypothesis is that where a single adverb can operate at different levels, the
uses will be acquired in the order Level 1, Level 2, Level 3. This hypothesis was supported
in the case of the adverbs just and really, each of which can operate at more than one level.
Bolands third hypothesis is concerned with adverbs operating at higher levels in the
hierarchy, on which there is some disparity between the models of Dik, Cuvalay and
Hengeveld. The models of Dik and Cuvalay straightforwardly predict that Level 4 adverbs
will be acquired later than those at Level 3, and Cuvalays, which incorporates a fifth, textual level, also predicts that adverbs at this level will be acquired later than those at Level 4.
Chapter 5
In Hengevelds proposal, on the other hand, illocutionary (Level 4) satellites modify only
the illocutionary frame, within which there is no relationship of inclusion between the
illocution and the proposition, and so no prediction about the relative ordering of Level 4
satellites and those at Levels 2 and 3, although Level 4 adverbs are predicted to be learned
later than Level 1, as the illocutionary frame is seen as more abstract than the predicate
frame. On the other hand, Level 5 does include the lower levels, so that adverbs at this level
should be acquired later than those at Levels 1, 2 and 3. Boland reports that there were no
Level 5 adverbs in her sample, but that just and really were used at Level 4 before adverbs
at Level 3 or even Level 2 were acquired. The data thus support Hengevelds proposal as
against those of Dik and Cuvalay.
The fourth hypothesis is concerned with morphological types of adverb, of which
Boland discusses three: adverbs which also act as adjectives (e.g. fast, hard); idiosyncratic adverbs such as today, now, which are basic adverbial predicates; and adverbs which
are derived morphologically from adjectives by addition of -ly (e.g. quickly, probably).
Hengevelds (1992: 68) implicational hierarchy of parts of speech, derived from typological data, is verb > noun > adjective > adverb. Languages are more likely to have a category
as a separate part of speech the further left this category is in the hierarchy, and a language
with a particular category will also have all those to the left of that category. Boland uses
this hierarchy to predict that adverbs which also act as adjectives will be acquired before
the other two types. This hypothesis is partially supported by the data, although there
is some indication that dual-function and idiosyncratic adverbs may appear in a childs
language at roughly the same time.
A second prediction on morphological grounds is that idiosyncratic adverbs will appear before derived ones, since the latter require the operation of a predicate formation
rule, while the former can be taken directly from the lexicon. The data did not allow a firm
conclusion on this hypothesis.
Finally, Boland predicted that adverbs with a deictic function, such as here, there, today, would be acquired before non-deictic adverbs, in view of the importance of deixis
in the development of communicative abilities. Data from two of the three children supported the hypothesis in relation to adverbs of time; the third childs data did not provide
conclusive evidence either way. The frequencies for other types of adverb were too low for
any conclusions to be drawn.
Bolands work provides interesting confirmation of the importance, in work on acquisition, of a detailed description of the phenomena to be acquired, based on a principled
linguistic theory. Although the data in this thesis study are understandably somewhat limited, they do give some indication of the power of FG to predict acquisitional sequences in
the area of the adverb.
A strong pedagogical element is also present in some of Hannays work (e.g. 1994b on
adjunct placement in the English of Dutch students), and the resource guide on effective
writing in English for Dutch students written by Hannay & Mackenzie (1996), clearly
draws on their experience of analysing English text using the principles of FG, though, as
we might expect in a pedagogical work, the link is not explicitly made.
.. Role and Reference Grammar and language learning

There is an important body of research on first language acquisition within the framework
of RRG. As summarised briefly in 1.6 of Part 1, proponents of Chomskyan linguistics
adopt an adaptationist position to acquisition, according to which the child uses environmental input to set parameters for variables in an innate Universal Grammar. The child
clearly needs to learn the lexical content of his or her language, but much of the grammar
is antecedently given. Functionalists, on the other hand, including those working in RRG,
adopt a constructionist approach, in which the child actually constructs the grammar:
The RRG approach to language acquisition [. . . ] rejects the position that grammar is
radically arbitrary and hence unlearnable, and maintains that it is relatively motivated
(in Saussures sense) semantically and pragmatically. Accordingly, there is sufficient
information available to the child in the speech to which it is exposed to enable it
to construct a grammar, and therefore the kinds of autonomous linguistic structures
posited by Chomsky are unnecessary. (Van Valin 1993b: 2)
What is learned by the child, then, is a set of

rules and principles which relate forms and functions, functions which may be semantic, pragmatic or social and forms of behaviour which may be linguistic and
non-linguistic. (Van Valin 1991: 89)
Van Valin (1991: 9) stresses that this does not mean that acquisition is necessarily purely
inductive: for instance, semantically-based predispositions to learning are perfectly compatible with the constructionist view.
As Van Valin (1991: 912) points out, there has been considerable disillusionment
among developmental psycholinguists in relation to the role of linguistic theory in their
work, occasioned partly by the rapid turnover of versions of generative theory, but even
more by the adaptationists claim that actual studies of child language development are
irrelevant to the theoretical discussion of acquisition. As we saw in 1.6 of Part 1, acquisition is seen by Chomsky as a purely logical problem, based on the supposed poverty of
the stimulus, the solution to this problem being the postulation of an innate Universal
Grammar: once the problem is solved in this way, it is perfectly valid, so the formalists
claim, to treat the transition from newly born child to adult as if it were instantaneous. The
study of language acquisition thus becomes a non-empirical matter. On the other hand,
in an approach which treats the child as the constructor of his or her grammar, empirical
studies of language development are not just relevant, but essential.
Van Valin (1991: 1213) enumerates three functions which linguistic theory plays in
the study of language acquisition: in the explanation of the acquisition process itself; in
the definition of the input which is relevant to the process; and in providing a framework
for explaining acquisition. From a constructionist viewpoint, the role of a linguistic theory is to provide a description of the grammar and to use it to make predictions about
Chapter 5
the process of acquisition of that grammar.2 In the various studies which will be reviewed
briefly below, it is shown that the theoretical apparatus of RRG provides descriptions of
languages which allow testable predictions to be made, and that such predictions are generally borne out by empirical studies of acquisition. The areas covered include: tense, aspect, modality and negation; grammatical relations; verb subcategorisation; wh-questions;
and extraction constraints.
We begin with the work of Van Valin (1991: 1333) on the acquisition of tense, aspect, modality and negation. Van Valin points to the considerable differences between
the conception of clause structure in RRG (the layered structure of the clause, LSC) and
in generative grammar (models based on X-bar theory). Unlike X-bar syntax, the LSC
is not postulated to be innate, but can be shown to be derivable from evidence available to the child. As we have seen, it is based on the argument/non-argument distinction
(giving rise to the core/periphery dichotomy) and on the difference between predicating and non-predicating elements (yielding the distinction between nucleus and the nonnuclear elements): both of these bases are firmly rooted in the evidence available to the
learning child.
A second component of the LSC is, of course, the operator projection, with scoping
both between levels (nuclear, core and clausal), and within these levels (e.g. tense is within
the scope of illocutionary force). This scoping is the source of Van Valins explanation for
the convincing cross-linguistic evidence that children learn aspectual distinctions before
tense, and root modality before epistemic modality. In Part 1, we saw that aspect is a
nuclear operator, since it modifies only the predicate, while tense is a clausal operator,
with scope over the whole proposition. Root modality is a core operator, expressing a
relationship between the predicate and one of its arguments, while epistemic modality
takes the whole clause in its scope. There is clearly a generalisation to be made here: the
inner operators are acquired before the outer ones. While it has been suggested in the
literature that the explanation for the order of acquisition is to be sought in the cognitive
complexity of the categories themselves, Van Valin suggests that the complexity is rather in
the units over which the operators have scope: nuclear operators such as aspect have scope
over the simplest unit, the predicate; core operators such as root modality have scope of
a more complex unit, consisting of not only the predicate but also its arguments; while
clausal operators have the whole of the clause structure in their scope.
The acquisition of negation, as Van Valin demonstrates, is a much more complex issue. There is evidence from the literature that negatives sometimes occur in child language
in a position, outside the clause, which is displaced with respect to the adult pattern. In
interpreting such data, it is important to distinguish between anaphoric negatives which
refer back to the previous utterance, and initial negatives which negate the clause they are
. See also Rispoli (1999: 242243), who, in his survey of functionalist approaches to first language acquisition, characterises the role of a functionalist theory such as RRG as being to provide a detailed, articulate,
and sensible account of the interfaces between the semantic and pragmatic components of grammar on the
one hand, and the syntactic component on the other, believing that only such an approach can furnish the
hypotheses we need about the architecture of representation in the grammar.
in. For this reason, evidence from verb-final languages is particularly relevant, since here
the external negative pattern is S + NEG, making it easy to distinguish it from (initial)
anaphoric negation. Van Valin reviews evidence from the literature on the acquisition of
Turkish and Japanese which unambiguously illustrate the displacement on negatives in
early child language, as well as supplementary evidence from French and Polish. The acquisitional evidence also suggests that childrens early negation is clausal in scope, and
this at first sight appears to present a problem for the RRG account, since it means that a
clausal operator (wide-scope negation) is learned before the corresponding core operator
(narrow-scope negation). The explanation, according to Van Valin, is in terms of the relationship between clausal negation and illocutionary force. Illocutionary force is clearly
the first clausal operator to be acquired, as the child learns very early on to perform speech
acts such as requesting and expressing emotions, realised intonationally at first. Van Valin
points out that the early uses of negation by the child are linked to the illocutionary force
of the utterance, for instance in rejections. This factor, he suggests, offsets the inherent
complexity of the clausal operator. Wide-scope negation is the first clausal operator to
appear in a lexically or grammatically realised form. Since the whole clause is within its
scope, a natural position for it is outside the clause, so that the RRG layered structure gives
a natural account of the positioning observed.
Further complication arises, however, because the NEG + S or S + NEG pattern is a
marked choice in childrens early language, and because some children produce both this
and the unmarked variant, while others never produce it at all. Van Valin explains this in
terms of a reorientation of perspective in the transition from child to adult system. We
saw above that the early wide-scope negative has the clause as its reference unit for the
determination of position. On the other hand, as Van Valin points out, the adult system
has the nucleus as its reference unit for determining relative operator scope, since in the
adult grammar there are operators with scopes over units smaller than the clause. Thus
the shift from the child to the adult system involves a move from the sentence-external
position to the position determined by the meaning of the operator, with respect to the
other operators which are learned as the acquisition process goes on. The variation in
the behaviour of different children can then be seen in terms of there being some children
who shift from external to internal patterning, and some who have the nucleus as reference
point from the very beginning.
The work of Rispoli (1990) is concerned with the acquisition of aspect, specifically
from the perspective of the light it can cast on the way in which children acquire the
ability to assign lexemes to Aktionsart classes. The study is concerned with intersentential
patterns involving the interaction of aspect and Aktionsart, in the language of three young
Japanese boys and their caregivers. In Japanese, verbs are subcategorised for the kinds of
aspect they can occur with. This is, of course, also true of English, in which, for example,
stative verbs such as like or understand are not frequently used with progressive aspect. As
is well known such verbs can on occasion be used with the progressive, and this can be
seen as indicating a subjective switch from an external perspective on states to a much less
usual internal perspective, a switch which is also possible in Japanese. Nevertheless, it has
been suggested that speakers generally choose linguistic situation types which correspond
Chapter 5
most closely to the situation in the world which they are trying to describe (Smith 1983).
Rispolis work attempts to show how associations between actual situations and Aktionsart
classes are established in Japanese children, using the RRG classification of Aktionsart
types as a basis.
We do not need to go into the details of the Japanese aspect system here, but simply
to note two things: firstly, that although some aspectual markers have a consistent interpretation with verbs of all Aktionsart classes, others are interpreted differently according
to the class of verb; secondly, that there are intersentential patterns of interaction in ordinary conversation, in which the aspect forms used by the speakers are dependent on the
Aktionsart class of the verb. Such intersentential patterns can thus be used as an indication of the childs mastery of lexical assignment to classes. Rispoli finds that in the early
period when his subjects are beginning to master intersentential patterns, three classes of
verb emerge: Activity verbs, verbs with what he calls culmination point semantics (i.e.
telic verbs), and States, none of which appeared to have developmental priority. All of the
patterns observed were consistent with standard associations between Aktionsart classes
and types of situation which were common in the childrens everyday experience. Thus
intersentential patterns, which are part of the input, divide Japanese verbs into classes.
However, Rispoli points out that in order to make use of these patterns in establishing
lexical subcategorisation, the child must have some kind of anchor point which links context and semantic properties in a stable relationship. One possible anchor point (Slobin
1985) is the figure-ground relationship seen with motion verbs, which constituted a high
proportion of the verbs used in the intersentential patterns observed.
Rispoli (1991a) takes his earlier work further by looking at the acquisition of verb
subcategorisation in Japanese specifically in terms of the logical structures of predicates
proposed in the RRG model of lexical structure.3 As we saw in 4.10 of Part 1, the LS for
a predicate predicts the thematic relations associated with that predicate and, through the
linking algorithms, motivates the syntactic specification as well. If, then, the child has some
way of learning about the LSs of predicates, the RRG model predicts that s/he will also
learn a lot about the semantics and syntax associated with those predicates. Rispoli argues
that sufficient information for the acquisition of LSs is available to the child through a
combination of input and context which leads to an unambiguous specification of aspects
of the predicates meaning.
One problem with the input to Japanese children, illustrated convincingly from the
data obtained from caregivers talking to their children, is that Japanese sentences are overwhelmingly syntactically underspecified in the conversational language: there is a very
high degree of NP ellipsis and even where NPs are explicit, the postpositions ga and o
indicating nominative and accusative case are frequently missing. Furthermore, in order
for even sentences with full specification of NPs and case markers to be informative for
the child, there must be an understanding of how the case markers are linked to thematic relations. Empirical evidence, however, suggests that Japanese children have con. This work builds on an earlier discussion of action verb categorisation (Rispoli 1989) which was not
couched specifically in terms of RRG theory.
siderable difficulty with the acquisition of the case marking system, some not mastering
it until the age of five. Despite this, there is evidence from the literature that young children are indeed learning to categorise verbs into Aktionsart classes: for example, they use
action verbs appropriately in terms of their valence, and as we saw earlier, they also use
Aktionsart-dependent aspectual markers correctly.
In attempting to explain how Japanese children can learn verb subcategorisation even
though the normal input from caregivers is syntactically underspecified, Rispoli points
out that the RRG framework postulates a certain degree of interdependence between
categories linked to the LS. For instance, thematic relations are predictable from the LS
corresponding to a particular Aktionsart class: Rispoli gives, as examples, the fact that
a patient cannot be the sole argument of an Activity, and that if a telic predicate has
an agent, that predicate must be an Accomplishment.4 There are thus multiple possible
sources of information for verb subcategorisation, only some of which depend on the
overt expression of NPs.
Rispoli illustrates this situation from an analysis of Japanese action verbs, which, in
terms of the classification used at this time, can be regarded as Accomplishments (e.g. the
Japanese equivalent of Taro broke the clock), intransitive Activities (e.g. the equivalent of
Taro is running) and intransitive Achievements (e.g. the Japanese sentence corresponding
to The clock broke). Associated with these verb classes are particular properties of valence
and case marking: for instance, if the verb is intransitive, a NP which is Patient or Theme
can be marked by the nominative postposition ga, but not by the accusative postposition o;
while if the verb is transitive, its Patient or Theme can be marked by o. Further, although
both transitive and intransitive verbs can take an NP which indicates the entity which
initiates a causal sequence, only transitive verbs can appear in sentences where such an
NP is marked with ga, the causers in situations encoded through intransitive verbs being
marked with de. The upshot of all this is that formal marking is ultimately linked to the
LS of the predicate.
As we have seen, however, overt case marking is very often not available in the sentences which form the childs input, so that other means for learning subcategorisation
must be sought. An example is to be found in the various constructions which indicate
the presence of an Agent (i.e. an intentional causer), such as imperatives, desideratives,
hortatory, prohibitional or permissive utterances, or adverbials indicating intentional manipulation. Such constructions would thus enable a child who had acquired the requisite
speech act formulations to begin characterising verbs as agentive or non-agentive. The
attribution of agency to a particular participant (causer or figure) would then depend
on animacy, since we can assume that the child does not expect inanimate objects to be
required to respond to requests, prohibitions and the like. Animacy allows the child to
formulate hypotheses even where morphosyntactic evidence of agency is not available: if
. Note that Rispoli is using the term Accomplishment with the meaning which it has in earlier work on
RRG (Foley & Van Valin 1984; Van Valin 1993b), rather than the meaning it has in current RRG. For further
discussion, see 8.2.5.1 of Part 1.
Chapter 5
a particular verb is routinely met in association with inanimate entities, it is a reasonable

provisional hypothesis that the verb does not represent agency.
Further work by Rispoli (1991b) focuses on how the theory of RRG can help to explain empirical findings concerned with the acquisition of grammatical relations in Turkish, Kaluli (Papua New Guinea), Hungarian and Italian. Rispoli reviews what he refers
to as essentialist approaches, that is a view that grammatical relations are immutable
(1991b: 517), a view which he claims to be seriously undermined by the diversity of types
of grammatical relation in the worlds languages. The RRG approach to grammatical relations is non-essentialist, not postulating a category of Subject, but recognises that a variety
of types of such relations can arise in different languages, motivated by both semantic and
pragmatic factors. Semantically, the relevant area is that of the logical structures of predicates, defined according to Aktionsart classes, the associated sets of thematic relations, and
the superordinate concept of macrorole (see 4.10 of Part 1); pragmatically, the factors involved are information structure and the discourse status of referents (see 4.9 of Part 1
and 2.3 of the present volume). One rather confusing aspect of Rispolis discussion, for
those conversant with present-day RRG, is that he refers to the macroroles as if they were
themselves grammatical relations, while we have seen that in current RRG they are viewed
as semantic roles, which are correlated with the Privileged Syntactic Arguments (PSAs, see
4.12 of Part 1) for particular constructions.
Turkish (Rispoli 1991b: 531533) provides a fairly simple illustration of the kinds of
semantically-motivated principle which Rispoli invokes to explain acquisitional phenomena:
In active voice sentences, the Actor is in nominative case and there is verb agreement
with it.
A definite Undergoer has the accusative noun suffix -(y)I (where I stands for either
-i or -u, the choice being determined by vowel harmony), while Undergoers with the
indefinite article bir, also indefinite, non-quantified, non-specific Undergoers, do not
have this suffix; the last type appears preverbally.
Rispoli cites evidence from the literature that children of two can identify Undergoers by
means of the accusative case ending, can differentiate between definite and indefinite Undergoers, and do not make the mistake of using non-quantified non-suffixed NPs postverbally. The point here is that three independent formal reflexes are involved in the distinctions made: verb agreement (Actor), the accusative case ending (definite Undergoer) and
preverbal position (non-specific Undergoer), and this independence is what is postulated
to be behind the ease with which Turkish children acquire the relevant distinctions. In
most accounts, these phenomena would be handled in terms of grammatical relations of
Subject and Object, while in current RRG they would be seen in terms of the selection of
a particular macrorole as the PSA of a construction, and the formal marking of macrorole
status. While Subject has proved to be a difficult category to define adequately, the assignment of macroroles in RRG is accomplished by means of clearly defined rules laid down in
the Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy, in conjunction with the logical structures of predicates,
these latter being derivable from Aktionsart categories for which tests are available.
A more complex case is that of the acquisition of Kaluli (Schieffelin 1981), for which
Rispoli cites data from the literature showing that there are three structures which encode
case distinctions, interacting with information structure:
There is verb agreement for person and number with nominative case.
There are special pronoun forms for first and second person, with a distinction between ergative and absolutive, but with the Actor of a transitive sentence having different forms according to whether it is focal or not. Focal material must be placed in
immediately preverbal position.
Lexical NPs can be marked with postpositions with ergative/absolutive distinctions,
but focus, and therefore also word order, comes in once more. In transitives with an
Actor which is in focus (i.e. Undergoer-Actor-Verb order), the Actor is marked with
an ergative postposition; whereas a non-focussed Actor (i.e. Actor-Undergoer-Verb
order) takes an absolutive postposition.
There is an exception to this last rule: if an Actor does not have narrow scope NP
focus, and both the Actor and Undergoer are either proper names or kin terms, the
ergative postposition can be used on the first, Actor NP. In this situation, the ergative case marker encodes properties of both Actor and Undergoer: we have global
case marking.
A third person Actor which is the sole overt macrorole of a transitive verb (i.e. where
we have surface intransitivity, e.g. through zero anaphoric realisation of the other
macrorole, or the kind of situation which, in English could be exemplified by the use
of eat without an overt complement, implying some non-specific thing that is eaten)
must take the ergative postposition, so neutralising the focality distinction for actors
of transitive verbs.
The point of this excursion into the intricacies of Kaluli case marking is to show how an
analysis in terms of RRG categories, as above, can explain which features are easy for children to learn, and which are more difficult. Schieffelins work shows that Kaluli children
do not normally make errors which confuse the case orientations of verb agreement and
that of NP postpositions; nor do they use the ergative case marker for the single macrorole argument of intransitive verbs, or the focal pronoun forms for first and second person
with intransitive verbs. According to Rispoli, these facts suggest that Kaluli children have
the transitive/intransitive distinction accessible to them. Furthermore, the ease of acquisition of the correct form for the single argument of intransitives is explained by the fact
that the pattern of neutralisation is directly connected with the distinction which is neutralised: with (semantically) intransitive verbs there is only one macrorole, so that the
Actor/Undergoer distinction is not relevant. Other errors which are absent or rare are the
use of focal first and second person pronouns in AUV transitive sentences, and that of the
absolutive postposition in UAV sentences with third person lexical NPs as Actors. This is
taken to indicate that children are sensitive to the specialisation of immediately preverbal
position for focal material, and the Actor focality properties of the specialised pronouns.
On the other hand, two-year-old Kaluli children do make errors in using the ergative postposition with initial Actors in AUV sentences in which the Undergoer is neither
Chapter 5
a proper noun nor a kinship term. They also sometimes use the absolutive postposition
incorrectly with Actors in transitive sentences with only one overt macrorole. What appears to be happening here is that the children are overgeneralising on the basis of surface
intransitivity, treating semantically transitive verbs with unexpressed Undergoers in the
same way as verbs which are truly intransitive. A further difficulty experienced by Kaluli
children is the acquisition of the neutralisation of the Actor focality distinction for Actors
of transitive verbs. Here, the difficulty can be explained in terms of the indirectness of
the relationship between the underlying factor and the distinction masked by the neutralisation; this is particularly clear in the case of non-specified Undergoers, which are not
directly related to the focality of the Actor.
Space precludes the examination of Rispolis analysis of data from Hungarian and
Italian: suffice it to say that here again, he is able to show how an account based on RRG
is able to explain the ease or difficulty of acquisition for particular construction types.
Above, I mentioned the occurrence of normally transitive verbs such as eat without
a specified Undergoer. Rispoli (1992) has studied the acquisition of this type of verb in
American children, with English as first language, at monthly intervals from one to three
years old. He found that eat was the first such verb to appear, and that it was used by all
the children in the study. All occurrences of the verb were coded for presence or absence of
an overt Undergoer, and childrens response utterances were also coded for the discourse
context, that is, whether a potential Undergoer was already available in the discourse itself,
or whether the verb was simply open to Undergoer omission. The results showed that
once the cumulative verb lexicon size of the children, as measured in the transcripts, had
risen to a certain threshold level (at about 2 years 3 months), Undergoer omission became
appropriately sensitive to discourse context.
Let us turn now to the work of Van Valin (1991, 1994, 1996, 1998, 2000a; Van Valin
& LaPolla 1997: 647649) on extraction restrictions and their acquisition, in particular
those referred to by Ross (1967/1986) as the Complex NP constraint. These phenomena
are widely regarded as crucial evidence for Chomskys poverty of the stimulus argument
for an adaptationist stance: it is claimed that such constraints could not possibly be learned
from the input to the child, so that they must necessarily be innately given. Examples of
the Complex NP Constraint, parallel to those offered by Van Valin (1991: 27, 1994: 246,
1996: 29, 2000a: 51; Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 615), are given below.
(1) Edward III believed that he had broken Scotlands will to resist English domination.
(BNC AS7 976)
(2) What did Edward III believe that he had broken?
(3) What did you think they lacked at the time? (BNC C9J 1484)
(4) You thought they lacked experience at the time.
(5) . . . she was tired of hearing the claim that universities should aim to produce
rounded people; . . . (BNC B7H 1891)
(6) *What was she tired of hearing the claim that universities should aim to produce __?
(7) It is still less likely to placate the soldiers who backed the failed uprising of December
3rd. (BNC ABD 1262)
(8) *What is it still less likely to placate the soldiers who backed __?
In (2), the wh-word corresponds to the Object of the verb in the complement clause in
(1). Similarly, the corpus example (3) could be derived from the sentence in (4), again
by moving the Object of the verb in the complement clause. The results of attempting to
move the Object elements in (5) and (7), however, are ungrammatical, as shown in (6) and
(8). In order to explain these phenomena, Ross postulated that no element can be moved
out of an S which is embedded to a lexical head noun. As Van Valin observes, this principle
has since been subsumed under the heading of subjacency in Chomskyan grammars, and
reformulated in terms of constraints on movement across more than one bounding node
(NP and S being such nodes in English) in a single movement, or, more recently, in terms
of barriers. Furthermore, the demonstration of subjacency effects in a language is taken as
diagnostic evidence that wh- or NP-movement occurs in that language.
As Van Valin points out, it is hard to see how a purely structural restriction such as
subjacency, involving the non-occurrence of some phenomenon, could be learned. Furthermore, such a restriction could hardly apply to cognitive systems other than language.
Thus subjacency appears to offer convincing evidence for the claim that certain principles are part of an innate language acquisition device, according to the argument from the
poverty of the stimulus. Languages such as Lakhota, which do not have wh-movement5
but still show subjacency effects, at first sight seem to present a problem for the theory, but
this difficulty has been circumvented by the proposal (Huang 1981) that languages such
as Lakhota do indeed have movement, but at an abstract level, between S-structure and
Logical Form, rather than between D-structure and S-structure as in English. It would,
of course, be quite impossible for a child to learn a constraint on a type of movement for
which there is no overt evidence.
In the RRG account of subjacency effects in wh-questions (Van Valin 1991: 2832,
1993b: 137147, 1994: 250254, 1996: 3851, 1998: 231235, 2000a: 5159; Van Valin &
LaPolla 1997: 614634), on which the following brief summary is based, the fundamental assumption of the Principles and Parameters approach to subjacency, namely that this
phenomenon is diagnostic for movement, is questioned. An alternative perspective on this
would be that movement is not in fact the key feature of subjacency effects, but is involved
only in languages of particular word order types. If this is so, then some other underlying
cause of the effects must be sought, and Van Valin suggests that this is to be found in the
interaction of information structure and syntactic structure. The argument starts from the
observation that both wh-questions and yes/no questions are types of focus construction,
often with narrow focus. We saw in 4.9 of Part 1 that the actual focus domain in a particular utterance must fall within the potential focus domain, which is language-dependent.
Clearly, the focus of a question, whether of the wh- or the yes/no type, must fall within the
. Recall from 2.3.7 that in Lakhota the item corresponding to a wh-word remains in pattern position
rather than being placed in the pre-core slot as in English.
Chapter 5
potential focus domain for the language concerned. The relevant constraint on question
formation is as follows:
The element questioned (the focus NP in a simple, direct yes-no question, or the WHexpression or the argument position with which a displaced WH-word is associated in
a simple, direct WH-question) must be in a clause within the potential focus domain.
(Van Valin 1998: 231)
Note that the two halves of the condition for wh-questions deal, respectively, with the
situation in languages such as Lakhota where the wh-word remains in situ, and languages
like English which have a special position for displaced wh-words, in which case what
matters is the position that the wh-expression is interpreted as occupying in the semantic
representation. We saw in 3.3.6 that a subordinate clause is in the potential focus domain
only if it is a direct daughter (at any depth of embedding) of the clause node which is
modified by the illocutionary force operator. Thus the complement clauses in examples
(1) and (4) given earlier are in the PFD, but the appositional that-clause in (5) and the
restrictive relative clause in (7) are not, since they are not direct daughters of the clausal
node sensitive to illocutionary force. The principle thus predicts that the wh-questions
in (2) and (3) should be grammatical, but that those in (6) and (8) should not, which is
exactly what we find.
The observation that the above account applies to both wh- and yes/no questions is
crucial to the RRG explanation of how children can learn the extraction constraints on
wh-questions. As Van Valin points out, children have abundant evidence, from their interaction with caregivers and peers, and from observing the interactions of others, about
the interpretation of yes/no questions, and indeed nobody has suggested that there is any
source for the acquisition of such questions apart from actual interaction. It is proposed,
then, that children learn the restriction given above through their experience of interaction, aided perhaps by the fact (see Van Valin 1986, 1993b) that the constraint discussed
above can be derived from the general principle of rational behaviour which Grice (1975)
dubbed the cooperative principle, and more specifically from his maxim of quantity, as
shown by Kempson (1975: 190). The hypothesis is that children then extend this constraint
to other types of question, and in particular to wh-questions. Evidence for this hypothesis
is adduced from a study by Wilson & Peters (1988), in which a 3-year-old blind childs
wh-questions were found to violate extraction constraints, as in What are you cookin on a
hot? (answer: stove). It was postulated that these non-standard constructions originated
in a question and answer game played with a caregiver, in which the caregiver left a gap
in his utterance, expecting the child to fill it in. The constraints on question formation
deduced from this game format were then wrongly extended to wh-questions.
We see, then, that RRG has provided an account of the acquisition of extraction constraints in wh-questions which shows that enough evidence for the formulation of these
constraints is indeed available to the child through its interactions, so militating against
the argument from the poverty of the stimulus, and making the postulation of an innate, specifically linguistic acquisition device unnecessary with respect to these constructions. Furthermore, Van Valin (1996: 5154) demonstrates how the same restrictions that
are operative in wh-question formation can be applied to topicalisation and relativisation

phenomena as well.
A second argument which has been made in support of the Chomskyan parameter
setting approach is that children sometimes produce structures which are ungrammatical
in the language to which the children are exposed, and so unlikely to be present in the
input, but which are allowed by Universal Grammar, if a parameter is set differently, and
indeed do occur in some languages. As just one example of the kinds of construction at
issue, compare the following:
(9) Who do you think who is in the box?
(10) Wie denkst
Du, wie er das getan
hat?
how think-pres.2sg you how he that do-past.part have-pres.3sg
How do you think he did that?
(9) is a wh-question produced by a child learning English (Thornton 1990, 1995, cited
in Van Valin 1998: 222), while (10) is a perfectly grammatical example of local whmovement in German (de Villiers, Roeper, & Vainikka 1990, cited in Van Valin 1998: 225).
Van Valins (1998: 237239) explanation of the occurrence of examples such as (9) is
based on the hypothesis that children at the relevant stage of development are attempting
to discover the location of focus domains, and to work out the principle which restricts
the potential focus domain for complex sentences in a language (and therefore also the
actual focus domain of any particular complex sentence) to those clauses which are direct
daughters, at any depth of embedding, of the clausal node modified by the illocutionary
force operator. At this stage in their development, some children who are acquiring English mark the important contrast morphosyntactically, adopting a German-like model in
which, in addition to the initial wh-item showing that the sentence is a wh-question, the
fact that the actual focus domain is in the subordinate clause is marked by the presence of
a further wh-item in that clause itself.
In addition to the German solution, there are other types of non-standard whquestions produced by children acquiring English, which are similar to grammatical whquestions in other languages such as Romani, Hungarian or Irish. Van Valin (1998) discusses these further types, and also the order of acquisition of wh-questions in which the
wh-word acts as Subject or Object respectively, but space precludes any further illustration
of the principles here.
In Van Valin (2002) data on the development of Subject/auxiliary inversion in English
wh-questions, taken from a single child and analysed in Rowland & Pine (2000), are subjected to a reanalysis in terms of RRG. Rowland & Pine attempt to explain the pattern of
acquisition in terms of the frequency of particular wh-word plus auxiliary combinations
in the input from caregivers. Van Valin points out that previous studies have suggested
that input frequency is not a determining factor in the acquisition of grammatical forms.
He shows that the developmental profile can be accounted for in terms of the RRG analysis
of illocutionary force marking in English. Illocutionary force is signalled by the position
of the morpheme bearing tense, which appears core-internally in declarative utterances
Chapter 5
and core-initially in interrogative utterances. Van Valin demonstrates that all but a small
residue in the data can be accounted for by two hypotheses: firstly, that in wh-questions
children will at first put into core-initial position only those auxiliaries which have explicitly tensed forms; and secondly that since contracted negative auxiliaries do not end in
a tense-bearing morpheme, and since it is known that ends of words are particularly attended to during acquisition, such negative auxiliaries should not be inverted during the
initial phase of development. It is also shown that the small number of exceptions can be
explained by subsidiary principles.
Finally, we should note recent work by Van Valin (2000b) on the acquisition of complex sentence structures. Van Valin suggests how the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy
(IRH), which connects the nine types of nexus/juncture relation to the various types of
semantic relationship between units in complex sentences (see 3.3.5), can be learned by
the child. The levels of juncture, corresponding to the layered structure of the clause, have
been shown to be learnable on the basis of a rich cognitive, not strictly linguistic, endowment (Braine 1992). The semantic relations of the IRH are concerned with concepts
such as causation, intention and belief which are also cognitively salient. The relationship
between the syntactic and semantic sides of the hierarchy is basically iconic, again promoting learnability. A number of predictions, following directly from the IRH, are then
made concerning the order of acquisition of syntactic and semantic relationships in complex sentences. Van Valin demonstrates that these predictions are supported by data from
seven typologically different languages.
In conclusion, we have seen that Van Valin and his colleagues have made closely argued proposals, based on the theoretical apparatus of RRG, which demonstrate how areas
of the grammar thought to provide solid evidence in favour of the argument from the
poverty of the stimulus, and therefore in favour of an innate Universal Grammar, can
be acquired on the basis of evidence available in the input to the child from caregivers
and others, together with cognitive principles of wide application such as the Gricean
cooperative principle and its derivative maxims. In this and other work, these linguists
have convincingly shown that the constructs of RRG, in combination with general cognitive principles, can account for empirical data from the acquisition of languages of
various types.
.. Systemic Functional Grammar and language learning

There is a considerable literature on language learning, in the widest sense of the term,
within the framework of SFG. For convenience, I shall discuss this work under two headings: development of the native language in the very young child, and issues concerned
with language in education.
... Development of the native language in the young child

Earlier, I noted Van Valins observation that one of the roles of a linguistic theory is to provide a description of what it is that the child acquires. In SFG, as we have seen, a language
is seen first and foremost as a complex set of resources for the making of meaning, mod-
elled in terms of paradigmatic oppositions described in system networks, sets of choices

from these networks being mapped on to morphosyntactic form and intonation in the
process of realisation. It is in these terms that we can best appreciate the title of Hallidays
(1975) book, Learning How to Mean: the process of language development in the early
child is seen, not simply as the development of structures, but in terms of the progressive
expansion of the childs meaning-making capabilities.6 Naturally, the development of such
capabilities entails that of formal means for the representation of the meanings: it is not
that form is regarded as unimportant, but rather that it is seen as the conveyor of meanings rather than as something which is acquired in its own right. This stance is, of course,
common to various functional approaches: we saw earlier that the acquisition of various
structures is seen in RRG as dependent on the intimate relationship between semantic and
pragmatic aspects of meaning, on the one hand, and the means by which such meanings
are coded, on the other. It is, however, fair to say that in the SFG account of early language
development7 meaning is emphasised to a degree which is not characteristic of most other
accounts. This is totally consonant with the aims and claims of the theory as a whole, in
which, as we have seen throughout this book and in Part 1, formal aspects of language are
themselves treated in a highly semanticised manner. Even more striking, and again completely in line with the tenets of the theory, is the emphasis on language as resource, and
on the importance of linguistic choice as modelled in system networks.
Hallidays (1975) study of the language of the young boy referred to as Nigel is based
on data collected in the form of annotated pen-and-pencil transcriptions taken from the
age of 9 months to about 24 months, though observations are also made on the childs
development at an even later stage. Detailed descriptions of Nigels language were made,
according to the systemic model current at the time, at 6-week intervals for the first phase
of development (see below), from 9 to 18 months. The description at each stage takes the
form of meaning contrasts formulated in system networks, and the systematic realisations
of the meaning options in phonetic terms, including intonation contours. Although development from 18 to 24 months is discussed in detail, the childs language, which is then on
its way to the adult system, is not formalised in terms of system networks and realisation
statements.
Halliday recognises three phases in Nigels linguistic development. Phase I, lasting
from 9 to 16 months, was characterised by the monofunctionality of utterances, as contrasted with the plurifunctionality of adult utterances which has been illustrated throughout our discussions of SFG. In Phase II, lasting up to about 24 months, certain func. For further discussion of Hallidays approach to the study of language acquisition see Halliday (1969,
1978b, 1979b, 1979c, 1983).
. Note that systemicists tend to avoid the term acquisition: Butt (1989: 66), introducing an analysis of
the relationship between language and culture in the contexts of mother-child exchanges, teacher-pupil and
peer interaction at the beginning of schooling, and infant-mother interaction during the first year of life,
considers that [t]he metaphor of acquisition in itself highlights the particular orientation of the period,
especially up to 1975: as if language were not progressively learned, but rather something the child obtained
with maturation, like teeth or hair.
Chapter 5
tional uses of language combine and become generalised, giving two major intonationallyrealised functions, one allowing the child to perform in the role of observer of his world,
the other enabling him to intrude, as an individual, into that world. Nigel later learns to
combine the two functions in a single utterance, and this is the stage at which the need
arises for a lexicogrammar which will map different functions on to one another to form
a single output. Phase II also sees a dramatic increase in the childs vocabulary, and in his
ability to engage in dialogue. In Phase III, from 24 months onwards, the observer and
intruder functions of Phase II become transmuted into the ideational and interpersonal
functions of the adult system, and the ability to relate language to its context begins to
form the basis of the textual function of the adult language. I shall now look at each of
these phases in more detail.
Halliday begins (1969, 1975: 18ff.) by postulating a set of seven functions of language
which are relevant to the needs of the young child. These functions are proposed on the
basis of two considerations: the actions which accompany the childs speech and which
give an insight into the way this speech is functioning in context; and generalisations
about the functions of language in the life of man as a social animal. As we saw in 5.6
of Part 1, Hallidays work at this time was strongly influenced by his association with the
sociologist Basil Bernstein, and in particular by Bernsteins postulation of a set of critical contexts for child socialisation (see e.g. Bernstein 1971). The instrumental function
is concerned with the use of language as a way of obtaining goods and services to take
care of the childs needs, irrespective of who provides them; Halliday glosses this as the I
want function. The regulatory function involves the use of language in order to control
the behaviour of particular individuals (the do as I tell you function). The interactional
function is involved where language is used for interaction, primarily with caregivers but
later also with the peer group; it is the me and you function. In the personal function,
language acts as a means by which the child can express his or her own individuality (the
here I come function). The heuristic (tell me why) function is language used to find
out about the environment, which becomes perceived as separate from the self as the child
develops. The imaginative function is involved when the child creates his or her own environment, through games, stories and the like (the lets pretend function). Finally, the representational or informative function (Ive got something to tell you) allows the child to
communicate information to another person who is not in possession of that information.
Halliday originally hypothesised that these functions would develop in the order in
which they are listed above, but this turned out not to be the case: up to the age of 1 year,
systematic correspondences between meaning and realisation could be found for the first
four functions, with no developmental priorities; the imaginative function appeared at
1213 months, and the heuristic at 1516 months, the reverse of the order originally
predicted. The representational function, which is so important in the adult system, appeared last, at about 2122 months, which is what Halliday expected, in view of the fact
that this use is definable only in relation to language itself, being linked with the principle
of dialogic communication, and so too sophisticated a concept for the extremely young
child to master.
An impression of the kinds of systemic choice and realisation provided by Halliday can
be gained by considering the meaning potentials within the instrumental and regulatory
functions at 910 months, together with their realisations and the adult language glosses
given by Halliday (1975: 148). Within the instrumental function there is a simple two-way
choice between (i) a general demand, realised by [n- - -] with mid-tone, and glossed as
give me that, and (ii) a specific demand for a toy bird, realised as [b], again with mid
tone, and glossed as give me my bird. Within the regulatory function there is again a twoway split, this time between (i) a normal command, realised as [6] with mid tone, and
glossed as do that again, and (ii) an intensified command, realised as [mn]], fortissimo
and with wide tone, meaning do that right now!.
In Phase II, from 18 to 24 months, an increase in vocabulary was accompanied by the
development of structures. At 18 months, Nigel used two kinds of structure, combinations
of a specific expression plus either a gesture or a general expression from the same functional potential. Examples given by Halliday (1975: 45) include [nd] plus a head shake
as a negation gesture, meaning I cant see the star, and [ y], the first component being an excitement marker and the second signifying egg, giving a meaning glossed as
ooh, an egg!. Both of these are classified as being from the personal potential. Then came
two-word strings where at first each component had an independent tone contour. By
19 months, two-word strings such as mummy come or green car were uttered on a single
tone contour. The first of these examples is said to belong to a new pragmatic function
which arises largely out of the earlier instrumental and regulatory functions, and relates
to contexts in which actions or objects are being asked for; the second example belongs
to the mathetic function, arising out of the earlier personal and heuristic functions, and
concerned with the childs exploration of his own individuality and of his environment.
The two functions were distinguished intonationally, all pragmatic utterances having rising tone, while mathetic utterances had falling tone. Furthermore, although out of context
some of the utterances could have been classified as either pragmatic or mathetic in their
overall function, Nigel made clear which function was intended by demanding a response
to anything with rising intonation, but not to utterances with falling intonation. At first,
new vocabulary items were restricted to a single function (e.g. strings of the form more
X were always pragmatic, while green car, red car, green peg, etc. were always mathetic).
Before long, however, this tight link between form and function was loosened, so that, for
example, green car could mean I want the green car.
During Phase II, as the functional underpinning of Nigels language became more
general and abstract, the functions began to combine into single utterances, at which point
a lexicogrammatical system consisting of lexical items used in grammatical structures became necessary in order to mediate between meaning and expression. We see, then, that
in Hallidays account, stages of development such as holophrases and the two-word stage
are explained in terms of functional pressures.
At 1516 months, towards the end of Phase I, Nigel was able to answer questions
such as Do you want . . . ? or Shall I . . . ? related to the instrumental, regulatory and interactional functions, but was unable to answer informational questions and indeed had no
concept of polarity. By 1819 months, however, he was able to respond to wh-questions
Chapter 5
and commands, and to acknowledge statements or responses, and could also ask whquestions in order to initiate a dialogue. The ability to ask and respond to ordinary yes/no
questions emerged at the end of Phase II.
By the age of 24 months, then, Nigels utterances are capable of combining more than
one function into a single output structure, and his speech also has texture, showing information structuring and cohesive patterning, and being adapted to the context in terms
of genre, as narratives, dialogues or both. In Phase III, his language system has developed
into one which, despite there being still much to learn, approximates to the adult system
in that the functions, discrete in Phase I and increasingly generalised and combinable in
Phase II, have become transformed into the ideational, interpersonal and textual metafunctions which underlie the functional structure of the vast majority of adult utterances.
The metafunctions of Phase III, like those of the adult language, are claimed to be selectively activated by values of the situation type parameters of field, tenor and mode.
Halliday illustrates this principle by means of the text reproduced below, recorded when
Nigel, aged 23 months and so approaching Phase III, was interacting with his mother.
(11) MOTHER [in bathroom, Nigel sitting on chair]: Now you wait there till I get your
facecloth. Keep sitting there. [But Nigel is already standing up on the chair.]
NIGEL [in exact imitation of mothers intonation pattern, not in a correcting intonation]: Keep standing thre. Put the mug on the flor.
MOTHER: Put the mug on the floor? What do you want?
NIGEL: Daddy tothbrush.
MOTHER: Oh you want Daddys toothbrush do you?
NIGEL: Ys . . . you (= I) want to put the frg in the mg.
MOTHER: I think the frog is too big for the mug.
NIGEL: Yes you can put the dck in the mg . . . make bbble . . . make bbble.
MOTHER: Tomorrow. Nearly all the waters run out.
NIGEL: You want Mummy red tothbrush . . . yes you can have Mummy old red
tothbrush.
(Halliday 1975: 132)
Halliday (1975: 133) suggests that the field (assistance with personal toilet, with child concurrently exploring the container principle and the principles of ownership and acquisition of property) determines the transitivity patterns (e.g. possessive and circumstantial
relational clauses, spatial material process clauses, clauses indicating posture, minor circumstantial processes) and also perhaps tense (simple present), together with the content
aspect of vocabulary, in the naming of objects. The tenor (interaction between mother and
young child, the mother setting the course of action while the child furthers his own interests, the asking for and granting of permission, etc.) determines mood patterns, such as the
mothers imperative, the use of modality, person forms, and intonation contours in Nigels
contribution signalling whether a response is required or not. Finally, the mode (spoken
dialogue representing language in action, cooperative) determines forms of cohesion, such
as lexical continuity and question/answer pairs with appropriate ellipsis, patterns of voice,
theme and deixis.8
It will be clear from the above that in Hallidays approach to early language development, the linguistic system is seen as just one component, albeit the most important
one, in a sociolinguistic model which also includes the concepts of text, situation type and
register. Other important components which I have so far only touched upon are code
and social structure. I mentioned earlier that Hallidays work at this time was very much
influenced by that of the sociologist Basil Bernstein, in which interaction through language is seen as playing a major role in child socialisation through critical contexts such
as mother-child dialogue. As Halliday points out, learning the language and learning the
culture, though different, are interdependent, since the linguistic system is itself part of
the social system:
In principle, a child is learning one semiotic system, the culture, and simultaneously
he is learning the means of learning it a second semiotic system, the language, which
is the intermediary in which the first one is encoded. (Halliday 1975: 122)
In this complex task, the child is helped by the relevance to the learning process of all the
language s/he hears, since this is related in a systematic way to its context, through the
relationship between metafunctional meanings and situational parameters. Furthermore,
the child filters the input through his or her own functional potential, attending to those
aspects which are within the grasp of that potential at the time. Halliday is careful to point
out, however, that this filtering does not limit development, but rather acts to interpret the
input by means of the available resources, so providing a context for further expansion of
the system.
There is little doubt that Hallidays view of language development as the progressive
expansion of a functional meaning potential and its realisation offers a range of insights
which could not have been formulated within the largely psycholinguistic approaches
which were current in the 1970s. However, it brings with it a number of problems which
should not be underestimated.
Firstly, in accordance with the principle that the linguistic theory on which an account
of language development is based determines what it is that is to be explained within that
account, Hallidays work is based on the premise that the adult system is organised in a
functional manner, so that the childs linguistic development is to be seen as an approach
to the goal of a system in which three broad lines of meaning are integrated within the
functionally-based structure of almost every utterance. However, we saw in 6.4 of Part 1
that there are some important problems associated with the evidence for the metafunctional hypothesis. Dore, in a review of Learning How to Mean which is very favourable
overall, comments that Halliday
. For further brief comments on work by Halliday on motherchild interaction, see 5.6 of Part 1.
Chapter 5
. . . is somewhat less successful, or at least puzzling, in supporting some basic claims;

