I have gotten emails from folks who have so appreciated what discourse grammar has to offer that they ask whether we still need traditional grammars. I tried to explain here the need and role for each approach, but there seems to be a tendency to throw out the old when some new, promising thing comes along. The question seems to be, if I am advocating for discourse grammar, then how can I possibly still support tradition approaches? Let me tell you a little story as an answer to this question.

The other day I found some chapter outlines and notes from the planning stages of A Discourse Grammar from 2003-04. They brought back memories. My ideas developed a lot over the years, but the purpose remained the same: to provide an accessible introduction to discourse studies–as free of jargon as possible–for those who had more of a traditional grammatical background. This was the goal, but it proved to be more difficult than I thought. Regarding the terminology, there were certain points that demanded retention of jargon for clarity sake. New concepts demanded new terms, there was no way around it.

But there was another problem. How was I to reach out to those familiar Wallace or Robertson when I was unfamiliar with them. My exposure to ideas of semantic force was limited, intentionally so on my part. All of the categories drove me crazy, mainly because they did not help me better understand the Greek. This should not have come as a surprise since they are merely descriptive labels, not intended to provide explanation. At any rate, I wanted to find more of a holistic methodology for describing grammatical usage, if nothing else to compliment what I felt was rather atomistic. Wallace’s volume was released the year after I completed seminary, and I had no interest in reading the “dead grammarians” like Robertson, Winer and BDF. What did they have that I needed, I had discourse! Or so my thinking went

I was called on the carpet several times for my snobbish disdain for traditional grammar on three separate occasions at ISBL in Edinburgh in July, 2006. Twice it was by folks from traditional backgrounds, and once–from of all people–by Stephen Levinsohn. You see, in my pursuit of discourse studies, I tended to criticize the shortcomings of traditional approaches  as a means of arguing for the need for discourse-based approaches. Yes, I carried the banner that said “Discourse studies hold the answer to everything.” I had drunk the Kool-aid, it seemed.

Not surprisingly, much of my criticism stemmed from ignorance. What kind, you ask? The kind where you don’t completely engage the opposition, you simply interact enough to find the flaws. Flaws can be found on all sides in such matters, I learned. Several scholars, quite independently of one another, beat it into my thick skull that there is no perfect methodology or approach. Each has its own strengths. The further one attempts to extend beyond the core strength, the more its weaknesses are exposed. This was the case with exegetical grammar. It provided helpful descriptions at the lower levels of discourse in most cases. But the higher the level at which a given device operated, the more the solutions provided tended to stumble. Thus, the first lesson I took away from these exchanges was essentially “Know thyself,” i.e. know the limitations of my approach. I found that I did not, a hard but good thing to learn.

Another important thing I gleaned from these unpleasant interactions was a corollary: “Know your neighbor.” I learned rather clearly that I did not. Oh sure, I knew enough straw-man their ideas, but did I understand them enough to appreciate them, enough to engage them on their own terms? Nope, not even close. Why not? Laziness on my part, along with some arrogance. You see, I didn’t think that they had anything to offer me. Boy, was I ever wrong.

I was specifically challenged to immerse myself in traditional grammar. I was told that there I would find a treasure trove of insights into the Greek language, things that I would likely never learn otherwise. I also learned more specifically what my “problem” was with their approach. In most cases, it was really a matter of wanting a more efficient, synthesis-based description of the device. Their descriptions most often tended to obscure function or subdivide the same basic device into separate categories. There were times some descriptions may have approached inaccuracy, but these were much rarer than my rhetoric would have let on.

I was not the happiest of campers on my flight home from Edinburgh. As much as I like to view myself as growing older and wiser, I had clearly seen that there was more young and stupid that needed to be addressed. Worse yet, it was going to take mastering an entire new body of literature with a horrifically profuse fair amount of jargon. Not unlike Paul heading off to Arabia after his encounter on the Damascus road, I slowly began reprogramming my attitudes toward traditional grammarians by getting to know them personally. For the next two years I read their writings whenever I could.

Quite honestly, the reading was done grudgingly and under compulsion, but these guys began to grow on me. What’s more, I was surprised by what I was finding. As I had been warned told, these guys knew their stuff. They were making connections to ideas or devices that I had never thought of before. I also found out that they were looking at many of the same kinds of phenomena as I was. The problem was that they had a very limited descriptive framework within which to operate. Most relied on analogy to English or Latin for description. If English had a more specific means of accomplishing a task, a blended description was used combining the English and Greek. The description was often based on its translation value. In many cases this worked just fine. But where there were mismatches in the language, or where the device operated at a higher level of discourse, descriptions suffered.

Somewhere in the course of this reading I began to realize what sort of book was needed. It was not another “Bash the dead grammarians because they are wrong,” there was already too much of that. What was worse was that these books that bashed them for their backward terminology often did little more than replace it with a new kind of backward, something that was just as inaccessible even if it was supposedly more precise.

What was needed was a book that engaged the dead grammarians as masters of the language in most cases, but whose descriptions suffered from the limitations of their descriptive framework at certain points. This meant that these men were no longer my enemies. Instead, they were my mentors. What was needed was helping others see what these learned men saw, but sometimes had trouble describing. This would require clear explanations of both the devices and the principles or presupposition on which they relied. It also necessitated engaging the dead grammar on their own terms, working within their jargon to demonstrate that they were arguing for the same kind of function as I was, just using a different descriptive framework.

This proved to be a bigger challenge than I expected. It was far more difficult to master this literature than I expected, nor have I finished this task. One of the most surprising challenges was overcoming my prejudice against their explanations as wrong or backwards. Old habits die hard, and unfortunately there is still some life to be found in these attitudes of mine. Worse yet, some of this attitude made its way into the text of the discourse grammar. As much as I admired their work, I found myself getting frustrated when they would be so close to getting it right clearly describing what was going on, but the predisposition towards atomization or translation-based explanations got in the way. There was also the old “show how smart I am by making them look dumb” approach that crops up.

I have come a long way, but still am maturing as a scholar. In making my final editing pass, I managed to strike a number of comments along these lines, but knew some remained. I cannot thank Carl Conrad enough for his willingness to joust with me over my explanations, pointing out flaws and questioning my analysis at many points. I benefited immensely from the interaction, but there were still points on which we agreed to disagree, based in large part on our preferred approach. I expect that the same will go for others as well. I have much less love for detail than most of my colleagues, which is a mixed blessing. Although it may allow me to see the big picture more easily at times, it can also be an excuse for leaving too many loose ends unattended. I’m glad that God has wired some to be lovers of detail so they can cheerfully and thoroughly do things that would drive me postal. Yet this thankfulness must triumph over my former prejudice against those who love detail.

I write candidly about these issues because I know that there will be zealots who read my book and take up the same banner I once carried that said “Discourse studies hold the answer to everything.” Some will probably out-Runge Runge, just as some Wallace-ites do with his work. It seems inevitable, unfortunately. There is only so much that can be conveyed in a book, and one has little control over what is done with it after publication. My hope is that the remaining axe-grinding against traditional approaches in A Discourse Grammar can be properly processed for what it is, the vestiges of a new scholar’s first book. They should not be seen as a rally cry to bash or reject traditional grammar, but as a call to meaningfully engage and learn from those on whose shoulders this work is built. Raise a toast to the dead grammarians, and to those who yet remain!