for example, that the internal organization of the grammatical system is also functional in character (p. 16). (Dore 1977: 114)
Dore also points out that Halliday does not actually provide any evidence for the claim that
language functions determine the relationships between transitivity roles such as Actor,
Process and Goal.
Secondly, Halliday does not furnish us with evidence for the seven relevant models of
language which he claims are part of the childs internalised system at the earliest stages
of development; neither is any solid evidence presented for his particular interpretation
of the data, according to which these functions combine into the pragmatic and mathetic,
and these later break down and reassemble into the ideational, interpersonal and textual
metafunctions of the adult language. Again, we may cite Dore:
. . . although it is clear that Halliday describes how the functional system changes,
it cannot be confidently stated that he explains why it does or why the grammar
should have the form it does. The childs achievement of greater meaning potential no
more explains the change than does the structuralist argument about disambiguation
explain the change from one-word to syntactic utterances. (Dore 1977: 117)
Dore (1979: 352) also comments on the fact that Hallidays glosses on the meaning of
Nigels utterances often strike the reader as rather strange, and that the basis for them is not
made clear. Similar doubts have been expressed by other critics. Edwards (1978), for example, considers that Halliday overinterprets the early utterances of the child in functional
terms, and Grieve & Hoogenraad (1979) express doubts as to whether a second analyst
would arrive at the same glosses, given the classification assumed in Hallidays account.
Thirdly, the embedding of Hallidays model of language development within the larger
model of language as social semiotic is made problematic by the fact that a number of key
concepts in that larger model have also been subjected to criticism. In particular, we saw in
6.4 of Part 1 and in 4.4.4.1 of the present volume that the proposed selective activation
of ideational meaning by field, interpersonal meaning by tenor and textual meaning by
mode is open to some doubt.
Fourthly, although, as Dore (1977: 116) observes, it is a tribute to Hallidays talents
as a linguist that he was able to record so much fascinating material through the simple
use of pen and paper, it would surely have been better to make at least audio, if not video
recordings of the data. This is especially important within the context of a theory which
places so much weight on the relationship between language and context, and between the
linguistic semiotic and other accompanying signalling systems.
Let us turn now to the study by Painter (1984) of the language of her son Hal, from 9 to
24 months, with some observations extending up to 27 months.9 The aim of this work was
to extend the data base on which systemic accounts of early language development were
. For a good summary of both Hallidays and Painters studies, with discussion of the implications of the
approach for educational practice, see Painter (1989), and for an account intended for teachers, Painter
(1985/1989).
based, and in particular to test which aspects of Nigels linguistic progress were specific to
himself, and which were shared with other children. Painter (p. 2) also aims to produce
a more detailed, step-by-step description of each stage than in the Nigel study, so that
the basis for claims can be made as empirical as possible, in answer to the criticisms of
Hallidays work which were summarised above.
Painters brief summary of work on language development in the 1970s and early
80s (pp. 318) leads her to criticise this work on three main grounds: what she sees as a
one-sided view of language; the lack of motivation of analyses by linguistic criteria; and
the common acceptance of the view that language is essentially to be equated with constituency structure in syntax and semantics, making too great a division between function
and form, and largely ignoring the relationships between language and context. She naturally sees Systemic Functional theory as providing a basis for study which is not susceptible
to these perceived problems.
The data for Painters study were collected as a diary, and she cites the views of psychologists to argue for the appropriateness of this method. As in Hallidays earlier study,
the data were recorded with notebook and pencil, paying close attention to intonation as
well as segmental identity, and noting the linguistic co-text, the non-linguistic context,
any responses to the childs utterances, and any reaction of the child to these responses.
Painter also noted what Hal appeared to understand. The pencil and paper data were supplemented by over 25 hours of tape recordings, made for 13 hours per month from the
age of 12 months, such recordings having been shown to be of little use at earlier stages.
Analyses of the data are presented, where appropriate, in the form of system networks and
realisation rules, with detailed commentary and discussion.
Painter (p. 52) agrees with critics who suggest that Hallidays work on language development is insufficiently explicated, and declares her own intention of making her
recognition criteria for language functions as explicit as possible. She goes on (pp. 5255)
to discuss briefly some of the problems involved in distinguishing between functions. For
example, the difference between instrumental and regulatory functions, according to Halliday, is that in the former it does not matter who provides the goods or services desired by
the child, while in the latter the focus is on who provides them. Painter observes that this
distinction may be hard to motivate in a situation in which the child interacts largely with
just one carer: indeed, the distinction did not prove important for Hals language. Similarly, it may not be easy to differentiate between utterances with interactional and personal
functions in conditions where the child is interacting with an adult at the time of speaking.
Painter (pp. 5556) also discusses the problems of applying the criterion of systematicity,
according to which a sign can be recognised only when a phonetic form recognisable as
the same on different occasions is paired with some recognisably same context on those
occasions.
The detailed account of Hals protolanguage (916 months) given by Painter
(pp. 5690) can be summarised and compared with Hallidays account of Nigel as follows (pp. 90101). The first vocal signs had personal and interactional functions and appeared between 7 and 9 months, as with Nigel. Hal, however, developed his first instrumental signs slightly later than Nigel. Painter does not recognise a heuristic function for
Chapter 5
Hal, though she indicates when interactional or personal features develop into contexts
for learning; she feels that this is simply a matter of emphasis in the interpretation rather
than a pronounced difference between the two systems (p. 91). An important difference
between the two children is the absence of any clearly regulatory systematic signs in Hals
protolanguage, regulatory behaviour being indicated by non-symbolic or only marginally
symbolic means. At 13 months, Hal had considerably fewer signs than Nigel at the same
age. Painter also notes some other details which suggest that Hals protolanguage is more
limited than Nigels. There were nevertheless some important similarities in the two systems: the two children began protolanguage development at about the same age; instrumental utterances did not, in general, relate to play items or food; both children employed
their protolanguage to establish contact with a significant adult; both created a very elementary form of dialogue by the exchange of sounds; signs were used to express interest
in the external environment, in personal and interactional contexts. Painter also discusses
similarities and differences in the use of first names, the actual phonetic expressions used,
the use of tone patterns, the consistency of articulation of sign expressions, and the world
view orientations displayed by the children.
From 16 to 18 months, that is in early Phase II (pp. 102132), Hal moved from
invented sign expressions to the use of authentic mother-tongue expressions, which rose
rapidly in number through this period. Again, Painter gives us detailed examples of the
signs used and their functional contexts. She also presents evidence for a shift from five
distinct microfunctions to the two more general macrofunctions, the mathetic (language used reflectively, as a way of learning about reality) and pragmatic (language used
to act on reality), postulated by Halliday for Nigels language. By 18 months, Hal had developed a systematic phonological marking of the two functions: pragmatic utterances
were said on high level or rising tone, mathetic utterances on a falling or rising-falling
tone. Painter comments on the range of learning achieved through the mathetic function, and on the types of action performed through the pragmatic. Three aspects of early
Phase II development are very similar in Hal and Nigel: the development of the mathetic/pragmatic distinction, the coding of this distinction in terms of tone choice, and in
part a distinction between the two functions in the lexis and structure of the childrens
language. Some differences are also noted: Hal developed the tonal distinction earlier, and
Hals tone choices were rather less simple and distinct than Nigels.
The period from 18 to 19 months (pp. 133146) was marked by the emergence of
the informative function, and Painter charts the development of information giving from
earlier antecedents, as well as the details of the mathetic and pragmatic potentials at this
stage. She notes that this function developed earlier in Hal than in Nigel.
In the period from 19 to 21 months, the first structures emerged. Painter (p. 166)
suggests that the move to syntagmatic structures no longer has to be seen as the only
crucial milestone on the language development trail, but is nevertheless important in
permitting the child to encode more general meanings than are expressible through the
repetition of individual lexical items. Although the new structures were initially restricted
to mathetic or pragmatic function, there were signs that the contexts were becoming less
rigidly exclusive: mathetic utterances began to be used within a more clearly recognisable
speaker-addressee relationship, and pragmatic utterances started to make reference to the

environment and to explore it, rather than only to act upon it.
From 21 to 22 months (pp. 167203), the breakdown of the mathetic/pragmatic
functional distinction continued, many utterances becoming ambiguous due to changes
in Hals tone system, while examination of the contexts of use showed a dual concern with
communicating the childs experience and interacting with others. A significant development was the emergence of what Painter interprets as a rank scale, evident in, for example,
the different function of new in shoes new and new shoes dirty (p. 202). Different transitivity structures were produced in what remained of the two macrofunctions: Painter gives
evidence for a difference between what she terms an ergative world view, in which there
is active participation of entities in events, and which emerged from the mathetic, reflective function, and a transitive world view of actors performing acts, developing through
the pragmatic, active function. It was also at this stage that the first indications of mood
structures appeared, though these were not yet used to facilitate real dialogue.
The period from 22 to 24 months (pp. 204247) marks the final transition from
the mathetic and pragmatic macrofunctions to the ideational, interpersonal and textual
metafunctions of the adult language, so that we are now in Phase III, in terms of Hallidays
analysis. Painter (p. 246) notes as particularly significant the development of constituent
structures and the rank scale, the appearance of non-congruent realisations of speech acts,
and the consolidation of transitivity and mood structures. The ability to engage in dialogue as well as monologue went hand in hand with the development of anaphora, ellipsis
and interclausal relations such as conjunction. As always, Painter describes and exemplifies
these changes in some detail, providing system networks and realisation rules.
As Painter observes in her overall summary (pp. 248254), one of the most obvious
similarities between Hals linguistic development and Nigels is the development and later
disintegration of the mathetic/pragmatic distinction on the way from protolanguage to
adult-like metafunctional organisation. Furthermore, when the details of the transition
language are compared, it is clear that there are more similarities than differences, though
the two children do not adopt precisely the same strategies. Painter concludes:
. . . we gain a picture of individual differences and preferences, against a common
background of development, which allows us to accept the broad generalizations
which emerge from Hallidays account. (p. 254)
Painters more recent work (see Painter 1999) is again concerned with the longitudinal
study of a single, English-speaking, child who is the son of the researcher, but this time the
emphasis is on language as a learning resource during the years prior to schooling (2
5 years). Once more the data were collected through pencil and paper notes and audio
recordings, and Painter (1999: 70) notes that the advantages of this methodology are in the
naturalistic quality of the language recorded and the richness of the information which can
be used for its interpretation, while the disadvantage is that one cannot generalise beyond
the single subject without further studies. No attempt was made to record data at regular
intervals.
Chapter 5
As the study is concerned primarily with knowledge construction, it involves mainly

the ideational metafunction, both experiential and logical components being relevant.
Painter presents detailed accounts of four areas of meaning: the construal of things,
of material events, sequences of such events, semiotic events (i.e. mental and verbal
processes), and cause-effect relationships.
The construal of things (pp. 77136) involves naming and categorising, so that the
focus here is on the lexical taxonomies themselves, but also the relational processes used
in identification and classification, and the options available in the nominal group, which
serves to represent entities. Also relevant are the textual systems of reference deployed
in creating discourse. Up to age 3 years, Stephen describes specific material phenomena,
creating text which is relevant to specific contexts; after this time, however, he begins to
explore generalisations across entities, and indeed the linguistic system itself, and starts
to talk about abstract phenomena, and to create text with wider relevance. Painter relates
these developments to Martins (1992a) account of mode as concerned with the semiotic
continuum between action and reflection (see 4.4.4.2).
Painters account (pp. 137180) of the construal of material events is linked to
Martins descriptions of both field and mode: field is related to the representation of process/participant configurations and activity sequences, while the action/reflection continuum is implicated in the shifts which occur in the fourth year of the childs life, from
the representation of events occurring near the time of speaking, to that of temporally
more distant events, or those of a hypothetical nature. Painter traces the reflection of
these changes in the development of resources for expressing temporal relations, modal
meanings of various kinds,10 and conjunctive relationships between processes. As with
the representation of things, there is a move from the concrete and the actual towards the
more general and abstract, involving the construal of generalisations and explanations.
In her account of the construal of meaning-making as a process (pp. 181244), Painter
shows how Stephens language develops in relation to the interpretation of those who participate in interactions, tracing the development of the representation of dialogue roles,
the construal of non-participants in the dialogue as entities who perform cognitive and
verbal processes, and the growing awareness of written texts as sources of information.
She also describes Stephens construals of the process of learning, and of the texts which
are produced by semiotic exchanges.
In Painters account of the expression of cause-effect relations (pp. 245317), the aim
is to show how a single area of meaning grows, and also to demonstrate how the cognitive
strategy of reasoning develops. She charts the expansion of the childs language in terms of
the types of grammatical expression used to indicate reason and condition, showing that
different developmental patterns emerge for the two semantic areas. Both, however, are
used initially for largely interpersonal purposes. Furthermore, there is a transition from
. For further work on the acquisition of modality within a basically Hallidayan framework, see Torr
(1998), where the development of epistemic and deontic modal auxiliaries, modal adjuncts and other devices for the expression of modal concepts is studied in one child from the ages of 2 years 6 months to 4
years 3 months.
a dialogically-oriented use of these causal meanings to a more monologically oriented

approach in which causal relations are used to build arguments, giving a new rhetorical
dimension to the texts created.
In the final section of her book (pp. 318334) Painter makes some generalisations
about the role of language in learning, concentrating on three areas. Firstly, she reflects on
how the system develops through use in the creation of texts, emphasising the flexibility
of language as a meaning resource, the use of comparison and contrast in learning and its
relationship with the primarily paradigmatic organisation of a systemic grammar, and the
development of ideational systems in relation to the contexts of interpersonal negotiation
in which they are embedded. Secondly, she reviews the development of mode, to which
many changes in the childs language are explicitly related in her work. Finally, she reflects
on the relationship of her study to the childs preparation for learning at school.
Before we leave the area of early language development, we should note that the concept of learning through language is also central to the systemically-oriented work of
Cloran (1989) and Poynton (1985/1989, 1990) on the social construction of gender.
... Language in education

We saw in 5.1.5 of Part 1 that Halliday has always intended his theory, and descriptions
derived from it, to be usable in a variety of applied contexts, and indeed to provide the
means whereby the linguist can intervene in social processes. In his brief discussion of applications in An Introduction to Functional Grammar, Halliday writes that the educational
application of SFG is
. . . probably the broadest range of its applications; it includes experience in initial literacy, childrens writing, language in secondary education, classroom discourse analysis, teaching of foreign languages, analysis of textbooks, error analysis, teaching of
literature and teacher education. (Halliday 1994a: xxx)
This orientation of the theory has given rise to an enormous amount of applied work
in the educational field, and I can do no more here than sketch some of the broad
lines of such work, and give a few references which will provide an entry point for the
interested reader.
Hallidays own contributions to educational linguistics go back to the days of Scale
and Category Grammar,11 which formed the background to the very influential book by
Halliday, McIntosh & Strevens (1964), The Linguistic Sciences and Language Teaching. This
work proceeds from the view that the role of the linguist is to provide a theory which will
permit insightful and rigorous descriptions of languages which will be of use in the process
of language teaching and learning. Even at this early time, the relationship between linguistic form and situational context is stressed, and the concepts of dialectal and diatypic
(register) variation are introduced. The authors comment:
. The early work in educational linguistics is discussed in Butler (1985a: 201206), on which the following
brief summary is based.
Chapter 5
For the student learning about his own language, the picture is not complete without
an account of its varieties and of the linguistic differences among them.
(Halliday, McIntosh & Strevens 1964: 171)
Between 1964 and 1971, Halliday was centrally involved in a ambitious project of the
Schools Council in the UK, whose aims were to investigate the teaching of English from
a linguistic standpoint, to provide descriptions of modern English which would be genuinely useful to teachers, and to recommend pedagogical aims and methods.12 This led
to a series of papers and a reading list, and later to a collection of materials and teacher
manual concerned with the initial teaching of reading and writing, Breakthrough to Literacy (Mackay, Thompson & Schaub 1970), and a collection for the secondary level, Language in Use (Doughty, Pearce & Thornton 1971), together with a parallel book, Exploring
Language, discussing the theoretical underpinning of the materials (Doughty, Pearce &
Thornton 1972). Finally, a set of five short works on linguistic and pedagogical issues was
produced (see especially Thornton, Birk & Hudson 1972; Albrow 1972; Halliday 1974).
All of this work was closely informed by Hallidays theory and descriptions arising from it.
As we saw in 5.6 of Part 1, Hallidays association with the sociologist Basil Bernstein
in the 1970s led to a more explicitly sociosemantic systemic theory, in which the areas of
meaning selected for study were motivated in terms of Bernsteins code theory. Halliday
reinterprets the restricted and elaborated codes of Bernsteins theory as filters which regulate access to the meaning potential of the language, with the consequence that if the
types of meaning prioritised by particular social groups are those required in the education system, children from these groups will be at an educational advantage compared
with others. These ideas led to a number of studies of childrens language, often with the
aim of testing relationships between language and social class (see Turner & Mohan 1970;
Turner & Pickvance 1971; Turner 1973; Hawkins 1969, 1977). The ideas of Bernstein are
also important in informing the work of Hasan: reports of studies of mother-child interaction with a basis in Bernsteins theory can be found in, for example, Hasan (1986) and
Hasan & Cloran (1990).
During the 1980s and 1990s, attention turned to the part played by written genres
in schooling. This work centred around a group of linguists working with Halliday and
Hasan in Australia, who amassed a large quantity of data showing that certain genres,
such as report, explanation and exposition, are especially important in the teaching and
learning of subjects in the school curriculum, and are also essential tools in the workplace
environments for which schools aim to prepare their students. These genres appeared to
be rather poorly taught in Australian schools, perhaps because of lack of awareness, on
the part of teachers, of their structural and functional properties. The Australian SFG
linguists aimed to provide to teachers an intelligible account of such genres, and to engage
in dialogue with educators on methods for improving the writing of school students. This
work is very much in line with the avowed intention of Halliday and his colleagues to use
linguistics in order to intervene in social processes, and with the view that language in
. For a retrospective view of this project, see Pearce, Thornton & Mackay (1989).
use is never ideologically neutral, but rather serves to make meanings which are always
embedded in, and constitutive of, the culture and its ideologies.
These studies have led to practical teaching materials (for instance a series of publications by Martin, Rothery, Christie and others on genre-based writing, including the
exploration of reports, accounts of procedures and explanations in various contexts), discussions intended for teachers (see e.g. Martin 1985/1989, where genres of report and
procedure writing, explanation and exposition are discussed, together with their ideological implications) and discussions of the theoretical underpinning of such materials (see
e.g. Martin 1993). An area which has been particularly well investigated is that of scientific writing. For instance, Halliday & Martin (1993), in their Writing Science: Literacy and
Discursive Power, aim to present a description of the language of science and its evolution,
from the points of view of both the user and the learner, concentrating on the lexicogrammatical properties of scientific writing, while the book edited by Martin & Veel (1998)
offers a series of articles giving critical and functional perspectives on the discourses of
science. Halliday (1986) discusses linguistic aspects of learning and scientific knowledge,
and Halliday & Matthiessen (1999: Chapter 14) present their view of the construal of the
domain of cognitive science through language. Rose (1997) discusses science and technology in relation to technical literacies, while Garcs-Conejos & Snchez-Macarro (1998)
explore the contrasts between scientific articles and popularisations. Veel (1997) examines
the ways in which secondary school students learn to approach scientific discourse, and
later (Veel 1999) examines the teaching of mathematics using insights from both Halliday and Bernstein. Ventola & Mauranen (1991) explore the writing of scientific articles by
non-native writers, and their revision by native writers. Lemke (2002) examines the communication of science in terms of ideology and intertextuality. The discourses of history
are also well represented in the applied systemic literature (e.g. Eggins, Wignell & Martin
1987/1993; Coffin 1997, 2000; Barnard 2000; Martin & Wodak, in preparation).
We have so far been concerned with the teaching and learning of the native language.
Proponents of SFG have also made a contribution to the area of second language pedagogy. We have already seen that as early as the 1960s, in The Linguistic Sciences and Language Teaching (Halliday, McIntosh & Strevens 1964), ideas relating to register were used
to inform discussion of the teaching and learning of foreign languages, adumbrating the
lively interest in the teaching of languages for special purposes which was to follow. The
nature of systemic functional theory also made it attractive in the context of the design of
the communicative language syllabus (see Melrose 1988).
Hasan & Perrett (1994) have offered a stimulating account of ways in which SFG can
inform second language teaching, with particular reference to English as a Second Language.13 Their main aim is to show how an understanding of language as a functional
system might furnish a viable social theoretical basis for the principles and practices of applied linguistics (Hasan & Perrett 1994: 181). The qualification social is crucial here: the
discussion of the wider issues involved in ESL teaching covers the valuing of such teach. For earlier discussion of the application of Systemic Functional linguistics to TESOL, see also Jones et al.
(1989).
Chapter 5
ing and learning in the culture, and the social positioning of learners engaged in such
activities. At a more detailed level, Hasan & Perrett discuss some of the insights which
the socially-based SFG description of the lexicogrammar of English can offer to the ESL
teacher. They consider in particular detail the meaning potential of English in the area of
modality, pointing out that choices made in this area offer an indicator of relationships between speaker and hearer, and as such are of crucial social importance in the development
of second language learners. Functional analysis provides an insight into how control over
the use of modality resources can help learners to negotiate interpersonal relationships,
for instance by recognising or instigating changes in relative power.
Finally, we should note the work of Schleppegrell (2000), who uses SFG to analyse an
expository essay by a learner of English as a second language, and of Young (1990), who
applies systemic linguistic description to the description of academic English and investigates the implications of the description for the teaching of English to foreign students in
North America.
In addition to work relating to the learning of the mother tongue and of foreign languages, systemicists have discussed the more general roles which appropriate linguistic
theory and description can play in the educational process. A recurrent theme in this work
is the tripartite nature of the relationship between language and education:
In the course of education, language figures in three different guises: as substance (learning language: mother tongue, second/foreign language), as instrument
(learning through language: school subjects such as science, history . . . ), and as
object (learning about language: grammar, styles/registers, history of words, . . . ).
(Halliday 1998: 1)
Halliday (1993) proposes a language-based approach to education and learning, and

Christie (1994) discusses the development of a systemically-based educational linguistics intended to underpin curriculum planning and pedagogical practice. An important
aspect of Christies argument is the inseparability of content and language in the curriculum, when seen from the point of view that knowledge itself is constructed in varying
patterns of discourse (Christie 1989: 153). Rothery (1989) focuses on the place, in the
school curriculum, of learning about language. Further articles on literacy, informed by
the systemic functional framework, can be found in Hasan & Williams (1996). Finally,
the volume edited by Christie (1999) brings together Hallidays linguistics and Bernsteins
sociology within a turn-of-the-century context, so renewing the debate initiated in earlier
work. The papers in this volume cover a wide range, including the early linguistic experience of the young child, the education of Australian Aboriginal children, the discourse
of pedagogy, and the development of a pedagogical theory which combines insights from
SFG and Bernstein.
.. Comparison of approaches
As the foregoing discussion will have made clear, the approaches of RRG and SFG to the
learning of language, and specifically to the learning of the mother tongue by the young
child, contrast very sharply: indeed, this area crystallises some of the main differences
between theories at different points on the spectrum of functionalism. We saw in Chapter
2 of Part 1 that both adopt a constructionist view of the acquisition process rather than one
which relies on innate, specifically linguistic principles as does the Chomskyan account;
that, however, is where the similarity ends.
Work in RRG, as we have seen, considers acquisition data from a range of different
language types, often taken from the non-RRG literature, and offers explanations, in terms
of the theoretical apparatus of RRG, for the ease or difficulty of acquisition of particular
types of phenomenon, and the appearance in the childs output of construction types
not found in the adult language.14 In some cases, the types of phenomenon studied are
chosen because of their status as putatively strong indicators of the correctness of the
formalist adaptationist position on acquisition, the aim being to show that an alternative
functionalist explanation is possible, and in particular that, contrary to the argument from
the poverty of the stimulus, enough evidence is actually available in the input to allow the
child to acquire a mastery of the phenomena involved. The emphasis is on the acquisition
of morphosyntax, and the explanations offered refer not only to syntactic and semantic
issues (for example the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy), but also to the pragmatic area of
focus structure. Factors involving the social and cultural context of acquisition are more
rarely brought into play, except in terms of what is available in input from carers. Although
some of the data considered is from children as young as 1 year, most of it is taken from
subjects of around 2 years and older.
On the other hand, SFG work on early language development has concentrated on
longitudinal case studies of individual children. All three book-length studies summarised
above are concerned with male subjects who were the sons of the investigators, and were
acquiring English, within an Australian environment. Two of the children are studied at
age 9 months to about 2 years, the third between 2 and 5 years. The focus in the first
two studies is on the functional classification of utterances: at first in terms of functions
which equate to uses, and which later combine into a dichotomy of reflective and active
macrofunctions which then become transformed into the tripartite system characteristic
of adult language. Meanings and their realisations are specified in detail, but matters of
morphosyntax are barely touched upon, except in terms such as the development of constituency patterns and a grammatical rank scale. Painters study of a slightly older child
is again concerned primarily with the development of meaning choice within particular
functional areas and of the realisations of such choices, now linked very firmly to context
as characterised in terms of field and mode.
The two approaches thus take very different stances on what it means to ask why
some aspect of the childs developing language is as it is. For practitioners of RRG, the
question can be rephrased in more detail as Can we explain developmental sequences
and strategies in morphosyntactic aspects of child language in terms of the relationships
between semantics, pragmatics and morphosyntax postulated in the linguistic theory?
. The relatively small amount of work on acquisition in the FG framework is also predominantly of this
kind.
Chapter 5
For systemic linguistics, on the other hand, the question is rather Can we explain developmental sequences in the meaning potential of a childs language in terms of the functions for which the child is using that language and the contexts in which it is being used,
and how does the nature of such functions change as the child matures?. In such an approach, morphosyntax and intonation are important only as realisations of the meaning
choices made.
In order to underline this important point, let us look briefly at one particular area,
the acquisition of questions. We have seen that Van Valin has discussed in some detail the
acquisition of wh-questions, across a range of languages, with some rather less detailed
comments on implications for yes/no questions. The focus is on the ability of the theoretical apparatus of RRG to explain not only the development of such questions, but also the
acquisition of the constraints on them imposed by different types of language. This contrasts strongly with Hallidays discussion (1975: 104106) of the development of mood
systems in Nigels language, which emphasises the continuity with earlier antecedents in
the pragmatic macrofunction, the relationship between the ability to ask true questions
and the emergence of the informative function, and the consequences for the participation of the child and his carers in dialogue. The following quotation is illustrative of the
approach taken:
. . . he has not yet learnt that language is not just an expression of shared experience,
it is an alternative to it, a means of imparting the experience to the other. For the
same reason, when he first learns to answer a WH-question, he can do so only if he
knows that the answer is already known to the person who is asking the question. It
is only towards the end of Phase II that Nigel grasps this principle; and when he does,
he continues for many months to draw a clear semantic distinction between telling
people what they already know (verbalizing shared experience), for which he uses the
(unmarked) declarative mood, and telling people what they do not know (verbalizing
as a means of sharing experience), for which he uses the (marked) interrogative mood.
(Halliday 1975: 105106, emphasis in original)
Painter (1984: 169172, 204208) also discusses the emergence and evolution of the mood
system, and again the focus is on the context of use and functional classification of the whstructures and imperatives which emerge at the 2122 month stage in Hals language, the
later development of an approximation to the adult mood system being discussed mainly
in terms of its function in dialogue.
The differences of approach summarised above are, of course, entirely consistent with
the overall aims and methods of each theory, as discussed and illustrated throughout the
present work. The angle taken by the RRG linguists prioritises the acquisition of formal
linguistic devices, seeking to explain this in semantic/pragmatic terms, and bringing in the
more general cognitive capacities of the child. The approach is strongly typological, taking
data from a wide range of languages. The SFG approach is socio-cultural and oriented
towards the expansion of meaning potential, and developmental data have been studied
in detail only for English.
Applications
..
Computational linguistics
Reference has been made in previous chapters of this book, and in Part 1, to computational projects based on FG and SFG: so far, there has been no published computational
implementation of RRG. In this section I shall say a little more about these projects; it
would, however, be inappropriate in an account of this kind to go into technical detail. We
can view computational implementation of grammatical models from two perspectives:
firstly, it is often intended to have practical results in the form of usable text generation
or understanding systems, machine translation programs and the like;15 secondly, the
explicitness required in a computer-based system often forces rethinking of areas of the
grammar being modelled, and furthermore the ability of the computer to follow through
a complex set of rules in a totally automatic manner can be used to check that the rules do
indeed produce the intended outputs. As Connolly & Dik put it:
Using a theory of grammar in a computational implementation is a two-sided enterprise: on the one hand, the grammatical model is used as a tool in devising representations, rule systems, and procedures for capturing linguistic abilities of the natural language user; on the other hand, the implementation attempts themselves reveal gaps,
inadequacies, inconsistencies, and redundancies in the grammatical model, which can
then be remedied so as to facilitate efficient and effective implementation.
(Connolly & Dik 1989b: vii)
It is this second perspective, the relationship between computational implementation and

underlying linguistic theory, which will be focused on in what follows.
... Functional Grammar and computational linguistics

.... FG*C*M*NLU. The computer implementation of FG began very soon after Diks
initial exposition of the theory (see Kwee 1979, also the survey of the development of this
implementation given in Kwee 1994a). In the 1980s and 1990s there was a steady stream of
computationally-oriented publications in which various aspects of FG theory were implemented and exploited, some of these leading to critiques of the theoretical underpinning
and suggestions for revision. Much of this work can be seen as situated within the general
research programme rather cumbersomely called FG*C*M*NLU (Functional Grammar
Computational Model of the Natural Language User). The chief aim of this programme
is to test, by computational means, Diks Model of the Natural Language User (M*NLU),
within which Functional Grammar itself is one component.16
. For short overviews of work on aspects of natural language processing by computer up to the early
1990s, see Bateman & Hovy (1992) (text generation), Patten (1992) (parsing) and Lewis (1992) (machine
translation).
. Diks Model of the Natural Language User was introduced in 3.6 of Part 1. Many of the references given
there are also relevant to the computational implementation of the model.
Chapter 5
The basic principles behind FG*C*M*NLU and the structure of the model are set
out most clearly in Dik (1989b). The model is built on the principle of distinct modules
and sub-modules, each of which is as independent as possible of the others, and performs
a particular set of tasks which are specified explicitly so that they are implementable in a
computer system; the modules are nevertheless designed with integration in view. The aim
is for the model to be as language-independent as possible, and this is, of course, helped
by the attention paid to typological matters within FG. Priority is also given to questions
of naturalness, in that the model attempts, where feasible,
. . . to simulate the actual, natural performance of NLU in normal communicative
circumstances, and to simulate the underlying competences in a psychologically adequate and realistic way. (Dik 1989b: 3)
In the global structure of the model, in receptive mode, spoken or written linguistic expressions are mapped on to internal representations of phonetic or orthographic form,
which can themselves be mapped on to one another. These representations are then
mapped on to the corresponding underlying FG predications through a parsing process. The underlying predications are interpreted to derive knowledge, from which other
knowledge can be inferred using Functional Logic. In productive mode, the processes
are reversed: for instance, a piece of knowledge selected from the knowledge base may
be mapped on to a predication, which is then further mapped on to, say, a phonetic
representation.
Central to this model is the claim that the underlying structures of linguistic expressions, pieces of knowledge, and objects upon which logical operations can be performed,
are all represented in the same format, namely that used for the underlying predication
in FG. We saw in 3.6 of Part 1 that this claim has been disputed, principally by Nuyts
and Hesp: I shall not go into these criticisms again here, but it should be noted that to the
extent that they can be upheld, they seriously undermine the computational as well as the
human model of the natural language user.
.... ProfGlot. Diks later work led to the application of the basic principles of
FG*C*M*NLU to the modelling of a natural language user trilingual in English, French
and Dutch, by means of a program, written in Prolog, called ProfGlot (see Dik 1992; Dik
& Kahrel 1992). The program is modular, and care is taken to separate as far as possible the
language-independent rules and principles from those which are specific to one or more of
the three languages. Central to the program are the modules UniGen and UniPar, which
are the language-independent (universal) modules for generation and parsing respectively. Together with some basic Prolog facilities, universal and language-specific modules
for expression, language-specific lexica, and a universal translator module, these central
modules allow ProfGlot to generate a variety of construction types, parse a subset of these
constructions, translate the construction types generated between any two languages, and
perform logical inferencing operations on the constructed sentences; it can also combine
these operations in appropriate ways. The part of ProfGlot dealing with verbal complexes
is developed further for English and Latin in Dik (1994).
A detailed critique of ProfGlot, from a programmers point of view, has been offered
by Kwee (1996), who concentrates mainly on certain aspects of the central modules UniGen and UniPar. Kwee discusses a number of omissions, limitations and unsolved problems in the implementation, and is particularly critical of the handling of matters relating
to coreference and anaphora, and also of the way in which operations which strictly belong
in the expression component find their way into the specification of the underlying clause
structure. He also casts doubt on some of Diks claims regarding the originality and nature
of the parsing techniques used. A more general criticism is the entanglement of linguistic
and computational aspects of Diks account: Kwee himself believes that a linguistic theory and a computer model of that theory are two separate entities which should always be
clearly distinguished (1996: 4).
.... The lexicon in computational implementations of FG. Of central importance for

computational implementations of FG is the question of how to represent and use the lexicon which, since it contains the basic predicate frames of a language, is at the heart of the
FG description of clause construction. Voogt-van Zutphen (1989) reports on a program
which permits the extraction of an FG lexicon from the Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English. This dictionary was chosen because the ASCOT project at the University
of Amsterdam had previously studied the structure of information in LDOCE and created
a program for the extraction of information from the dictionary. A second project at the
same university, Links in the lexicon (LINKS for short), took this work further, developing a database of meaning characterisations on the basis of LDOCE information, in such
a form that it could be used by computer programs as a source of semantic information
about words and their relationships (see Vossen 1989; Meijs 1989). Finally, the participation of the University of Amsterdam in the Acquilex project from 1989 to 1995 was the
background for the work of Vossen (1995) on nominal lexis mentioned in 7.2.1.10 of Part
1, which illustrates very well the contribution which such work has made to the further
understanding of the FG lexicon.
.... Natural language generation using FG. Natural language generation using FG as
a basis is discussed by Dik (1987), Samuelsdorff (1989) and also in various publications by
Kwee (1987, 1988a, 1988b, 1994a, 1997, 1999a, 1999b). In his (1994a) monograph, which
gathers together and develops his previous work, Kwee describes in some detail the algorithms needed to implement the simplified grammar proposed by Dik (1980) in order
to generate a sample of seventeen sentences. He discusses the steps needed for the buildup of structure for the nuclear predication, also the computational treatment of syntactic
function assignment and the expression rules, and then the introduction of satellites and
the formation of complex clause structures involving embedding or subordinate clauses.
There follows a chapter on the implementation of term formation and insertion, including the structure of complex terms with restrictive relative clauses (see also Kwee 1981).
Further aspects of expression rule implementation are then described, followed by discussion of various remaining topics such as coordination, non-verbal predicates and copula
Chapter 5
support, and focus constructions. An extension of the algorithms to aspects of Hungarian

is also included (see also Kwee 1994b).
Also of great interest, because of their potential implications for FG as a whole, are
Kwees recent suggestions regarding the ordering of steps in FG-based generation. Kwees
earlier attempts to implement faithfully the ordering of steps in the quasi-productive
mode proposed by Dik led to problems with relative clauses, focus constructions and
anaphora, for which ad hoc computational solutions were needed. Kwee (1997) suggests
that these problems can be resolved in a more satisfactory manner if terms, rather than
predicate frames, are regarded as primary in generation. He regards his approach as more
top-down, and so discourse-oriented, than Diks, and develops this idea still further in
work on adverbial clauses (Kwee 1999a)17 and questions (Kwee 1999b), which leads to
the conclusion that the first things to be decided in generating a clause are the high-level
properties of speech act/illocution type and the distribution of Topic and Focus. These
suggestions have implications not only for the computational model, but also more widely
for the Model of the Natural Language User: we have already seen in 3.6 of Part 1 that
similar suggestions have been made from the viewpoint of psychological adequacy.
Other work on natural language generation using FG centres on the implementation
of expression rules. An early contribution to this area was that of Connolly (1986), who
tested FG constituent order rules using Prolog, and later (1994, 1995) investigated the
generation of temporal satellites. Also particularly important here are the ideas of Bakker
(1989, 1990, 1994a, 1994b, 1999), as implemented in his Functional Grammar Machine.
As we saw in 3.4 of Part 1 and 4.2.6.3 of the present volume, this work has led to a
new model for the expression component which is intended to have a greater degree of
psychological plausibility than Diks original proposal, as well as being computationally
implementable. Bakkers model uses feature structures (f-structures), which are also used
in the computational implementation of expression rules discussed by Weigand (1994).
Weigand & Hoppenbrouwers (1998) discuss how the f-structure formalism can be applied to the specification of an FG lexicon which contains every word in the language
users mental dictionary, according to a model in which the functional orientation of FG
is interpreted in terms of actions performed with words, and actions performed on words
(lexical rules).
.... Parsing using FG. Turning now to specific work on parsing, we should note
Gatward, Johnson & Connollys (1986) work on a natural language analyser using FG;
Janssens (1989) discussion of a possible general parsing algorithm for FG which basically
inverts the processes performed though the expression rules; Kwees (1989) investigation
of well-known techniques based on Augmented Transition Networks (ATNs) and active
charts as applied to parsing with FG; Gatwards (1989) examination of active charts in
relation to the efficiency of parsing using FG; and Dignums (1989) discussion of an FGbased parser, developed in a project concerned with knowledge bases, which can be used
. See also 3.4.1.7.1.1, Note 64.
to parse English text. Further work on knowledge bases in relation to computational FG

can be found in Weigand (1990).
.... Machine translation using FG. Work on translation using FG-based computational systems is reported not only in the articles on ProfGlot mentioned earlier, but
also by van der Korst (1987, 1989), who develops a procedure for the translation of
predications between English and French.
... Systemic Functional Grammar and computational linguistics
.... Early work using Hallidayan grammars. Like FG, SFG has been implemented in
a number of projects in natural language generation, parsing and machine translation.
The history of computational work based on systemic linguistics and its progenitors goes
back to the pioneering work of Winograd (1972), whose SHRDLU program was designed
to understand information and instructions in English relating to a world of movable
toy blocks on a table, and Davey (1978), who developed a program for the production
of fluent discourse relating to the game of noughts and crosses (tic-tac-toe). McDonalds
(1980) work on natural language production as a decision-making process under constraints, and McKeowns (1982) on discourse production in response to enquiries to a
database system, also incorporated principles from systemic linguistics, and Kays functional unification grammar (Kay 1979, 1983; Karttunen & Kay 1983) also owes much to
Hallidays thinking.18
.... Text generation in a systemic framework: Penman and the Nigel grammar. The
most significant development of the early and mid-1980s, however, was the construction
of the Nigel computational grammar, begun in 1980 at the Information Sciences Institute in Southern California on the basis of a grammar of English provided by Halliday
at that time. This grammar, together with the computer program which implemented it,
formed part of a larger text generation system, Penman, the aim of which was to model
the generation of English text corresponding to particular communicative intentions. This
work is described in numerous research reports and a number of other publications, the
most accessible of which (Mann 1985; Matthiessen 1984, 1985, 1987, 1988a, 1988b, 1991;
Mann & Matthiessen 1985; Matthiessen & Bateman 1991) are the basis for the summary
which follows.
The aims of the design of Penman are stated by Mann (1985: 85) as being to find out
how appropriate text can be generated in response to what he calls text needs (defined as
the earliest recognition on the part of the speaker that the immediate situation is one in
which he would like to produce speech (Mann 1985: 84)), to identify those properties of
a text which fit it to fulfil these needs, and to show that texts which fulfil some particular
class of needs can indeed be successfully generated. The overall design of the Penman gen. For a sketch of these early developments in relationships between SFG and natural language processing,
see Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 1618).
Chapter 5
erator consists of a set of processes and a parallel set of resources: specification of text goals
leads to the selection of relevant knowledge, for which both a knowledge base and a model
of the reader are needed; this knowledge is then organised by the text planning module,
for which rhetorical resources are needed in addition to the reader model; the text plan is
then passed to the lexicogrammatical expression module, for which the required resource
is the Nigel lexicogrammar; there is then a final editing process (Matthiessen & Bateman
1991: 9, based on Manns original design). In what follows, I shall first concentrate on the
Nigel grammar itself, and then look at aspects of the environment in which the grammar
operates: the knowledge base and text planning modules.
Mann (1985: 8586) describes three types of goal in the formulation of the Nigel
grammar, each with implications in terms of program construction: showing how syntactic structures can be generated from systemic descriptions, developing a systemic grammar
of English which will serve for text generation in response to a particular task, and specifying how the grammar can be regulated by text needs. Nigel has separate components
for systems, realisation rules and lexical items. As systemic choices are made from the networks encoded inside the Nigel program, a selection expression of features is gradually
built up, the realisation rule(s) associated with each choice being implemented as soon
as the appropriate features for the rule(s) are available. There are also gates, whose function is to activate a feature even when no choice has been made, and which are often used
to realise a collection of features. Certain types of realisation rule are concerned with the
specification of lexical items. An account of Nigel from the viewpoint of realisation types
is available in Matthiessen (1988a), and further discussion can be found in Matthiessen &
Bateman (1991: 9297).
Mann regards the most innovative aspect of Nigel as being the semantics programmed
in to underlie the grammar, in the form of choosers, the function of which is to determine
which choice from a grammatical system is the appropriate one to make, in view of the
knowledge provided in the environment (Mann 1985: 9093). Choosers are organised in
the form of decision trees: for instance, the Mood Type chooser contains a branching
inquiry which asks Does the clause encode a command or a non-command?. If the answer
is command, [imperative] is chosen from the mood network; if non-command, then
[indicative] is chosen. Choosers can be tested by selecting from a text a linguistic unit
which the grammar should be able to generate, then operating in a mode in which the
answers to chooser inquiries are given by the operator of the program. Further discussion
of the chooser and inquiry framework can be found in Matthiessen (1987, 1988b) and in
Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 97100).
The way in which lexical choice is handled within the Nigel framework is discussed by
Matthiessen (1991), who first outlines an abstract systemic model of lexis in terms of the
dimensions of delicacy, stratification and metafunctional diversification, then illustrates
the modelling of lexical organisation in systemic networks, and discusses the concept of
lexis as most delicate grammar. Brief treatment of the relationship between lexical networks and higher levels of organisation (such as the semantic choosers) is followed by a
discussion of the metafunctional organisation of lexis and its relationship with the situational parameters of field, tenor and mode. Matthiessen then goes on to discuss the
relationship between this systemic model of lexis and other approaches taken in natural
language generation.
More detailed accounts of that part of the Nigel grammar which deals with tense in
English are given in Matthiessen (1984) and Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 116126).
Mann & Matthiessen (1985) present the steps needed in the generation of a single sentence; and Matthiessen (1985) amplifies the discussion by looking at the generation of this
same sentence in terms of a number of dimensions involved in the organisation of Nigel,
each of which has an important part to play in the systemic model: stratification into semantics and grammar; the paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes of patterning and cycling
between them; and potential vs. actual.
The actual generation of a sentence by Nigel obviously involves more than just a static
lexicogrammar from which choices can be made and a set of realisation rules associated
with these choices: it also requires a mechanism for traversing the system networks and
implementing the realisation rules. The algorithms for this (dynamic) actualisation of
part of the (static) potential offered by the lexicogrammar are discussed in Matthiessen
& Bateman (1991: 100109). Clearly, this aspect of natural language generation is closely
connected with the concerns which motivated Martin and Ventolas work on dynamic
accounts of genre (see 4.4.4.3.2).
Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: Chapters 8 & 11) explore the question of dynamicity in generation beyond the limits of its implementation in the Nigel grammar. In this
discussion, as elsewhere in their book, they refer not only to Nigel but also to a project
begun in Kyoto in 1985, in which systemic grammars of Japanese, and later Chinese, were
produced, initially following the Nigel model.19 One important area which is clearly related to questions of dynamicity is recursion which, as we have seen, is associated with the
logical metafunction in SFG, as manifested, for example, in the relationships expressed
within verbal groups, or in the types of relationship between clauses in clause complexes.
Recursion involves a disruption in choices from networks organised in increasing delicacy: we have to go back to choose again from a system from which a choice has already
been made. Matthiessen & Bateman discuss in some detail the implementation of the recursion involved in the verbal group (1991: 151160) and in causatives (160165), both
in Japanese.
A further area which Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 165172) treat as implying dynamicity is the interaction between Theme choice in the textual metafunction and transitivity choices in the experiential metafunction. The basic point is that the possibility of
choosing, say, a Locative circumstance as Theme depends on the availability of such a circumstance for thematisation, and this, of course, is a matter for the transitivity systems. In
Nigel, this is handled by making Theme choice dependent on logically prior choices of participants and circumstances. Although Matthiessen & Bateman do not themselves point
up the issue, this is clearly a problem for Hallidays claim that the networks of transitivity
. Work has also been done on generation in German, in the KOMET project: see Steiner et al. (1990),
Teich (1992, 1999).
Chapter 5
and thematic choice are in principle independent.20 This is perhaps one of the reasons for
Matthiessen & Batemans alternative proposal, which distinguishes between abstract and
situated potential in the lexicogrammar: the former presents all the types of participant
and circumstance which the language permits, while the latter represents those participants and circumstances which are actually licensed in a particular clause. In order to implement this distinction, they appeal to the semantics as codified in the chooser/inquiry
level of organisation. For instance, only if Expressed Location is selected from the chooser
possibilities does the option Location Theme appear in the lexicogrammatical system for
thematicity. This device would surely not be needed, however, if the principle of parallel
and largely independent strands of meaningful choice were abandoned. Further exploration of the implementation of the distinction between abstract and situated potential
in terms of choices located at the chooser level leads Matthiessen & Bateman to posit that
choosers need to be able to interact with each other, beyond the limits of the local domains
in which they act. This in turn leads to the postulation of inquiry networks, which clearly
introduces a level of semantic networks above that of the lexicogrammatical networks,21 a
development which, as we saw in 5.6 of Part 1, has been pushed forward in recent work
by Halliday & Matthiessen (1999).
Let us turn now to the environment in which Nigel operates (Matthiessen 1987;
Matthiessen & Bateman 1991), which, as we saw earlier, involves the selection of appropriate knowledge from a knowledge base, and the organisation of this knowledge into a
text plan, through the use of rhetorical resources, both needing to call on a model of the
reader and his/her state of knowledge. It is this environment which is responsible for the
choices which are made by the semantic choosers. Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: Chapter
9) approach the organisation of the environment from the viewpoint of what the lexicogrammar and its associated semantics suggest about that organisation. In other words,
they start from a group of inquiries in a particular area of the grammar, and try to ascertain what distinctions in the environment are required in order to motivate the choice of
one semantic feature rather than another. This methodology immediately suggests a metafunctional approach: each metafunction in the grammar will correspond to a component
of the environment: hence we have an ideation base, an interaction base and a text base,
as discussed in 5.6 of Part 1. Matthiessen & Bateman give an account of the ideation
base and its implementation in Penman (1991: 203213); the interaction base, particularly as it relates to matters of politeness in Japanese (pp. 213219); and the text base,
which is modelled in terms of the Rhetorical Structure Theory of Mann & Thompson (see
4.4.3.4.2).
The three types of knowledge base interact with the field, tenor and mode components of a model of context. There is, in fact, a history of important work in the computational modelling of context within a systemic framework: for instance, as Matthiessen
. See the discussion in 6.4 of Part 1.
. See also Batemans (1991: 6) comment that there is a move towards a more systemically correct architecture where there is no chooser involved, in other words a relationship of predetermination between
systemic choices at higher and lower levels.
& Bateman (1991: 33) point out, the first text generator which built in explicit representations of stylistic, rhetorical and affective goals, in order to influence the type of text
produced, was Hovys PAULINE (see Hovy 1987, 1988), which was strongly influenced
by systemic approaches to context. Ways in which register specification can be used to
guide text generation through the chooser/inquiry framework are outlined in Matthiessen
& Bateman (1991: 263274). Bateman & Paris (1991) discuss a methodology for investigating the linguistic and situational properties of texts and specifying formally the relationships between register and the grammatical and discourse organisation of text, in the
context of an expert system which is intended to explain its own reasoning.
.... Extending the generation grammar into a parser. Although the Nigel grammar
was intended for use in text generation, the work of Kasper (e.g. 1988) aimed to extend this
grammar into a parsing tool, through translation into a functional unification grammar
framework.
.... The COMMUNAL project. In 1987, a second major text generation project was
initiated: COMMUNAL (COnvivial Man Machine Understanding through NAtural Language), directed by Robin Fawcett at Cardiff. As we have seen, it is within the context of
this project (and also the desire to produce a grammar which would be capable of describing texts in all their complexity) that the Cardiff version of SFG has been developed. Much
of this grammar has already been covered in previous chapters of this book and of Part 1;
here, I shall concentrate on the COMMUNAL project itself.
The long-term aim of COMMUNAL, as stated in 1993, is
. . . to develop a system that will enable computationally nave people to interact naturally (convivially) with the Intelligent Knowledge Based Systems (IKBSs) that we
should expect a decade or so ahead. (Fawcett 1993a: 633)
The project is thus concerned with dialogue rather than just monologue, and so involves
both generation and parsing, though the generation side is the best developed and is regarded as primary, since the parser and semantic interpreter are derived from it, on the
basis of the claim that it is plausible to assume that when humans understand language,
they consult, during semantic interpretation, their internal program for turning meanings into sounds (Fawcett 1993a: 632, also the fuller discussion in Fawcett 1994). The basic
components of the COMMUNAL model for text generation (Fawcett 1993a: 635636; see
also the earlier version in Fawcett & Tucker 1990) are a belief system (Fawcetts version of a
knowledge base), reasoning and higher planning systems, algorithms concerned with various aspects of the belief system, a discourse planner, the sentence generator (lexicogrammar), and a syntax stripper. For text understanding (Fawcett 1993a: 636637) we have a
parser, a semantic interpreter, a logical form translator, a discourse interpreter, a set of
interpretation algorithms, and of course the belief system and reasoning/higher planning
components needed for the generator.
Let us start, as does the generation process, with the belief system. This is concerned
with the interactants general beliefs about the context of culture and the significant situ-
Chapter 5
ation types embedded in it, and also their more specific beliefs about the actual situation
of communication, the people involved in it, their own beliefs and attitudes, as well as
beliefs about the content of the preceding discourse. Fawcett (1988: 31, 1993a: 633634)
believes that the organisation of this component should reflect the way in which we model
language, rather than the other way round, a claim which embodies a basically Whorfian
position and recalls not only the views of Halliday & Matthiessen (1999),22 but also those
of Dik, which are explicitly cited by Fawcett (1988: 31) as comparable with his own. Indeed, the contents of the belief system are represented in a type of logical form, which
again reminds us of Diks approach, though the COMMUNAL version clearly needs to
be able to represent the whole wide range of meaning types which are important in a
systemic grammar.
As we have seen, one part of what the language producer knows (has beliefs) about
is the local discourse structure (and its embedding in the generic structure), whose modelling in the Cardiff grammar I have already discussed in 4.4.5. The higher planning
systems in the COMMUNAL model make use of the available information on the local
discourse structure, as well as the content of the discourse up to that point, in order to
decide what discourse act is now appropriate, and what propositional content it will have.
Also brought into play are sentence planning algorithms which deal with, for example,
how referents in the propositional content will be referred to, what will be selected as
thematic material, and what types of tense, aspect and modality choices will be relevant.
The information generated by the planning systems and algorithms is then transferred
to the sentence generator, which uses the complex set of system networks embodied in
the Cardiff grammar to select appropriate semantic features, within the various strands of
meaning recognised in the Cardiff approach. Within these system networks, the individual
features carry particular probabilities of selection, derived partly from textual analysis,
partly from intelligent guesswork: for instance, if [information] is chosen from the MOOD
system, then the options available are [giver] (96%), [seeker] (3%) and [confirmation
seeker] (1%) (Fawcett 1993b: 176). The semantic representation generated so far is then
input to the realisation rules which, together with their implementation, are described
in some detail, in relation to the generation of specific examples, in Fawcett, Tucker &
Lin (1992, 1993). The result of this process is a two-dimensional tree structure showing
the syntactic structure of the clause and the lexical items which have been generated to
fill each terminal constituent in the tree. The syntax stripper then removes the abstract
syntactic categories to leave the final form of the clause. The generation of intonation
contours, motivated by the underlying semantics, is discussed in Fawcett (1990).
Let us turn now to the COMMUNAL parser (Fawcett 1993a: 649650, 1994;
Weerasinghe 1994; Weerasinghe & Fawcett 1993), which builds in information derived
from the lexicogrammar, but does not itself directly consult that grammar. The information used includes the probabilities of syntagmatic combinations of various kinds, both
syntactic and semantic, and a list stating which elements of structure are most likely to
be filled by particular lexical items. The semantic interpreter (see ODonoghue 1994) at. See also 2.5.4 of Part 1.
tempts to make sense of the parsed sentence by using the realisation rules (in reverse) and
system networks, trying to reconstitute the semantic features encoded. The semantic representation so obtained is translated into logical form, interpretation algorithms operate,
for instance in order to establish referents of referring expressions, and appropriate aspects
of the semantics are used to work out how the sentence functions in the structure of the
discourse. Finally, the reasoning and belief systems come into play, and can handle, for
example, the effects of combining the new event with previous ones. These processes need
not be in the strict sequence just given: it is also possible for the parser to pass a partial
analysis to the semantic interpreter and hence to the higher reasoning and belief systems,
and for the resulting information to be used as a check on the remaining parsing.
Before we leave this brief description of COMMUNAL, it is worth mentioning
Fawcetts distinction of three types of grammar, in terms of their coverage: a mini grammar is a small, often illustrative fragment such as that presented for operators and auxiliary verbs in Fawcett (1988: 4248); a large grammar is something of the size and scope
of the whole of the Cardiff grammar or Nigel; while a midi grammar is one with intermediate coverage, intended to give others a good idea of how the large grammar works
(for discussion see Fawcett 1993b).
COMMUNAL and Penman clearly have a great deal of common ground in their
aims and assumptions, but there are also important differences, as Fawcett, Tucker & Lin
(1993: 175176) point out. One of the most important is the major design feature which
divides the Sydney and Cardiff versions of SFG: whereas the Sydney grammar operates
with separate levels of semantics and lexicogrammar, the Cardiff grammar has just one
level of semantic networks. Within the COMMUNAL approach, therefore, there is no
need for (and indeed no possibility of) semantic choosers of the kind found in Nigel: all
the semantic information needed to generate the final structure of a sentence is available
in the choices made from the one level of networks. As we saw earlier, and as Fawcett,
Tucker & Lin observe, recent work arising from the Nigel model (Matthiessen & Bateman
1991; see also Hovy et al. 1992) points in the direction of organising the choosers into
networks, and to this extent the Nigel-based and COMMUNAL models converge. There
remains, though, the important question of mono- vs. multi-stratal networks. For those
readers who wish to explore further the similarities and differences between the two approaches, Matthiessen & Bateman (1991) and Fawcett, Tucker & Lin (1993) are highly
recommended as starting points.
.... Machine translation in a systemic perspective. Systemic linguistics has also been
influential in certain work in machine translation, the most important of which has been
done by the German group in the EUROTRA project, reported in several of the papers
in Steiner, Schmidt & Zelinsky-Wibbelt (1988). In the introduction to this volume, Haller
et al. (1988) note that in the EUROTRA project, to which all countries then part of the
European Community contributed, the grammar formalism used was worked out by a
central team, and is based on unification grammars. Central to the approach is a level,
Chapter 5
the Interface Structure, of minimal transfer between source and target languages. 23 This
level involves, among other things, semantic features and semantic relations, and it is in
this area that SFG has been most influential. Steiner et al. (1988) argue for the suitability of SFG, especially as developed by Fawcett and his colleagues, as a framework for the
specification of semantic relations, and give SFG-based analyses of many clause patterns
in German. Steiner (1988) compares the systemically-oriented analysis with one based
on Lexical Functional Grammar. Heid, Rsner & Roth (1988) describe the generation of
German from semantic relations, while Schmidt (1988) discusses transfer strategies and
Eckert & Heid (1988) investigate how the semantic relations function in lexical transfer
between languages, again in contrast with the LFG approach.
... The relationship between linguistic theory and computational application

Here, I shall take up in a little more detail an issue which has been implicit in what has
been said so far, namely the relationships between a linguistic theory and its implementation in computational systems. We may distinguish two aspects of such relationships:
the suitability of particular theories for computational application (with, as a sub-issue,
the question of whether such applications are best based on a single theory or an eclectic
mix), and the nature and extent of feedback from application to theory.
There is little in the FG literature to suggest why that theory is thought particularly
amenable to computational implementation; systemic linguists, on the other hand, have
dealt explicitly with this issue. Fawcett (1988) discusses this question in relation to the
Cardiff conception of SFG built into the COMMUNAL project. He argues that although
linguistic theories can, and should, benefit from ideas generated by computer scientists,
what is needed in modelling language, for natural language processing as for any other
purpose, is a specifically linguistic theory rather than a computational theory. He advocates the use of a single theory as a basis, though always with the possibility of incorporating ideas from outside that theory: as he points out, different theories usually hold
different assumptions about the nature of language, which may make compatibility difficult. In arguing for SFG as a suitable theory for computational applications, Fawcett takes
the line of comparison with what he dubs neo-Chomskyan approaches.24 An important
advantage of SFG is clearly that it is centred on meaning rather than on syntax; furthermore, meanings are described in terms of a multifunctional, holistic model which offers
a more complete coverage of different types of meaning than alternative approaches. The
priority accorded to paradigmatic relations is also seen as crucial. Also important are the
interaction-oriented nature of SFG, and the attention it pays to discourse as well as to the
meaning and structure of sentences. A final point is that SFG, with its multifunctional
organisation, lends itself very well to implementation in terms of parallel processing, with
potential increases in computational efficiency.
. For the concept of transfer in machine translation, see Lewis (1992).
. See Butler (1994: 4504) for suggestions on reasons for the applicability of SFG more widely, which
highlight some of the same points made in what follows.
Matthiessen & Bateman (1991: 56), like Fawcett, believe that it is best to use one theory, at least as a starting and reference point, rather than a blend of two or more. Firstly,
they point out, an implementation which is based on just one theory has a greater chance
of achieving compatibility among the various parts of the model; secondly, the application
of a single theory will probably tell us more about its value in computational applications.
They are careful to stress the impossibility, as well as the undesirability, of claiming that
one linguistic theory is inherently superior to another for the purposes of text generation,
but give reasons for their choice of SFG as one theory with considerable potential in this
area (1991: 5759). They first point to the lengthy history of interaction between SFG and
computing, going back to work involving Halliday as early as 1956. They also believe that
SFG presents a more comprehensive picture of language than most other theories, since
it deals with semantics, discourse, cohesion, context and register, all areas of vital concern in natural language processing: only tagmemics and stratificational linguistics, they
claim, can compete in this respect, and of the three theories, SFG has the best descriptive coverage for English. Like Fawcett, Matthiessen & Bateman stress the priority given to
paradigmatic relations in SFG: an emphasis on the concept of choice is extremely useful
if we wish to exercise control over the linguistic choices made, as a function of the social
context and the ongoing discourse structure. The functional orientation of the theory is,
of course, also crucial in this respect. Matthiessen & Bateman also point to the close relationship between theory and application in SFG, and to the fact that issues of relevance
to computational implementation, such as dynamic modelling and the representation of
context, are of great importance in the SFG research agenda. They also make the point
about parallel processing mentioned above (1991: 236239).
Let us turn now to the second issue raised at the beginning of this section: how, and
to what extent, computational applications feed back into the theory or theories on which
they are based. It is probably fair to say that computational implementations of FG have so
far had rather little impact on the theory itself: for instance, the recent trend towards the
development of discourse models in FG appears to be motivated largely by the realisation
that FG needs to expand this area if it is to move further in the direction of pragmatic
adequacy; unfortunately, the experience of programmers such as Kwee in attempting to
model the theory computationally does not seem to be a major factor.
In the context of systemic theory and its application, Matthiessen & Bateman suggest
that one of the main contributions which computational application can make to the theory is in the area of process accounts of language, whose importance has been stressed by
Martin and his colleagues, as we saw in Chapter 4.
One step in this direction is to interpret the relevant work in computational linguistics and AI in terms of linguistic theory. For instance, how do the grammatical generation algorithms used in text generation systems relate to the categories of grammatical theories? what kind of theory of text organization does hierarchic planning in AI
presuppose? and so on. (Matthiessen & Bateman 1991: 47)
Fawcett also argues strongly for the importance of process-oriented models:
Chapter 5
Notice that the way that we talk about language predisposes us to view it as an object
an abstract type of object, of course, but still an object. Here I shall propose the view
that it is more insightful to view language as a process, as a procedure, as a programme
for behaviour or, to signify the computational metaphor, as a program.
(Fawcett 1993a: 626, emphasis in original)
As he points out (1993a: 629) a computer program is defective if it will not run, and he
advocates the same position on language: a model which does not tell us anything about
how we produce and understand texts is an inadequate model. In other words, it seems fair
to interpret Fawcett as claiming that computational applications can help to increase what
Dik would call the psychological adequacy of the theory. There is, however, an important
caveat to be made here: we must not assume that the way in which a computer can be
made to generate or parse text necessarily reflects the way in which human beings do so,
and this is a point which will be taken up again in the final chapter of the present volume.
.. Stylistics
Neither mainstream FG nor RRG has so far been used by scholars wishing to apply linguistic theory and description to stylistic studies. There is, however, a small amount of
stylistic work which applies descriptions based on the Functional Lexematic Model, such
as the work of Feu (1996) on Le Fanus Carmilla and Piero & Feu (1997) on Emily
Dickinsons death poems. We shall also see in 5.3.3 that the work of Snchez Garca on
literary translation is based on Functional Lexematic descriptions.
SFG, on the other hand, has a long tradition of use in the analysis of literary and
non-literary style,25 going back to the days of Scale and Category Grammar, which was
perceived as providing a principled set of categories for the linguistic analysis of texts. The
concept of rank, though strongly criticised by some as a theoretical construct, proved especially useful in stylistics, together with that of classes of unit. Halliday (1964a) points
to the need for a rigorous linguistic model which can serve as a basis for the description and comparison of texts, and observes that although no analysis of a literary text can
possibly exhaust its meaning, a model of the type he proposes at least has the merit of
allowing the precise description of aspects of patterning which are susceptible to linguistic
analysis. Halliday illustrates these points by reference to four texts, the discussion ranging over the phoric uses of the definite article, complexity of nominal group structure,
lexical distribution and collocation, and cohesion. Additional discussion can be found in
Halliday (1964b).
In these early studies, Halliday avoids interpretation of his analysis in terms of literary significance, a characteristic which is shared by the earliest stylistic work of Sinclair
(1966), who presents an analysis of the grammatical structure of Larkins poem First Sight
in terms of Scale and Category Grammar. As well as investigating the structures of clauses
. Stylistic applications of SFG are discussed in Butler (1985a: 193197, 1994: 4501), on which much of the
following is based.
and sentences, and the interplay between grammatical and line divisions, Sinclair introduces the concept of arrest, exemplified by the interruption of clause structures, with
the consequent setting up of tensions. In a slightly later study of Robert Graves poem The
Legs, Sinclair (1968) again describes the grammatical structures in terms of units and their
classes, and also looks at the specificity of verb usage and the phoric use of the definite article, now relating all these features to the public meaning of the poem, so avoiding the
frequently made comment of literary critics that linguists tend to display the patterns in
texts without relating them to literary effect. In a still later paper, Sinclair (1982) develops
further the concept of arrest, in a discussion of Wordsworths Lines composed a few miles
above Tintern Abbey.
Shorts (1982) analysis of the first of T. S. Eliots Preludes is also based on a Scale and
Category approach, and demonstrates very well how close attention to linguistic detail
can combine with sensitivity to the literary effects of a work. Short shows how the readers
impression of simplicity and fragmentation are relatable to the structural properties of the
poem, and how the rhyme scheme acts to unify otherwise very heterogeneous elements.
Like Shorts study, Carters (1982b) analysis of Hemingways short story Cat in the Rain
combines linguistic analysis with literary interpretation, showing how his intuitions as a
reader of the story can be correlated with the simplicity of nominal group structures, shifts
in the complexity of verbal group structures, and cohesive devices.
As we saw in 4.4.4.1, the development of Scale and Category linguistics went hand in
hand with the elaboration of a model of context in terms of field, tenor and mode. These
categories were put to good stylistic use in the work of Gregory in the 1960s and 1970s.
Analysis in terms of field of discourse facilitates the description of the ways in which the
linguistic features of specialised registers can be appropriated for stylistic purposes; tenor
provides a basis for discussion of writer/reader relationships, but also those between characters in fiction; analysis of mode covers distinctions of monologue, dialogue, and so on.
Spencer & Gregory (1964) provide a discussion of the usefulness of the linguistic and contextual models in the analysis of literary style, while Gregory (1974) applies these principles to the study of Donnes Holy Sonnet XIV, placing the poem in terms of temporal
dialect, religious field, a personal tenor related to an audience of known listeners or readers, and a mode of discourse characterised as written to be read with the speaking of it
in mind. Gregory goes on to make a close analysis of the text in grammatical and lexical
terms. Later work linking grammatical and collocational patterning to the text as a social
event can be found in Gregorys (1978) study of Marvells To his Coy Mistress.
After the move, in the mid-1960s, towards a theory which emphasised the concept of choice and the semantic orientation of the grammar came a shift in the kind of
stylistic analysis which took systemic linguistics as its basis. In particular, the concept of
semantically-oriented networks organised in three basic metafunctional layers informed a
deeper analysis of literary texts than could have been accomplished using Scale and Category Grammar. The seminal article here is Hallidays (1971) analysis of style in William
Goldings novel The Inheritors, where the functional nature of linguistic foregrounding
in texts is made clear:
Chapter 5
. . . a feature that is brought into prominence will be foregrounded only if it relates to

the meaning of the text as a whole. This relationship is a functional one: if a particular
feature of the language contributes, by its prominence, to the total meaning of the
work it does so by virtue of and through the medium of its own value in the language
through the linguistic function from which its meaning is derived. Where the function
is relevant to our interpretation of the work, the prominence will appear as motivated.
(Halliday 1971: 339)
Halliday emphasises that we are not dealing here just with non-cognitive aspects of meaning: there are no regions of language in which style does not reside (1971: 339); that is,
meanings within the ideational, interpersonal and textual metafunctions may all be involved. Halliday demonstrates convincingly that in the case of The Inheritors an important element is concerned with the patterning of transitivity choices (which, as we have
seen, are within the ideational more narrowly, the experiential metafunction) rather
than with the non-representational kinds of meaning with which stylistic studies are commonly concerned. The novel tells of the invasion of a small band of Neanderthals by a
more advanced group. For most of the work, the reader sees the world through the eyes
of the Neanderthals; a short transitional passage then leads to a final section in which the
world is seen from the viewpoint of the invaders, that is, of modern man. Hallidays analysis shows clearly how Golding manipulates transitivity choices in order to build these
world views: in the section focused on the Neanderthal view, the processes are mostly of
the material action type, concerned with movement in space, or locational-possessional,
or mental, and are expressed in a direct narrative form using simple past tense, with active, finite verbs. Almost all are single participant processes: only the Affected participant
is present, even processes which in our own current world view would involve directed
action being presented as intransitive (e.g. The stick began to grow shorter at both ends
represents the drawing of a bow). Many of the clause Subjects refer not to people, but
to parts of the body or objects, and there are many Adjuncts, mainly expressing location
or direction. In other words, there is much movement, but the activities of the band are
represented as lacking in effects on other entities. As Halliday observes, Golding is not
simply presenting a picture of Neanderthal life here, but is bringing to our attention the
limitations of their world view, and so pointing to the conflicts which are basic to mans
evolution. The end of the book gives a very different impression: most clauses are transitive, with a human Subject involved in an action process: the principles of cause and effect
are now recognised. The transitional passage also proves to be intermediate in terms of the
transitivity selections made.
I have gone into Hallidays analysis of The Inheritors in some detail because it seems
to me to illustrate very well the power of this kind of functional analysis in literary stylistics. Indeed, it gave rise to a series of similar studies focussed on transitivity choices and
their literary interpretation. Short (1976) applies Hallidays techniques to a passage from
Steinbecks Of Mice and Men, showing how transitivity patterns help us to sympathise
with one of the characters in the passage, and to recognise the lack of control over him
by another character. Kennedy (1976), in an examination of passages from Conrads The
Secret Agent and Joyces Dubliners, aims to demonstrate that Hallidays technique can be
used, with a wider range of texts, to highlight the significance of particular passages and
reveal semantically motivated patterns. Butts (1988) analysis of Wallace Stevens poem
The Idea of Order at Key West also deals with ideational meaning as expressed in transitivity patterns and logical interclausal relationships. Montgomery (1993) also examines
transitivity choices in his analysis of Hemingways short story The Revolutionist. Benson
& Greaves (1984) study transitivity, as well as interpersonal and textual types of meaning,
in Melvilles Moby Dick, later expanding the treatment of process types in a comparison
between Melvilles novel of physical action and Poes psychologically-oriented short story
The Fall of the House of Usher (Benson & Greaves 1987), and then analysing the contribution of transitivity and ergativity choices to the foregrounding of the worlds constructed
in Tennysons poem The Lotos-Eaters (Benson, Greaves & Stillar 1995). Hallidays analysis
of transitivity also informs a number of monographic works on stylistics, such as those by
Leech & Short (1981) and Toolan (1988, 1990).
Stylistic work based on metafunctionally-organised meaning choice does not, however, concentrate solely on the ideational component: studies of textual meaning can be
found, for instance in Downings (1995) work on thematic layering and focus assignment
in the General Prologue to Chaucers Canterbury Tales, or in Goatlys (1995) analysis of
marked Theme and its interpretation in Housmans A Shropshire Lad; analysis of features
from textual as well as ideational metafunctions is incorporated into the poetic analysis of
Hasan (1985/1989) and into Taylor Torsellos (1991) discussion of the creation of points
of view in Virginia Woolf s To the Lighthouse.
During the 1980s, however, we begin to see a tendency for analysis move away from
the clause or sentence level, towards a consideration of the discourse structure of texts,
and also the relationships among texts (intertextuality: see e.g. Lemke 1985, 1995). The
orientation towards textual macrostructure is evident, for example, in Hasans (1984b)
analysis of the nursery tale in terms of her model of Generic Structure Potential. Carter &
Simpson (1989a) is a collection of articles which also clearly illustrates this shift towards
discourse stylistics. In their introduction to this volume, the editors sum up very nicely
the evolution of stylistic studies summarised above and make a prediction for the 1990s:
At the risk of overgeneralization and oversimplification, we might say that if the 1960s
was a decade of formalism in stylistics, the 1970s a decade of functionalism and the
1980s a decade of discourse stylistics, then the 1990s could well become the decade in
which socio-historical and socio-cultural stylistic studies are a main preoccupation.
(Carter & Simpson 1989b: 17)
What Carter & Simpson have in mind as a possible theme for the 90s is a kind of literary
discourse analysis which attempts
. . . to demonstrate the determining positions available within texts, and show how
meanings and interpretations of meanings are always and inevitably discursively
produced. (Carter & Simpson 1989b: 17)
In fact, such an approach can be found in the early 1980s, for instance in the work of
Burton (1982). Writing from a feminist perspective, she avers that
Chapter 5
. . . stylistic analysis is not just a question of discussing effects in language and text,
but a powerful method for understanding the ways in which all sorts of realities are
constructed through language. (Burton 1982: 201, emphasis in original)
Burton examines a passage from Sylvia Plaths The Bell Jar, which describes the experience
of electric shock treatment for depression. As in much previous work, the focus is on process types, but the orientation is somewhat different. Burtons concern is to show how the
transitivity selections made by the author point to the power relations between the doctor
and nurse, on the one hand, and the patient, on the other: the medical staff, sometimes
through their instruments, are in control, while the patient is presented as powerless. We
see here a further evolution of systemic stylistics which parallels a shift in the theory itself,
this time towards an ideological perspective which is entirely consistent with Hallidays
view of linguistics as a form of action, able to intervene in social processes (see 5.1.5 of
Part 1). These concerns are very evident in the collections of papers edited by Threadgold et al. (1986) and by Birch & OToole (1988), and in other work by scholars such as
Threadgold (e.g. 1988) and Birch (e.g. 1993).
Finally, we should note that the communication linguistics developed by Gregory
and his colleagues (see 5.8.1 of Part 1) has also been applied stylistically, for instance in
Stillars (1992) discussion of emerging discoursal patterns in a poem by Leonard Cohen
and Gregorys (1995) analysis of Donnes The Good Morrow.
In the above, I have concentrated on literary stylistics; it is important to remember,
however, that much work has also been done on non-literary varieties of English, on the
basis of systemic theory and description. Much of this has already been mentioned in
earlier chapters, and especially in the context of our discussion of register and genre in
Chapter 4, and of educational applications of SFG in 5.2.3.2. Here, I shall merely remind
the reader of collections such as those by Ghadessy (1993) and Snchez-Macarro & Carter
(1998). It is also worth noting that Hasan uses the term semiotic style to refer to not only
characteristic ways of saying but also of being and behaving (1984c: 105) and semantic
style to refer to the style of meaning verbally (1984c: 106). She then goes on to use these
concepts to discuss differences between cultures and the languages they use, focusing on
English and Urdu for exemplification.
Before we close this brief discussion of systemic stylistics, it is worth reflecting on
why SFG should have proved so useful in this area. The same factors are at work in contributing to the applicability of SFG in this area as in computational implementations.
The creation of a text can be seen in terms of the choice of particular, often highly nuanced, meanings from those available, and the concomitant rejection of others, so that the
paradigmatic orientation of SFG is especially appropriate. Furthermore, meaning is seen
as multifaceted, differentiated according to a set of broad metafunctional areas, which
have provided a fruitful framework for much stylistic study. Additionally, the emphasis of
SFG on the structure and meanings of texts, and not just of isolated sentences, has been
a major determinant of applicability in this area, as has the interest of systemic linguists
in linking text to context and, beyond this, to the ideologies at work in the creation and
reception of texts.
.. Translation and contrastive studies

Work on machine translation has already been reviewed briefly in the section on computational applications. There has also been other work on the application of FG and SFG to
translation studies.
Within the range of approaches covered by FG, the Functional Lexematic Model provides a potentially fruitful model for application to translation, in view of its lexical and
cognitive orientation. There is a range of contrastive studies of English and Spanish in
particular areas of the lexicon: see, for example, Faber & Snchez (1990) on verbs expressing manner of speaking and sound verbs; Faber & Prez (1993) on verbs concerned with
light; Faber (1994) on verbs of perception. The model has been applied to the study of
Lawrence Durrells Alexandria Quartet and its translation into Spanish (Snchez Garca
1994, 1995/1996, 1996a, 1996b, 1996c, 1997).
Features of SFG which have proved particularly fruitful in the area of applications to
translation are multifunctionality (see Halliday 1992 and especially the extended treatment in Bell 1991: Chapter 4) and the emphasis on the properties of texts, including textual macrostructure, thematic progression and cohesion (see e.g. Newmark 1987; Taylor
1993; Ventola 1995b; Fernndez Polo 1995; Munday 2000). A recent volume of papers
on translation by scholars working with systemic models (Steiner & Yallop 2001) emphasises the advantages of going beyond the concept of texts as repositories of content,
advocating an approach in which the text is seen in terms of configurations of multidimensional meanings.
.. Language pathology
There has been some use of SFG in the investigation of language disorders: Rochester
& Martin (1979) show significant differences in cohesion, and especially in types of
reference, in the speech of thought-disordered schizophrenics, non-thought-disordered
schizophrenics and non-disadvantaged speakers; disturbances of cohesion and other textual systems in patients with language disabilities have also been studied by Fine and his
colleagues (Bartolucci & Fine 1987; Fine 1985, 1988, 1991, 1994, 1995; Fine & Bartolucci
1981; Fine, Bartolucci & Szatmari 1989; Fine et al. 1991; Fine et al. 1994) while Gotteri
(1988) outlines the potential contributions of systemic grammars to the work of speech
therapists, and Mortensen (2000) describes how systemic theory is being applied in the
context of describing and interpreting communication impairment through brain injury
in adults. The work of Kemmerer (1996) on the language of patients with Parkinsons Disease makes use of principles from RRG. To my knowledge, there has been no use made of
FG in language pathology.
..
A (semi-) final word on applicability

Throughout this section on applicability, we have seen that systemic linguistics has proved
particularly productive as a basis for applied work, in areas as diverse as computational
Chapter 5
linguistics, stylistics and language pathology. We have also seen that this productivity can
be traced to the differences in underlying aims and assumptions about language and the
study of language between SFG on the one hand, and FG and RRG on the other. I shall
return to the issue of applicability, and its relationship with the evaluation of linguistic
theories, in the next chapter.
Chapter 6
Functional Grammar, Role and Reference

Grammar and Systemic Functional Grammar
A final assessment and some pointers to the future
Now that we are nearing the end of our long journey along the pathways of Functional
Grammar, Role and Reference Grammar and Systemic Functional Grammar, it is time to
take a final critical look at these theories from the point of view of the extent to which
they achieve the various goals to which a structural-functional grammar might aspire. I
shall first review each theory in terms of the criteria of adequacy which proponents of
the theory themselves consider important. I shall then pose the question of whether we
should be satisfied even with a good approximation to adequacy in a limited number of
areas prioritised by a particular theory. A negative answer to this question then leads me
to propose a composite set of criteria to which I believe a truly functional theory should
aspire. I then discuss the implications of these criteria for the shape of a new integrated
model, reviewing the potential of the various structural-functional grammars as contributors to such a model. Not surprisingly, then, this chapter strikes a tone which is both more
personal and more provocative than much of the preceding material. In the course of the
discussion, frequent reference will be made to discussion in earlier chapters and in Part
1, so that this chapter will also act as a summary of many of the important points raised
throughout this work.
Assessment of theories in terms of their own goals
..
Functional Grammar
It is now a quarter of a century since the publication of Diks (1978) seminal work Functional Grammar. Over that time, as we have seen, there have been numerous contributions
to the theory, not only by Dik himself, but also by other scholars in the Low Countries,
Denmark, Spain, the United Kingdom and elsewhere. In this section I shall attempt to assess the extent to which this work has contributed to the achievement of the goals which
FG sets for itself. After an initial note on descriptive adequacy, there follows a brief gen-
eral discussion of the success of FG in accounting for the motivation of form by semantic
and pragmatic function. I shall then discuss the three types of adequacy explicitly set out
by Dik: pragmatic, psychological and typological. In recent work, pragmatic adequacy is
closely related to what I have dubbed discoursal adequacy, a criterion which is clearly
implied in Diks TFG2.1
... A note on descriptive adequacy in FG

As we saw in 3.1 of Part 1, Dik proposes that any functional grammar should meet a
standard of descriptive adequacy modelled on that proposed in Chomskyan accounts of
language: in other words, such a grammar must be able to give a complete and adequate
account of the grammatical organization of connected discourse in that language (Dik
1997a: 12). Two aspects of this characterisation of descriptive adequacy require further
comment: the goal is to describe the grammatical organisation of the language, and this
must extend to connected discourse.
The extent to which FG succeeds in achieving a complete and adequate account of
the sentence grammar has been commented on in the detailed exposition of various areas
of the grammar throughout the present work, and I shall say no more about particular
areas here. It is, however, worth reminding ourselves of Bakkers comments (Bakker 1999,
2001; Bakker & Siewierska, forthcoming) in relation to the expression rule component
of FG, as discussed in 3.4 of Part 1 and 4.2.6.3 of the present volume: the fact that
there are few constraints on the expression rules in Diks account means that these rules
are very powerful and so capable of massive overgeneration; on the other hand, it can be
shown that there are types of expression found in the worlds languages which cannot be
accounted for in terms of the rules of the standard model. Bakkers own work, as we have
seen, aims to remedy some of these deficiencies.
When we move beyond the sentence grammar to look at structure and function in
connected discourse, the descriptive and explanatory (especially pragmatic) standards of
adequacy become so closely related that it makes little sense to attempt separate treatment.
I shall therefore discuss pragmatic and discoursal aspects together in 6.1.1.3.
Before we leave the matter of descriptive adequacy, we should remind ourselves that
as noted in 3.1.4 of Part 1, Hengeveld & Prez Quintero (2001), building on ideas in
Boland (1999), have recently proposed a realignment of Diks criteria, such that typological criteria form part of the conditions for descriptive adequacy, while pragmatic and
psychological criteria remain as explanatory. One important consequence of this shift is
the prediction that the same types of restriction (e.g. various implicational hierarchies)
should apply both within and across languages. We saw in 3.2.4.4 that Hengeveld &
Prez Quintero themselves provide evidence for this claim with respect to the grammar
of adverbial clause types.
. A discussion of criteria of adequacy in Functional Grammar is also available (in Spanish) in Butler (1999),
on which parts of the discussion in the present chapter are based.
Chapter 6
FG, RRG and SFG: A final assessment and some pointers to the future
... Explaining form in terms of function in FG

We saw in our initial discussion of functional explanation in 1.5 of Part 1 that Dik (1986)
proposes a number of functional pressures which contribute to an explanation of why
language is as it is: the aims and purposes for which language is used, primarily the transmission of meanings, social and affective as well as representational; pressures arising from
the nature of the means of communication, primarily vocal-auditory, and from the nature
of processing mechanisms; and the relationship between language and the social contexts
in which it is used. Functional pressures from social context and processing mechanisms
will be dealt with later under the headings of pragmatic and psychological adequacy; here,
I want to concentrate on the relationships between the forms of language and the meanings they convey. In 1.5 of Part 1 we saw that Dik recognises a principle of iconicity,
according to which there is frequently some degree of similarity in the patterning of forms
and meanings, although because of the effects of competing motivations we may expect
the whole range from an essentially arbitrary relationship to full biuniqueness. Dik also
points out that even a non-iconic relationship can still provide guidelines for processing,
as its systematicity will help the language user to fit new instances of a phenomenon into
the general pattern.
To what extent, then, can explanation in the shape of form-meaning correspondences
actually be recognised in FG? Certainly there are a number of points in Diks TFG1
and TFG2 where iconic principles are invoked, often together with processing principles,
largely in the set of constituent ordering principles which contribute, sometimes antagonistically, to the final ordering pattern seen in a clause (see 3.2.3 of Part 1): the Principle
of Iconic Ordering, according to which ordering reflects semantic content; the Principle of
Linear Ordering,2 which may be motivated iconically and through processing constraints;
the Principle of Centripetal Organisation, according to which ordering is determined by
relative distance from the head of the construction, and this distance in turn reflects iconically the closeness of the link between head and dependents; the Principle of Functional
Stability, which says that items with the same functional properties tend to occupy the
same position; the Principle of Pragmatic Highlighting, which places constituents with
special pragmatic functions such as certain types of Topic and Focus in special positions, of
which one is normally the cognitively-salient clause-initial position, according to the first
things first principle; the frequently attested iconicity between the scope of -operators
and the ordering of the realisations (Hengeveld 1989, taken up in Dik 1997a: 414).
There is, then, clear evidence, from at least one area, of Diks programme of functional explanation. The realisation of this programme, however, is in my view hampered
by a serious deficiency in FG which I remarked on in 6.2.1.1.1 of Part 1: the lack of an
explicitly syntactic level of description in Diks version of the theory. If we are trying to
establish correlations between form and function, we need to have clear descriptions of
both forms and functions. Diks model of the underlying structure of the clause attempts
to be both formal and functional, and yet the only clearly syntactic information built into
. This general principle, it will be remembered, has as one instantiation the Principle of Increasing Complexity, reflected in the Language-Independent Preferred Order of Constituents (LIPOC).
this structure is the assignment of Subject and Object functions, where appropriate, to
particular constituents. The syntax is implicit in the expression component, but syntactic structures are not themselves systematically modelled except, to a very limited extent,
in the constituent ordering templates proposed. In this respect, further developments of
Bakkers (1999) model of the expression component, which effectively attempts to provide
a syntax for FG, will be important.
Also relevant here is one particular aspect of work within the Functional Lexematic
Model. As we saw in 3.5 of Part 1, the recent work of Faber & Mairal Usn (see Mairal
Usn 1994; Faber & Mairal Usn 1994, 1998a, 1998b, 1999) has been concerned not only
with the semantics of verbal lexemes but also with their syntax, and has demonstrated a
clear relationship between the two, in that there is considerable evidence from English for
the Principle of Lexical Iconicity, stated as follows:
The greater the semantic coverage of a lexeme, the greater its syntactic variations.
(Faber & Mairal Usn 1994: 211, 1998a: 8)
More specifically, Faber & Mairal Usn show that the range of complementation patterns
is greater for verbs which are higher up in a particular lexical hierarchy than for those
lower down the hierarchy.
... Pragmatic and discoursal adequacy in FG

Let us first remind ourselves of Diks own definitions of pragmatic adequacy. In 3.1 of
Part 1, I set out a number of quotations from Diks work which illustrate two rather
different positions; these will be repeated below. First, a group of statements which can
be considered to represent a strong view of pragmatic adequacy (in each case, the italics
are mine):
Since a natural language is an instrument used for communicative purposes, there
is little point in considering its properties in abstraction from the functional uses
to which it is put. The system underlying the construction of linguistic expressions
is a functional system. From the very start, it must be studied within the framework
of the rules, principles, and strategies which govern its natural communicative use. In
other words, the question of how a language is organized cannot be profitably studied in abstraction from the question of why it is organized the way it is, given the
communicative functions which it fulfils.
This means that linguistic expressions can be understood properly only when they
are considered as functioning in settings, the properties of which are codetermined
by the contextual and situational information available to speakers and addressees.
Language does not function in isolation: it is an integrated part of a living human
(psychological and social) reality. (Dik 1997a: 6)
. . . the basic requirement of the functional paradigm is that linguistic expressions
should be described and explained in terms of the general framework provided by the
pragmatic system of verbal interaction. (Dik 1997a: 4)
Chapter 6
. . . we must not think of linguistic expressions as isolated objects, but as instruments

which are used by a Speaker in order to evoke some intended interpretation in the Addressee, within a context defined by preceding expressions, and within a setting defined
by the essential parameters of the speech situation. (Dik 1997a: 13)
The italicised portions of these quotations could be taken as indicating Diks commitment
to a theory of language which really does take pragmatics as primary, with semantics as
its servant and syntax, lexis and intonation as the means of expression for both. This, in
my view, would mean starting with the question: What do we know about how language
is actually used in communication between human beings? a vast question, of course,
but one to which some partial (and at times conflicting) answers are readily available in
the linguistic literature. We know, for instance, that the type of language used varies with
situational factors, both dialectal and diatypic (register). We know that much of what
we communicate is unsaid, in the sense that as interlocutors we are constantly generating
meanings in the form of inferences from what our conversational partners are saying
and indeed, from what they are not saying and from our knowledge of the world, the
recurrent situation types of the culture, and the particular situation in which we find ourselves, including our knowledge of others taking part in the interaction. We know also that
what is expectable at a particular point in discourse depends on what has gone before. All
these we might regard as valid starting points for a pragmatically and discoursally adequate
theory, and all are concerned with one of the main factors, pressure from (social and discoursal) context, which Dik recognises as being crucial for the functional explanation of
why languages are as they are.
As I pointed out in 3.1 of Part 1, however, this is not the line which Dik actually
takes. Cheek by jowl with the above statements we get another set, this time espousing a
much weaker position: again the italics are mine.
. . . although in itself a theory of linguistic expressions is not the same as a theory
of verbal interaction, it is natural to require that it be devised in such a way that it
can most easily and realistically be incorporated into a wider pragmatic theory of verbal
interaction. (Dik 1997a: 4)
We saw above that a functional grammar must be conceptualized as being embedded
within a wider pragmatic theory of verbal interaction. Ultimately, it would have to be
capable of being integrated into a model of NLU [the Natural Language User (CSB)].
We shall say that the degree of pragmatic adequacy of a functional grammar is higher to
the extent that it fits in more easily with such a wider, pragmatic theory. (Dik 1997a: 13)
And this, as we have seen, is the programme Dik actually chooses to follow. The problem
with this approach, however, is that in order for him to be able to demonstrate that the
grammar is indeed being constructed in such a way that it will fit well into a theory of
verbal interaction, at least the outlines of that encompassing theory must be articulated
clearly. Certain processes which are undoubtedly important in a pragmatically adequate
account of language, such as inferencing, do find a place in Diks computational modelling
of the natural language user; nevertheless, the various components of the model appear to
come simply from Diks own thoughts on the matter, scantily supported by references to
other models, or to work which could be taken as evidence for his own approach, let alone
any which might challenge it.
In order to put a little flesh on the bare bones of these comments, let us review briefly
Diks treatment of two areas which cry out for treatment in pragmatically and discoursally adequate ways: illocution and information distribution. We saw in 1.2.1 that Diks
account of illocution stays very close to the formal aspects of speech acts, that is, their
reflection in the opposition between declarative, interrogative, imperative and exclamative, with their subtypes: his interest is in illocution as encoded in the expression. Certain
types of illocutionary conversion are considered to belong within the grammar, but only
those which have some clear grammatical reflex, such as tags on declaratives and imperatives. Other types of conversion belong to the theory of verbal interaction. Significantly,
there is no discussion of the conditions which lead to the choice of one type of realisation
of a given illocutionary intent rather than another. Similarly, we saw in 2.2.1 that Diks
account of information distribution in the clause allows the assignment of Topic and Focus pragmatic functions only where a language gives distinctive formal treatment to these
functions: Dik is concerned not with topicality and focality in themselves, but with the
encoding of these properties by specifiable linguistic devices. Again, apart from a few brief
comments, there is no systematic treatment of the factors which lead a speaker to choose
particular information distribution strategies from those available.
Among the factors which need to be taken into account when thinking about why
a speaker or writer chooses particular options in illocution or information distribution,
both social and discoursal context loom large. We have seen that social context is not
discussed in any detail in Diks work;3 on the other hand, we also saw in 4.2.3.1 that in
his posthumous TFG2 Dik makes it clear that FG should also aim for a theory of discourse:
. . . the theory of FG, if it is to live up to its self-imposed standards of adequacy, should
in the long run account for the functional grammar of discourse. In other words, it
should show how clauses can be combined into coherent stretches of talk, conversation, or written text. At the same time, it is evident that this is a very high aim for
a theory of grammar to strive for, and that we have only the bare outlines of what a
theory of discourse should look like. (Dik 1997b: 409)
Unfortunately, as was clear from our discussion of Diks model, his account is far too
programmatic to be capable of offering a framework within which questions of motivation
for illocutionary or informational decisions might be posed and answered. Diks discourse
model suffers from the disadvantage of being a late addition to the theory, grafted on
to the sentence grammar, and largely modelled on it, in terms of layers of hierarchical
structure, with the possibility of recursion. As such, it gives the impression of being an
add-on, responding to the pressures of an accelerating trend towards discourse analysis.
. Anstey (forthcoming) asks, rhetorically, whether there is anything in current FG which would answer
Hymes (1971/1972: 272, page reference to 1972 version) criticism of the kind of linguistics which centres on
the isolated individual rather than people operating in social contexts.
Chapter 6
In summary, I think it has been demonstrated in our discussion throughout this volume and Part 1 that Diks own work is seriously lacking in pragmatic and discoursal adequacy. Not only does he fail to fulfil the promise we can interpret from the statements
giving his stronger view of pragmatic adequacy, he also fails to achieve the weaker degree
of adequacy, because he makes no serious attempt to specify in enough detail, let alone to
justify, the properties of a theory of verbal interaction with respect to which the degree of
fit with FG could be assessed.
What, then, of later work which has suggested expansions of, and alternatives to,
Diks account? Certainly the recent work of scholars such as Bolkestein, Connolly, Hannay, Hengeveld, Kroon, Liedtke, Mackenzie, Moutaouakil, Nuyts, Risselada, van den Berg
and Vet, which I have reviewed at various points, takes the theory in promising directions,
representing an opening out of thinking beyond the narrow confines of the grammar, yet
still with that grammar as an anchor. The recency of the work means that a number of avenues are still at early stages of exploration, and it may be some time before any consensus
emerges, if indeed one emerges at all. The general tendency, as we have seen, is towards
a modular approach which preserves, at least to some degree, Diks original distinction
between the grammar itself and the theory of verbal interaction.4 We saw, especially in
1.2.2.4.4, that several of the scholars mentioned above have proposed accounts of speech
acts involving a grammatical and a pragmatic module; in 2.2.2.2.1 we found that such a
model also appears attractive for an adequate account of information distribution. So far,
however, these proposals remain at too general a level to be testable. Particularly problematic and under-discussed is the crucial issue of the interface between the pragmatic and
grammatical modules.
Three sets of proposals seem to me to offer particular promise. Firstly, the work of
Mackenzie & Keizer (1991) and of Hannay (e.g. 1991), as we saw in 2.2.2.2.1, offers the
possibility of bridging the gap between a product-oriented and a process-oriented approach to discourse in the area of information distribution, and I suggested that Hannays
modes of message management might fruitfully be seen as part of the interface between
pragmatic and grammatical modules mentioned above.
Secondly, Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar, sketched briefly in 4.2.6.2
and in 3.7.2 of Part 1, stresses the role of holophrastic utterances, not only in language
use itself, but also in terms of the derivability of full utterances from these reduced forms,
rather than the reverse. Although Mackenzies own account foregrounds the contribution of this model to psychological adequacy, to be discussed later, we can also see that it
is attractive with respect to some issues related to pragmatic and discoursal adequacy.
Holophrases, as Mackenzie observes, are often used, in preference to a fully specified
clause, as responses in dialogue. Furthermore, Mackenzies model incorporates Hannays
modes of message management.
Thirdly, Nuyts Functional Procedural Grammar seems to me extremely promising in
its breadth of coverage and in the very strong line it takes on what it means for an account
. An important exception to this generalisation is, as we have seen, the work of Nuyts, who rejects modularity in favour of a gradual transition between conceptual and linguistic structures.
of language to be pragmatically adequate. It is worth citing again the opinion quoted in

6.1.1 of Part 1:
Thus FG does not intend to describe the pragmatic rules, it only wants to be compatible with them. But I believe that this criterion is rather a matter for description [. . . ].
A grammar that does not describe these characteristics of expressions is not a FG at
all. (Nuyts 1983: 383)
This is a view with which I entirely agree: an approach to language which claims to account for the rules, principles, and strategies which govern its natural communicative
use (see the earlier extended quotation from Dik 1997a: 6) simply cannot do without a
detailed specification of the (discourse) pragmatics, whether regarded as a component or
module, or more closely integrated with the grammar. However, Nuyts own model, like
Mackenzies, remains at a very general level of specification in crucial areas, and Nuyts
(1992: 256, 1995, 2001: 273) has explicitly defended this position in terms of the need for
caution in formalising those dimensions of a model for which the current state of research
offers scanty and at times even conflicting evidence. We have seen that certain areas of the
grammar, in particular those concerned with modality, have been treated in considerable
depth by Nuyts, within the overall framework of his FPG model; nevertheless, key issues
such as the influence of social and discoursal context on the selection of grammatical resources remain to be explored in the detail which will be required if this approach is to
offer a satisfying degree of pragmatic and discoursal adequacy.
One particularly important facet of the various nascent FG models of discourse is
the extent to which discourse patterning is seen as an upward extension of grammatical
patterning. The extensive literature on discourse analysis (which I take here to include
conversational analysis), largely ignored by Dik, suggests that there are important aspects
of patterning at these higher levels which cannot be plausibly modelled by analogy with
the clause or sentence levels. Even Diks tentative approval of Rhetorical Structure Theory
turns a central tenet of that approach on its head: instead of accepting the RST concept of
projection from the rhetorical categories of discourse on to the categories of clause complexing, Dik proposes the reverse, again centring the model on the grammar. Hengevelds
(1997) initial model of discourse, though differing from Diks in detail, maintains the
approach of upward extension from the grammar.
Kroon (1997) is wise, then, to question the Dik/Hengeveld upward layering scheme,
and to see an important qualitative difference between the highest unit of the clause hierarchy (the speech act, defined in terms of illocution as coded in the grammar and lexis
of the clause) and the lowest unit of the discourse hierarchy (the discourse act, defined in
terms of its communicative function, which is intimately connected with its position in a
higher discourse unit).
The models of Hannay (1998) and Steuten (1998), Hengevelds (forthcoming a, forthcoming b) recent proposals for a Functional Discourse Grammar, and Mackenzies (2000,
forthcoming) Incremental Functional Grammar all, in their different ways, attempt to
bridge the gap between the upward layering approach and the modular proposals of
Kroon, which in turn are closely related to the ideas of Vet and others on the distinction
Chapter 6
between grammatical and pragmatic modules. These, and also Connollys (forthcoming)
comprehensive discourse model, all need much more extensive development before they
can be properly assessed. Above all, what we need is detailed analysis of a broad range of
authentic texts in terms of each model: so far, there has been a tendency to make broad,
sweeping proposals with minimal empirical back-up, and although there is clearly much
potential in the extensive textual work of the Amsterdam classicists, it is obviously important for the development of a discourse model that it should at least include, if not
be centred on, the analysis of spoken, preferably conversational, data from languages in
use today.
... Psychological adequacy in FG

Diks characterisation of psychological adequacy, discussed in 3.1.2 of Part 1, is set out
again below:
. . . such a grammar must also aim at psychological adequacy, in the sense that it must
relate as closely as possible to psychological models of linguistic competence and
linguistic behaviour. (Dik 1997a: 13)
As I observed in the initial discussion of the underlying basis of Diks theory, we have here
the weak form of criterion, according to which the grammar must only be compatible with
what is known of actual linguistic processing. A stronger claim would be that our approach
to the grammar must be actively guided by processing considerations (as well as by those
relevant to pragmatic and discoursal adequacy). In other words, we would need to start by
asking the questions What do we know about how we produce and understand language,
and how can this help us to formulate a psychologically adequate theory?, rather than
merely trying to show that the proposed theory is not actually in conflict with processing
principles.
Certainly Dik occasionally invokes processing considerations in his explanations for
linguistic principles: for instance, he remarks that although conformity to the Principle of
Linear Ordering may be iconically motivated, it may also be due to other factors, such as
ease of production or comprehension (Dik 1997a: 401). But there is almost no reference
to relevant work in psychology or psycholinguistics, and as with pragmatic adequacy, there
is evidence, much of it gathered together in Hesps (1990a, 1990b) and Nuyts (1990, 1992,
2001, forthcoming) criticisms of Diks model of the natural language user, and reviewed
in 3.6 of Part 1, to suggest that Diks theory does not even fulfil the weak criterion he
himself sets up. In particular, strong arguments have been advanced against the view that
conceptual structures should be modelled in the same way as underlying clause structures.
Furthermore, certain key features of Diks model of clause structure, such as the process
of stepwise lexical decomposition, have been shown to be implausible from the point of
view of the childs acquisition of language. An additional criticism, which I again voiced in
3.1.2 of Part 1, is that Diks work pays virtually no attention to issues of non-discreteness
of meaning which have exercised the minds of many more cognitively-oriented linguists.
Once more, Nuyts own Functional Procedural Grammar seems to me to offer a potentially much higher degree of psychological adequacy, though even this approach is not
without its problems. We saw in 3.6 of Part 1 that Nuyts model does indeed take psychological adequacy very seriously, being intended to provide a (rough) working hypothesis
concerning the organization of the cognitive systems involved in a language users production of discourse (Nuyts 1994: 159). This involves the specification of the various stages
through which language production is assumed to pass on the way from an intention to
communicate, right through to the final form of the utterance: the use of selected aspects
of the Universe of Interpretation, in the process of textualisation, in order to formulate
a situational network, a conceptual structure which includes details of the State of Affairs
which the speaker wishes to communicate, organised into a turn structure with appropriate information distribution; the isolation of parts of the situational network which
can be packaged into single utterances; the construction, from each packet of information, of a predication consisting of predicates, their arguments and satellites; and finally
the expression of the predication in terms of morphosyntactic form and intonation patterns, and ultimately as actual sounds. Although Nuyts does provide detailed discussion
of his proposals, with supporting references to relevant literature, his suggestions remain
programmatic in a number of important respects. Firstly, he does not propose detailed
suggestions for how concepts and their formation might be modelled, believing that such
an attempt would be premature, given the state of current research on this issue. Secondly,
for much the same reasons, although Nuyts does mention relevant work in a variety of areas including psycholinguistics, Artificial Intelligence and discourse analysis, he does not
offer specific motivation, by means of reference to empirical work, for any of the particular
components and sequential stages of his model.
As we saw in 3.7.2 of Part 1, Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar also aims
to bring FG closer to work in the modelling of production and comprehension and
thereby to increase its claim to psychological adequacy. (Mackenzie 2000: 34)
The main feature of Incremental Functional Grammar which is claimed to contribute to

this goal is the modelling of the utterance as a temporal succession of units of human
activity (2000: 35), constituting subacts of reference, predication and discourse organisation within each discourse act. Mackenzie himself points to the links with Nuyts FPG
and with Bakkers proposal for an incremental, left-to-right model of the expression component of FG (Bakker 1999; Bakker & Siewierska, forthcoming). Yet again, however, in
the work of both Mackenzie and Bakker, we find only brief reference to a few relevant
pieces of work in psychology and psycholinguistics to back up the claims made. Mackenzie (2000: 36) refers to Gernsbachers (1990) work on the cognitive salience of initial position in the clause while discussing the function of the P1 position in utterances. Bakker
(1999: 17) makes passing reference, in a footnote, to work on speech errors; though it
should be said that in Bakker & Siewierskas (forthcoming) discussion of their speaker
model rather more reference is made to work on memory and processing.
An explicitly cognitive approach to the lexicon and its relationship with the rest of the
grammar is taken by Faber & Mairal Usn within the Functional Lexematic Model, as we
found in 3.5 of Part 1. In Faber & Mairal Usn (1999) we see a rather more sophisticated
awareness of the relevant literature on cognitive aspects of language and language use than
Chapter 6
is evident in other FG work. In a brief review of work in psychology and neurology concerned with the lexicon (1999: 1518, 204209), they cite studies on sentence processing,
language disorders, lexical memory and categorisation, in order to support their proposals for a hierarchically-based model of the lexicon. What they term the cognitive axis of
their model is based on the premise that linguistic organisation necessarily reflects conceptual organisation, so that the study of linguistic structures affords a valuable window
on the workings of the human mind, though they are careful to point out that a true
characterization of conceptualization is evidently not possible on the basis of only one
type of behavior (1999: 17), even though language provides the most extensive possibilities for such investigations. The apparatus of predicate schemas they propose owes much
to the image schemas of Lakoff (1987) and Johnson (1987), which are intended to represent the structuring of bodily experience which underlies the formation of concepts. Faber
& Mairal Usn do not, however, fully associate themselves with the theory of prototypes
which is supposed by work on image schemas, pointing to Barsalous (1992: 29) observation that prototype theory places no constraints on the abstraction process, allowing an
infinite number of properties to be extracted for any particular category. They are nevertheless in agreement with Millers (1998: 33) suggestion that typicality and hierarchy may
coexist, and hypothesise that mental models of fuzzy meaning may be associated with basic level categories. However, despite claiming that the schema is an abstract prototype
(1999: 211), they do not develop this dual line of thinking, even though they admit (p. 18)
that hierarchical organization is evidently not the whole story behind paradigmatic structure. This, I think, is a pity, since the borderlines between the lexemes they discuss are
certainly by no means clear cut. For instance, when does an act of guessing become one
of predicting, or one of reflecting become one of meditating on something (1999: 287)?
The definition of lexemes lower down a lexical hierarchy by adding qualifications to those
higher up tends to make lexemes seem more clear-cut than they actually are.
Finally, the latest version of the Functional Discourse Grammar model of Hengeveld
(forthcoming b) builds in a conceptual component which triggers the operation of the
grammatical component. FDG is, however, explicitly a model of linguistic pattern rather
than process, although Hengeveld suggests a dynamic implementation of the model in
which the levels of the grammar (interpersonal, representational and finally structural)
operate together, though with a short lag between one level and the next.
My conclusion is, then, that work in FG is now taking psychological adequacy much
more seriously than before, but that there is still a very long way to go before the proposals
made by Nuyts, Mackenzie, Bakker & Siewierska and Hengeveld can be considered to be
supported by the solid empirical evidence which, in my view, is essential if these suggestions are to be seen as more than just interesting hypotheses. A particularly weak point in
all the FG work, in my opinion, is the lack of attention it pays to prototypicality effects:
as we have seen, even the proposals of Faber & Mairal Usn, which do more than most
in taking account of the psychological literature, rather shy away from this area. Certainly
prototype theory, like any other, has its problems, but this should not make us neglect the
importance of fuzzy meaning for the way in which we use and manipulate language.
... Typological adequacy in FG

I pointed out in 3.1.3 of Part 1 that Diks commitment to the typological adequacy
of his theory shows none of the reserve which characterises his statements about pragmatic, discoursal and psychological adequacy. A very rough indication of this emphasis
can be gained from the fact that the index of TFG1 lists 71 languages and language families, that of TFG2 74. What is more, the spread of language types is very wide indeed. As
Siewierska observes:
Typology is one of the strong points of FG. The goal of typological adequacy has been
pursued persistently from the very beginnings of the theory. In fact all the developments within the grammar owe much to cross-language studies. (Siewierska 1991: 16)
In the chapter in TFG1 headed Some basic concepts of linguistic theory, in addition to a
discussion of functional notions, we find material on linguistic universals, hierarchies and
priorities, and markedness, all of which have a crucial part to play in work on language
typology. Dik (1997a: 2730) discusses unconditional and implicational universals of both
absolute and statistical kinds, as distinguished in Greenbergs work (Greenberg 1963). He
also comments on the importance of hierarchies (such as, for instance, those relating to
colour terms) in typological work:
Hierarchies [. . . ] epitomize in compact form the typological organization of a certain
subdomain of the language system. They are powerful tools for capturing the underlying crosslinguistic pattern, while at the same time providing a systematic specification of how languages may differ from each other in the relevant subdomain.
(Dik 1997a: 31)
He observes (1997a: 3134) that hierarchies permit us to predict properties of language

systems: which should be possible and which impossible, within a particular subdomain;
what the occurrence of one phenomenon predicts about that of other phenomena; possible and impossible systems of diachronic change; points at which native speakers are unsure of their linguistic judgments, and areas of likely dialectal change near cut-off points
on hierarchies; correlations with frequency of occurrence of items across languages and
within a language. A number of particular hierarchies are discussed at various points in
TFG1: those relating to person, animacy, gender, definiteness; those of semantic, syntactic and pragmatic function; also combined hierarchies of person/animacy and person/definiteness. Dik (1997a: 3940) also comments briefly on explanations for the existence of these hierarchies. Markedness (Dik 1997a: 4147), in the sense of a difference
in the extent to which a particular choice is expectable, is also seen as a useful concept
in typological work, and shifts in markedness as an important element in the diachronic
development of languages.
Despite the wide range of languages, from a wide variety of types, referred to in Diks
work, there is considerable unevenness in the distribution of references to data from specific languages among the various chapters of TFG1 and TFG2. Figure 6.1 (based on the
diagram in Butler 1999: 252) shows this distribution for TFG1, and was constructed from
the page references given for individual languages in the index. The figure shows that
59% of the references are in just two areas of the book: those dealing with Subject/Object
Chapter 6
Basic concepts
7%
Expression
38%
Predication, SoAs
14%
Terms and term
operators
12%
Predication to clause,
pragmatic function
8%
S/O assignment, SFH

21%
Figure 6.1. Distribution of references to all languages in TFG1
assignment and the Semantic Function Hierarchy (21%) and those concerned with the
expression component (38%).
If we look at the percentage of references to English, as compared with the total range
of languages (Figure 6.2, based on Butler 1999: 253), it becomes clear that in the chapters dealing with basic concepts and with the nuclear predication and States of Affairs,
almost half of the references are to English. Assuming that this reflects the current state of
knowledge in FG (a fair assumption for this particular area), it suggests that more work
may need to be done on States of Affairs in other languages, if this area of the theory is to
achieve a high degree of typological adequacy.
If we now turn to the distribution of references to particular languages in TFG2 (Figure 6.3, based on Butler 1999: 254), we see that 47% of the references are concentrated in
just three areas (verbal restrictors, embedded constructions and illocution), and that the
areas of anaphora, discourse, polarity, accessibility and extra-clausal constituents are par100%
90%
80%
70%
60%
50%
40%
30%
20%
10%
0%
% Non-English
% English
S/O
Basic Predication, Terms
Predication Expression
and term assignment, to clause,
concepts
SoAs
SFH
operators
pragmatic
function
Figure 6.2. Distribution of references to English and to other languages in TFG1
Extraclausal constituents
7%
Discourse
2%
Accessibility
5%
Structure/expression
discrepancies
8%
Predicate formation
11%
Verbal restrictors
18%
Focus constructions
10%
Illocution and interrogatives
14%
Embedded constructions
15%
Polarity
4%
Coordination
4%
Anaphora
2%
Figure 6.3. Distribution of references to all languages in TFG2
Discourse
Extraclausal
constituents
Accessibility
Structure/expression
discrepancies
Focus constructions
Illocution and
interrogatives
Anaphora
Coordination
Polarity
Embedded
constructions
Verbal restrictors
% Non-English
% English
Predicate formation
100%
90%
80%
70%
60%
50%
40%
30%
20%
10%
0%
Figure 6.4. Distribution of references to English and other languages in TFG2
ticularly poorly exemplified by reference to linguistic data. The proportions of language

references which are to English are shown in Figure 6.4, and show quite high proportions
of references to English for the sections on coordination and focus constructions.5 Again,
this might be taken to indicate a need for work on these areas across a broader range of
languages.
Work by FG linguists (see Rijkhoff et al. 1993; Rijkhoff & Bakker 1998) has elaborated
methods by which representative samples of the worlds languages can be assembled for
typological work, and guidelines given about minimum sample sizes. Such data has been
used as a testing ground for FG proposals. Siewierska (1996a, 1996b, 1997a) has stud. Figure 6.4 is a corrected version of the diagram in Butler (1999: 255), where an unfortunate error in data
processing led to erroneous figures which exaggerated the bias towards English.
Chapter 6
ied case and agreement marking, and also their relationship with word order typology,
in a sample of 237 languages, and a volume of papers (Siewierska 1997b) is devoted to
constituent order phenomena in 137 European languages.
.. Role and Reference Grammar

In assessing the extent to which Role and Reference Grammar attains the goals it sets for
itself, I shall start from the list of candidates given by Van Valin & LaPolla for what it is
that a linguistic theory should explain:
a.
b.
c.
d.
e.
f.
how speakers use language in different social situations;

why human languages have the structure that they do;
what is common to all human languages;
why human languages vary structurally the way they do;
how human languages change over time;
how speakers produce and understand language in real time;
g.
h.
the nature of native speakers knowledge of their language;

how children learn language. (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 34)
The authors go on to say (p. 15) that RRG is concerned with all of these except (a) and (e),
so assigning a low priority (for now, at least) to the study of language in relation to social
context and the diachronic study of language. Goal (b) is one which all functionalists
share; goals (c) and (d) are clearly connected with typological adequacy and universals;
(f) is essentially a criterion of psychological adequacy; (g) is also concerned with cognitive
matters, and leaves open the possibility of various types of knowledge related to language;
while (h) is concerned with learnability, or acquisitional adequacy. Note that there is
nothing in the above list which quite corresponds to Diks criterion of pragmatic adequacy
in terms of the theory fitting into a wider theory of verbal communication, and indeed
although Van Valin & LaPolla do quote Diks definition of pragmatic adequacy, they do
not explicitly associate themselves with it. Rather, for RRG, the issue here is the extent to
which pragmatic, as well as semantic, factors can be used to explain syntactic behaviour.
This, then, is where we shall begin.
... Explaining form in terms of function in RRG

As with the discussion of FG, I shall consider psychological/cognitive and typological adequacy in separate sections, concentrating on form/meaning correlations here. RRG has, in
my view, been very persuasive in its attempts to demonstrate how semantic and pragmatic
function can be seen as a partial motivation for linguistic form, while not explaining it
away completely. At numerous points in Van Valin & LaPollas (1997) account of RRG,
as also in various articles by Van Valin and others, syntactic behaviour is shown to be
predicted by the underlying semantics and discourse pragmatics. Notable examples, from
among many which could have been chosen, include reflection of operator scope in the
ordering of elements in the clause, the selection of Privileged Syntactic Argument status in
relation to a reinterpretation of the Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy (see 4.12 of Part 1), the
interaction of discourse pragmatics and syntax in the area of focus structure (see 2.3),
and the Interclausal Relations Hierarchy which predicts testable relationships between the
degree of semantic linkage between two clauses and their degree of syntactic integration
(see 3.3.5). The success of this programme of explanation is surely due, at least in part,
to the clear recognition of semantic, syntactic and lexical components of the overall RRG
model of language.
... Psychological/cognitive adequacy in RRG

Van Valin & LaPolla (1997: 14) accept Diks criterion of psychological adequacy as a goal
for RRG. They list three sets of questions which, they believe, are fundamental not only in
the cognitive sciences, but also in most current linguistic research:
Processing: What cognitive processes are involved when human beings produce and
understand language on line in real time? How specialized to language are these
processes?
Knowledge: What constitutes knowledge of language? How is it organized? How is
it represented? How is it employed in language processing? How does knowledge of
language relate to knowledge in other cognitive domains?
Acquisition: How do human beings come to have knowledge of language? What is the
nature of the acquisition process? Is coming to know language similar to or different
from acquiring knowledge in other cognitive domains? Does it involve knowledge
from other cognitive domains? (Van Valin & LaPolla 1997: 4)
Although the authors do not explicitly say that these are goals for RRG, they certainly
give the reader the impression that this is so. Yet there are very few references to language
processing in Van Valin & LaPollas detailed account of RRG, or indeed elsewhere in the
RRG literature. As we saw in 4.13.1 of Part 1, the different demands of production and
comprehension are cited as evidence for the need for separate linking algorithms going
from semantics to syntax and vice versa; reference is also made, though only in the further
reading section of a chapter, to work by Kemmerer (1996) which implements the linking
algorithms in a neurolinguistic model of language processing. This, though, is the extent of
the discussion. Issues related to knowledge of language fare little better: the only discussion
is part of a brief review of Chomskys position on language acquisition. On the other hand,
RRG achieves a much higher degree of sophistication and success in the area of language
acquisition. We saw in 5.2.2 that there has been a considerable amount of work on child
language, and that these studies have shown persuasively how the theoretical apparatus
of RRG can explain a range of facts about the acquisition of morphosyntax in a number
of languages of different types. Furthermore, phenomena such as extraction constraints,
widely believed to support the Chomskyan argument for innateness from the poverty of
the stimulus, are shown to be learnable from the input to the child, plus more general
cognitive properties.
Chapter 6
... Typological adequacy in RRG

As will be clear from our discussion throughout this volume and Part 1, a very high degree
of typological adequacy is achieved in RRG. As with FG, typological considerations were
built into the theory from its very inception: recall Van Valins comment that RRG arose
out of an attempt to answer the question
. . . what would linguistic theory look like if it were based on the analysis of Lakhota,
Tagalog and Dyirbal, rather than on the analysis of English? (Van Valin 1995: 461)
At all stages in Van Valin & LaPolla (1997), and in other works by RRG scholars, this orientation is very much in evidence, and is arguably the basis for some of the most striking
differences between RRG and other theories. For instance, the RRG treatment of grammatical relations, which involves the rejection of the category of Subject and the adoption
of a more general category of Privileged Syntactic Argument (see 4.12 of Part 1), arose
from detailed observation of a wide variety of languages, and languages which turn out
to be crucial for this part of the theory, such as Acehnese, are among the least familiar
and widely-studied. Similarly, the theory of complex sentences in RRG, involving the intersection of three types of juncture (clausal, core and nuclear) with three types of nexus
(coordination, cosubordination and subordination), arises from the analysis of data from
an impressive range of languages of differing types. There is, I hope, no need for further
exemplification here: the work of the RRG linguists stands as one of the best demonstrations of the need for linguists to free themselves from Indo-European preconceptions if
they are to formulate linguistic theories which are capable of addressing both the similarities and the differences across languages, so contributing to what most linguists would
regard as the major overarching goal of linguistics, the characterisation of what constitutes
a human language.
.. Systemic Functional Grammar

Assessment of the extent to which SFG achieves its goals is made somewhat difficult by
the fact that although there is plenty of discussion of the general orientation of the theory,
the specific goals must be often inferred from the practice. For instance, in the (admittedly very condensed) summary of systemic theory given in Halliday (1994b), we find
statements on the origins and development of the theory, the basic concepts with which
it works, the orientation towards language as social process, the prominence given to text,
influences from other theories, and possible future trends but no explicit discussion
of exactly what goals the theory is attempting to achieve. We can, however, find some
brief statements of aims, which were introduced in the sections of Part 1 dealing with the
underlying basis of SFG, so let us start by reminding ourselves of these.
The clearest statements of goals are concerned with two interrelated issues. Firstly, as
we saw in 5.1.5 of Part 1, Halliday has always set himself the goal of producing a grammar which is useful as a tool for those engaged in a range of applications of linguistics. He
observes (1994a: xxx) that SFG has been applied in text analysis, stylistics, computational
linguistics, developmental linguistics, the study of socialisation and educational applica-
tions, as well as the analysis of functional variation and the relationship between language
and the contexts of situation and culture areas which were reviewed in Chapter 5. Applicability is seen as particularly important because Halliday and his close colleagues take
the ideological line that linguistics should be a form of social action, capable of facilitating
intervention in social processes such as education.
Closely connected with the goal of applicability is that of producing a grammar
which can be used to describe texts. In his introduction to An Introduction to Functional
Grammar, he says:
The aim has been to construct a grammar for purposes of text analysis: one that would
make it possible to say sensible and useful things about any text, spoken or written, in
modern English. (Halliday 1994a: xv)
In his 1994 survey of SFG, he states:

. . . systemic theory gives prominence to discourse, or text; not or not only as
evidence for the system, but valued, rather, as constitutive of the culture.
(Halliday 1994b: 4506)
The emphasis on text, and the practice which arises from it, also makes it reasonable to
assume that an important goal of the theory is to account for the structure of texts, not
only at the clause or sentence level, but also in terms of phenomena which transcend these
limits. It is also clear that another major goal is to show how texts are related to their
contexts of production and reception, and beyond this to the culture, as implied by the
quotation given immediately above.
Finally, it is clear that, like other structural-functional approaches, SFG aims to
demonstrate the relationships between form and function in language. For consistency
with the discussion of other theories, this is where I shall begin.
... Explaining form in terms of function in SFG

Let us start by reminding ourselves of Hallidays statements on the relationship between
form and function, as given in 2.5.2 of Part 1:
The particular form taken by the grammatical system of language is closely related to
the social and personal needs that language is required to serve. (Halliday 1970: 142)
Language has evolved to satisfy human needs; and the way it is organized is functional
with respect to these needs it is not arbitrary. A functional grammar is essentially a
natural grammar, in the sense that everything in it can be explained, ultimately, by
reference to how language is used. (Halliday 1994a: xiii)
. . . both the general kinds of grammatical pattern that have evolved in language, and
the specific manifestations of each kind, bear a natural relation to the meanings they
have evolved to express. (Halliday 1994a: xviii)
The second of these quotations shows us that Halliday in fact takes a very strong line
on functional explanation: everything in the grammar is to be related, ultimately, to the
communicative functioning of language.
Chapter 6
What, then, are the functions of language which motivate the grammar so completely?
We have seen that Hallidays theory prioritises the social and cultural factors involved, taking this orientation from its antecedents in the work of Firth and Malinowski, at the expense of psychological aspects: indeed, recent work in SFG takes a very Whorfian position
on the relationship between language and cognition, interpreting the latter in terms of the
former (see 5.1.6 of Part 1).6 Crucial to this view of language is the concept of language
as social semiotic(see 5.1.1 of Part 1):
A social reality (or a culture) is itself an edifice of meanings a semiotic construct.
In this perspective, language is one of the semiotic systems that constitute a culture;
one that is distinctive in that it also serves as an encoding system for many (though
not all) of the others. (Halliday 1978a: 2)
As I remarked in 5.1.2 of Part 1, we could thus see the ultimate goal of SFG as being to
construct a theory of meaning as a semiotic construct, though with the proviso that since
form and meaning are two sides of the same coin, this stance also implies an account of
the forms which realise the meanings.
In a sense, then, the whole of Hallidays output, and that of like-minded systemicists,
could be seen as a contribution to the achievement of this major goal. It seems to me,
however, that this enterprise is seriously compromised by a problem which I have already
mentioned in relation to FG though its severity is, I think, greater in SFG: the lack, in
Hallidays work, of a truly formal level of representation. We saw in 5.6 of Part 1 that
Hallidays level of lexicogrammar is not purely syntactic, but heavily semanticised, in
accordance with the view that:
. . . there is no clear line between semantics and grammar, and a functional grammar
is one that is pushed in the direction of the semantics. (Halliday 1994a: xix)
As outlined in 6.2.1.2 of Part 1, the semanticisation of the grammar has given rise to
both criticism and defence: Huddleston, for example, believes that it leads to unwarranted
complications in the grammar, while Martin and Matthiessen contend that it facilitates a
richer interpretation of the semantics, and that this in turn gives a more effective interface
with the level of context. Crucial to the argument, I believe, is the observation of McGregor (1997: x) that Hallidays grammar simply does not take account of many of the complex syntactic phenomena which are the bread and butter of many other theories, such as
raising, control, agreement and island constraints, and that although some such problems
have had to be faced in computer implementations, the solutions proposed have not led to
fundamental reassessments. Basically, the grammar prioritises those areas which can most
plausibly be shown to be motivated by the underlying factors with which Hallidays work
is concerned, leaving aside phenomena which some approaches would deem to be purely
formal, but which other functional theories such as FG, and particularly RRG, with their
rather different angles on explanation, have been able to account for in functional terms.
Semanticising the lexicogrammar itself obviously makes it easier to motivate in terms of
. Fawcett (1993a: 628) reports that Halliday has said I stop at the skin.
semantic function: the real challenge is to explain syntactic behaviour which, at first sight,
appears to have no functional motivation.
A central but problematic area of Hallidays attempts to motivate form in terms of
function is his claim that the lexicogrammar is itself organised in terms of the three major
metafunctions, ideational (split into experiential and logical), interpersonal and textual.
We saw in 6.4 of Part 1 that the evidence for this proposal, from the organisation of system networks themselves, and from putative correlations with modes of expression and
with higher categories of contextual description, is fraught with difficulties, and that the
Cardiff version of SFG, operating with more explicitly articulated criteria, recognises no
fewer than eight different strands in the semantic networks which parallel the lexicogrammatical networks of the Sydney grammar. The concept of functionally different layers of
structure is a valuable one, and one which, as we have seen, has been adopted in FG. There
is, however, a crucial difference between Hallidays model of layering and that of FG: in
SFG the metafunctional strands of functional structure in the clause operate in parallel,
whereas in FG the representational and interpersonal levels of structure are in a scopal
relationship. Hallidays model provides no explanation, in terms of the functional layers
themselves, for the scoping phenomena investigated in FG and RRG.
Also problematic in the recent work of the Sydney group is the relationship between
the already semanticised lexicogrammar and the upper level of semantics now proposed
in accounts such as Matthiessen (1995a), Halliday (1996) and Halliday & Matthiessen
(1999). For instance, in 8.3.1.1 of Part 1 I raised the issue of the relationship between the
configurations of process, participants and circumstances which are said to form figures
at the semantic level, and the identically named elements of transitivity structure at the
lexicogrammatical level.
On a more general note, it is worth mentioning a point made by Hudson (1986: 799)
in his review of the first edition of An Introduction to Functional Grammar, namely that
the achievement of Hallidays aim, to explain in functional terms why English is as it is, is
made very difficult by the use of categories which are lacking in precision of definition, a
point which has come up at frequent intervals in our discussions. As more and more strata
are proposed in the overall theory, including not only the levels of phonology/graphology,
lexicogrammar and semantics, but also register, genre and ideology, the need for transparent and well-explained terminology becomes even more important than it was at the time
of Hudsons review, especially in view of the fact that systemic linguistics is an extravagant theory, not a parsimonious one (Halliday 1994a: xix). Yet in recent systemic work
we find a plethora of terms, often obscure to the non-systemicist, and frequently not sufficiently explained. As the kind of analysis undertaken by many systemicists would itself be
able to point out, this has the effect of aiding solidarity among linguists who work in this
framework, and mastery of the terminology can be seen as one aspect of the induction of
scholars into the theory; on the other hand, it acts as a barrier to outsiders, some of whom,
I am sure, are put off by what sometimes seems to go considerably beyond the need to coin
or adopt new terms for new concepts, a need which is common to all scientific endeavour.
We saw in 5.7 of Part 1 that the Cardiff grammar of Fawcett and his colleagues differs
crucially from the Sydney grammar in treating the networks of transitivity, mood, theme,
Chapter 6
etc. as semantic, and recognising a separate syntactic level, which has recently been described in detail in Fawcett (2000). Furthermore, the Cardiff grammarians have begun to
tackle certain syntactic phenomena, such as raising, which have been important areas of
debate in non-functional theories. This model of the relationship between syntactic and
semantic phenomena offers the potential for a much clearer programme of explanation of
how semantics motivates syntax. Unfortunately, although in my view the Cardiff model
represents a substantial improvement on the Sydney account, this opportunity for functional explanation still goes largely unexploited. Fawcett, in his introduction to the Cardiff
model of syntax for a systemic grammar, emphasises the importance of computational
implementation, and also of textual analysis, in testing the adequacy of the grammar:
. . . when a theory of language has demonstrated its value through its use in both the
large-scale analysis of texts and in a large-scale, principled computer implementation
for NLG [Natural Language Generation CSB] and NLU [Natural Language Understanding CSB], it has met three of the most demanding of all possible tests of a
theory. (Fawcett 2000: 5)
As we saw in 5.3.1, computational implementation is indeed extremely valuable in checking one aspect of the adequacy of a grammar, namely whether the rules encoded in the
computer program are actually capable of generating the required grammatical output, or
parsing input without misunderstanding. As such, generation and parsing projects have
an important role in providing feedback for the developer of the syntax and its associated
semantics, discourse component, planning procedures, and so on. In themselves, however,
such implementations do nothing to help us explain why the syntax of English is as it is,
let alone why human language is as it is.
... SFG and textual analysis

There can be no doubt that SFG has lived up to its claim to be a text-oriented theory of
language, in three senses: firstly, it has achieved a much wider coverage of English grammar than other approaches, this being especially true for the Cardiff grammar: secondly, it
has articulated subtheories of textual macrostructure and of the relationships between text
and context; thirdly, there has been a great deal of work on the analysis of texts of various
types using systemic frameworks, both at the lexicogrammatical and at the macrostructural levels. The first of these points needs no further discussion here, as it has been exemplified in detail throughout the present work. I do, however, want to say a little more
about the second and third points.
It is greatly to the credit of systemicists that they have developed detailed accounts of
text structure and its relationship with context: as will be apparent from the discussion
in Chapter 4, SFG is far in advance of FG in this area, and RRG so far has nothing to
offer beyond an essentially grammatical account of phenomena with cohesive importance,
such as anaphora and switch reference. Halliday & Hasans (1976) Cohesion in English
(see 4.4.2, 4.4.3), while susceptible to criticism on a number of fronts, was seminal and
led to later refinements as well as applications in textual studies. Martins expansion and
reworking of Hallidays concept of register, and of the parameters of field, tenor and mode
(4.4.4.2), has given us much more detailed contextual categories to work with in the
description of text/context relations. The accounts of generic structure by Martin and by
Hasan (4.4.4.3), though representing two different and in some ways incompatible views,
have taken us much further in the understanding of textual macrostructure, and it is to be
hoped that large scale empirical work will be done in order to clarify and help to resolve
some of the differences between the two approaches. Work on the ideological implications
of systemic choice in texts has contributed to the goal of using linguistics as a form of social
action, especially successful in the area of educational applications.
It is important to recognise, however, that descriptions derived on the basis of theoretical frameworks can only be as good as the theories on which they are based. This is
essentially the point made by Hudson in his review of the first edition of Hallidays An
Introduction to Functional Grammar, in relation to the goal of providing a grammatical
framework for text analysis:
Is there any point in applying a classification system unless one is reasonably confident
that it is in some sense right? (Hudson 1986: 801)
Clearly there is an assumption here which Halliday himself would resist, namely that it is
helpful, or even valid, to talk about right and wrong analyses: although some analyses
are self-evidently wrong if they are descriptively inadequate, Halliday has always been a
firm believer in the horses for courses view of linguistic theory and description. Hudson
surely has a point, though: for comparison of textual analyses to be legitimate, we need
to know not only that the categories on which the descriptions are based are identical
(and this, as we have seen, is problematic in a theory in which definitions are often imprecise and recognition criteria frequently not made sufficiently explicit), but also that the
theoretical considerations on which they are based can be shown to hold water.
The same kinds of criticism could be levelled at Hallidays characterisation of register
in terms of the values of field, tenor and mode: as we saw in 4.4.4.1, there are quite
serious problems of definition in this area. Fortunately, Martins (1992a) reinterpretation
and expansion of these parameters offers a rather clearer picture, though an ambitious and
well-structured programme of textual analysis on the basis of his model will be required
if it is to be tested adequately.
A criticism of a rather different kind has been made by Widdowson (1997), who
argues that although Hallidays grammars are highly revealing about the deployment of
meaning resources in texts, and so are useful text-based grammars, this is not the same
thing as being a grammar of text. In particular, Widdowson objects to Hallidays claim
that analysis of a text in terms of the grammar allows us to show how, and why, the text
means what it does (Halliday 1994a: xv). His main point is the following:
In normal circumstances of use, you do not read possible meanings off from a text;
you read plausible meanings into a text, prompted by the purpose and conditioned
by the context: in other words (my words) you derive a discourse from it and it is that
which realizes the text as text. (Widdowson 1997: 151, emphasis in original)
Chapter 6
Here, Widdowson is using the term discourse in the way defined in 4.1: [d]iscourse [. . . ]
is the process of conceptual formulation whereby we draw on our linguistic resources to
make sense of reality, and text is the linguistic product of a discourse process (Seidlhofer
& Widdowson 1999: 206). A grammar, then, cannot be at one and the same time a grammar of the system and a grammar of the text, as Halliday claims. The meaning, or significance, of a text is a pragmatic matter: for instance, interpreting a text involves selective attention to those aspects which seem to be particularly relevant contextually. Widdowsons
conclusion, then, is that
. . . contrary to the claims often made for it, systemic-functional grammar as
a grammar, cannot account for language use, and should not be expected to.
(Widdowson 1997: 166)
It would be interesting to know how Widdowson reacts to more recent work in systemic
linguistics than that represented by Hallidays An Introduction to Functional Grammar.
Certainly much of the work on genre, register and ideology summarised in 4.4, and particularly the emphasis placed by some systemicists on dynamic approaches to discourse,
is relevant to what Widdowson regards as the pragmatic aspects of the relationship between a text and the discourse we create for ourselves when we interact with the text. De
Beaugrande (1998: 92), indeed, in a somewhat scathing riposte to Widdowson, points out
that no distinction between semantic and pragmatic phenomena is drawn in SFG, and
contends that [b]oth understanding and context are omnipresent in every order of
linguistic analysis (p. 91, emphasis in original), so that such analysis is never subject
to the factors claimed by Widdowson to vitiate the use of a grammatical description to
understand the meaning of a text.
... The applicability of SFG

As shown in 5.3, systemic linguistics has proved to be highly applicable in areas as diverse
as computational linguistics, stylistics, educational linguistics, translation and clinical linguistics, and in this sense, could be said to have achieved in good measure one of its main
goals. Nevertheless, there are again some important issues here.
Firstly, the goal of applicability is closely connected to that of providing a theory on
which descriptions of the linguistic properties of texts can be based. This is particularly
clear in areas such as stylistics or the teaching of writing, but it is also relevant to the
computer-based generation or parsing of textual materials and even to the assessment
and remediation of language disorder, which includes dysfunction of text-forming and
text-understanding abilities. The validity of applications is thus highly dependent on that
of Systemic Functional linguistics as a theory of textual properties, and we saw in the
previous section that there are some important problems in this area.
Secondly, doubts can be cast on the goal of applicability itself, as a criterion of
the success of a linguistic theory. There is good reason to be suspicious of Hallidays
contention that
The test of a theory of language, in relation to any particular purpose, is: does it go?
Does it facilitate the task in hand? (Halliday 1994a: xxx)
Clearly, a theory which doesnt go, for some particular application, is at best inappropriate, at worst useless. But are we really to take seriously a claim that if a theory and the
descriptions derived from it are usable, then this means the theory has been vindicated?
It is surely quite possible for (aspects of) a theory to be useful, and yet capable of being
shown to be incorrect, incomplete or otherwise unsatisfactory. The traditional definition
of a noun as the name of a person, place or thing would no doubt allow analyses of
nominality in texts which would cast some light on those texts, but few linguists would
be content, in terms of linguistic theory, to limit themselves to such a definition. Unfortunately, though understandably, many end-users of SFG have neither the expertise nor
the interest to be able or willing to scrutinise the theoretical solidity of the approach they
adopt because it works for what they want to do. I share McGregors concerns when,
discussing what he perceives as the insularity of SFG, he writes:
. . . I find it worrying that links have been made more with applied linguistics and
educational theory than with linguistic theory not because I regard these disciplines
as inferior to theoretical linguistics, but rather because it seems to constitute a means
of escaping the need to repair the foundations. Given their goals, applied linguists and
education theorists are going to be more interested in how the theory can help them,
than in the details of its infrastructure. (McGregor 1997: xi)
Moreover, not all applied linguists are entirely happy to accept Hallidays criterion of usefulness as a measure of the validity of the systemic approach. Widdowson, in the same
article cited earlier in relation to the impossibility of using grammatical description to
discover the meaning of a text, says:
. . . you can make use of grammatical description, and therefore make it useful, but
use and usefulness cannot be intrinsic design features of the description, and cannot
be adduced as measures of its validity. (Widdowson 1997: 145)
Theoretical linguistics, he suggests (p. 166), must be at a remove from reality if it is

to remain theoretical: its job is to propose abstract systems which underlie reality, even
if it is motivated by external factors such as the predilections or ideological positions of
its practitioners. Ultimately, he believes, [w]hether a linguistic theory is useful or not
is not for linguists to decide (p. 166), but rather lies in the province of applied linguistics, a practical, interventional activity which he distinguishes sharply from linguistics applied: indeed, if the linguist does design a theory with particular applications in mind, the
theory will be less likely to have general validity. De Beaugrande (1998: 8889) considers
this position perverse, and indeed considers Systemic Functional linguistics to refute it,
through Hallidays demonstration of how bearing particular applications in mind guides,
supports, and justifies the development of the theory.7
. Indeed, de Beaugrande (1998: 88) claims that in Hallidays An Introduction to Functional Grammar, no
claims were lodged for validity anyway. Since the technique used in this critique is to use large amounts
of direct quotation linked by interpretive and critical comments, it could be the case that de Beaugrande is
saying that Halliday does not use the term validity: true, but if we combine the statements that [a] theory
Chapter 6
The point which underlies Widdowsons position is, I believe, a crucial one, though I
would want to phrase it somewhat differently and amplify its application: in fact, it takes
me to the subject matter of the next section, which will end by suggesting a way of increasing the likelihood that a linguistic theory will be applicable, without building application
to particular purposes into the design.
The limitations of individual theories

I have so far tried to limit myself to comments, those of others as well as my own, about FG,
RRG and SFG in relation to the criteria of adequacy which practitioners working within
these theories themselves set up for their grammars. Some would say that this is where
things should stop: surely, they would say, we cannot legitimately criticise a theory for not
doing something it was not set up to do? It is, of course, quite right that we should first
try to assess a theory on its own criteria and this, as I say, is what I have so far attempted
to do. In my view, however, we need to go beyond this, to look back at the basic goals of
the functionalist enterprise in general and see how they can best be fulfilled. I am not, of
course, suggesting that linguists should be forced, in some kind of academic gulag, to work
within theoretical approaches they find unsatisfying, unconvincing or even distasteful: individuals and research groups clearly have every right to work on whatever strikes them
as interesting. What I am saying is that I believe there is something that we can recognise as the functionalist enterprise in general, and that if we are to make progress with
this enterprise, we need a more global vision of our task than is evidenced by any of the
three theories with which the present work has been concerned, or indeed by any other
functionalist approach.
Some of the most interesting of mans artistic artefacts whether novels or symphonies are cyclic: a return to the initial ideas, now seen through the lens of the reader
or listeners experience of the work, often reveals new insights. Let us, then, go back to
the ideas I presented in the initial chapters of Part 1, regarding the characteristics of functional approaches to language. In the list of such characteristics given at the beginning
of Chapter 2, the first was an emphasis on language as a means of human communication in social and psychological contexts: it is surely not going too far to suggest that
all functionalists, of whatever persuasion, would agree that language is both a social and
an individual phenomenon, and that both sociocultural and biological (physiological and
psychological/cognitive) factors are involved in explaining why languages are as they are,
and how they came to be that way. Proponents of specific theories have particular angles
on this: for instance, Halliday stops at the skin, concentrating on sociocultural factors,
while Van Valin prefers to leave the influence of social context out of account, at least in
the present state of development of his theory; neither, though, denies the importance
is a means of action (Halliday 1994a: xxix) and that [t]he test of a theory of language, in relation to any
particular purpose, is: does it go? (1994a: xxx), then we surely have something that is very close to a claim
about validity.
of those aspects of functional motivation with which his theory is not greatly concerned.
Furthermore, different angles on language bring with them different ways of thinking and
working: I have emphasised, at various points in this book and Part 1, the need to take
the underlying aims of a theory into account when evaluating the methodologies of that
theory and the insights gained through it.
The important point here is that while the situation I have just outlined is perfectly
understandable and indeed completely justified from the point of view of the individuals
and groups involved in pushing forward these approaches it is also inherently dangerous.
And here is where we return to Widdowsons point, made in the context of applicability,
but equally valid within the wider context in which we are now operating. Widdowson
(1997), it will be remembered, claims that if a linguistic theory is designed from the beginning with particular applications in mind, this will influence the shape of the theory, so
making it, in fact, less applicable across the whole range of things one might want to do
with it, to use a Hallidayan turn of phrase. This is precisely the point I am making about
the functionalist enterprise. If we select, from among the different types of functional motivation, just those which we are most interested in, or which we, for whatever reasons,
personally consider the most important, then we run the very real danger of distortion: by
prioritising certain areas we may end up with a proposal which flies in the face of evidence
from other types of motivation. In other words, what I think we need to do is to formulate
a much more ambitious model of what language is like and how people use it, which takes
into account not just some, but all of the various types of phenomenon which have been
discussed under the heading of functional motivation.8 Such a model will clearly need to
go well beyond the traditional concerns of the grammarian, to embrace not only texts and
their contexts of production and reception, but also the cognitive structures and processes
through which we come to produce and understand language.
Note that if we succeed in the attempt to formulate a more comprehensive approach,
the chances are that what grows from our endeavours will give rise to descriptions which
are applicable to a range of purposes such as those listed by Halliday in An Introduction to
Functional Grammar: if our theory truly models what languages are and how we use them,
then it should be able to provide insightful descriptions of any linguistic product and
process we care to examine, because of, rather than despite, the fact that particular types
of applicability have not been built into the design. As I put it in an earlier publication:
. . . many (probably most) functionally-inclined linguists, myself included, would
want to claim that there is one purpose which must constitute the principal aim of
any theoretical endeavour in functional linguistics, namely to understand the nature
of language(s) as a means of communication between human beings, constrained by
. Halliday (1997: 19) has pointed out that because the linguistic system is at the same time physical, biological, social and semiotic, it can be viewed from many standpoints, and he states it seemed to me all the
more important, therefore, that a theory of language was itself comprehensive, in the specific sense of accommodating these different modes of being. Otherwise, the parts of the picture are unlikely to fit together.
As we have seen, however, the psychological part of the physical/biological side of language is not prominent
in systemic theorising.
Chapter 6
and responsive to the social, cognitive and other factors operative in language use. As
Halliday himself has said, we are trying to characterize human interaction (Halliday
1978a: 51). If we are anything like successful in this enterprise, our grammars should
indeed be applicable to particular types of study (of literature, or whatever) in which
language plays a crucial role, since we must, as I have argued, build in models of the
various situational and cognitive constraints and their relationships to the linguistic
system. But applicability cannot, in and of itself, be validly treated as a criterion of
adequacy: it is perfectly possible for aspects of a grammar to be useful, even where
they rest on dubious theoretical foundations. (Butler 1991: 65)
In the final section of this chapter, I shall attempt to sketch the criteria which a more
comprehensive approach would need to aim at.
Criteria for a more comprehensive model
.. Descriptive adequacy: The nature of the data

The issue of descriptive adequacy has been rather neglected in the functionalist literature.
We have seen that Dik proposes that any functional grammar should meet the standard of
descriptive adequacy proposed in Chomskyan accounts of language: in other words, such
a grammar must be able to give a complete and adequate account of the grammatical organization of connected discourse in that language (Dik 1997a: 12). Van Valin & LaPolla
(1997: 8) mention descriptive adequacy in giving a brief summary of Chomskys position,
but do not elaborate on this in the context of their own proposals, except to say that a
number of functional approaches, including RRG, would agree on explanation as the
highest goal, with description as a secondary but important goal (Van Valin & LaPolla
1997: 15).9 In what follows, I want to examine the concept of descriptive adequacy in a
little more detail.
The important question, it seems to me, is exactly what a functionalist theory should
aim to describe in other words, the nature of the data to be taken into account. The
underlying rationale of what I have called the functionalist enterprise, as I see it, is to understand how the forms of human linguistic communication are related to the functions
they serve in the exchange of meanings under conditions defined by the social and cognitive contexts of use, and by the structure of the ongoing interaction itself. If we accept
this basic aim, then it surely follows that in selecting the data on which our descriptions
are based we should give priority, whenever possible, to language as actually produced in
authentic, naturally occurring communicative situations, though this is by no means to
say that other forms of data should be ruled out. At the risk of tedious repetition, let us
again remind ourselves of Diks claim:
. Robert Van Valin (personal communication) has remarked that in fact RRG is committed to balancing
the demands of theory and description, so that it can be both a strong theory of UG [Universal Grammar
CSB] but also be flexible enough to capture what Sapir called the structural genius of each language.
The system underlying the construction of linguistic expressions is a functional system. From the very start, it must be studied within the framework of the rules,
principles, and strategies which govern its natural communicative use. (Dik 1997a: 6)
It is difficult to see how we can possibly achieve success in elucidating the principles and
strategies which govern the natural communicative use of language if we do not base
our work at least predominantly on samples of that natural communicative use. Fortunately, very large amounts of authentic linguistic productions are now available in the
form of computerised corpora which can be searched and manipulated by readily available
software tools.
The use of corpora, though increasingly widespread, has not been without its detractors, primarily though by no means exclusively among formalist linguists. A detailed
analysis of the objections which have been raised to corpus work, and of the responses
made to these objections, would take us well beyond the scope of the present discussion,
so I shall make only a few rather general remarks here.
One point which is frequently raised is that even large corpora are finite in size and
will not contain instances of all the constructions and lexical items of a language; furthermore, the type of linguistic creativity with which Chomskyan linguists are particularly
concerned is not one which could even theoretically be modelled only in terms of the phenomena found in a corpus. The other side of the coin, as McEnery & Wilson (1996: 12)
have pointed out, is that the lack of certain sentences or constructions in a corpus is itself
an interesting fact which demands an explanation. As is painfully brought home to the
learner of a foreign language, native speakers normally select, from the various grammatically impeccable ways of saying something, particular options which have developed as
idiomatic in that language.
A second criticism often levelled at the analysis of authentic data is that such material necessarily contains all kinds of performance errors, such as hesitations, changes of
structure and examples of what native speakers themselves would regard as mistakes if
asked to reflect on what they had said. But no corpus linguist feels it is his or her job to
account for everything in the data, warts and all; rather, the line taken is that all systematic
patterning should be accounted for, and that there is a great deal more of such patterning, often very complex and subtle in nature, than is recognised in approaches which do
not base themselves on authentic data. Furthermore, it has been shown, for instance by
Labov (1969), that the overwhelming majority of sentences in actual performance are in
fact grammatical. A further relevant point is that performance errors such as data from
slips of the tongue actually provide useful data for those linguists who want to make their
grammars sensitive to the mechanisms underlying the online production of utterances.
The corpus linguists prioritisation of authentic, performance data contrasts strongly
with the practice on which most linguistic theorising has been carried out, namely that of
introspective data gathering, often though not always by linguists themselves. Undeniably,
both methodologies have their strengths and weaknesses. McEnery & Wilson observe:
The great advantage of the rationalist approach is that by the use of introspection we
can gather the data we want, when we want, and also gather data which relates directly
Chapter 6
to the system under study, the mind. Chomsky had rightly stated that a theory based
on the observation of natural data could not make as strong a claim on either of these
points. (McEnery & Wilson 1996: 1112)
Furthermore, as Fillmore (1992: 38) observes, the very ability to judge that certain phenomena are absent from a corpus is based on the intuitive knowledge of the speaker. On
the other hand, as McEnery & Wilson go on to point out, the use of a corpus has the advantage that the observations made are observable and verifiable, unlike those resulting from
the use of introspection to retrieve the intuitions of the native speaker. As Fillmore puts it:
The most convincing part of the case for using a corpus was that it makes it possible
for linguists to get the facts right. (Fillmore 1992: 38)
Leech (1992: 113) likewise argues that a corpus methodology has the advantage that the
results are open to public verification and replication.
There is abundant evidence from the literature that intuitions and corpus studies
often present very different pictures of linguistic reality. For instance, it has frequently
been found that while introspection tends to retrieve the most concrete sense(s) of a given
word, corpora reveal that in many cases abstract, often metaphorical, usages are far more
common in usage (for an example, see Sinclair (1991a: 112) on the English word back).
McEnery & Wilson (1996: 12) point out that intuitions are very vague as regards the frequency of words or constructions; more generally, Stubbs (1993: 17) claims that intuition
is unreliable on matters concerned with statistical tendencies in lexical distribution. Indeed, a further area in which intuition is an unreliable guide to usage is that of collocation.
Sinclair comments as follows:
The need for corpus evidence arises because of the extent of the variation that occurs
in the realisation of lexical syntagmatic relations so much so that the mental retrieval
processes (called intuitions) of competent users of the language are quite inadequate
for identifying the underlying regularities. (Sinclair 1999: 6)
As Sinclair (1991b: 494) points out, if we ask an informant about the meaning of a word,
we are not likely to get an answer which takes account of the complex sets of choices which
determine the meanings of words in their co-texts and contexts of use. However, this does
not mean that there is no relationship at all between intuition and corpus evidence in these
areas. Patterns such as those of collocation are subliminal, so that when presented with
the evidence, we intuitively recognise the rightness of these patterns. There is, as Sinclair
(1991b: 494) says, a systematic correlation between the language patterns of which we
are normally aware, and those that are subliminal. Sinclair does not, then, rule out a
role for intuition in the study of language; rather, the patterns [. . . ] established on a
basis of recurrence are then evaluated against mental recognition processes (also called
intuitions) (Sinclair 1999: 6).
Observations such as these are given a plausible explanation in terms of the model
proposed by Wray (2002), in which the lexicon is able to contain both irregular and regular multiword strings, as well as polymorphemic words and single morphemes. Wray
(2002: 277) proposes that although, when we tap our intuitions regarding a particular
word, we have access to the whole lexicon, the processing effort involved in retrieving single words from within holistically stored formulaic strings ensures that we normally look
up the word only as a single unit entry, which will, of course, not reflect the whole range
of uses to which the word is put. This will bias the response towards concrete rather than
abstract, metaphorical meanings, and will play down those differences in meaning (e.g.
between small and little in English) which rely on the patterning of these items within
larger formulaic word strings.
Arguments such as those reviewed briefly earlier are set within a wider framework
in an illuminating paper by Chafe (1992b), in which linguistic methodologies are categorised along two dimensions. Firstly, we have the distinction discussed above, between
introspective data and that which is derived from the observation of overt behaviour of
some kind. Chafe points out that although behavioural observations have the advantage
of verifiability, they provide only indirect evidence for the underlying mental phenomena,
whereas introspection is an attempt to tap these phenomena more directly. Chafes second
distinction is between artificial manipulation and the observation of naturally occurring
phenomena. Artificial techniques have the advantage that we can isolate particular variables for study; furthermore, we do not have to wait for the phenomena under study to
occur naturally. On the other hand, the results of such studies may turn out to be uninteresting or even irrelevant. The advantage of naturalistic studies is their greater closeness
to reality, but as against this, we have to wait until an instance of what we are interested
in actually occurs, if indeed it does so at all. Chafe (1992b: 84) gives examples of the four
types of study entailed by his classification: experiments and elicitation techniques are behavioural and artificial, while judgments concerned with invented language examples are
introspective and artificial; corpus and ethnographic studies are behavioural and natural,
while daydreaming is cited as a technique for collecting natural data introspectively.
Chafes conclusions from his more extended discussion of these types of technique are
worth quoting at length:
It emerges from the discussion above that corpora have the following advantages and
disadvantages. Based on overt behaviour overt language they are available to whoever wants to examine them, and thus they satisfy the demand of verifiability. Whereas
behavioral data always suffer from the indirectness of their access to mental processes,
language is not nearly as problematic in this regard as is button-pressing. Language
does provide a complex and subtle, even if imperfect window to the mind. It is certainly the best single window available to us. Being natural rather than manipulated,
corpora are in that respect closer to reality. The dark side of naturalness is the inability to target particular phenomena without waiting for them to occur. As we have
noted, however, that drawback is mitigated by the fact that the frequent occurrence
or the non-occurrence of some phenomenon is in itself an interesting fact in need of
explanation. (Chafe 1992b: 88)
The accidental nature of corpora leads Chafe to conclude that their use needs to be
supplemented by other techniques:
Chapter 6
My principal message is that we should combine all available techniques of observation, keeping in mind the advantages and disadvantages of each, and that corpora
occupy a favored place among them. (Chafe 1992b: 88)
This is precisely the view I am taking in the present work.

The review in Chapter 2 of Part 1 and the more detailed consideration of FG, RRG and
SFG in Chapter 4 of the present volume have shown that functionalists have, to varying
degrees, accepted the need for the study of stretches of authentic text. We have seen that
SFG has always laid considerable emphasis on textual analysis. In the course of Parts 1 and
2 of this book I have also had occasion to mention a considerable amount of text-based
work in FG, not only by the Amsterdam classicists and scholars such as de Vries working
on hitherto undescribed languages, but also work on English (Mackenzie, Hannay, Keizer,
Nuyts, Verstraete, Gmez-Gonzlez, Butler and others), Dutch and German (Nuyts) and
Spanish (Olbertz, Butler). In RRG, given the strongly typological orientation of the theory,
the data used again inevitably reflect the collection of corpus materials on previously
undescribed (or at least under-described) languages, though rather little explicitly textual
work is to be found in the RRG literature.
In many text-based studies within structural-functional frameworks, particularly the
earlier ones, the amounts of material used have been fairly small. There is certainly a place
for the detailed study of individual texts, not only in stylistic terms, but also as a source of
information about textual organisation and the processes of production and reception. If,
however, we are to make the kinds of justifiable generalisations which are essential in formulating an overall model of the kind I have in mind, we need to exploit textual materials
on a much larger scale. There is evidence that some structural-functional linguists are now
turning to larger corpora which are intended to be representative of a range of varieties of
a language. It is, however, still fair to say that this is not yet the dominant methodology,
and that much remains to be done to ensure that authentic data are given pride of place
in structural-functional theories.
There are, of course, good reasons for healthy scepticism about going too far in our
commitment to the use of corpora. One probable reason for caution is perceptions about
the limitations of corpora themselves. Until very recently, there was a dearth of corpora of
spoken language, and although this problem has now been partly addressed, for English
at least, by the inclusion of spoken components within major corpora such as the Bank
of English and the British National Corpus, any analysis based on these materials soon
reveals that they are heavily skewed in the direction of educated, often academic, usage.
More generally, there are legitimate questions about the extent to which even large corpora are representative of a language as a whole, or even of particular varieties of the language (for discussions of representativeness in corpus design, see Atkins, Clear & Ostler
1992; Biber 1993a, 1993b). Even where a corpus can indeed be taken to be representative of some variety or set of varieties of a language, there are often deficiencies in the
information provided about the situations in which the language was produced and the
characteristics of the participants: see Berglund (1999) for comments on this aspect of the
spoken component of the British National Corpus which, despite its generally high level
of detailed contextual information, nevertheless does not mark up all text and speakers to
the same extent.
A problem which is particularly important for functional linguistics is that most of the
readily available corpora are of English, though currently considerable efforts are being
made to construct corpora for other languages. If we accept Hengeveld & Prez Quinteros
(2001) attractive suggestion that typological adequacy should be an important part of
descriptive adequacy (see 6.1.1.1) then it is clear that the achievement of descriptive adequacy requires us to base our descriptions on authentic materials from as wide a range of
languages as possible.
A further set of limitations is concerned not with the corpora themselves, but with the
computer-based methods which must be adopted if huge amounts of language are to be
analysed. Certainly, such methods are rapidly getting more sophisticated, but it remains
true that most readily available software is capable of performing only a fairly restricted
range of analyses, based on surface features of form: ultimately any computer-based analysis is dependent on the recognition of sequences of characters in an electronically encoded
representation of language, which means that the easiest operations are those involving
word forms and punctuation. The growing availability of corpora tagged with word class
categories, and even parsed corpora, is now making possible more sophisticated analyses
of some grammatical phenomena. Furthermore, corpora with semantic and discourselevel tagging are now being developed. It remains true, however, that many phenomena of
interest to the functional linguist are still outside the range of computational techniques.
For instance, in the study of discourse, although the contribution of discourse markers
of fixed form can readily be investigated through concordances of the forms concerned, a
fully automated study of Hallidayan Theme or (more difficult still) the category of Topic
would present grave difficulties.
A further problem is concerned with the nature of the units under investigation. Because computer-assisted analysis prioritises word forms, it is not surprising that the word
has been the unit under focus in many studies of this kind. Indeed, the contribution of
corpus linguistics to the production of a more adequate treatment of words in dictionaries has been spectacular (see e.g. Sinclair 1987). This orientation does, however, lead
naturally to a lexically-based approach, and this is no doubt seen by some as distorting the concept of a grammar. However, two further points are relevant here. Firstly, as
I noted in 3.5 of Part 1, there has been a movement, in recent years, towards a more
lexically-oriented view of language, in grammars occupying various positions on the formal/functional continuum (e.g. Lexical Functional Grammar, Hudsons Word Grammar,
the Functional Lexematic Model). Secondly, this shift does not entail the abandonment of
syntax, but rather the recognition that syntax and lexis are strongly interdependent aspects
of linguistic patterning.
Out of the word-oriented nature of corpus-based work, together with the timeconsuming nature of detailed concordance and collocational analysis, arises a further important issue: most corpus-based studies provide detailed descriptions of the behaviour
of individual words or groups of words, and it is difficult to see how these close-up snapshots of small areas fit into the larger picture of the lexicogrammar as a whole. Recently,
Chapter 6
some headway has been made in this area (see especially Hunston & Francis 2000); it
is nevertheless understandable that at this stage in the development of corpus linguistics, many linguists prefer to take a more global view than that which is evident in most
corpus-oriented work.
A further problem, for functionalists as well as for other linguists, is that the results
of corpus studies present very serious challenges which can strike at the very heart of traditional assumptions about language patterning and how we should describe it. This is
clearly highly uncomfortable for many linguists, as it requires a radical rethinking of the
ways in which we approach linguistic description and theorising. This sense of discomfort, compounded by the mechanical nature of the initial analysis by computer, and by
the sense of loss of control in the face of numbers of words running into the hundreds
of millions, is probably the most important factor holding functional linguists back from
using corpus analysis. For some functionalists, even full engagement with language in use
seems threatening: for instance, as we have seen, despite Diks rhetoric about natural communicative use, in practice he sanitises the grammar by separating it from an unspecified,
unresearched theory of verbal interaction.
The limitations of corpus-based analysis are real, and we need to be suitably cautious
about our interpretations; on the other hand, if we are to take seriously our commitment to the study of natural language in communicative use, we must take on board those
phenomena, revealed by corpus analysis, in which we can have some confidence. Space
precludes the development of this line of argument in detail here,10 so that I shall simply summarise here what in my view are the most important conclusions to emerge from
recent work on corpora.
Let us begin with a general point mentioned briefly earlier: corpus studies reveal time
and again the dangers of relying on our intuitions as a guide to the ways in which we actually use words and constructions, such as the complex but stable patterns of co-occurrence
(collocation and colligation)11 which it would be impossible to discern without the use
of computer-readable corpora. In particular, corpus studies, as well as work on first and
second language acquisition, aphasic language, and the processing and evolution of language, consistently demonstrate the quantitative and qualitative importance of multiword
sequences.12 As we saw briefly in 6.2.2.2 of Part 1, Sinclair has proposed that the hierarchical, word-combining view of language, in which the construction of a stretch of
language is seen in terms of open choice from the patterns sanctioned by the grammar, is,
. I hope, however, to develop some of these ideas in further work.
. The term colligation, as originally used by J. R. Firth, strictly refers to co-occurrence of grammatical categories (e.g. adjective + noun), but is now often used for co-occurrence relationships between grammatical
words (articles, pronouns, etc) and other grammatical or lexical words.
. For a review of this evidence and an assessment of its importance for Functional Grammar, see Butler
(1998a), and for work on multiword sequences in Spanish and its implications for FG, Butler (1997). A
sophisticated model of formulaic language is developed in the recent work of Wray (Wray 1999, 2000,
2002; Wray & Perkins 2000).
by itself, a rather poor model of language-in-use, requiring supplementation from a rather

different model based on the idiom principle:
The principle of idiom is that a language user has available to him or her a large
number of semi-preconstructed phrases that constitute single choices, even though
they might appear to be analysable into segments. (Sinclair 1991a: 110)
Note that Sinclair is not simply claiming that there are multiword items (idioms) which
are unanalysable in terms of the rules of the normal grammar and semantics, but that
even many of the grammatically regular sequences are, in fact, better treated as pre-formed
items which the language user can access without recourse to the open choice grammar.
Preliminary work suggests that the existence of multiword units is not necessarily incompatible with the kinds of grammar proposed in, for example, FG and RRG. In my own
work on Spanish (Butler 1997), I found that the overwhelming majority of the frequently
repeated sequences in the corpora used had a grammatical item as their first word, usually
an article, preposition or pronoun, so that it appears that the idiom principle, to the extent
that it is reflected in the frequency of sequences, may apply largely within the domain of
nominal structures. A working hypothesis might be, then, that what we need to do is enrich our model of nominals to build in, in some as yet unclear way, a component based on
the idiom principle. Further work, however, may well demonstrate that this is too simple
a picture, and if so, then we must try to find a way of reconciling the idiom principle with
the constituency analyses which appear to be needed in order to give a convincing account
of typological similarities and differences across languages. An awareness of this problem
is evident in recent approaches to FG which attempt to build in processing considerations,
such as Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar. Highly relevant to the resolution
of these difficulties will be the work of Wray mentioned earlier: in her model (see Wray
2002) parallel and interactive processing is proposed for units conforming to the idiom
principle and those generated, during processing, through the grammar itself. It is also
worth noting that multiword units also fit naturally into the approach to language taken
in Construction Grammar.
A second important point revealed by corpus linguistics is that although dictionaries normally deal with lexical phenomena in terms of a set of lexical items or lexemes,
some of which are able to take a number of grammatical forms, corpus evidence strongly
suggests that the individual grammatical forms of lexemes tend to have their own cooccurrence profiles, which overlap only partially with those of other forms of the same
lexeme (see e.g. Sinclair 1985: 91 on forms of decline; Sinclair 1992: 13 on move; Stubbs
1996: 172173 on educate).
Thirdly, the patterning shown by particular words or sets of words is often strongly
dependent on the variety of language concerned. For instance, in Butler (1998b: 187) I
demonstrate that the imperative form of the verb consider is much more frequent in
academic written English than in other registers.
Chapter 6
.. Explanatory adequacy
If our aim is to go beyond descriptive adequacy, to formulate a theory which is capable of
explaining why the language we describe is as it is, there are several types of criterion we
need to take into account.
... Discoursal adequacy

If we are to take, as our primary data, records of the language use in which people actually
engage and of the contexts in which this occurs, then we must recognise from the start
that we are concerned with very much more than just the description of sentences and
the processes by which they are constructed and understood. In other words, the model
must take seriously the requirement that language and language use be described and
accounted for at all levels of organisation, from the organisation of sounds and written
marks right through to that of whole discourses. Furthermore, we must recognise that, as
Clark (1994: 986) reminds us, a discourse is not just a stretch of text larger than a sentence,
to be described in purely structural terms, but a joint activity carried out by an ensemble
of two or more people trying to accomplish things together. The criterion which I shall
call discoursal adequacy is thus not simply a descriptive one: as well as extending our
descriptions to include the structure and functioning of discourse, a fully adequate theory
must demonstrate how the properties of language are conditioned by the fact that it is the
vehicle for joint activities in which participants in interaction negotiate meanings.
In Chapter 4 I reviewed the approaches, within the structural-functional theories under focus, to the modelling of discourse and its realisation in text, of which several (especially those within the overall framework of FG) are very much in their infancy. It is far too
early to know which approaches, if any, are likely to lead to models which prove capable of
responding to the criteria of adequacy suggested here. Certainly there will be a need to take
account of work already done within a variety of approaches, within and outside the area
of functional grammars. Van Dijk (1997b: 2) has observed that there are three principal dimensions of discourse, all of which should be represented in our model: firstly, discourse
is language in use; secondly, it involves the cognitive activities of participants; and thirdly,
it is a form of interaction in social contexts. The following list of desiderata owes much to
van Dijks (1997b: 2931) own statement of the principles of discourse study.
The study of discourse must, as I said earlier, deal with authentic, naturally-occurring
data.
It must recognise the inherently dynamic nature of discourse.
It must identify and describe the formal units into which texts can be divided, taking
account of the predominantly linear, sequential nature of discourse, and recognising
hierarchies of units where appropriate. For instance, we saw in Chapter 4 that the
Sinclair & Coulthard rank scale has been appropriated for spoken discourse by several
FG-based accounts.
It must describe the functional, semantic relationships between the units, as does, for
example, Rhetorical Structure Theory, not only popular with systemicists, but also
mentioned in Diks work.13
It must account for discourse as rule-governed activity, governed by socially constituted norms, while at the same time recognising that discourse rules may be broken,
passed over or altered for particular purposes.
It must account for the mechanisms by which coherence is achieved in texts.
It must be capable of describing texts of any mode (spoken, written, written to be
spoken, etc.).
It must be capable of dealing with variations in text structure in different genres
and not only those familiar in Western cultures. Here, the work of Hasan, Martin and
others within a systemic framework would be important, though much other work in
discourse analysis would also be highly relevant.
It must take into account the fact that participants in discourse are not acting solely as
individuals, but also as members of particular social and cultural groupings. This
aspect of discourse is, as we have seen, particularly highly developed in Systemic
Functional linguistics.
It must give an account of the cognitive structures and representations involved
when we engage in discourse.14 This takes us into the area of psychological/cognitive
adequacy, discussed in 6.3.2.3.
It is, then, within such an encompassing theory of discourse as text in context that any
submodel of semantic, syntactic and lexical units and relations must be developed.
... Sociocultural adequacy

The model must also take fully on board the fact that discourses are not produced in
a vacuum, but in contexts which both shape and are shaped by the ongoing interaction.
These contexts are of two basic kinds. Firstly, we have the context provided by the discourse
itself up to any particular point; that part of this context which is present in the physical
record of the discourse activity we may call the co-text. A specification of the co-text could
be seen as part of the discoursal adequacy outlined above. But secondly, every discourse,
and every constituent part of such a discourse, takes place within a complex environment
of social and cultural knowledge and assumptions, which we may call the sociocultural
context. Our model must contain a sub-model of this context and of its relationship with
the structures and processes at all levels of the discourse, in order to fulfil the criterion
which I shall refer to as sociocultural adequacy.
Again, it is still far from clear how the sociocultural context should be modelled,
though certainly the work done by Systemic Functional linguists, reviewed in Chapter
4, should not be ignored here. It is essential to bear in mind, however, that sociocultural
. It should be noted, however, that RST is very much biased towards written language, and that any
adequate model of discourse must also provide an account of spoken interaction.
. For a survey of cognitive models of discourse, see Graesser, Gernsbacher & Goldman (1997).
Chapter 6
constraints are mediated through the experience and activities of individual minds, so
that what we should be concerned with is not some putative external sociocultural reality, but rather the conceptual representations which participants in interaction construct
for themselves. This leads us, then, to a further criterion of adequacy, discussed in the
following section.
... Psychological/cognitive adequacy

Our theory must contain a model of the cognitive structures and processes involved in
the storage, production and understanding of language, and these structures and processes will be concerned with representations of everything we need in order to engage
in discourse, including sociocultural factors. I shall use the term psychological/cognitive
adequacy for this criterion. It should now be clear that the process-oriented component of
the model must go far beyond the dynamic perspective proposed by systemic linguists to
complement the synoptic treatment focused on the linguistic product: we are concerned
not only with the staging or sequencing of discourse, and the alternative pathways available to interactants, but also with the processes which are involved in language use, and
the cognitive structures which such processes make use of.
For instance, our model of discourse coherence must be essentially a mental one, involving pragmatic inferencing devices as well as the overt grammatical and lexical mechanisms studied by systemicists under the label of cohesion. There must be a mental representation of communicative intentions, at various levels, corresponding to the hierarchy
of discourse units: a whole conversation or speech may respond to a particular overall
intention, and the parts of it, right down to the individual utterance (and maybe even
beyond, as in the sub-acts of Mackenzies Incremental Functional Grammar), will also be
designed in relation to more specific intentions. Furthermore, each speaker/hearer will
have a model of the communicative intentions, both past and projected, of the other participants. Participants must also have a cognitive model of the context of situation for the
interaction: the properties (geographical and social provenance, age, sex, attitudes, etc.) of
the other participants; an assessment of their knowledge in relation to the concerns of the
interaction; the setting; and the registral properties of the interaction at that point (field,
tenor and mode, to use the systemic terminology). Clearly, there must also be a model of
the co-text: what concepts have already been introduced, what point in the structure of
discourse has been reached, what further developments are expected.
The cognitive area is one in which I believe functional theories of linguistics are currently rather weak. Part of the problem here is the term cognitive, which has become fashionable in recent years, and has, of course, given rise to a whole complex of approaches
to language which go under the general title of cognitive linguistics. It seems to me that
although such approaches have provided extremely valuable insights into language and
its use,15 especially in areas such as metaphor and metonymy, their interpretation of the
term cognitive is rather different from, or at least more restricted than, that intended
. Construction Grammar (see e.g. Goldberg 1995, 1996, 1999; Fillmore 1988; Fillmore & Kay, forthcoming; Croft 2001) is perhaps the model which would be most attractive to many structural-functional lin-
here. Cognitive linguistics pays considerable attention to one aspect of cognition the importance of human categorisation but generally stops short of engagement with many
other aspects of cognitive psychology, and tends not to formulate its claims in ways which
leave them open to empirical falsification, and still less to an investigation of the underlying processing mechanisms involved.16 Indeed, as Nuyts (2001: 1619) has pointed out,
Langacker (1987: 239240) explicitly rejects a process view of the grammar, arguing for a
difference between a processing perspective, on the one hand, and a phenomenological
perspective in terms of the experience constituted by language processing, on the other.
According to Langacker, the former is the province of the neuroscientist and only the latter
the concern of the linguist.
The position taken here is that we need to take account of work in a whole range of
approaches to language and its use: not only the work of linguists but also that of psychologists, neuroscientists and others working on processing mechanisms. One caveat is, however, in order at this point. As has been pointed out for example by Nuyts (1992: 1415),
we need to be careful about interpreting the results of experimental studies. As I pointed
out earlier in relation to the discussion in Chafe (1992b), the very nature and purpose of
experimental work involves the isolation of a small number of variables for study in such
investigations, other sources of variation being kept to a minimum. The conditions under
which such studies are made thus tend to be somewhat artificial, and it is not always obvious that the results can be extrapolated to the more normal processing conditions of
everyday interaction. Furthermore, not all aspects of processing are readily amenable to
experimental study. Nevertheless, it seems to me that the isolation of particular variables
for study is an important preliminary step in the investigation of complex phenomena and
that empirical studies can be of considerable usefulness provided that their limitations are
taken into account. It is clearly important, in a later stage of the work, to go beyond the initial phase, looking at the interactions of previously studied factors and, wherever possible,
studying the various factors and their interplay in a more naturalistic setting.
... Acquisitional adequacy

We must also model the structures and processes involved in language acquisition, explaining why acquisition proceeds as it does. This criterion of acquisitional adequacy will
guists, and there has indeed been some cross-fertilisation between this model and the Functional Lexematic
Model (see e.g. Martn Arista 1999; Faber & Mairal Usn 1999: 2235).
. See also Croft (1998: 152), who claims that cognitive linguists are sometimes debating positions that
are unresolvable with the introspective data that they are discussing, and goes on to suggest that such data
needs to be supplemented by reference to other sources, including corpora and psycholinguistic experimentation. Note, however, that there is one honourable exception to this generalisation: certain scholars
working in the Construction Grammar framework have indeed used empirical techniques in their studies (see e.g. Bencini & Goldberg 2000, who asked informants to sort sentences according to meaning and
showed that the informants were more likely to sort by constructions than by the morphological form of the
verb). Goldberg (1996: 69) also makes a commitment to the use of attested data (from corpora and other
records of discourse) in Construction Grammar. I am grateful to Francisco Gonzlvez Garca for making me
aware of this work.
Chapter 6
involve all the other criteria mentioned above: we must account not only for how the child
arrives at the rules and principles which govern the expression of meaning in lexis, morphosyntax and intonation, but also for how s/he learns to engage in discourse; we must
show how sociocultural factors affect, and are affected by, the structures and processes of
the childs language, but also how they impact on the process of acquisition itself; and
we must model the cognitive structures and processes involved in the childs developing
language and the effect of cognitive constraints on the course of acquisition.
... A note on other possible criteria of adequacy

The criteria of adequacy reviewed above are, of course, familiar from previous discussions
(although they have been made rather more demanding here than in many previous accounts), and are closely related to the characteristics of functional approaches discussed
in Chapters 1 and 2 of Part 1. Note, though, that I have not used the term pragmatic adequacy, because it seems to me that this concept, as introduced by Dik, is multifaceted:
the pragmatic knowledge of the interlocutors in an interaction involves knowledge of the
sociocultural and discoursal contexts, and this knowledge is itself clearly bound up with
the cognitive states of the speakers.
Before we leave the question of criteria of adequacy, it is worth mentioning a possible
further criterion which we might call computational adequacy, namely that each level and
dimension of a model should be worked out to a degree of precision where it is possible
to simulate it computationally. We have seen that many aspects of both the Sydney and
Cardiff versions of SFG have been tested in large computer-based systems, and that the
information so obtained has fed back into the models themselves; in FG, too, there has
been work on computational implementation, while RRG has not so far been tested in
this way. A note of caution is needed here, however: computer simulation is useful in
order to test whether the rules and principles we propose in a given model actually do
generate the structures we claim they generate, or provide correct parses, but as noted in
6.1.3.1, it is not in itself explanatory: there is no guarantee whatever that a model which
passes such tests bears any relation to what actually goes on during linguistic processing. I
would therefore see computational adequacy as on a different level from, and very much
subsidiary to, the other types.
.
Towards an integrated model

One fact is immediately obvious: if we are to move towards an account which will do
justice to all the criteria of adequacy proposed above, a very considerable research programme will be needed. Furthermore, this programme will have to be based on work in
a wide range of areas, including (at least) the following: sociolinguistics and pragmatics;
psychology, pscyholinguistics and neurolinguistics;17 child language studies; studies of the
linguistic and sociocultural systems of languages belonging to as many different typolog-
. We need to bear in mind again here the caveat given in 6.3.2.3 about the limitations, as well as the
usefulness, of experimental work in psychology, psycholinguistics and neurolinguistics.
ical groups as possible. It will therefore require the collaboration of scholars with widely
varying types of expertise, in an effort to overcome the parochialism of much linguistic
theorising. If we needed to start absolutely from scratch, the programme I am suggesting
would perhaps be so ambitious as to be unworkable. We do not, however, need to wait until all the appropriate data is available: this is simply not how science works. There is a lot
that we can achieve on the basis of work that has already been done, though we shall need
to interpret such work carefully, bearing in mind differences in the goals, assumptions and
criteria which underlie the work.
This is clearly not the place to launch into a detailed discussion of what our new model
might look like: that must be left for future publications. All I can do here is indicate,
briefly and without full justification, some of the implications of our criteria of adequacy
for the shape of the model. I shall concentrate largely on matters relating to psychological/cognitive adequacy, since, as I have already said, I believe this to be the weakest area
of present-day structural-functional theories, though efforts are being made, especially
within FG, to remedy these deficiencies.
.. Language and conceptualisation

One very large and important area for consideration will be that of conceptualisation and
its relationship with the grammar, as broadly conceived. We have seen that the work of
Nuyts has already provided abundant evidence for the need for a prelinguistic conceptual
level of organisation: further discussion can be found in Pederson & Nuyts (1997) and the
discussion of linguistic categories and non-linguistic thinking by Levinson (1997).
As noted by Pederson & Nuyts (1997), there is very little in the way of a consensus
about how conceptual organisation should be represented, or even about exactly what
concepts are. These authors characterise the differences of approach in terms of two
main parameters: the format of conceptual representation (basically, propositional (i.e.
predicate-argument), image-based or some combination of the two), and the issue of universality versus variability across cultures and even individuals. According to Pederson &
Nuyts, the existence of yet further, more minor differentiating factors leads to a situation
in which we have a large range of positions, many of which are somewhat vaguely articulated, and for or against which it is difficult to find conclusive arguments or evidence, in
view of the difficulties inherent in the study of human conceptualisation.
One particular problem is that because language actually encodes conceptual information, it has something of a privileged status as a source of information about conceptualisation, as compared with other types of behaviour (e.g. making something, playing
a game, or following a particular route) which do not themselves encode the conceptual
information on which they are based. It is thus not surprising that research on language
has informed most major theories of conceptualisation and even so, no basic consensus has been reached. As Pederson & Nuyts note, the positions taken range from the view
that thinking actually happens in language, to the claim that language and thinking are
quite separate, being linked only by mapping relations of an arbitrary nature. Intermediate
positions are, of course, frequently attested.
Chapter 6
Pederson & Nuyts make the point that, unsurprisingly, those models which bring conceptualisation closest to language (i.e. basically the propositional approaches) have generally reached a higher level of sophistication in the modelling of the relationship between
concepts and language than have other types of model. As the authors observe, however,
in order to understand conceptualisation in depth, it will be necessary to study data from
various types of behavioural system.
One solution to the problem of integrating information from different behavioural
modalities into a single representation system for conceptual organisation is to translate
imagistic representations into a propositional form through the use of spatial predicates,
as in the work of Kosslyn (1980). This is also the approach taken by Kintsch in his influential model of discourse comprehension (see e.g. Kintsch 1998: 4447), though it is
recognised that such a model introduces a linguistic bias, which must be compensated for
by trying to ensure that relationships which are particularly important in perception and
action are captured as far as possible.
Nuyts himself gives very little detail on how he sees the structure of the conceptual
database, within his Functional Procedural Grammar model. He does, as we have seen,
reject a view of conceptual organisation which collapses it with the underlying linguistic
organisation of sentences, but this need not rule out a basically propositional type of organisation, with conceptual predicates and arguments, for the concepts integrated into
the situational network in his model, provided that we make a clear separation between
the underlying concepts and their linguistic realisation. It is clear that what, following
Halliday, we might call the ideational part of the knowledge base will have to contain concepts relating to the following, together with a specification of the relationships among
the concepts:
physical entities in the real world and in possible fictional worlds, animate, inanimate
and abstract;
properties of entities;
actions, events and states;
properties of such actions, events and states, including the roles associated with them.
Such complex networks of concepts are often referred to as ontologies, and are frequently
discussed in relation to the systems for natural language processing proposed by computational linguists. A good example of such a computationally-oriented ontology is that
constructed by members of the Computing Research Laboratory at New Mexico State
University as part of the Mikrokosmos Knowledge Based Machine Translation system
(Beale, Nirenburg & Mahesh 1995; Mahesh 1996; Mahesh & Nirenburg 1995a, 1995b;
Nirenburg & Raskin, forthcoming; see also Moreno Ortiz & Prez Hernndez (2002), who
re-examine the proposals in Mairal Usn & Faber (2002) from the viewpoint of ontological semantics, taking the Mikrokosmos ontology as a basis). In terms of the format of
conceptualisation, such an ontology initially appears attractive as a way of representing
the conceptual structures underlying a model such as that being proposed here. In terms
of the content or substance of conceptualisation, however, there are some important prob-
lems, arising from the very different aims and assumptions of computational ontologists
and linguistic theorists.
Firstly, ontologies as used in AI are to some degree task-dependent: the Mikrokosmos
ontology specifically excludes certain kinds of knowledge because they are not deemed
necessary for the machine translation context in which the ontology operates (Mahesh
1996: 41). On the other hand, an ontology which formed the knowledge component
of a comprehensive linguistic model could not be restricted in this way. Secondly, the
Mikrokosmos system is not seen as modelling what language users actually do, but is
rather intended to achieve comparable performance. Thirdly, computational models of
knowledge, constructed as ontologies of concepts and their properties and relationships,
frequently make the assumption of language-independence: indeed, this assumption is
crucial for the use of such ontologies in systems for machine translation, where the
database of concepts, properties and relations acts as an interlingua. However, as recognised by ontologists themselves (see e.g. Moreno Ortiz 1997: 16216318), the sociocultural
world in which a person lives does have an effect on the reality which is to be modelled,
and also on how that person categorises that reality; furthermore, it is likely that the categories permitted or imposed by the language we speak also facilitate certain ways of categorising and inhibit others, even if many of us would not wish to go the whole Whorfian
hog on this. In particular, any model which builds in factors related to the social context
of interaction must take account of differences between societies and their cultures in the
groups of concepts which are prioritised to use systemic terminology, the fields, tenors
and modes of interaction which characterise recurrent social contexts.
Our model of the knowledge base must, then, strike a delicate balance. On the one
hand, it must be general enough to allow for the practical possibility of translation, though
with varying degrees of difficulty, between languages, even when speakers of those languages have very different sociocultural as well as linguistic backgrounds. On the other
hand, it must reflect the differences in conceptual organisation which inevitably arise from
these differences in background. One approach to this problem which might be worth following up is that of Wierzbicka (see e.g. Wierzbicka 1988, 1991, 1992, 1996, 1997, 1999;
Goddard & Wierzbicka 1994, 1997, 2002), which seeks to discover a small set of conceptual primitives, in terms of which the meanings of both lexemes and grammatical constructions in all languages can be described, and which link to lexical items in any given
language which are themselves indefinable, and can be used to characterise all other words
in the lexicon of that language. This aspect of Wierzbickas work is indeed particularly relevant to the enterprise we are engaged in here, since it is her contention that the rigorous
use of a set of conceptual primitives can help us not only to discover what the meanings
embodied in the worlds languages have in common, but also the ways in which different
languages prioritise particular kinds of meaning.
It is important to note that the putative decomposability of meaning in terms of universal atomic concepts does not mean that when we are producing and understanding
. The page reference given here is to the version of the thesis available (in Spanish) on the internet at
http://elies.rediris.es/elies9/
Chapter 6
language we have to actually perform such decomposability operations all the time. As
Levinson (1997: 27) notes, and has been amply demonstrated in the work of Wray referred to earlier, there is good evidence from the psychology of chunking information
that we overcome the limitations of our working memory by packaging information into
complex bundles which are systematically reusable. It is likely, then, that much of our
thinking and inferencing manipulates a system of what Levinson calls molar rather than
atomic concepts. As Levinson reminds us, the combination of atomic into molar concepts
is a culture-specific process, so that it seems we cannot totally escape from the pervasive
influence of our native language and its cultural background.
The above discussion has focused on concepts of an ideational, representational nature. The knowledge base must, of course, also contain information relating to interpersonal meanings such as those concerned with speech acts, modalities and the like. There
appears to be much less discussion of how interpersonal concepts can be represented:19
this would seem to be an important area for future work. It is also important to note that
knowledge about language itself, in terms of (tacit) knowledge of text structures, semantic and formal patterning in the grammar and lexicon, sound patterning, etc., must also
be represented in the knowledge base so that it can be called upon in the processing of
discourse. In other words, metalinguistic concepts must form part of the knowledge base.
Finally, it is worth pointing out that the distinctions made in the ontological component of our model should, like the rest of the model, be based on the extensive analysis
of authentic language in a range of languages, and not purely or even primarily on the
intuitions of native speakers.
It is interesting to note that in their recent proposal to combine the onomasiological
hierarchies of the Functional Lexematic Model with the logical structure representation
of RRG (see 6.2.2.3 of Part 1), Mairal Usn & Faber (2002) propose to link the logical structures to an ontology. In an analysis of manner-of-cutting verbs, they make the
following proposal:
. . . a more lexical-conceptual representation is necessary in order to distinguish between verbs within the same lexical class. A first step to specifying such a representation would be anchoring each lexical template to a well-designed conceptual ontology by means of which word senses would be related to each other on the basis of an
underlying model of the world. (Mairal Usn & Faber 2002: 68)
Mairal Usn & Faber go on to show how the semantic representations can be linked to the
Mikrokosmos ontology.
Here, somewhat unsatisfactorily, we must leave the vexed area of conceptual representations and their relationship with semantic representations, an area in which further work
is urgently needed. Before we finally take our leave, however, one further positive characteristic of an encyclopaedic knowledge base such as that encapsulated in the Mikrokosmos
ontology is worth stressing. The basis of an ontology is a paradigmatic classification: in. As we have seen, the work of Nuyts on modality in relation to issues of conceptualisation is an important
exception to this generalisation (see especially Nuyts 2001).
deed, it would be very easy to re-express an ontology such as Mikrokosmos in the form of
a system network. I argued in 6.3 and 8.4.5 of Part 1 that considerable advantages are to
be gained by having a paradigmatic base for the grammar. I also hinted at the solution advocated here, namely that this base might be seen as conceptual rather than as belonging
to the grammar itself.
.. Modelling the grammar

... The components of the grammar
The requirement of psychological/cognitive adequacy has particularly important implications for the modelling of the lexicogrammar itself. Although work on the processes
involved in the production and comprehension of spoken and written language still has
a very long way to go before we have a clear, consistent picture, enough information is
available to allow us to make intelligent guesses at how a cognitively adequate grammar
should be organised.20
Firstly, if we accept the arguments in favour of separate conceptual and semantic representations, then our model must have a semantic level, which will need to account for
the semantics of predicates and their arguments, and of satellites/adjuncts, including the
associated semantic roles, also the content and structuring of the meanings dealt with in
terms of operator systems in FG and RRG. Furthermore, the mapping between clusters
of concepts and the semantics of lexis and grammar will involve a great deal of what, in
previous discussions, I have called discourse pragmatics.
One area of lively debate in language processing work is the ordering of syntactic and
lexical components of processing. As Schnefeld (2001: 56) points out, for comprehension
there are three logical possibilities: syntactic parsing may precede lexical access or follow
it (both consistent with a serial, modular approach), or both may operate in parallel (an
interactive approach). The first of these, as argued also by Garman (1990: 320321), can be
dismissed: it is hardly likely that listeners normally parse a sentence without word recognition, since words are normally recognised very rapidly; exceptions might occur in unusual
circumstances such as the processing of Jabberwocky-type material. The debate, then, is
about the second and third types, each of which exists in a number of variants. There are
similar debates about language production: do we produce a grammatical schema which
is filled in by appropriate lexical items, or do the concepts to be expressed activate lexical
. For a brief review of models of production, see Fromkin & Bernstein Ratner (1998) and for a more
detailed survey Schnefeld (2001). A short account of comprehension models is available in Reeves, HirschPasek & Golinkoff (1998), and further detail in the survey articles by Cutler & Clifton (1999) on the comprehension of spoken language and by Perfetti (1999) on reading. For details of one influential model of production, see Levelt (1989, 1999). Two very different approaches to discourse comprehension can be found
in the construction-integration model of Kintsch (1988, 1998), which is rooted in experimental cognitive
psychology, and the text worlds model of Werth (1999), which is concerned with the specification of the
mental models we create in response to a text embedded in its situation, rather than with neurocognitive
processes themselves.
Chapter 6
items together with their syntactic properties, or is the true situation more complex than
either of these, with interleaving of syntactic and lexical stages?21
Although it would appear that the jury is still out on the question of lexical versus
syntactic priority in processing, it is at least fair to say that there is a good deal of evidence in favour of a key role for the lexicon: for instance Schnefeld (2001) concludes,
if somewhat cautiously, that the evidence is in favour of both production and comprehension being lexically-driven. If we accept this conclusion, at least provisionally, then
the consequence must be a central role for the lexicon in our model. As in most other
models, the lexicon is the point of intersection for information of various kinds: a given
lexeme points to a (cluster of) concept(s) in the conceptual network; it also has attached
to it information about its syntactic potential, any morphological irregularities, and its
pronunciation/spelling. The information contained in the lexicon is required at various
points in the production and understanding of utterances, even possibly being consulted,
in the production of utterances, before selections from the conceptual knowledge base are
converted to a linguistic representation, in order to assess the ease or difficulty of lexical expression for particular clusters of concepts. There may thus be shunting between
the knowledge base and the lower levels of the model, with consequences in terms of the
storage and later modification of partially-formed structures. Clearly, any psychologically
adequate model of the lexicon must take fully into account what is known of mechanisms
of lexical storage and access.
Even if we accept that production and parsing are lexically driven, this does not mean
that syntax has no role to play in processing. Levelts production model, for instance, has
a phase of grammatical encoding in which the syntactic structure generated satisfies the
constraints imposed by the syntactic properties of activated lexical items. The importance
of a syntactic component in language production is also suggested by data from aphasic
patients: those with Brocas aphasia, who have lesions in Brocas area of the left frontal
convolution of the brain, produce language with little discernible grammatical structure,
while the language of patients with Wernickes aphasia, involving damage to Wernickes
area in the left first temporal gyrus, mostly does have clear grammatical structure but
makes little sense, suggesting disablement of areas concerned with semantic processing
(see Dingwall 1998).22
Syntactic units also seem to be important in normal language production. Fromkin
& Bernstein Ratner (1998: 321322) observe that self-correction and pausing phenomena in spoken language confirm the importance of major syntactic constituents (phrases,
. Much of the discussion of this area hinges on experimental investigation of the processing of potentially ambiguous stretches of language, and so is subject to the criticism that tightly controlled experimental
situations may not be validly generalisable to the real-world contexts of everyday interaction.
. It is only fair to point out, however, that Brocas area exhibits considerable structural and functional
variability, and that studies on localisation of function reveal considerable variability amongst individuals
(see Uylings et al. 1999; Caplan 1994). Furthermore, Hagoort, Brown & Osterhout (1999: 297298) conclude
on the basis of recent studies that the syntactic deficit in patients with Brocas aphasia may be more limited
than has so far been assumed.
clauses) in production:23 when speakers go back to correct themselves, they usually return
to the beginning of the syntactic constituent in which the error occurred; pauses tend to
occur before clause boundaries or other major structural transitions, as well as at places
where lexical decisions need to be made, being more frequent before content words than
before function words. Most speech errors involving exchange of words take place within a
single clause, and evidence from rule-governed phonological changes at word boundaries
(e.g. d# #j 3, as in did you dI3u) also suggests that clause boundaries, which block
such changes, are important in processing. Some word transposition errors, however, occur over more than one clause, suggesting that speakers may plan even further ahead than
the end of the current clause.
There is a strong general consensus in the processing literature that syntactic processing is a central component of comprehension24 as well as production:
. . . it is a nearly universally accepted notion in current models of the production
and interpretation of multiword utterances that constraints on how words can be
structurally combined in sentences are immediately taken into consideration during
speaking and listening/reading. (Hagoort, Brown & Osterhout 1999: 273)
As a simple illustration of the importance of syntax in comprehension, Hagoort, Brown

& Osterhout point to the fact that we can, exceptionally, parse sentences without understanding their meaning, in cases where nonsense words are embedded in a normal syntactic structure. A frequently cited example is from Lewis Carrolls poem Jabberwocky from
Through the Looking Glass: when we read or hear Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre
and gimble in the wabe, there is a lot that we can deduce about the structure: brillig and
slithy are adjectives, tove and wabe nouns, gyre and gimble verbs; slithy is a modifier of
toves; and so on. There is also evidence from reading studies that reading rate decreases
at clause boundaries, indicating that such boundaries are important in online processing
(for a summary see Wingfield & Titone 1998: 236237). Thus the importance of syntax
in comprehension seems to be beyond doubt, although the detailed operation of syntactic parsing in language comprehension is still the subject of vigorous debate, as Cutler &
Clifton (1999: 142143) point out. Perfettis (1999: 182186) brief summary of work on
parsing during reading presents a similarly diffuse picture of the state of the art.
Evidence from processing thus strongly suggests that we need a syntactic component
in our overall model. This conclusion reinforces that drawn from our consideration of
structural-functional theories themselves. We have seen, for example, that the lack of a
specifically syntactic component in Diks model of FG has given rise to well-founded criticism, and I have argued that the semanticisation of the lexicogrammar in Sydney-style
. See also Bock & Levelt (1994), which summarises studies supporting a model involving (inter alia)
processes of syntactic function assignment, constituent assembly and inflection.
. An introductory treatment of the role of syntax in sentence processing can be found in Wingfield
& Titone (1998), and a much more detailed account, angled towards neurocognitive considerations, in
Hagoort, Brown & Osterhout (1999).
Chapter 6
SFG to some extent assumes, rather than attempts to demonstrate, the closeness of the
relationship between meaning and form.
There is also evidence that morphological structure has an important role to play in
processing. Fromkin & Bernstein Ratner (1998: 324327) refer to speech error information
which supports the on-line construction of morphologically complex words. There is also
evidence that function words and affixes behave differently from content words. Speech
errors also demonstrate the speakers tacit knowledge of rules such as those involved in
inflectional and derivational morphology.
So far, then, I hope to have shown that our model of the grammar itself will need
semantic, syntactic and morphological components, brought together via entries in the
lexicon. The likelihood that semantic and discourse pragmatic information is used in
the determination of syntactic structures during processing means that the various components, though separate, interact in complex ways, and this is fully consistent with a
functional approach.
The final component needed in the model is an expression device, to convert lexicalised syntactic structures, with their semantic mappings, into the final form of the utterance. An important consideration here is that the overall consensus of opinion on language processing appears to favour an incremental mechanism for both production and
comprehension (see, for example, the production model of Levelt and the comprehension
model of Kintsch, referred to earlier). In view of this, the expression component of our
model should build structures gradually rather than all at once.
... Towards an appropriate grammatical model

Now that we have a set of criteria of adequacy and an outline of specifications for the
components of our model, let us cast our minds back to the characteristics of the three
theories which have been the subject matter of this book, to see whether any of them,
perhaps with modifications, might serve adequately as the basis for the grammar, as widely
conceived, in an integrated model.
From the perspective developed here, SFG as currently conceived is rather unattractive
as a basis for the grammar, for a number of reasons. Firstly, we have seen that although
recently there has been some discussion of typological issues, and an increasing amount
of work on languages other than English, typological adequacy of the kind to which FG
and RRG are committed was not built in as an aim of the theory during the years in
which its main lines were set. The view taken here, however, is that whatever model of the
grammar we adopt, it must be capable of accounting for data from the whole range of
language types.
Secondly, the Sydney version of the grammar has no syntactic level as such: we have
seen that there is a lexicogrammatical level, but that this is itself strongly semanticised.
The Cardiff grammar, however, does have a separate level of syntactic representation, so
this in itself need not rule out SFG as a whole, although the fact that the Cardiff grammar has concentrated even more heavily on English than the Sydney grammar reduces its
attractiveness.
Thirdly, we have seen that SFG does not have a lexicon as such, since lexical items are
generated in a top-down fashion through the specification of combinations of choices in
networks. In our model, we need to combine the idea of a network with that of the lexicon.
The network concerned is, however, at the prelinguistic level of conceptual knowledge.
Combinations of concepts from the knowledge base form the basis for the specification
of lexical items, but these specifications must also contain information on the syntactic,
phonological and graphological properties of the items. Although in principle SFG allows
the properties of lexical items to be inferred from the paths taken from systemic networks,
and from the associated realisation rules both within and between levels of patterning, the
lack of any component where the properties of a lexeme are all brought together is a drawback in terms of the perspective taken here. Furthermore, the Hallidayan concept of lexis
as most delicate grammar does not fit well with the lexically-driven view of language processing for which, as we have seen, considerable evidence is available. To the extent that
grammatical realisations are generated by early (i.e. less delicate) choices in the traversal of systemic networks, while lexical realisations are generated by later (more delicate)
choices, the SFG approach appears to reverse the priorities of processing.
In contrast, FG and RRG, in addition to taking typological adequacy very seriously, do
have the lexicon as a central component of the overall theory. Furthermore, RRG has a separate level of syntactic representation, while FG does not; however, it is possible, as pointed
out earlier, that Bakkers work on the expression component, as developed recently by
Bakker & Siewierska, may effectively provide a syntax for FG. Is it possible, then, that
FG, RRG or some combination of the two might provide the kind of lexicogrammatical
model we need?
Particularly attractive for our purposes, in my view, is the model put forward in Mairal
Usn & Van Valin (2001) and Mairal Usn & Faber (2002), especially if the concept of prototype can be given a greater role. As we saw in 6.2.2.3 of Part 1, these authors propose
to integrate ideas from the Functional Lexematic Model with the semantic representations
of RRG, in the formulation of grammars for lexical domains which are intended to do
justice to both the semantic relationships within an onomasiologically based lexicon and
the syntactic properties of lexemes within particular domains. This model thus seems to
be just the kind we need, in that it is centred on a semantically-organised lexicon, within
whose domains the syntactic properties of particular lexical classes of predicates can be
systematically specified. Furthermore, as we saw earlier, Marial Usn and his colleagues
propose to link semantic representations to an ontological component acting as a conceptual database. Although we have seen that there are some problems with the use of
existing computational ontologies as components of a linguistic model, we may hope that
such difficulties may be resolved in future work.
One important issue, however, remains. We have seen that for cognitive adequacy we
need an expression component which operates incrementally. The mapping rules of RRG
are, however, simply that: they map a semantic structure on to a syntactic structure, or vice
Chapter 6
versa, with no attempt to model the way in which this might occur during processing.25
An important area for future research, therefore, is the extent to which the FLM/RRG
model might be compatible with, for instance, the expression rule model of Bakker &
Siewierska (Bakker 1999, 2001; Bakker & Siewierska, forthcoming) which, as we have seen,
does provide the right sort of emphasis on incremental processing. Bakker & Siewierska
themselves express an open mind on this issue:
Although this setup [the RRG representations and linking rules CSB] is not unlike
that in FG, at least as far as underlying representations are concerned, it remains to be
seen whether RRG linking rules turn out to be equivalent to FG expression rules, especially in the dynamic form we give to them. Only a meticulous comparison between
FG and RRG in terms of the division of labor between underlying representation and
expression may bring clarity here. (Bakker & Siewierska, 2002: 172173)
... From form to substance

Although in this work we have not been much concerned with the levels of phonology/graphology and phonetics/graphetics, obviously a comprehensive model must include them. They tend to have been somewhat neglected in functional approaches, and
deserve greater attention in the future.26
.
Envoi
It will be clear, even from the brief discussion in this chapter, that the research programme
needed to develop the model I have outlined offers exciting possibilities not only for the
expansion of existing ideas but also for further collaboration between linguists working
with different functional and cognitive frameworks. It seems fitting to end with a few
suggestions for areas which need to be developed in future work.
The encyclopaedic knowledge base: Ontologies such as that developed by the
Mikrokosmos team may prove to be a useful starting point, but given that computational
goals are paramount in this work, and given also the pragmatic and somewhat unsystematic approach taken to the question of cultural relativity, it is unlikely that such ontologies
will be usable, in a model such as that envisaged here, without considerable modification.
I have suggested that it might be worthwhile to investigate whether a list of putatively universal conceptual primitives such as that proposed by Wierzbicka and her colleagues could
be used as a basis for the definition of concepts in the ontology. Further important questions will relate to the paradigmatic structure of the knowledge base, scoping relations
among concepts, and the extent and nature of any layering.
The grammar: If Nuyts (see e.g. 1998: 283, forthcoming) is right, we should be able to
simplify considerably the handling of the semantics, since much of the complication, for
. Of course, the provision of separate semantics-to-syntax and syntax-to-semantics mapping rules is itself
motivated partly by considerations of the differences between production and comprehension.
. There is, for instance, clear evidence of the importance of prosodic patterning in the comprehension of
spoken language (see Wingfield & Titone 1998: 245246; Cutler & Clifton 1999: 145151).
instance in matters of layering, will already have been dealt with at the conceptual level. I
have suggested that one approach which is worth developing is the marriage of ideas from
the Functional Lexematic Model and RRG proposed in the recent work of Mairal Usn and
his colleagues. It may well be that ideas from cognitive linguistics, especially Construction
Grammar, will also find an important place in future developments in this area. These developments should lead to a lexically-based grammar which retains the power of the FLM
to describe the paradigmatic relationships among lexemes and the relationships between
semantic specificity and syntactic patterning within lexical domains, while adopting the
RRG system of semantic structures and their connection, by linking algorithms, to a separate level of syntactic representation. There remains the important problem of converting
the static RRG linking rules into an incremental expression component.
Discourse structure: There is a great deal of work to be done in comparing the various
models of discourse structure which have been proposed in the literature, including those
situated within structural-functional theories and discussed in Chapter 4, as well as those
arising from more cognitively-oriented work such as that of Kintsch and Werth. There
are, I think, some grounds for optimism in the endeavour to formulate a model which will
accommodate the structural properties of discourse in a way that lends itself to an account
of language processing that takes on board both the cognitive and the sociocultural aspects
of discourse as an interactive phenomenon.
Language processing: The state of the art in language processing presents a complex
and somewhat confusing picture, and there is still a long way to go before we can be confident that we understand the processes involved in both production and comprehension.
Attention will need to be given to all levels of language, from discourse macrostructures
right down to phonetics/graphetics.
The overall model: Concomitantly with the development of individual components,
we need to consider how these components will fit together within an overall model which
responds to the various criteria of adequacy proposed.
In all of the above, particular emphasis will need to be given to the study of the authentic products of linguistic interaction, in the form of corpora of texts and the contextual information associated with them, and to the processing mechanisms which operate
in normal communicative settings. This requirement clearly cannot be more than partially fulfilled until we have available corpora (including spoken language) for a much
wider range of languages than at present, and until more adequate techniques have been
developed for the study of processing in natural, or at least naturalistic, settings.
Perhaps the most useful function of the sketchy proposals in this chapter indeed, the
most valuable contribution which this whole work could make would be to give some
indication of the sheer size and complexity of the task ahead for those of us who believe
that functionalism needs to go beyond the skewed approaches of individual theories, and
to stimulate wide-ranging interchange of ideas, with a view to exploiting the immensely
valuable work which has already been done, and planning an ambitious research programme which might lead to an approach that truly responds to sociocultural, discoursal,
psychological/cognitive, acquisitional and typological criteria of adequacy.
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Name index
A
Ai, X. 148
Albrow, K. H. 425
Alonso Belmonte, M. I.
Anstey, M. P. 456
Asher, R. E. 198
Atkins, S. 481
Austin, J. L. 18
141, 149
B
Bakhtin, M. M. 325
Bakker, D. 98, 308, 327329, 397, 433, 452, 454,
460461, 464, 498499
Barnard, C. 426
Barsalou, L. W. 461
Bartolucci, G. 448
Bateman, J. A. 149, 171, 430, 434438, 440, 442
Beale, S. 491
Bell, R. T. 447448
Bencini, G. M. L. 488
Benson, J. D. 446
Berger, P. L. 1819, 58
Berglund, Y. 481
Bernstein, B. 387, 415, 418, 425427
Bernstein Ratner, N. 494495, 497
Berrendonner, A. 318
Berry, M. 131132, 139, 142145, 158, 173,
347349, 375376, 383
Biber, D. 138, 481
Birch, D. 447
Birk, D. 425
Bloor, T. 138
Bock, K. 496
Boland, A. 400401, 452
Bolkestein, A. M. 910, 17, 20, 22, 56, 58, 8387,

90, 9293, 97, 176, 205, 306307, 313, 397,
457
Bowcher, W. 389
Braecke, C. 69, 84
Braine, M. D. S. 413
Brazil, D. 347
Broca, P. P. 495
Brown, C. M. 495496
Brown, G. 306, 340, 354355
Burton, D. 446447
Butler, C. S. 36, 55, 191, 195, 337, 339340, 347,
355, 373, 375376, 424, 441, 443, 452,
462464, 481, 483484
Butt, D. 414, 446
C
Caffarel, A. 44, 149
Caplan, D. 495
Carroll, L. 496
Carroll, S. 373375
Carter, R. A. 444, 446447
Chafe, W. L. 8182, 84, 101, 140, 159, 303, 324,
480481, 488
Chaucer, G. 446
Cheng, M. 148
Chomsky, N. 403, 409410, 412, 428, 441, 452,
466, 477479
Christie, F. 426427
Clahsen, H. 400
Clark, H. H. 485
Clear, J. 481
Clifton, C., Jr. 494, 496, 499
Cloran, C. 41, 337, 387, 389, 424425
Coffin, C. 426
Cohen, L. 447
Name index
Comrie, B. 195
Connolly, J. H. 306, 308, 324325, 398, 430,
433, 457, 459
Conrad, J. 445
Cook, G. 304305
Cornish, F. 86, 98, 304, 313314
Coulthard, M. 319320, 322, 325, 345347, 398,
485
Crevels, M. 213
Croft, W. 487488
Cruttenden, A. 146
Cummings, M. 146149, 173
Cutler, A. 494, 496, 499
Cutrer, M. 259
Cuvalay, M. 211, 213, 400401
D
Dane, F. 136, 177
Davey, A. 434
Davies, B. L. 390392, 394395
Davies, E. C. 5255, 59
de Beaugrande, R. 373, 375, 474
de Groot, C. 87, 95, 191
Delin, J. 154
de Roeck, M. 299
de Schutter, G. 94
de Villiers, J. G. 412
de Vries, L. 84, 95, 171, 298, 307, 481
Dickinson, E. 443
Dignum, F. 433
Dik, H. 84
Dik, S. C. 113, 1518, 2023, 2529, 5659,
6181, 8387, 9095, 97100, 157161,
163165, 167171, 174176, 178180,
183193, 195213, 282, 294, 296, 299,
306314, 316318, 324325, 396401,
430433, 439, 443, 451459, 462, 465466,
477478, 483, 486, 489, 496
Dingwall, W. O. 495
Donne, J. 444, 447
Dore, J. 418419
Doughty, P. 425
Downing, A. 7879, 89, 94, 98, 128, 137143,
176, 180, 307, 446
DuBois, J. 398
Durrell, L. 448
Duurkoop, K. 192
E
Eckert, U. 441
Edwards, D. 419
Eggins, S. 384, 426
Eliot, T. S. 444
Enkvist, N. E. 131, 139140
Eschenberg, A. 113
F
Faber, P. 213, 448, 454, 460461, 488, 491, 493,
498
Fairclough, N. 387
Fang, Y. 148
Fawcett, R. P. 43, 4552, 59, 150156, 169, 292,
390395, 438443, 469471
Fernndez Polo, J. 448
Feu, M. J. 443
Fillmore, C. J. 479, 487
Fine, J. 448
Finegan, E. 138
Firbas, J. 113, 136, 143
Firth, J. R. 324, 469, 483
Foley, W. A. 246, 255, 406
Fortescue, M. 330331
Fowler, R. 387
Francis, G. 483
Fries, P. H. 4243, 52, 94, 113, 129, 135138,
140, 144145, 158, 179, 341
Fromkin, V. A. 494495, 497
Fronek, J. 146, 161163
Fumero Prez, M. 81, 87, 9092, 157159,
174175
G
Garcs Conejos, P. 426
Garman, M. 494
Gatward, R. 433
Geluykens, R. 93
Genee, I. 208
Gernsbacher, M. A. 171, 460, 486
Ghadessy, M. 138, 447
Givn, T. 64, 8081, 89, 232, 308, 313, 334, 398
Goatly, A. 446
Goddard, C. 492
Goldberg, A. E. 487488
Golding, W. 444445
Name index
Goldman, S. R. 486
Golinkoff, R. 494
Gmez-Gonzlez, M. A. 82, 92, 9495, 98, 111,
113, 135, 138, 146, 329330, 397, 481
Gmez Solio, J. S. 321322
Gonzlvez Garca, F. 488
Goossens, L. 177
Gotteri, N. 448
Graesser, A. 486
Graves, R. 444
Greaves, W. S. 446
Greenbaum, S. 3
Greenberg, J. H. 207, 462
Gregory, M. J. 147, 373376, 444, 447
Grice, H. P. 16, 411, 413
Grieve, R. 419
Grimes, J. H. 64
Gulla, J. A. 308, 398
Gundel, J. K. 81, 135
Gussenhoven, C. 145146
H
Hagoort, P. 495496
Haller, J. 440
Halliday, M. A. K. 3042, 44, 46, 5156, 5859,
96, 113137, 139, 141142, 144148,
150152, 155156, 158, 160165, 168169,
171, 173177, 179181, 259292, 295299,
303304, 311, 316, 324, 335342, 345, 347,
349361, 363364, 368370, 373377,
380381, 383, 385388, 396, 414427, 429,
434, 436437, 439, 442448, 467477, 482,
498, 491
Han, J. 111112, 171
Hannay, M. 77, 8690, 9498, 158, 161,
173176, 180, 191192, 296, 307, 323324,
401, 457458, 481
Hansell, M. 259
Harder, P. 211, 323
Hartnett, C. G. 137
Hasan, R. 4143, 52, 129, 135136, 144145,
147, 303, 311, 335341, 344345, 350360,
369370, 373, 376, 379, 381390, 425427,
446447, 471472, 486
Hasegawa, Y. 259
Haverkate, H. 5
Hawkins, P. R. 425
Heid, U. 441
Hemingway, E. 444, 446
Hengeveld, K. 3, 5, 813, 17, 20, 23, 56, 98, 180,
201205, 210211, 298, 307308, 311,
314318, 320324, 326329, 397, 400401,
452453, 457458, 461, 482
Hernndez Hernndez, M. A. 387
Hesp, C. 431, 459
Hirsch-Pasek, K. 494
Hjelmslev, L. 384, 387388
Hoey, M. 341
Hoogenraad, R. 419
Hoppenbrouwers, S. 433
Hopper, P. J. 398
Hori, M. 4445, 149
Housman, A. E. 446
Hovy, E. H. 368369, 394, 430, 438, 440
Huang, C.-T. J. 410
Huang, G. 152154
Huddleston, R. D. 4143, 51, 128135, 139,
142143, 145, 177, 259, 279291, 354355,
469
Hudson, R. A. 42, 55, 133, 347, 425, 470, 472,
482
Hunston, S. 483
Hymes, D. 310, 324, 456
I
Inchaurralde, C. 322
J
Jacobsen, W. H. 259
Janssen, T. M. V. 433
Jimnez Juli, T. 95
Johnson, M. 461
Johnson, S. R. 433
Jones, J. 426
Joyce, J. 445
K
Kahrel, P. 431
Karttunen, L. 434
Kasper, R. T. 438
Kay, P. 434, 487
Keenan, E. L. 195196, 308
Keijsper, C. E. 95
Name index
Keizer, M. E. 8489, 91, 93, 95, 158159, 163,

165, 174175, 180, 307, 481
Kemmerer, D. 448, 466
Kempson, R. 411
Kennedy, C. 445
Kintsch, W. 491, 494, 497, 500
Kosslyn, S. M. 491
Kress, G. 381
Kroon, C. H. M. 20, 306308, 315, 318320,
322325, 397398, 457458
Kwee, T. L. 282, 311, 430, 432433, 442
L
Labov, W. 321, 478
Lakoff, G. 23, 461
Lalleman, J. 400
Lambrecht, K. 8182, 94, 101103, 105,
157161, 164, 166, 175, 332
Langacker, R. W. 330, 359, 488
LaPolla, R. J. 30, 101111, 157, 160161, 164,
166167, 170172, 174175, 178179,
214218, 220221, 223, 225238, 240250,
252255, 257259, 297298, 331334, 396,
409410, 465467, 477
Larkin, P. 443
Lavid Lpez, J. 134, 163
Leckie-Tarry, H. 380381
Leech, G. N. 2324, 446
LeFanu, J. S. 443
Lemke, J. 377, 426, 446
Levelt, W. J. M. 494497
Levinson, S. C. 41, 490, 493
Lewis, D. 430, 441
Liedtke, F. 1718, 57, 97, 320, 397, 457
Limburg, M. 191
Lin, Y. Q. 45, 51, 152, 156, 439440
Locke, P. 141
Longacre, R. E. 308, 311
Lowe, I. 89, 140
Luckmann, T. 1819, 58
Lund, K. 400
M
Mackay, D. 425
Mackenzie, J. L. 8489, 91, 93, 95, 9798,
158159, 163, 165, 174175, 180, 307308,
316318, 324, 326327, 329330, 397, 401,

457458, 460461, 481, 484, 487
MacWhinney, B. 400
Mahesh, K. 491492
Maier, E. 368369
Mairal Usn, R. 213, 454, 460461, 488, 491,
493, 498, 500
Malinowski, B. 355, 469
Mann, W. C. 308, 364366, 369, 434437
Martin, J. R. 4042, 129130, 133137, 145,
147148, 158, 160, 177, 184, 275, 278,
280281, 283284, 286289, 298, 337,
341345, 348350, 355356, 358, 369373,
375381, 383388, 390391, 423, 426, 448,
469, 472, 486
Martn Arista, J. 488
Martnez Caro, E. 9394, 98, 180, 307
Marvell, A. 444
Mathesius, V. 113, 136
Matthiessen, C. M. I. M. 37, 3940, 4244, 49,
57, 60, 124126, 128131, 133136, 138, 145,
147, 149, 160, 164, 171, 177, 179, 181, 273,
277284, 286291, 299300, 311, 354355,
363364, 367368, 372373, 375377, 390,
426, 434440, 442, 469470
Mauranen, A. 426
Maynard, S. K. 149
McCabe, A. 303
McCabe, A. M. 141, 149
McDonald, D. D. 434
McDonald, E. 148
McEnery, A. 478479
McGregor, W. B. 2, 39, 134, 136, 161, 180, 192,
237, 263264, 296, 336, 359, 469, 474
McIntosh, A. 373, 424426
McKeown, K. R. 434
Meijs, W. 432
Melrose, R. 426
Melville, A. 446
Miller, G. A. 461
Mohan, B. 425
Montgomery, M. 346, 446
Moreno Ortiz, A. 491492
Morgan, J. L. 339, 354
Mortensen, L. 448
Moutaouakil, A. 1517, 2022, 57, 59, 93, 95,
308, 317, 457
Munday, J. 149, 448
Name index
N
Nesbitt, C. 278
Newmark, P. 448
Nirenburg, S. 491
Noonan, M. 210
Nuyts, J. 97, 203, 307308, 325, 329, 397, 431,
457461, 481, 488, 490491, 493, 499
Nwogu, K. 138
O
ODonoghue, T. F. 439
Ohori, T. 259
Olbertz, H. 481
Olson, M. L. 218, 226, 298
Osterhout, L. 495496
Ostler, N. 481
Otal, J. L. 28
OToole 447
P
Painter, C. 419424, 428429
Paris, C. L. 438
Pars, L. A. 217
Park, K.-S. 112
Parsons, G. 341
Patten, T. 430
Pavey, E. 113
Pearce, J. 425
Pederson, E. 490491
Prez Hernndez, C. 448, 491
Prez Hernndez, L. 14, 2629, 307, 320
Prez Quintero, M. J. 210211, 452, 482
Perfetti, C. A. 494, 496
Perkins, M. R. 483
Perrett, G. 426427
Peters, A. 411
Pickvance, R. 425
Pine, J. 412
Piero, E. 443
Plath, S. 447
Plum, G. 278, 288
Poe, E. A. 446
Poynton, C. 379380, 424
Prince, E. F. 8182, 84, 101, 154, 159, 308
Q
Quirk, R. 14, 94, 144, 183, 229
R
Ramm, W. 149
Raskin, V. 491
Ravelli, L. J. 131, 143
Reeves, L. M. 494
Reid, I. 381
Rijkhoff, J. 910, 21, 211, 317, 321, 325, 464
Rijksbaron, A. 84, 191192, 211
Rispoli, M. 403409
Risselada, R. 1215, 17, 25, 27, 5759, 306307,
457
Roberts, J. 218
Rochester, S. 448
Rodionova, E. 113
Roeper, T. 412
Rose, D. 426
Rsner, D. 441
Ross, J. R. 409410
Roth, B. 441
Rothery, J. 426427
Roulet, E. 318, 324
Rowland, C. 412
Ruiz de Mendoza Ibnez, F. J. 14, 2229, 307,
320
S
Sadock, J. 43
Samuelsdorff, P. O. 432
Snchez Garca, J. M. 443, 448
Snchez-Macarro, A. 426, 447
Sapir, E. 477
Schaub, P. 425
Schieffelin, B. 408
Schleppegrell, M. 427
Schmidt, P. 440441
Schnefeld, D. 494495
Searle, J. R. 18, 20, 53, 55, 324325
Seidlhofer, B. 303305, 473
Sellner, M. B. 339, 354
Shimojo, M. 113
Short, M. H. 444446
Siewierska, A. 8087, 8990, 9295, 98, 100,
159, 308, 327329, 397, 452, 460462,
464465, 498499
Silverstein, M. 232
Simpson, P. 446
Name index
Sinclair, J. M. 319320, 322, 325, 345346, 398,

443444, 479, 482485
Slobin, D. 405
Smith, C. 405
Smits, A. 90, 95
Spencer, J. 373, 444
Sperber, D. 22, 101
Stainton, C. 131
Stanchev, S. B. 98
Steinbeck, J. 445
Steiner, E. 149, 436, 440441, 448
Stenstrm, A.-B. 324
Steuten, A. A. G. 322, 325, 397398, 458
Stevens, W. 446
Stillar, G. 446447
Strevens, P. 373, 424426
Stubbs, M. 479, 484
Szatmari, P. 448
T
Taglicht, J. 132
Taylor, C. 448
Taylor Torsello, C. 446
Teich, E. 436
Tench, P. 51, 156
Tennyson, A. 446
Thibault, P. 375
Thompson, B. 425
Thompson, S. A. 281282, 308, 311, 364369,
372, 394, 398, 437
Thornton, G. 425
Thornton, R. 412
Threadgold, T. 381, 447
Titone, D. 496, 499
Togeby, O. 15, 17, 84
Tomlin, R. S. 80
Toolan, M. 446
Torr, J. 423
Tucker, G. H. 45, 51, 152, 156, 438440
Turner, G. J. 425
U
Uylings, H. B. M.
V
Vainikka, A.
412
495
van de Grift, M. 307, 313

van den Berg, M. 1819, 28, 5759, 97,
307308, 320, 397, 457
van der Auwera, J. 192, 197, 296298
van der Korst, B. 434
van der Mije, A. 390393
van Dijk, T. A. 485
van Hoorick, B. 87
Van Valin, R. D., Jr. 30, 101111, 157, 160161,
164, 166167, 170172, 174175, 178179,
214221, 223, 225238, 240250, 252255,
257259, 297298, 331334, 396, 402404,
406, 409413, 429, 465467, 475, 477, 498
van Wissen, C. 390393
Vasconcellos, M. 149
Veel, R. 426
Ventola, E. 348349, 384385, 391, 426, 436,
448
Verschueren, J. 27
Verstraete, J.-C. 359, 481
Vester, E. 77, 191192, 296
Vet, C. 912, 17, 19, 22, 28, 5759, 97, 307308,
320, 322, 397, 457458
Vismans, R. M. 70, 9495, 98
Voogt-van Zutphen, H. 432
Vossen, P. 432
W
Wakker, G. 211213
Waletzky, J. 321
Watters, J. R. 171, 259
Weerasinghe, A. R. 439
Weigand, H. 433434
Wells, H. G. 140
Wells, W. H. G. 69
Wernicke, C. 495
Werth, P. 305, 494, 500
Whorf, B. L. 359, 439, 469, 492
Widdowson, H. 303305, 472476
Wierzbicka, A. 492, 499
Wignell, P. 426
Wilkins, D. P. 234235
Williams, G. 427
Wilson, A. 478479
Wilson, B. 411
Wilson, D. 22, 101
Wingfield, A. 496, 499
Name index
Winograd, T. 434
Wodak, R. 426
Woolf, V. 446
Wordsworth, W. 444
Wray, A. 479, 483484, 493
Y
Yallop, C. 448
Yang, B. 259
Young, D. 375
Young, L. 427
Yule, G. 306, 340, 354355
Z
Zelinsky-Wibbelt, C. 440
Ziv, Y. 84, 99
Zwicky, A. 43
Language index
A
Acehnese 109, 246, 249, 467
Aghem 7, 67, 72, 93, 171
Algonquian 65, 334
Arabic (Modern Standard) 1516, 21, 44, 72,
93, 95, 213
Australian Aboriginal languages 100, 192, 234
B
Bambara 258
Bantu 67, 252
Barai 226228, 243
Basque 7, 198
Bulgarian 98
C
Caucasian 111
Cebuano 99
Chinese/Mandarin 44, 106107, 147148, 152,
243, 245, 249, 259, 436
Chukchi-Kamchatkan 315
Czech 162
D
Danish 187
Dutch 5, 8, 1214, 7072, 75, 9394, 98100,
110, 174, 193, 196197, 207, 211, 400, 431,
481
Dyirbal 64, 110, 243, 245246, 249, 334, 467
E
English 34, 68, 1215, 17, 2023, 3031, 36,
41, 4344, 46, 50, 5253, 55, 60, 64, 6869,
7172, 7577, 7981, 8687, 8990, 9395,
98100, 103106, 108110, 113115, 120,

125, 126, 128, 137138, 141143, 145,
147149, 152, 158, 160, 162, 164, 169,
171177, 179181, 184185, 190, 192,
194196, 198199, 206207, 211, 214215,
217218, 220, 223, 226, 228229, 231235,
242243, 245246, 248, 251252, 254, 259,
264265, 273274, 278, 291, 294295, 298,
307, 314, 319, 323324, 327, 330, 332,
334339, 341, 346, 350, 354357, 359364,
368, 372, 397, 400401, 404, 408412,
425429, 431, 434436, 442, 447448, 454,
463464, 467468, 470471, 479482, 482,
497
F
Finno-Ugric 196
Finnish 30, 196
French 1112, 21, 44, 75, 106, 113, 147, 149,
190, 196, 217, 243, 314, 379, 404, 431, 434
G
German 5, 75, 99, 110, 147, 149, 162, 181,
196197, 204, 207, 338, 379, 400, 412, 436,
440441, 481
Germanic 196
Godi 79
Gooniyandi 2, 192, 264
Greek (Classical, Ancient) 211213, 306
H
Hebrew (Modern) 99
Hindi 44
Hixkaryana 192
Hungarian 7, 72, 87, 95, 109, 407, 409, 412, 433
Language index
I
Icelandic 109111, 172, 252
Imbabura Quechua 198
Indo-European 396, 467
Indonesian 44
Inguish 111
Irish (Old, Middle, Early Modern, Modern)
208, 412
Italian 106107, 160, 170, 196, 379, 407, 409
J
Jakaltek 111
Japanese 4445, 81, 95, 104, 106, 109, 113114,
134, 147, 149150, 171, 179, 197, 259,
404406, 436437
K
Kaluli 407409
Kte 147
Kinyarwanda 252
Kombai 307
Korean 44, 111113, 171, 197, 214, 259
Koryak 315
L
Lakhota 30, 109, 236, 238, 249, 258, 333,
410411, 467
Lango 111
Latin 10, 1314, 20, 205, 306307, 319320,
333, 431
Luganda 190
M
Mandarin see Chinese
Mande 172
Mari 197
Mojave 76
Mparntwe Arrernte 234
Murinypata 198
N
Native American 334
Niger-Kordofanian 258
Nilo-Saharan 110
Niuean 252
Nootka 259, 330
O
Old English 148149
Papuan 64, 67, 218, 223, 226, 297298, 307, 407
Philippine 99101, 147148
Polish 72, 87, 8990, 99, 113, 404
Polynesian 252
Portuguese 149
R
Romance 196
Romani 412
Russian 106, 113, 357, 379
S
Sama 111, 249
Serbo-Croatian 72
Sesotho 106, 172
Slavic 179
Sotho 106
Spanish 5, 21, 2526, 30, 7779, 81, 9394, 98,
103105, 109, 141, 149, 170, 180, 191,
194196, 208, 213, 217, 292, 307, 316, 319,
323, 333, 379, 448, 452, 481, 483484, 492
Sudanese 99
T
Tagalog 76, 147148, 467
Tamil 197198
Tepehua 243
Thai 44
Toura 172
Turkish 7, 72, 109, 197, 259, 400, 404, 407
U
Urdu 447
Usan 79, 198
Ute 111
Uto-Aztecan 111
W
Wambon 64, 67, 72, 95, 171, 307
Language index
Y
Yate Zapotec 334
Yuma 198
Z
Zulgo 79
Zuni 334
Subject index
A
aboutness (in relation to topicality/Theme)
in FG 62, 81, 83, 95, 159, 175
in RRG 104, 157158, 175
in SFG 52, 125, 132137, 139141, 175, 177
referential vs. relational 135, 158
accentuation 6, 6769, 71, 83, 86, 88, 98, 112,
120, 146, 159 see also prosody
accessibility of referent see referent
achievement predicate (in FG) see predicational
term
acoustic component (in Functional Discourse
Grammar) 20
Acquilex project see computational linguistics
acquisition of language see learning languages
acquisitional adequacy 400, 465466, 488489,
500
act
ascriptive 323, 325, 329
discourse
in Birmingham model of discourse
338, 345346
in Cardiff SFG model of discourse
393394
in FG 19, 98, 318320, 322327, 458
correlation with intonation unit
324
subact (in Incremental Functional
Grammar) 460, 487
ascriptive 326327
referential 326327, 460
illocutionary 18
interactional 322
locutionary
phatic 18
phonetic 18
rhetic 18
referential 323, 325
type of embedded clause (in SFG) 272, 295
activation state of referent see referent
activity sequence (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
relations: in Martins discourse semantics:
ideation
Actor (in RRG) see macrorole
Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy (in RRG) 112, 251,
256, 407, 465
adjacency pair/sequence 6, 52, 158, 324325,
335, 340, 345 see also cohesion: relations:
organic
address, forms of 379
adverb(ial)
acquisition of see learning languages: in
relation to FG
clause
in FG 199, 209213, 433
complexity
external 209, 213
internal 209211, 213
concession 213
condition 11, 78, 207, 211213
illocutionary vs. predicational
vs. propositional
212213
implicational hierarchy in relation
to realisation types 210211
in written English 211
purpose 207
temporal 207
in RRG 227, 237, 242
condition 232
purpose 232
sequential 232
Subject index
temporal 232
in SFG 263, 268269, 280282,
291292 see also enhancement:
hypotactic
advice see illocution
affect (in SFG) 379380 see also evaluative
language (in SFG): appraisal
agentivity 42
agreement phenomena 108109, 407408, 465,
469
Aktionsart, in relation to language acquisition
see learning languages: in relation to RRG
amplification (in SFG) see evaluative language
(in SFG): appraisal
anaphora
in FG 312314, 318, 432433, 463464
anaphorical relation 312313
antecedent 312313
discourse anaphora 312
effects of predicator on anaphor
interpretation 314
expression types 313314
in relation to cohesion 317
in relation to coordination 187
in relation to participant tracking 307
in relation to Topic 6465, 68, 86, 159,
312
in relation to variables in underlying
clause structure 1, 75, 188, 313
representation of anaphors 315
sentence anaphora 312
zero anaphora 64, 186, 194195, 198,
294
in RRG 102, 107, 109, 242, 334, 408, 471
anaphoric negation see learning
languages: in relation to RRG:
negation
in SFG see cohesion: in SFG: relations: in
Halliday & Hasans approach: phoric
relations
antecedent see anaphora: in FG
antipassive see voice
antonymy (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
relations: componential: lexical
aphasia see pathology
applicability, as criterion of adequacy for
linguistic theory 442, 449, 467468,
473477
applications see computational linguistics,

educational linguistics, language pathology,
stylistics
applied linguistics 474
apposition
in FG 198
in RRG 237, 239241, 411
in SFG 264265, 271, 273, 356, 360
appraisal (in SFG) see evaluative language
appreciation (in SFG) see evaluative language
(in SFG): appraisal
ASCOT project see computational linguistics
aspect 34, 43, 66, 127, 148, 188, 203, 226228,
231, 314, 439
relation to RRG: aspect
aspectual relation (in RRG) 232233
attentional frame 92, 98, 330
B
backgrounded vs. foregrounded information
in FG 206, 321
in SFG 444445
begging see illocution
belief system (in Cardiff SFG) see knowledge
base: in SFG
bottom-up 18, 321, 323
business communication 131, 322
bystander (in FG) 10, 321, 325
C
Cardiff grammar (SFG) 471, 497
complex sentences 263, 273, 291292,
296297, 299300
computational linguistics 438441, 489
discourse grammar 390395, 398
functional explanation 470471
illocution/mood 30, 4552, 56, 59
information structure (Theme, given/new,
voice) 150156, 169170
strands of meaning 470
case marking/assignment 259
relation to RRG
in relation to information structure 64,
109, 112113
cataphora
Subject index
in FG 187
in SFG see cohesion: in SFG: relations: in
Halliday & Hasans approach: phoric
relations
categorial statement 84
categorisation 23, 461, 488
causative relation (in RRG) 232233, 243, 246,
251
central vs. non-central token (in SFG) see
cohesion: in SFG: lexical chain
Centripetal Organisation, Principle of (in FG)
453
CHILDES database 400
child language acquisition see learning
languages
chooser, semantic see computational linguistics:
in relation to SFG: Nigel grammar/Penman
project on natural language generation
clausal term (in FG) 183184, 191, 199, 205, 293
clause
complex (in SFG) 338
relationships of clauses within see
complex sentence
system networks for clause complex in
English 277278
thematic ordering within see Theme
in relation to units other than the
clause
vs. sentence (in SFG) 259260
linkage marker (in RRG) 229231 see
also complementiser
satellite (5 ) (in FG) 314
cleft and psuedocleft constructions
in FG 6, 67, 69, 7376, 167169
in RRG 105106, 167, 225226, 229
in SFG 51, 62, 119120, 125, 152155,
168170, 281 see also Theme: in
Cardiff SFG: enhanced Theme, Theme:
in Cardiff SFG: object-as-role-in-event
construction, Theme: in Sydney SFG:
predicated, Theme: in Sydney SFG:
thematic equative
clinical linguistics see pathology
coclassification (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
relations: componential: grammatical
code, elaborated vs. restricted 425
coextension (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
cognition
Cognitive Discourse Space 330
Cognitive Grammar 330
cognitive commitment 23
cognitive component (in Functional
Discourse Grammar) 322, 328, 397
in FG accounts of illocution see illocution
in SFG 469
predicate (in RRG) 232235
cohesion
in FG 307, 315317 see also discourse: in
FG: discourse coherence
in RRG 233, 471
in SFG 55, 116, 146147, 150, 162,
335345, 357363, 369372, 396,
417418, 442444, 448, 487
as potential and as process 336
cohesive harmony 340341, 344345
cohesive tie 336
definition 336
in relation to coherence 311, 339341,
344345
intersentential vs. intrasentential 336,
357358, 369
lexical chain 339341
focal chain 341
identity chain 340
in Martins discourse semantics
344 see also reference chain
below
in relation to text coherence 341,
344
interaction between chains 341,
344
psychological validity 341
similarity chain 340
non-structural nature 336337
reference chain (in Martins discourse
semantics) 356357
relations
in Halliday & Hasans approach
componential 340, 345
grammatical 340
lexical 337345
conjunctive 337338, 340,
357363
additive 358, 360, 369
Subject index
adversative 358,
360361
causal 358359,
362363
implicit vs. explicit 363
in relation to categories of
expansion
360363
elaboration 360
enhancement
360361
elaboration
360363
internal vs. external
358359, 361
temporal 357358,
361362, 369
ellipsis 278, 337338, 340,
350, 353354,
356357, 376377,
418, 422
clausal 37, 337, 353354
nominal 337, 353
verbal 337, 353
organic 340, 345
reference 337338, 340,
350352, 354, 357,
423 see also
participant
identification: in SFG
comparative 337,
351352
demonstrative 337,
351352
personal 337, 351352
phoric relations 283,
444
endophoric
350351,
354355
anaphoric
122, 161,
350351,
355356,
422
cataphoric
350, 355,
357
esphoric 355
exophoric 350351,
354355
homophoric
351
substitution 196, 278,
337338, 340, 350,
352357, 377
clausal 337, 353
nominal 337, 352
verbal 337, 352
in Martins discourse semantics
see also participant
identification: in SFG
conjunction 369371
additive relations
369371
comparative relations
369371
consequential relations
369371
internal vs. external
relations 369371
temporal relations
369371
continuity 371372
ideation, in relation to field
341345, 380
activity sequence relations
342344, 380, 385
nuclear relations
343344 see also
collocation
taxonomic relations
342344, 380
composition
342344
superordination
342344
colligation 483
collocation 146, 337, 339340, 343344, 380,
443444, 479, 482483
Columbia school of linguistics 86
command see illocution
comment Adjunct (in SFG) see modal Adjunct
commentative predicate (in FG) see
predicational term
commissive 246 see also illocution
Subject index
COMMUNAL project see computational

linguistics: in relation to SFG
Communication Linguistics 447
communicative
component (in Functional Discourse
Grammar) 322, 328, 397
task urgency, principle of 89
complementation 202
in FG 205, 208, 213, 299, 454 see also
clausal term, predicational term,
propositional term
in RRG 234235
in SFG 291292, 299 see also hypotaxis
complementiser
in FG 203204
in RRG 216, 221, 229
in SFG 292
Completeness Constraint (in RRG) 247249,
253
complex
NP constraint, acquisition of see learning
languages: in relation to RRG: extraction
restrictions
sentence
comparison of theories 294301
in Cardiff SFG 291292, 296297,
299300
in FG 183213, 293301
in RRG 214259, 293301
acquisition of see learning
languages: in relation to RRG
in Sydney SFG 259291, 436
term (in FG) 183184, 199, 293, 432 see
also clausal term, predicational
term, propositional term
formal properties 206209
functional properties 205207
comprehension see processing of language
computational linguistics 430443
computational adequacy 471, 489
in relation to FG
Acquilex project 432
ASCOT project 432
FG Computational Model of the Natural
Language User (FG*C*M*NLU)
430431, 455
LINKS project 432
machine translation 434
natural language generation 431433

parsing 431, 433434
ProfGlot 309, 431432, 434
role of lexicon 432
in relation to linguistic theory 430, 432,
441443
in relation to SFG 163, 364, 467, 469, 473
COMMUNAL project (Cardiff SFG)
45, 152, 390, 438441, 471
EUROTRA project 440441
KOMET project 436
natural language generation 434440,
442
Nigel grammar/Penman project
434438, 440
semantic choosers 435, 437438,
440
parsing 438440
PAULINE project 438
conceptual component (in Functional Discourse
Grammar) 20, 323, 329, 397, 461
conceptualisation 20, 212, 303, 320, 323, 330,
457, 459461, 473, 487, 490 495, 498500
see also ontology
concession clause see adverbial clause
conditional clause see adverbial clause
conjunction
conjunctive
Adjunct (in SFG) 116118, 148149
preposition (in SFG) 269, 271272
in FG 50, 90, 191, 206, 213, 298
in SFG 116118, 124125, 140141, 149,
170, 262, 267269, 278, 290, 337, 345,
357363, 422423 see also cohesion:
in SFG: relations: in Halliday & Hasans
approach: conjunctive, conjunctive
Adjunct, cohesion: in SFG: relations: in
Martins discourse semantics:
conjunction
in RRG 172, 219, 229, 297298
reduction (in RRG) 242243
connector/connective see also conjunction
in FG 20, 307, 311312
in SFG
connotative semiotic see genre: in SFG, register
constituent order
in FG 8, 64, 67, 6972, 76, 8788, 90, 93,
9596, 99, 173, 177, 187, 192193,
Subject index
206208, 299, 307, 317, 400, 453454,

465 see also Language-Independent
Preferred Order of Constituents,
orientational field, P1, P2, P3, prefield,
postfield, topic: in FG: Topic as
pragmatic function: expression of Topic:
placement in special positions
in RRG 30, 104, 106, 167, 173, 178, 408,
410 see also focus: in RRG: coding of
in SFG 46, 127, 170, 173, 178 see also
Theme: in Cardiff SFG, Theme: in
Sydney SFG, voice: in Cardiff SFG,
voice: in Sydney SFG
construction (in cognitive linguistics) 2627
Construction Grammar 484, 487488, 500
contact (as variable in register in SFG) 378380,
382383
context 5255, 59, 485, 492
cognitive models of 487
contextual component (in Functional
Discourse Grammar) 20, 323
contextual level (in Connollys model of
discourse representation) 325
discourse context/co-text 479
in an integrated functional model
486487
in FG 4, 18, 81, 86, 90, 92, 309, 314,
320, 330, 355, 454456, 458
in RRG 102, 111112, 409
in SFG 53, 420 see also cohesion: in
SFG
in FG see also discourse context/co-text
above
social context 1819, 58, 399,
453456, 458
manager 19
in RRG 59, 465, 475
in SFG 442 see also field, tenor, mode,
register
context of culture 355, 376, 380381,
438, 468
context of situation 45, 336, 355, 373,
375376, 380381, 383, 388,
468, 487
contextual configuration 376,
381382
relationship with metafunctional
meanings 374376, 419
Leckie-Tarrys conceptual model 380

continuative (in SFG) 118, 124125, 140
contra-factive predicate (in FG) 199200
contra-implicative predicate (in FG) 201
contrast see emphasis, focus
control construction
in relation to RRG 244251
theory of obligatory control 246247,
251
in relation to SFG 469
controller (in RRG) 108109, 245246, 250,
254, 331, 333 see also control construction,
Privileged Syntactic Argument
conversation analysis 322, 458
cooperative principle 411, 413
coordination 183, 223
in FG 15, 183187, 296, 298, 432, 464
covert vs. overt 184
simple 184186
of clauses 185, 294
of complex terms 186
of sentences 185
simultaneous 184, 187
VP coordination 186187
in RRG 214215, 218, 232, 237, 296298,
467
clausal 218219, 223, 232, 294
core 217, 224, 226, 229, 232, 253, 295,
300
nuclear 226227, 232
sentential 218
in SFG see enhancement: paratactic,
extension: paratactic
coreference
in FG 312, 319, 432
in RRG 104, 107109, 172, 246
in SFG see cohesion: in SFG: componential
corpus, use of 478484, 488, 500
advantages and limitations 478483
in functional linguistics 481
results 483485
cost-benefit model 24, 27, 29
cosubordination
in relation to FG 296298
in relation to RRG 214, 218, 226, 232, 235,
237, 296298, 467
clausal 223224, 232, 242243, 294,
298
Subject index
core 224226, 231233, 253, 295, 300

in noun phrase 240241
nuclear 217, 227229, 232233, 294
co-text see context: discourse context/co-text
covariate structure 372
criteria for comprehensive functional model
477489
critical linguistics 386387
culmination (in SFG) 126, 164, 179 see also
Rheme: New
culture 2829, 321, 325, 345, 349, 365, 369370,
374, 379380, 383, 385, 388, 414, 418,
426429, 446447, 455, 468469, 475,
486487, 489490, 492493, 499 500
see also context: in SFG: context of culture
D
Daughter Dependency Grammar 347
declaration see illocution
declarative 1, 5 see also illocution, mood
definiteness/indefiniteness 6364, 73, 76, 82,
102, 109, 142, 147148, 159, 168, 195, 314,
318319, 353, 356, 407, 443444, 462 see
also demonstrative
demonstrative 7, 147, 191, 196197, 314, 337,
351352
denotative semiotic see genre: in SFG:
relationship with register
denotatum see referent
descriptive adequacy
in FG 452, 477, 482
in RRG 477
nature of the data 477485
diachronic change 208, 259, 462, 465
dialect 230, 373, 424, 444, 455, 462
dialogue 30, 44, 52, 181, 310, 316, 319, 322, 335,
348, 377378, 391, 394, 415, 417418,
421425, 429, 438, 444, 457
diatypic variation see register
directive see illocution
predicate (in FG) see predicational term
directivity scale 27, 29
direct speech 299
in FG 910, 199, 205
in SFG 273275 see also projection:
paratactic
discourse 17, 303398, 500 see also text

act see act
as product and as process 304
classroom discourse 322, 345346, 398
definitions of 303306, 473
discoursal adequacy
in FG 452, 456457, 459, 462 see
also pragmatic adequacy
in an integrated functional model
485486, 500
discourse analysis 55, 304306, 345, 424,
456, 458, 460, 486
Birmingham school 322, 325,
345348, 391, 398, 485
discourse coherence 486487 see also
cohesion
discourse context see context
discourse marker 482 see also in FG below
discourse module see pragmatic module
discourse pragmatics 17, 30, 109, 282, 306,
323324, 330331, 396, 458, 465466,
494, 497
exchange see exchange
in FG 28, 80, 9596, 306331, 442, 464
anaphoric relations in discourse see
anaphora
as process vs. product 9596, 397
coherence 311314
discourse content 321
discourse context/co-text see context
discourse episode 2122, 311, 323
discourse event 310, 316317, 325
discourse frame see frame
discourse particle/marker 307, 320
Discourse Model 309
discourse world 310
Functional Discourse Grammar see
Functional Discourse Grammar
functional levels see interpersonal
level, representational level,
rhetorical level, structural level
genre see genre
global discourse decisions 310
global structures 310311
Hengevelds early model 314317
hierarchical structure 310311
modelled on grammar 308317, 458
Subject index
modular approaches see modular

approaches to grammar,
pragmatics and discourse
recursion 311
relational structure 315, 320, 324
representation 324325
turn 311, 316, 323, 460
in RRG 111, 331334
in SFG 31, 55, 335395, 442
discourse and text in relation to
cohesion see cohesion
discourse and text in relation to
metafunction see text
discourse grammar in the Cardiff model
46, 297, 390395
flowchart model see flowchart
in relation to Rhetorical Structure
Theory 394395
local discourse grammar 391, 439
planning
discourse 390, 438
higher 390, 439
sentence 390, 439
discourse semantics 4041, 337,
341345, 348350, 355357,
369370, 377, 379380, 388, 397
discourse stylistics 446447
dynamic vs. synoptic approach to
discourse 163, 304, 336, 348349,
356, 372, 380, 384388, 391, 436,
442443, 473, 487
paradigmatic vs. syntagmatic relations
in discourse 346347
move see move
principles of discourse study 485486
transaction see transaction
vs. text 303305, 390
disjunct (in relation to SFG)
modal 141
relational 141
dislocation
left 77, 104, 162 see also left-detached
position, P2 position, Theme
right 79, 111 see also P3 position, Tail
E
education, language in see learning languages:
in relation to SFG
elaboration
Elaboration as pragmatic function in FG
191
Elaboration as relation in Rhetorical
Structure Theory 364367
in SFG 116, 260, 264267, 277, 343, 348,
360
embedded 270271
hypotactic 264268, 271, 297
paratactic 264265
element (as semantic structural category in SFG)
260, 278
ellipsis 101, 121, 243, 278, 281, 289, 376, 405
as cohesive device (in SFG) see cohesion:
in SFG: relations: in Halliday & Hasans
approach
in relation to mood in SFG see mood: in
Sydney SFG
of VP see VP ellipsis
embedding 183
in FG 34, 10, 76, 94, 179, 183, 185,
187213, 293296, 299, 307308, 432,
463464
in RRG see subordination: in RRG
in SFG 35, 4950, 154156, 263, 291,
295298, 300
of elaborations see elaboration
of enhancements see enhancement
of expansions see expansion
of extensions see extension
of projections see projection
vs. hypotaxis see hypotaxis
emphasis vs. contrast 93
end-weight principle 154
engagement (in SFG) see evaluative language
(in SFG): appraisal
enhancement (in SFG) 116, 138, 260, 268269,
277283, 290, 343, 348, 360363
embedded 270272
hypotactic 264, 268269, 283, 294, 364,
367368
paratactic 264, 268, 294, 300
episode (as discourse unit in FG)
equi-NP deletion see control construction
Subject index
equivalence (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:

ergative case/language/construction 64, 100,
110, 334, 408409, 422, 446
errors, in performance 478, 496497
evaluative language (in SFG) 349
appraisal 349350
involvement 349350
evidential 30, 5657, 178, 223
exchange (as structural unit in discourse)
319320, 322323, 325, 338, 345346
structure 388
dynamic vs. synoptic perspective
348349
346
in Cardiff SFG 390395
in relation to metafunction 55,
347348
exclamation/exclamative 1 see also illocution,
mood
existential construction 51, 6364, 130,
133134, 142, 154, 159, 307
expansion (in SFG) 260, 263272, 277, 279, 281,
284, 290291, 295297, 300, 337, 343,
348 see also enhancement,
elaboration, extension
embedded 270272
experiential metafunction/strand of meaning (in
SFG) 42, 49, 5152, 134, 150, 154156, 180,
286, 298, 337345, 355, 359, 377, 379380,
423, 436, 445, 470 see also Theme: in
Sydney SFG: ideational Theme, Theme: in
Cardiff SFG: marked vs. unmarked
explanatory adequacy see acquisitional
adequacy, discoursal adequacy, pragmatic
adequacy, psychological/cognitive adequacy,
sociocultural adequacy
explicature 23, 26
expression rule component
in an integrated functional model 497500
in FG 7, 16, 20, 24, 2829, 69, 99100, 299,
325, 327330, 432433, 452, 454, 460,
463, 498499
extension (in SFG) 116, 127, 260, 267268,
277278, 343, 348, 360361, 371
embedded 270271
hypotactic 264, 266268, 294295
paratactic 264, 267, 294, 300

extraclausal constituent (in FG) 93, 176, 185,
298, 324, 464 see also P1, P2, P3
in relation to pragmatic function 7780
problems with definition and
identification 9495, 173, 178
types
Discourse organisation
Boundary marking
finaliser 77
initiator 61, 77
push and pop 77
topic shifter 77
Interaction management
Greeting 22, 56
Minimal response 22, 56
Summons 22, 56
Orientation 198
Condition 7779, 174175
General Orientation 77, 79
Setting 61, 77, 79, 89,
171172, 174176
Stager 8889, 176
Theme 61, 75, 7780, 9495,
173175, 211, 318319
Tail 61, 7980, 9495, 173, 179,
206, 318
Discourse execution
Response 80
Response Initiator 80
Tag 80
extraction restrictions, acquisition of see
learning languages: in relation to RRG
extraposition 35, 51, 8889, 154, 206, 243, 252,
283, 285, 298
F
fact, as type of embedded clause in SFG 276, 295
factive vs. semifactive vs. non-factive predicate (in
FG) 199, 202, 204205
field (in SFG) 340345, 369, 373378, 380383,
385, 388390, 417, 419, 423, 428, 435,
437, 444, 471472, 487, 492
field-structured text 379
in relation to child language see learning
languages: in relation to SFG
Subject index
figure (as semantic structural category in SFG)

260, 278, 290, 470
final position, in relation to information structure
179 see also culmination, end-weight
principle, focus: in Sydney SFG: information
focus: marked vs, unmarked, P3, Rheme:
New, right dislocation, Tail
finite
Finite as structural element in SFG 3135,
37, 42, 44, 51, 115, 118, 120, 125, 129,
147, 353
vs. non-finite verb 7071, 115, 172, 188,
192193, 269, 445
flowchart (for discourse description) 348, 385,
390395, 398
focus/focality 61
in FG 20, 6162, 6567, 157, 160, 185, 307,
312, 326327, 432433, 456, 464
Focus as pragmatic function 68,
6162, 6667, 160, 330, 433,
456
Contrastive 66, 69, 8586, 163
Counter-presuppositional
66, 69, 93, 163164
Expanding 6667, 163
Rejecting 6667,
163164
Replacing 6667, 163
Restricting 6667, 163
Selecting 6667, 163
Parallel 66, 83, 85, 93, 163,
166
Information gap 66, 163
Completive 66, 6869, 83,
92, 163, 165167
predicate focus 93
utterance focus 93
Questioning 66, 163, 167
expression of Focus
Focus marking particles 6,
67, 72, 171
6, 6776, 174, 179, 453
prosodic prominence 6,
6769, 164167, 178, 185,
326
special constructions 6,
6768, 167169
in relation to standards of adequacy

see pragmatic function
in relation to Topic see topic
other types proposed
completive vs. non-completive
93, 163
contrastive vs. non-contrastive
93, 163
emphatic vs. non-emphatic
9394, 163
Listing 93
presentative vs.
non-presentative 86, 93
problems of definition and
identification 9293
in RRG 331332, 396, 466 see also
presupposition
coding of 102, 106107, 164167, 171,
236
Focus Accessibility Hierarchy 112
focus domain 103, 105, 410412
actual 106107, 112, 164, 410,
412
potential 106, 109, 160, 235236,
410412
focus projection 106
focus structure in complex sentences
235236
in relation to language acquisition see
learning languages: in relation to
RRG
in relation to linking algorithms
108109
in relation to negation and
quantification 107
in relation to pronominalisation
107108
types of focus
narrow 103, 105, 107, 112, 164,
167, 408, 410
marked vs. unmarked 105,
164
broad 103104, 164
predicate 103107, 112, 164,
166167, 242
sentence 103104, 164
Subject index
in relation to balance in amount of

information given 156
in Sydney SFG
information focus 121123, 146,
160167, 176, 281, 446
in relation to contrastiveness
162163
marked vs. unmarked 121122,
126, 145146, 155156,
162167, 176177, 179
other uses of term focus 147148
formality 27, 43, 310, 374375
formulaic language 479480, 483484, 493
see also idiom principle
fractal category (in SFG) 260, 343
frame
in FG
discourse frame 311312, 315316,
321
exchange frame 322
framing relationship (in Semiotic
Grammar) 264
illocutionary frame see illocution: in
FG: frame
text frame 321
Functional Cognitive Discourse Grammar
329330
Functional Discourse Grammar 20, 98, 180,
322323, 327329, 458, 461
functional explanation 475477
in FG 453454
in RRG 465466, 475
in SFG 468471, 475
Functional Grammar Machine 433
Functional Lexematic Model (FLM) 213, 299,
443, 448, 454, 460461, 482, 488, 493, 498,
500
Functional Logic (in FG) 16, 212, 431
functional motivation see functional
explanation
Functional Procedural Grammar (FPG) 97, 307,
325, 329, 457460, 491
Functional Stability, Principle of (in FG) 453
G
gender, social construction of 424
general coextension (as cohesive relation in SFG)

see cohesion: in SFG: relations:
componential: lexical
generalised paralellism hypothesis (in FG) 317
genre 486
in FG 310, 321
in SFG 131, 154, 345, 365, 370, 377,
380390, 417, 436, 447, 470,
472473
as connotative semiotic 383388
generic structure potential 381384,
446
genre-structured text 379
in relation to child language 417
in relation to register 383390
in relation to Theme 138
in schooling see learning languages: in
relation to SFG: language in
education
schematic structure 384
system networks for genre in English
384
given (old)/new information 61, 80 see also
presupposition, referent:
activation/cognitive/pragmatic state
in FG 20, 62, 6566, 8182, 8486, 8889,
9193, 160, 165 see also topic: in FG:
types of Topic: Given Topic
in RRG 101103, 108
in SFG (= information structuring) 335,
377
encoding of given and new information
in spoken text 145146, 160163
in written text 126, 146 see also
culmination
in relation to position of tonic in tone
group 120123 see also tonicity
in relation to Theme see Theme
in Cardiff SFG 150, 153156
Government and Binding Theory 245
grammatical
grammar/grammatical component/module
1720, 22, 29, 97, 307, 324, 330,
397, 457, 459
in Functional Discourse Grammar
323, 461
Subject index
metaphor (in SFG) 36, 39, 43, 5859, 279,

281282, 284285, 289, 335, 344, 356
relations (in RRG) see controller, pivot,
grammaticalisation 13, 15, 187, 206, 311, 317,
364, 367368, 372
greeting
in FG see extraclausal constituent
in SFG see illocution
ground/grounding 330, 359, 405
H
habitualisation 18, 58
head proximity, principle of (in FG) 193
headed vs. headless constructions 7576 see
also relative clause
hierarchy 462 see also Actor-Undergoer
Hierarchy, adverbial clause: in FG, Focus
Accessibility Hierarchy, Interclausal Relations
Hierarchy, relativisation hierarchy, Semantic
Function Hierarchy
history, writing about 426
holophrase 98, 324, 329, 416, 457
honorifics 45
hyponymy (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
hypotaxis/hypotactic (in SFG) 136, 260263,
277278, 370 see also elaboration,
enhancement, expansion, extension,
projection
in relation to Rhetorical Structure Theory
364, 367368
vs. embedding 263, 270, 279286, 298299,
368
in Cardiff grammar 291292, 296
in enhancement (adverbial clauses)
280282
in non-restrictive relative clauses
283284
in projection (complement clauses)
282283
in relation to wh-interrogatives
284285
vs. parataxis 260263, 280, 283, 287,
290291, 296, 298
I
Iconic Ordering, Principle of (in FG) 453
iconicity 21, 207, 233, 312, 342, 379, 413, 453,
459
lexical see Lexical Iconicity, Principle of
idea (in SFG) 260, 264, 273278
Idealised Cognitive Model (ICM) 23, 2629, 307
ideation (in Martins discourse semantics in SFG)
see cohesion: in SFG: relations: in
Martins discourse semantics
base see knowledge base: in SFG
ideational metafunction (in SFG) 36, 55, 57, 96,
126, 147148, 180, 260, 290, 335, 338, 348,
369, 374, 376, 380, 415, 417, 419, 422424,
445446, 470 see also experiential
metafunction, ideation, logical
metafunction, Theme: in Sydney SFG:
ideational Theme
identifiability of referent see referent
identifying construction 7376, 119, 167168,
356, 423
ideology (in SFG) 386387, 426, 447, 468, 470,
472474
idiom principle 484
illocution(ary) 304, 306
directive 4548, 50, 56
general suggestion 4648
request 4648, 50, 59
self-inclusive 4648
simple 4648
in dependent clauses 49
indirect speech acts 45, 50, 59
information giver 4547, 4950, 56,
439
information seeker 4551, 56, 439
in relation to socio-psychological
purpose 50, 59
system networks and realisation rules
for illocution in English 4651
in FG 129, 78, 95, 180, 307, 318, 320, 323,
464
act see act
basic sentence types
Declarative 24, 7, 1014, 1621,
23, 25, 2728, 5657, 185, 310,
456
Subject index
Exclamative 13, 5, 10, 21, 5657,

456 see also exclamation as
modality below
Imperative 23, 5, 10, 1214,
1821, 25, 28, 5657, 185, 200,
456
Interrogative 28, 1011, 1316,
1821, 2325, 28, 57,
5960, 185, 196197, 456,
464
disjunctive 6
Q-word 68, 66, 70, 76
Q-Focus strategy (in FG)
78, 68
Q-Pattern strategy (in
FG) 78, 68
yes/no 6
cognitive view 8, 2229
conditionals see adverbial clause: in
FG: condition
conventionalisation 13, 1517, 2526
conversion 1214, 17, 21, 58
grammatical 45, 910, 2325,
57, 456
lexical 4
pragmatic 4, 13, 23, 57
default illocution in relation to genre of
discourse 310, 317, 325
encoded in expression (IllE ) 12, 12,
17, 57, 59, 456
exclamation as modality 2022
frame 810, 315, 401
illocutionary convention 18, 27, 29
implicated/implied see indirect below
in relation to coordination 185
in relation to layering 810
indirect 8, 1020, 2229
intended by speaker (IllS ) 12, 12, 17
interpreted by addressee (IllA ) 12, 12,
17
literalised 15
mitigation 5, 9, 1113, 2324, 27
modular approaches see modular
approaches to grammar,
pragmatics and discourse
operator 312, 16, 1819, 2324, 57,
60, 88, 96, 178, 191, 200, 205, 212
see also basic sentence types above
performative analysis 2, 9
predicate 810, 56
reinforcement 45, 9, 1112, 21, 2324
satellite 34, 9, 26, 209210, 212, 324,
401
sequencing of illocutionary acts
316317
specifier/modifier 1112
speech act types
advice 24, 26, 28
begging 2829
command 3, 18, 4142
commissive 18, 27 see also
promise below
declaration 18
directive 13, 18, 2425, 27 see
also command, order, request
above and below
invitation 28
metadirective 13
offer 2425, 28, 4142
order 12, 18, 2425, 2829
promise 2728
proposal 1314
question 3, 13, 18, 57, 6566, 68,
70, 76, 79, 82, 433
echo 167
rhetorical 5, 10
request 4, 13, 1518, 2326,
2829, 57, 200, 326327
statement 3, 26
suggestion 13, 2425, 28
threat 4, 28
warning 2, 4, 28
stance (in Incremental Functional
Grammar) 326
typology, in Risseladas work 14
variable 1, 89, 11, 17
in RRG 60, 218, 220221, 223, 235, 404,
411413
declarative 30, 56, 412
imperative 30, 56, 406
interrogative 30, 56, 223, 413
wh- 105106, 109, 331332
acquisition of wh-questions
see learning languages: in
relation to RRG
optative 30, 56
Subject index
speech function in Sydney SFG 3031, 51,

359 see also mood
advice 36
basic types
command 30, 3436, 3839, 56,
335, 417, 435
offer 30, 3536, 39, 41, 56, 335,
345
question 3031, 35, 38, 56,
115116, 133135, 335, 345,
416 see also learning
languages: in relation to SFG,
literal mood meaning and
significance
statement 3031, 35, 3839, 56,
335, 417
call 35, 3940, 56
directive 55 see also command above
exclamation 35, 37, 39, 56
greeting 35, 37, 3940, 56
in relation to mood 31, 3536, 4041,
349
in verbless clauses 35
invitation 38
prohibition 34, 38
promise 36
response
discretionary
contradiction 31
disclaimer 31, 345
refusal 31, 345
rejection 31
expected
acceptance 31, 345
acknowledgment 31
answer 31, 345
undertaking 31
system networks for speech function in
English 3941
threat 36
warning 36
imperative 1, 5 see also illocution, mood
implicative vs. non-implicative predicate (in FG)
201
implicature 16, 23, 161
Incremental Functional Grammar 9798, 307,
326327, 329330, 397, 457 458, 460, 484,
487
indicative 52 see also mood

indirect
discourse predicate (in RRG) 232233
speech 299
in FG 910, 199, 205
in SFG 273275 see also projection:
hypotactic
free indirect speech 274
indirection scale 25
indirectness scale 27
information
distribution/structure 5556, 58 see also
focus, given/new information,
rheme, theme, topic, voice
comparison of approaches 156182
in FG 61101, 307, 330, 456457, 460
in RRG 101113, 331, 407, 410
in SFG 113156, 417
focus (in SFG) see focus: in SFG
strategy, in cognitive approach to illocution
in FG 2829
unit (in SFG) 36, 3940, 120121, 155156,
160, 162, 164165, 169, 209, 281, 324
initial position, in relation to information
structure 7, 64, 6869, 78, 8890, 92, 98,
171178, 453, 460 see also orientational
field, P1, P2, Theme
innateness see learning languages
instantial coextension (as cohesive category in
SFG) see cohesion: in SFG: relations:
componential: lexical
institution 1819, 58, 310311, 325, 342, 349,
355, 369, 379, 389
integrated structural-functional model 477500
interaction
as structural unit in discourse 320
base (in SFG) see knowledge base: in SFG
management (in FG) 22, 311
interactional level of discourse (in FG) 320, 322,
326327, 397
Interclausal Relations Hierarchy (in RRG)
231235, 466
in relation to language acquisition see
language learning: in relation to RRG
interpersonal
level in FG
in Connollys model of discourse
representation 325
Subject index
in Diks model of discourse 310311,

317
in Functional Discourse Grammar 20,
180, 322323, 328329, 461
in Gmez Solios model of discourse
321
in Hengevelds early model of discourse
315317
in underlying clause structure 56, 209
grammatical metaphor (in SFG) see
grammatical metaphor
metafunction/strand of meaning in SFG
31, 43, 49, 5557, 96, 126, 147, 161,
180181, 281, 296, 338, 345350,
352353, 359, 369, 374, 376377,
379380, 417, 419, 422, 445446, 470
see also illocution: speech function in
Sydney SFG, modality: in SFG, mood: in
Sydney SFG, Theme: in Sydney SFG:
interpersonal Theme
semiotic, in Semiotic Grammar 180, 264
interrogative 1 see also illocution, mood
intertextuality 426, 446
intonation 5, 1415, 17, 2425, 33, 92, 171173,
179, 190, 324, 329330, 414, 439, 455,
460, 489 see also prosody
in child language in SFG see learning
in relation to acquisition of illocutionary
force see learning languages: in
relation to RRG: illocutionary force
in relation to clause complex structure in
SFG 265266, 268, 271, 277278, 285,
297
in relation to extraclausal constituents in FG
9495, 171, 174
in relation to Focus in FG see focus
in relation to focus structure in RRG see
focus: in RRG: coding of
in relation to information structuring in SFG
113114, 120124, 132, 137, 145146,
153156, 160167, 176177
in relation to mood and speech function in
SFG 3639, 4344, 4651 see also
key
in relation to Topic in FG see topic
intuition see methodology of linguistic
investigation
invitation see illocution

involvement (in SFG) see evaluative language
island constraint 469
J
judgment (in SFG) see evaluative language (in
SFG): appraisal
juncture (in RRG) 413
clausal 214, 218, 232, 293294, 467
core 214217, 224226, 232, 247, 252253,
255, 293, 467
nuclear 214217, 226229, 232, 293, 467
sentential 214, 218, 293
jussive
imperative (in SFG) see mood: in SFG:
imperative
predicate (in RRG) 232233, 246247, 251
K
key (in SFG) 3640
knowledge
acquisition or loss, predicates of (in FG)
see propositional term
base
in an integrated functional model 493,
495, 498499
in FG 309, 433434
in SFG 435, 437440
long-term vs. short-term (in FG) 309, 311,
322323
L
Language-Independent Preferred Order of
Constituents (LIPOC) (in FG) 72, 179,
193, 206208, 211, 453
layers and levels of description
in FG
in relation to adverbial clauses 209
in relation to complementation 205
lack of explicit syntactic level 453454,
496
in RRG
layered structure of clause in relation to
language acquisition see learning
Subject index
layered structure of noun phrase

236241
in SFG
lack of explicitly syntactic level in
Sydney SFG 469470, 496497
learning languages
child language acquisition 489
acquisition of questions, across FG,
RRG, SFG 429
constructionist vs. adaptationist
position 402, 409, 428
in relation to FG 399401, 459
acquisition of adverbs 400401
Aktionsart 404405
aspect 404406
case-marking 405409
complex sentences 413
extraction restrictions 403,
409413, 466
focus structure 408, 410412, 428
grammatical relations and
macroroles 403, 407409
illocutionary force 404
Interclausal Relations Hierarchy
413, 428
layered structure of the clause 403
negation 403404
relativisation 412
Subject-auxiliary inversion
412413
tense 403
topicalisation 412
verb subcategorisation 403,
405407
verbs with Undergoer omission
409
wh-questions 403, 410413, 429
yes/no questions 410411, 429
adult metafunctions in relation to
child language 415, 417, 419,
422, 428
cause-effect relations 423424
critical reaction to Hallidays
account 418420
field, tenor and mode in relation to

child language 417418,
423424
functions in child language
heuristic 415416, 420421
imaginative 415
instrumental 415416,
420421
interactional 415416,
420421
mathetic 416, 419, 421422
personal 415416, 420421
pragmatic 416, 419,
421422, 429
regulatory 415416, 420421
representational/ informative
415, 421
intonation in child language
414417, 421, 429
language as learning resource
422424
language in education 424427,
467468, 473
phases in child language 414418,
420422
social structure in relation to child
language 418
study of Hal 419422, 429
study of Nigel 414422, 429
study of Stephen 422424
teaching English as native language
424426
teaching of genre 425426
innateness 399, 402403, 409411,
413, 428, 466
poverty of the stimulus argument
402, 409411, 413, 428, 466
relationship between linguistic theory
and account of acquisition
402403, 413414
foreign/second language learning
in relation to FG 399400
left-detached position (LDP) (in RRG) 104,
109, 111112, 171175, 178, 218 see also
dislocation: left
left dislocation see dislocation
Subject index
lesson (as structural unit in classroom discourse)

345346
lexical
chain (in SFG) see cohesion
cohesion (in SFG) see cohesion
rendering (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
lexical chain
repetition (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
storage/access 495
vs. syntactic priority in processing see
processing of language
Lexical Functional Grammar 245, 441, 482
Lexical Iconicity, Principle of (in Functional
Lexematic Model) 213, 454
lexicogrammar, relationship with semantics (in
SFG) 40, 290291, 470
lexis as most delicate grammar (in SFG) 435,
498
limitations of individual theories 475477
Linear Ordering, Principle of (in FG) 453, 459
linking algorithms (in RRG)
in complex sentences 241259, 299, 405
see also focus: in RRG: in relation to
linking algorithms
in clausal junctures 242243
in complex noun phrases 255259
in core junctures 242259
control constructions 245251
matrix-coding constructions
251255
subordinate junctures 243244
in nuclear junctures 242243
in relation to FG expression rules 499
LINKS project see computational linguistics
locution (in SFG) 260, 264, 273278
logical
metafunction (in SFG) 150, 260, 290, 295,
298, 337338, 357372, 423, 446 see
also Theme: in Sydney SFG: logical
Theme
semiotic (in Semiotic Grammar) 264
logico-semantic relation 260, 263279, 290,
296, 299, 343, 363 see also elaboration,
enhancement, expansion, extension,
projection
logogenesis (in SFG) 138, 377
M
macrorole (Actor, Undergoer) 108, 110112,
180181, 244253, 256258, 334, 407409
see also Actor-Undergoer Hierarchy
manifestness 23, 26
mapping 10, 17, 20, 52, 5859, 92, 99, 109, 126,
144, 147, 180, 248, 322, 329, 348349,
414415, 431, 490, 494, 497499
markedness see focus, Theme, word order
shift (in FG) 15, 462
matrix-coding construction (in RRG) 244,
251255 see also raising
as Privileged Syntactic Argument 252253
as non-PSA 253255
maximal bracketing see minimal vs. maximal
bracketing (in SFG)
medical texts 138
medium (in relation to mode in SFG) 374
memory 460461
event 328
long-term 29, 82, 328
semantic 328329
short-term 328
working 328329, 493
mental perception predicate see perception
predicate, propositional term
meronymy (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
message
as unit in Gmez Solios model of discourse
321
as unit in Hasans work 337
component (in SFG) 337
frame 1920, 29
management, modes of (in FG) 8890,
9697, 158, 161, 174, 176, 180, 457
All-new Mode 8889
Grounding Mode 89, 176
Presentative Mode 8890
Setting Mode 89
Topic Mode 8889
Neutral Mode 8889
Reaction Mode 8889
manager 1920
module 19, 29, 5859, 307
part (in SFG) 341342, 344
metadirective see illocution
Subject index
metafunction see experiential, ideational,

interpersonal, logical, textual
in relation to field, tenor and mode
374376
metaredundancy (in SFG) 377
methodology of linguistic investigation
behaviour vs. intuition 479481, 493
experimental techniques 480481, 488, 495
natural vs. artificial 480481
minimal
response (in FG) see extraclausal
constituent
vs. maximal bracketing (in SFG) 286289
minor clause (in SFG) 33, 35, 37, 3940
modal
Adjunct (in SFG) 31, 3334, 116118, 349
modifier (in FG) 11
particle 5, 148
modality
in an integrated functional model 493
in FG 6, 1012, 5657, 59, 314, 317, 400,
458
exclamative see illocution: in FG:
exclamation as modality
objective 203
subjective 22, 56
epistemological 21, 203
in RRG
acquisition of see learning languages:
in relation to RRG
core (ability, deontic, root) 224, 226,
253, 300
clausal (epistemic) 220, 223, 225
in SFG 3133, 3839, 4245, 4748, 50, 57,
139141, 151, 276, 284, 349, 353, 359,
370371, 376, 417, 423, 427, 439
mode
in an integrated functional model 486487,
492
in SFG 373383, 385, 388389, 391, 417,
419, 423424, 428, 435, 437, 444,
471472
in relation to child language see
SFG
of message management (in FG) see
message management
modular approaches to grammar, pragmatics and

discourse (in FG) 1620, 2829,
5758, 307308, 318320, 397, 457458
proposals which combine modular and
upward layering approaches 321325
modulation (in RRG) see voice
monologue 42, 138, 310, 316, 319, 322,
377378, 385, 391, 394, 422, 424, 438, 444
mood
alternative label to illocutionary force in
Cardiff SFG 45
in FG 66, 211, 314
indicative 11, 208, 213
optative 3
subjunctive 5, 11, 13, 191, 208, 213
in RRG
indicative 30
subjunctive 30
in Sydney SFG 376, 417, 422
declarative 3132, 35, 3740, 4344,
57, 115, 284, 429
exclamative 35, 37, 44
imperative 31, 3739, 4344, 57, 116,
135, 289
first person 34
jussive 34, 39, 53
optative 34
in languages other than English 4345
in relation to ellipsis 35, 37, 42, 122,
281, 289, 418
in relation to exchange structure 347
in relation to intonation see
intonation
in relation to role allocation 337
in relation to speech function see
illocution
in relation to Theme see Theme:
marked vs. unmarked
indicative 3132, 37, 39, 57, 125, 275,
435
interrogative 32, 35, 37, 3941, 4445,
57, 149, 429
wh- 3132, 34, 38, 43, 115116,
118, 135, 147, 176177,
284285, 417, 429
yes/no 31, 38, 43, 115116, 118,
139, 417
modal Adjunct see modal Adjunct
Subject index
modal responsibility 33, 4142, 51,

181
mood Adjunct see modal Adjunct
Mood as element of structure 3135,
42, 4445, 59, 352353, 372
mood/modal particles 4445, 147148
system networks for mood in English
37, 3940
literal mood meaning and significance in
Davies approach 5255
applied to minimal exchanges in
discourse 55
applied to questions and tags 5355
in relation to Hallidays metafunctions
53, 55
literal meaning vs. significance 52
role of intonation 53
mother-child interaction 337, 414, 417418, 425
move
319320, 322, 345346
in FG 19, 28, 90, 9798, 309, 315316,
318323, 325326, 328329
manager 19
in SFG 35, 3942, 44, 118, 181, 338, 349,
391395
move complex (in SFG) 348
multivariate structure (in SFG) 259, 281, 286
N
naming (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
Natural Language User, model of (in FG) 16,
309, 433, 455, 459
computational model see computational
linguistics: in relation to FG
negation see also polarity
in FG 11, 164, 187, 209
in RRG 30, 107, 112, 403
in relation to RRG
in SFG 43
in relation to SFG
negotiation
as interpersonal part of Martins discourse
semantics in SFG 345, 379
strategy, in cognitive approach to illocution

in FG 29
Negotiator, as functional element in SFG 44
nesting of clause relationships (in SFG) 262
neurology/neurolinguistics 461, 466, 488489,
494, 496
new information see given/new information
nexus relation
clause nexus (in SFG) 260
in RRG see coordination, cosubordination,
subordination
newsworthiness 81, 126, 137, 145, 161, 179180,
271, 330331
Nigel (in SFG)
computational grammar see
computational linguistics: in relation to
SFG
study of language acquisition see learning
nominalisation 36, 46, 119, 208, 272, 276, 279,
281, 295, 307, 335, 356357
nominalised restrictor (in FG) 188, 197
nominative/accusative (or accusative)
language/construction 100, 110, 251, 334
non-discreteness 459
non-verbal predication (in FG) 432
noun phrase (in RRG) 30
clausal postmodification in noun phrases (in
RRG) 236241 see also relative
clause, apposition
layered structure 236
noun phrase initial position 236
nursery tale 383, 446
O
objective modal predicate (in FG) see
predicational term
offer see illocution
ontogenesis (in SFG) 377
ontology 491494, 499
Mikrokosmos ontology 491494, 499
used in Functional Lexematic
Model/RRG synthesis 493, 498
operator
in relation to linking (in RRG) 249250
in relation to satellite (in FG) 12, 24
projection 178, 219221, 223, 403
Subject index
sharing in cosubordination (in RRG) 214,

218, 223, 240241, 298
term operator 21
optative see mood: in FG, mood: in Sydney
SFG: imperative
optionality scale 25
order
as speech act see illocution
of constituents see word order
Orientation see extraclausal constituent: types
orientational field (in FG) 90, 95, 98, 173, 324
P
P1 position (in FG) 6972, 7476, 8692, 94,
98, 157, 168, 172176, 178, 193194, 196,
207, 212, 460
P2 position (in FG) 77, 94, 171174, 176, 178,
212
P3 position (in FG) 79, 94, 179, 212
paragraph 120, 136, 157, 308, 316317, 368
parataxis/paratactic
in FG 192, 196, 316
in SFG 260263, 277, 348, 368 see also
elaboration, enhancement, expansion,
extension, projection, rank: in SFG: in
relation to parataxis
participant identification
in FG 188, 190, 192, 307
in RRG 237
in SFG 147148, 355357 see also
cohesion: in SFG: relations: in Halliday
& Hasans approach: reference
passive see voice
pathology, language 448, 473
aphasia 448, 483
Brocas 495
Wernickes 495
pattern vs. process accounts (in FG) 328, 330,
461
pausing 495496
Penman project see computational linguistics:
in relation to SFG
perception predicate
in FG 293 see also predicational term,
propositional term
immediate perception of individual
202, 204205
immediate perception of state of affairs

by individual 202203
mental perception of propositional
content 202203
reception of propositional content of
speech act 202, 204
in RRG 231232
performative
analysis of speech acts see illocution
speech act/verb 4, 1213, 15, 26, 50
peripheral token (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
lexical chain
phasal predicate (in FG) see predicational term
phonetics/phonology 3537, 40, 69, 120, 160,
273, 377, 379, 414, 416, 420421, 431, 470,
496, 498500 see also intonation, prosody
phylogenesis (in SFG) 377
Pit (in thematic structure in SFG) 137
pivot (in RRG) 253, 331, 333334 see also
pragmatic 109, 242243
semantic 109
syntactic 108109, 243, 334
poetry see style/stylistics
polarity 25, 3234, 36, 3839, 42, 4648, 51, 66,
115, 155156, 203, 292, 348, 353, 393394,
416, 463464 see also negation
politeness 11, 23, 2526, 43, 4648, 97, 101, 151,
326, 437
post-core slot (in RRG) 109, 172, 179, 256
Postfield (in FG) 8, 69, 192193, 206208
postmodification in noun phrase, clausal (in
RRG) see noun phrase structure (in RRG)
poverty of the stimulus argument (in language
acquisition) see learning languages
power relations 2324, 27, 29, 385386, 427,
447
pragmatic
adequacy
in relation to FG 15, 22, 80, 9597,
307, 442, 452459, 462, 489
function (in FG) see extraclausal
constituents, Focus, Setting, Stager,
Topic
difficulties with definition and
identification 8095
Subject index
in relation to position see extraclausal

constituents, P1, P2, P3
9598
Pragmatic Highlighting, Principle of (in FG)
69, 453
pragmatic/discourse module 1719, 22,
2829, 59, 97, 307, 320, 322, 324, 330,
397, 457, 459
Prague School 61, 80, 113, 130, 136, 312
pre-core slot (in RRG) 105106, 109, 111,
172173, 175176, 178179, 256257, 410
predicate (in FG) 316, 330331
formation 74, 401, 464
frame 7, 19, 58, 100, 188, 325, 401, 432433
manager 19
predicational term (in FG) 76, 183184, 186,
199201, 205, 293, 295
with achievement predicates 200201
with commentative predicates 201
with direct perception predicates 203 see
also perception predicate
with directive predicates 200
with objective modal predicates 201
with phasal predicates 201
with practical manipulation predicates 200,
300
Prefield (in FG) 8, 69, 192193, 197198,
206208
presentative/presentational construction see
also existential construction
in FG 68, 86, 8890, 93, 163
in RRG 104, 332333
in SFG 134, 142
presupposition, pragmatic
in relation to adverbial clauses in FG
210211
in RRG 102105, 107, 111, 157, 160,
164167, 176
Principles and Parameters theory 410
Privileged Syntactic Argument (PSA) (in RRG)
108111, 180181, 231, 242, 245,
251253, 255, 257258, 331, 333334,
396, 407, 465, 467
PSA Hierarchy 110
processing of language 58, 98, 178, 308, 330,
397, 453, 459461, 466, 484, 487489,
492
comprehension/reception 2829, 244, 320,

326, 459460, 466, 476, 487, 491,
494497, 499500
production 1718, 2829, 308310, 320,
326330, 372373, 397, 434, 459460,
466, 468, 476, 478, 481, 487, 494497,
499500
roles of lexis and syntax 494495, 498
production of language see processing of
language
ProfGlot see computational linguistics: in
relation to FG
prohibition see illocution
projection (in SFG) 260, 263264, 273279,
281284, 290291, 294297, 300, 348
embedded 275277
hypotactic 264, 274, 294295
of proposals 274275, 296, 300
paratactic 264, 273
promise see illocution
pronominalisation
in FG 205
in RRG 107108
proposal
in FG see illocution
in SFG 31, 4041, 51, 294295, 349
projection of see projection
proposition (use of term in SFG) 3133, 41, 51,
349
propositional
attitude
in Davies work on mood see mood:
literal meaning and significance in
Davies approach
in FG see propositional term below
predicate (in RRG) 232235
manipulation predicates (in FG) see
propositional term below
operator (in FG) 21, 191, 204205
term (in FG) 183184, 186, 199200, 205,
293294
with mental perception predicates
199, 203204
with predicates of knowledge
acquisition or loss 199200
with propositional attitude predicates
199200
Subject index
with propositional manipulation

predicates 199, 300
variable 11
prosody 2, 30, 4344, 62, 6669, 77, 8081,
8687, 93, 95, 106, 113, 120, 144, 160,
164, 167, 178, 190, 265, 324, 330, 349,
499 see also accentuation, focus,
intonation, topic
juncture prosody (in SFG) 44
prototype/prototypical 14, 1819, 23, 2628,
7374, 109, 168, 173, 307, 461, 498
pseudocleft construction see cleft and
pseudocleft constructions
psych-action predicate (in RRG) 232, 234235
psychological/cognitive adequacy
in relation to an integrated functional model
486488, 490497, 500
in relation to FG 1516, 23, 58, 80, 95,
9798, 307308, 326, 397, 431, 433,
452453, 457, 459462
in relation to SFG 391, 443
punctuation 7879, 92, 94, 136, 171173,
178179, 190, 265, 273, 297, 324, 482
purpose clause see adverbial clause
Q
quantification (in RRG) 107, 241
question see illocution
tag see tag
word/constituent 176
in FG 68, 6870, 74, 91, 174, 179
quoted speech/thought see direct speech
R
raising 469, 471 see also matrix-coding
construction
rank
in Birmingham model of discourse analysis
320, 322, 345, 485
in SFG 36, 40, 120, 259, 280, 285, 287, 291,
337, 390, 395, 422, 453
in relation to parataxis 288290
rankshift (in SFG) 263, 280282, 286 see also
embedding
realisation
in SFG
as metaredundancy 377
in relation to directionality 386
in the Cardiff computational grammar
439
in the Nigel computational grammar
435436
procedures in cognitive approach to
illocution in FG 2729
reference
in FG 307
in SFG
as cohesive device see cohesion: in
SFG: relations: in Halliday &
Hasans account
presuming vs. presenting 147, 160
tracking see participant identification,
switch function, switch reference
referent
activation/cognitive/pragmatic state 8284,
86, 91, 101102, 111, 158159, 331333
see also given/new information, topic: in
FG: Topic as pragmatic function: types
of Topic: Given Topic
accessibility/identifiability/recoverability
8183, 101102, 111, 122123, 147,
159161, 331332, 351352, 355356
reflexivisation
in FG 205
in RRG 107108, 217, 254, 259
register (in SFG) 148, 274, 278, 345, 373381,
383390, 396, 418, 424, 426427,
437438, 442, 444, 447, 455, 470473,
484, 487
as connotative semiotic 384
as probabilistic choice 375376
definition 374, 377, 388
in relation to genre 383390
relative
clause
in FG 91, 157, 183, 192197, 432433
free/headless 7476, 168
restrictive vs. non-restrictive 74,
188192, 194195, 288,
296297, 324
in RRG 158, 237239, 255258, 411
in Semiotic Grammar 296
in SFG 116, 263, 265267, 270272,
277, 291292
Subject index
defining (restrictive) vs.

non-defining (non-restrictive)
263, 265267, 270271,
283284, 288, 296297, 366
finite vs. non-finite 265267, 271
treatment of free/headless relative
clauses 271
pronoun
in FG 70, 72, 75, 91, 157, 172, 174,
176, 190191, 193197
in RRG 158, 172, 176, 238, 256
in SFG 116117, 168, 170, 176,
266267, 271
relativisation
hierarchy 195
marker (in FG) 193195 see also
pronoun
operator (in FG) 191
Relator principle (in FG) 207
Relevance Theory 22, 28
relevant token (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
lexical chain
reported speech/thought see indirect speech
representational level (in FG)
in Connollys model of discourse
representation 325
in Diks model of discourse 311, 317
in Functional Discourse Grammar 20,
322323, 328329, 461
in Gmez Solios model of discourse 321
in Hengevelds early discourse model 315,
317
in Incremental Functional Grammar 327
in Steutens model of dialogue 322
in underlying clause structure 5657, 96,
209, 470
request see illocution
Residue (structural element in SFG) 3133, 35,
42, 59, 353, 372
restrictive vs. non-restrictive
modifiers (in FG) 190192
relative clause see relative clause
satellites (in FG) 210, 212213
Rheme (in SFG) 61, 113114, 117, 119120,
123124, 130132, 134138, 143145,
148149, 168170, 173, 177, 312,
335336 see also Theme
marked 132
New (N-Rheme) 137 see also

culmination
rhetorical
function/relation 321322, 324325
level
in Hengevelds early model of discourse
315, 317, 320, 397
in Kroons model of discourse 320
mode see mode
question see illocution
Rhetorical Structure Theory (RST)
in relation to FG 282, 308, 311, 321,
324, 398, 458, 486
in relation to SFG 282, 364369, 372,
394395, 398, 437, 486
nucleus 364, 367368, 372, 394395
relation 364365
satellite 364, 367368, 372, 394395
schema 364
schema application 364
unit (in SFG) 337
right-detached position (in RRG) 111, 179
see also dislocation: right
right dislocation see dislocation
S
sampling of worlds languages 464
Scale and Category Grammar 259, 345346,
424, 443444
scientific writing 426
schematic structure (in SFG) see genre
scope 3, 9, 11, 29, 5657, 60, 6667, 78, 107,
178, 209, 213, 224, 226, 228, 282, 286, 288,
301, 317, 367368, 403404, 408, 463, 465,
470, 499
selection restriction 6, 19, 75, 189
self-correction 495496
semantic
module 29
Semantic Function Hierarchy (in FG) 99,
463
semblance (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
semifactive (in FG) see factive
Semiotic Grammar 134, 180, 263264, 296, 336,
359
sentence, as orthographic unit (in SFG) 259
Subject index
sequence
as semantic structural category in SFG
259260, 278279, 290
of speech acts (in FG) 311
of turns (in FG) 311
Sequence as relation in Rhetorical Structure
Theory 366367
sequential states of affairs clauses see
adverbial clause
serial verb
in FG 317
in RRG 218, 226227, 243, 259, 297298
service encounters 348, 381385
Setting (in FG) see extraclausal constituent
situation(al context) (in SFG) see context, field,
tenor, mode
Situation Theory 324
social
context see context
deixis 45
distance scale 2324, 27, 29, 379, 382383
hierarchy 379
role (as variable in register in SFG) 379
structure in relation to child language see
learning languages: in relation to SFG
sociocultural adequacy, in an integrated
functional model 486487, 500
speaker, model of 327329
speech
act see illocution
as unit in discourse (in FG) 311, 316,
318, 320
event 910, 30, 32, 305, 310311, 330
function (in SFG) see illocution
Stager (as pragmatic function in FG) see
extraclausal constituent
statement see illocution
status
in RRG 30, 57, 223
in SFG 379
stepwise lexical decomposition (in FG) 459
stratification (in SFG) 40, 369, 376377,
435436
stratificational linguistics 442
structural level (in Functional Discourse
Grammar) 20, 322323, 329, 461, 471
style/stylistics 310, 317, 365, 481
in the Functional Lexematic Model 443
in SFG 350, 427, 438, 443447, 449, 467,

473
subjacency, acquisition of see learning
languages: in relation to RRG: extraction
restrictions
Subject
assignment in FG 74, 90, 99101, 177,
180181, 205, 432, 454, 462463
in Cardiff SFG 49, 5152, 151
Subject Theme see Theme: in Cardiff
SFG
in Sydney SFG 3135, 37, 4144, 51, 115,
137, 140141, 147, 180181, 353, 445
subjunctive 52 see also mood
subordinate clause see subordination
subordination 183, 259 see also adverbial
clause, conditional clause, concessive
clause, relative clause
in FG see adverbial clause: in FG,
embedding: in FG, verbal restrictor (in
FG)
in RRG 214215, 218, 237, 296298, 467
clausal 219223, 231233, 250, 294,
298300
clause + core 214, 225
core 220, 225, 232, 243244, 295
in noun phrase 237240
nuclear 227, 232
in SFG see hypotaxis, embedding
substitution (as cohesive device in SFG) see
cohesion
suggestion see illocution
summons (in FG) see extraclausal constituent
switch
function (in RRG) 243, 333334
reference
in FG 6465, 72, 312
in RRG 218, 297, 333334, 396, 471
synonymy (in SFG) see cohesion: in SFG:
synoptic approach to discourse description (in
SFG) see discourse
T
tag
in FG 4, 1213, 17, 21, 2425, 57, 80, 436
see also extraclausal constituent
Subject index
in SFG 31, 34, 39, 42, 4647, 50, 54

tagmemics 442
Tail (as pragmatic function in FG) see
extraclausal constituent, P3
Tail-Head linking (in FG) 312, 317
task urgency, principle of 89, 98
taxis (in SFG) see hypotaxis, parataxis
template
constituent ordering (in FG) 454
constructional (in RRG) 242243, 258,
331332
syntactic template selection principle
247, 255
lexical (in Functional Lexematic Model)
493
temporal
chaining in texts 316
clause see adverbial clause
tenor (in SFG) 292, 373383, 385, 388389, 417,
419, 435, 437, 444, 471472, 487, 492
functional tenor (rhetorical purpose)
375377
personal tenor 375376, 379380
in relation to child language see
SFG
tense
in FG 1011, 13, 15, 27, 64, 6667, 74,
187188, 200201, 205, 211, 213, 294,
310, 314, 327, 377
in RRG 30, 57, 218, 220, 252, 403, 412413
in SFG 3132, 34, 43, 45, 127, 353, 359,
370, 377, 417, 436, 439, 445
terminology, in SFG 470, 472
text 303398 passim see also discourse
definitions 303306, 473
frame see frame
in relation to sentence 304
in SFG 180
as semantic unit 335336
definition 335
in relation to context of
situation/register 373381, 396,
468, 471472
in relation to genre 381390
in relation to metafunction 337372
in relation to the experiential
metafunction 337345
in relation to the interpersonal

metafunction 338, 345350
in relation to the logical
in relation to the textual
meaning/significance of a text
472473
text base see knowledge base: in SFG
text radical 337
texture (= properties needed for being a
text) 336, 345, 388389, 417
text block (in FG) 321
text-context strategy, in relation to cognitive
approach to illocution in FG 2829
text linguistics/analysis 303305, 467468,
471472
text worlds 494
vs. discourse see discourse
textual function
in FG 321
textual metafunction (in SFG) 55, 57, 147,
150, 161, 180, 336338, 347348,
350357, 363, 369, 374, 376377, 380,
417, 419, 422, 445446, 470 see also
culmination, focus: in SFG, given
(old)/new information: in SFG,
Rheme, text: in SFG: in relation to
metafunction, Theme: in Sydney SFG,
voice: in Sydney SFG
textualisation 321, 460
Theme 61, 98, 336
as pragmatic function in FG see
extraclausal constituent, P2
enhanced theme (= cleft construction)
152155, 170
marked vs. unmarked 151152
multiple 151
object-as-role-in-event construction
(= pseudocleft construction)
152155, 169
Subject theme 43, 52, 151152
system networks for theme in English
151
thematic strand of meaning 49, 150
in Sydney SFG 33, 35, 43, 55, 173, 175176,
377, 418, 436437, 446, 482
Subject index
as orienting device 137

definitions of 113114
discourse level Theme 120, 131, 137,
142143, 158
discourse Theme (in clause) 140141
experiential Theme see ideational
Theme below
hyper-Theme 158159
ideational Theme 115118, 124125,
129, 131, 134, 138, 141142,
144145, 148, 151, 170, 173, 175,
178 see also topical Theme below
identification of extent/structure of
Theme expression 129132, 150,
173
identification of meaning of Theme
132145, 150, 177
in languages other than English
147150
in relation to aboutness see aboutness
in relation to given/new information
113, 119120, 123124, 136138,
142
in relation to logogenesis 138
in relation to metafunction see
multiple Theme below
in relation to Rheme 113114
in relation to units other than the clause
120, 145, 149, 262, 281, 296
in relation to universals 147
interpersonal Theme 118, 124125,
129130, 134, 138, 142145,
148149, 176 see also multiple
Theme below
logical Theme 144145 see also
multiple Theme below
macro-Theme 159
major vs. minor 149
marked vs. unmarked 114117, 121,
125, 132, 142, 145, 148149,
176
in declaratives 115117, 178
in imperatives 116
in interrogatives
wh- 115116
yes/no 115116
multiple Theme 115, 117118, 124,
129, 133, 143145, 151, 176
participant Theme 140141, 176

predicated Theme (= cleft construction)
119120, 123125, 145, 151152,
169170, 278
sentence-level Theme 136137
situational Theme 140141
spatial Theme 140141, 176
structural Theme 118, 140, 278
substitute Theme 125, 179
system networks for Theme in English
124125
temporal Theme 140141, 176
textual Theme 118, 124125, 129130,
138, 143145, 148, 170, 176 see
also multiple Theme above
thematic equative (= pseudocleft
construction) 119, 125, 145, 152,
168169
thematic progression in development of
texts 130, 133145, 147148, 158,
173, 175, 177, 180, 312, 335, 341,
448
topical Theme 118, 125, 129130,
134135, 139142, 148149, 158,
175
thetic statement 84, 146
threat see illocution
tie, cohesive (in SFG) see cohesion
tonality (in SFG) 120121, 377
tone (in SFG) see intonation
group (in SFG) see intonation
tonic (in SFG) see tonicity
tonicity (in SFG) 121, 156, 377
top-down 321, 323, 433, 498
topic(ality) 482
in FG 307, 327, 456
Topic as pragmatic function 6165,
157, 173, 175, 433, 456
abandonment of, for English
8687, 158, 174
acceptability scale 82, 102, 159
expression of Topic
67, 6972, 174, 453
prosodic prominence 63,
6768
in relation to Focus 7374, 83,
8587, 89, 159, 175
Subject index
in relation to given and new

information/activation status
8185, 158
see pragmatic function
multiple 87, 92
identification 8192
types of Topic 81
Discourse Topic (D-Topic)
62, 78, 92, 9496, 111
Given Topic (GivTop) 6265,
6771, 7376, 81,
8387, 9092, 159,
168, 178, 312
Emphatic Given Topic
93
New Topic (NewTop) 6265,
6769, 71, 81, 83, 8587,
91, 157, 159, 175
Resumed Topic (ResTop) 65,
6768, 81, 83, 8586, 90,
92, 159
Sub-Topic (SubTop) 6263,
67, 70, 81, 83, 8586,
9092, 159, 312
in RRG 102104, 108, 112, 157158, 164,
166, 174175, 333334
identification 111
topic-comment construction 103, 166
topic-marking particle 104
in SFG 133, 135, 137142, 147148, 158
topical Theme see Theme
topic chain/continuity/maintenance 52,
6465, 72, 8586, 243, 310, 312313,
316, 320
transaction (as structural unit in discourse) 320,
325, 345346
transitivity
in RRG 246, 255, 408409
in SFG 45, 115, 118, 124129, 131, 134,
147, 149, 152, 170, 180, 289, 292, 337,
341, 417, 419, 422, 436437, 445447,
470
translation 149, 399, 430, 443, 448, 473 see
also computational linguistics, ontology:
Mikrokosmos ontology
turn
in FG see discourse: in FG: turn
in SFG 347348, 378
typification 18, 58
typological adequacy
in relation to an integrated functional model
482, 490, 497, 500
in relation to FG 5960, 80, 95, 98, 297,
335, 397, 452, 462465, 482, 497498
in relation to RRG 297, 335, 397, 428429,
465, 467, 497498
in relation to SFG 4344, 60, 147, 181, 297,
368, 397, 497
U
Undergoer (in RRG) see macrorole
univariate structure (in SFG) 259, 261, 281, 284,
286288
Universal Grammar (UG) 402, 412413, 477
universals of language 2, 28, 30, 69, 72, 106, 147,
174, 181, 192, 207, 233, 247, 462, 465, 490,
492, 499 see also Universal Grammar
V
valency 100101
variable
E see illocution
X (propositional) see proposition
verb subcategorisation, in relation to language
acquisition see learning languages: in
relation to RRG
verbal
interaction, theory of (in FG) 4, 14, 16, 22,
26, 57, 9596, 454457, 483
restrictor (in FG) 183, 187198, 463464
circumnominal 198
finite vs. non-finite 193, 197
participial 188, 197, 204
postnominal 192197
prenominal 192193, 197198
stacking 189190
types see also relative clause,
participial restrictor, nominalised
restrictor
vocative 22, 34, 59, 118, 125, 141, 149
voice 61
Subject index
in FG 99101, 180182
active 100
antipassive 64, 100101
passive 99100, 180181, 249
in RRG 110111, 180182, 243, 396
active 110, 231, 334
antipassive 110111
argument modulation 110111, 180
in relation to discourse structure 333
passive 110111, 180, 225226, 231,
333334
PSA modulation 110111
in Sydney SFG 126128, 180182, 271, 283,
353, 418
in relation to Theme 127
in relation to verbal group complexes
127
system networks for voice in English
128
types
effective 126, 128
active 31, 34, 126128

passive 31, 34, 126128, 180
get-passive vs. be-passive
128
middle 126
VP (verb phrase) category 106107, 184, 289
VP coordination (in FG) see
coordination: in FG
VP ellipsis (in RRG) 243
W
warning see illocution
West Coast Functionalism 334, 398
wh-question, acquisition of see learning
Word Grammar 482
word order see constituent order
X
X-bar theory
403
In the STUDIES IN LANGUAGE COMPANION SERIES (SLCS) the following volumes

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1. ABRAHAM, Werner (ed.): Valence, Semantic Case, and Grammatical Relations. Workshop studies prepared for the 12th Conference of Linguistics, Vienna, August 29th to
September 3rd, 1977. Amsterdam, 1978.
2. ANWAR, Mohamed Sami: BE and Equational Sentences in Egyptian Colloquial Arabic.
Amsterdam, 1979.
3. MALKIEL, Yakov: From Particular to General Linguistics. Selected Essays 1965-1978.
With an introd. by the author + indices. Amsterdam, 1983.
4. LLOYD, Albert L.: Anatomy of the Verb: The Gothic Verb as a Model for a Unified Theory
of Aspect, Actional Types, and Verbal Velocity. Amsterdam, 1979.
5. HAIMAN, John: Hua: A Papuan Language of the Eastern Highlands of New Guinea.
Amsterdam, 1980.
6. VAGO, Robert (ed.): Issues in Vowel Harmony. Proceedings of the CUNY Linguistics
Conference on Vowel Harmony (May 14, 1977). Amsterdam, 1980.
7. PARRET, H., J. VERSCHUEREN, M. SBIS (eds): Possibilities and Limitations of
Pragmatics. Proceedings of the Conference on Pragmatics, Urbino, July 8-14, 1979. Amsterdam, 1981.
8. BARTH, E.M. & J.L. MARTENS (eds): Argumentation: Approaches to Theory Formation.
Containing the Contributions to the Groningen Conference on the Theory of Argumentation, Groningen, October 1978. Amsterdam, 1982.
9. LANG, Ewald: The Semantics of Coordination. Amsterdam, 1984.(English transl. by John
Pheby from the German orig. edition Semantik der koordinativen Verknpfung, Berlin,
1977.)
10. DRESSLER, Wolfgang U., Willi MAYERTHALER, Oswald PANAGL & Wolfgang U.
WURZEL: Leitmotifs in Natural Morphology. Amsterdam, 1987.
11. PANHUIS, Dirk G.J.: The Communicative Perspective in the Sentence: A Study of Latin
Word Order. Amsterdam, 1982.
12. PINKSTER, Harm (ed.): Latin Linguistics and Linguistic Theory. Proceedings of the 1st
Intern. Coll. on Latin Linguistics, Amsterdam, April 1981. Amsterdam, 1983.
13. REESINK, G.: Structures and their Functions in Usan. Amsterdam, 1987.
14. BENSON, Morton, Evelyn BENSON & Robert ILSON: Lexicographic Description of
English. Amsterdam, 1986.
15. JUSTICE, David: The Semantics of Form in Arabic, in the mirror of European languages.
Amsterdam, 1987.
16. CONTE, M.E., J.S. PETFI, and E. SZER (eds): Text and Discourse Connectedness.
Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1989.
17. CALBOLI, Gualtiero (ed.): Subordination and other Topics in Latin. Proceedings of the
Third Colloquium on Latin Linguistics, Bologna, 1-5 April 1985. Amsterdam/Philadelphia,
1989.
18. WIERZBICKA, Anna: The Semantics of Grammar. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1988.
19. BLUST, Robert A.: Austronesian Root Theory. An Essay on the Limits of Morphology.
20. VERHAAR, John W.M. (ed.): Melanesian Pidgin and Tok Pisin. Proceedings of the First
International Conference on Pidgins and Creoles on Melanesia. Amsterdam/Philadelphia,
1990.
21. COLEMAN, Robert (ed.): New Studies in Latin Linguistics. Proceedings of the 4th
International Colloquium on Latin Linguistics, Cambridge, April 1987. Amsterdam/
Philadelphia, 1991.
22. McGREGOR, William: A Functional Grammar of Gooniyandi. Amsterdam/Philadelphia,
1990.
23. COMRIE, Bernard and Maria POLINSKY (eds): Causatives and Transitivity. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1993.
24. BHAT, D.N.S. The Adjectival Category. Criteria for differentiation and identification.
25. GODDARD, Cliff and Anna WIERZBICKA (eds): Semantics and Lexical Universals.
Theory and empirical findings. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1994.
26. LIMA, Susan D., Roberta L. CORRIGAN and Gregory K. IVERSON (eds): The Reality of
Linguistic Rules. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1994.
27. ABRAHAM, Werner, T. GIVN and Sandra A. THOMPSON (eds): Discourse Grammar
and Typology. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1995.
28. HERMAN, Jzsef: Linguistic Studies on Latin: Selected papers from the 6th international
colloquium on Latin linguistics, Budapest, 2-27 March, 1991. Amsterdam/Philadelphia,
1994.
29. ENGBERG-PEDERSEN, Elisabeth et al. (eds): Content, Expression and Structure. Studies
in Danish functional grammar. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1996.
30. HUFFMAN, Alan: The Categories of Grammar. French lui and le. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1997.
31. WANNER, Leo (ed.): Lexical Functions in Lexicography and Natural Language Processing.
32. FRAJZYNGIER, Zygmunt: Grammaticalization of the Complex Sentence. A case study in
Chadic. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1996.
33. VELAZQUEZ-CASTILLO, Maura: The Grammar of Possession. Inalienability, incorporation and possessor ascension in Guaran. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1996.
34. HATAV, Galia: The Semantics of Aspect and Modality. Evidence from English and Biblical
Hebrew. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1997.
35. MATSUMOTO, Yoshiko: Noun-Modifying Constructions in Japanese. A frame semantic
approach. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1997.
36. KAMIO, Akio (ed.): Directions in Functional Linguistics. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1997.
37. HARVEY, Mark and Nicholas REID (eds): Nominal Classification in Aboriginal Australia.
38. HACKING, Jane F.: Coding the Hypothetical. A Comparative Typology of Conditionals in
Russian and Macedonian. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1998.
39. WANNER, Leo (ed.): Recent Trends in Meaning-Text Theory. Amsterdam/Philadelphia,
1997.
40. BIRNER, Betty and Gregory WARD: Information Status and Noncanonical Word Order in
English. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1998.
41. DARNELL, Michael, Edith MORAVSCIK, Michael NOONAN, Frederick NEWMEYER
and Kathleen WHEATLY (eds): Functionalism and Formalism in Linguistics. Volume I:
General papers. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1999.
42. DARNELL, Michael, Edith MORAVSCIK, Michael NOONAN, Frederick NEWMEYER
and Kathleen WHEATLY (eds): Functionalism and Formalism in Linguistics. Volume II:
Case studies. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1999.
43. OLBERTZ, Hella, Kees HENGEVELD and Jess Snchez GARCA (eds): The Structure of
the Lexicon in Functional Grammar. Amsterdam/Philadelphia, 1998.
44. HANNAY, Mike and A. Machtelt BOLKESTEIN (eds): Functional Grammar and Verbal
Interaction. 1998.
45. COLLINS, Peter and David LEE (eds): The Clause in English. In honour of Rodney
Huddleston. 1999.
46. YAMAMOTO, Mutsumi: Animacy and Reference. A cognitive approach to corpus linguistics. 1999.
47. BRINTON, Laurel J. and Minoji AKIMOTO (eds): ollocational and Idiomatic Aspects of
Composite Predicates in the History of English. 1999.
48. MANNEY, Linda Joyce: Middle Voice in Modern Greek. Meaning and function of an
inflectional category. 2000.
49. BHAT, D.N.S.: The Prominence of Tense, Aspect and Mood. 1999.
50. ABRAHAM, Werner and Leonid KULIKOV (eds): Transitivity, Causativity, and TAM.
In honour of Vladimir Nedjalkov. 1999.
51. ZIEGELER, Debra: Hypothetical Modality. Grammaticalisation in an L2 dialect. 2000.
52. TORRES CACOULLOS, Rena: Grammaticization, Synchronic Variation, and Language
Contact.A study of Spanish progressive -ndo constructions. 2000.
53. FISCHER, Olga, Anette ROSENBACH and Dieter STEIN (eds.): Pathways of Change.
Grammaticalization in English. 2000.
54. DAHL, sten and Maria KOPTJEVSKAJA-TAMM (eds.): Circum-Baltic Languages.
Volume 1: Past and Present. 2001.
55. DAHL, sten and Maria KOPTJEVSKAJA-TAMM (eds.): Circum-Baltic Languages.
Volume 2: Grammar and Typology. 2001.
56. FAARLUND, Jan Terje (ed.): Grammatical Relations in Change. 2001.
57. MELC UK, Igor: Communicative Organization in Natural Language. The semanticcommunicative structure of sentences. 2001.
58. MAYLOR, Brian Roger: Lexical Template Morphology. Change of state and the verbal
prefixes in German. 2002.
59. SHI, Yuzhi: The Establishment of Modern Chinese Grammar. The formation of the
resultative construction and its effects. 2002.
60. GODDARD, Cliff and Anna WIERZBICKA (eds.): Meaning and Universal Grammar.
Theory and empirical findings. Volume 1. 2002.
61. GODDARD, Cliff and Anna WIERZBICKA (eds.): Meaning and Universal Grammar.
Theory and empirical findings. Volume 2. 2002.
62. FIELD, Fredric W.: Linguistic Borrowing in Bilingual Contexts. 2002.
63. BUTLER, Chris: Structure and Function A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional
Theories. Part 1: Approaches to the simplex clause. 2003.
64. BUTLER, Chris: Structure and Function A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional
Theories. Part 2: From clause to discourse and beyond. 2003.
65. MATSUMOTO, Kazuko: Intonation Units in Japanese Conversation. Syntactic, informational and functional structures. n.y.p.
66. NARIYAMA, Shigeko: Ellipsis and Reference Tracking in Japanese. n.y.p.
67. LURAGHI, Silvia: On the Meaning of Prepositions and Cases. The expression of semantic
roles in Ancient Greek. n.y.p.

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<DOCINFO AUTHOR ""TITLE "Structure and Function: A Guide to Three Major Structural-Functional Theories: Volume 2: From clause to discourse

Structure and Function

Studies in Language Companion Series (SLCS)

University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee

University of New Mexico

University of Texas, Arlington

Max Planck Institute

University of California, Santa Barbara

University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee

Rice University and Kobe University

Max Planck Institute

Structure and Function:

John Benjamins Publishing Company

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

2003 John Benjamins B.V.

2.3 Information structure in the simplex clause in Role and Reference

3.3.8 Linking algorithms in complex sentences 241

Computational linguistics 430

Name index 537

SLCS[v.20020404] Prn:25/02/2003; 9:35

F: SLCS64PR.tex / p.1 (xi)

SLCS[v.20020404] Prn:25/02/2003; 9:35

F: SLCS64PR.tex / p.2 (xii)

Structure and Function

SLCS[v.20020404] Prn:25/02/2003; 9:35

F: SLCS64PR.tex / p.3 (xiii)

Corpora used to provide examples

90% written, 10% spoken.

Wide variety of material,

Illocution and related phenomena

Illocution in Functional Grammar

Diks view of illocution

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

.. Alternative views of illocution in FG

... Operator or frame?

Illocution and related phenomena

(39) ILL (S) (A) (X1 )

... The status of the E variable

Structure and Function

... The treatment of indirect illocutions

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

.... Risselada on alternatives to illocutionary conversion. We turn now to the work of

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

.... Moutaouakil on implicated illocutionary force. A number of modifications to

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

Illocution and related phenomena

Structure and Function

episodes is postulated in order to account for sequences of exclamations in panegyrical

... Some speech acts not treated as illocutions in FG