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i

A Guide to Biblical Hebrew Syntax

Second Edition

A Guide to Biblical Hebrew Syntax introduces and abridges the

syntactical features of the original language of the Hebrew Bible/Old
Testament. An intermediate-level reference grammar for Biblical
Hebrew, it assumes an understanding of elementary phonology and
morphology, and it defines and illustrates the fundamental syntac-
tical features of Biblical Hebrew that most intermediate-level read-
ers struggle to master. The volume divides Biblical Hebrew syntax
and morphology into four parts. The first three cover the indi-
vidual words (nouns, verbs, and particles) with the goal of helping
the reader move from morphological and syntactical observations
to meaning and significance. The fourth section moves beyond
phrase-level phenomena and considers the larger relationships of
clauses and sentences.
Since publication of the first edition, research on Biblical
Hebrew syntax has substantially evolved. This new edition incorpo-
rates these developments through detailed descriptions of gram-
matical phenomena, including occasional insights from discourse
linguistics. It retains the labels and terminology used in the first
edition to maintain continuity with the majority of entry-level and
more advanced grammars.

Bill T. Arnold is the Paul S. Amos Professor of Old Testament

Interpretation at Asbury Theological Seminary. He is the author of
Genesis (New Cambridge Bible Commentary, 2009) and Introduction to
the Old Testament (2014).

John H. Choi† (1975–2015) earned degrees from The University

of Chicago, Asbury Theological Seminary, and the PhD in Hebraic
and Cognate Studies from Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute
of Religion. He authored Traditions at Odds: The Reception of the
Pentateuch in Biblical and Second Temple Period Literature (2010).
ii
iii

A Guide to Biblical
Hebrew Syntax

Second Edition
Bill T. Arnold
Asbury Theological Seminary

John H. Choi†
iv

University Printing House, Cambridge CB2 8BS, United Kingdom

One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, NY 10006, USA
477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, VIC 3207, Australia
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Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge.

It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of
education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence.

www.cambridge.org
Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107434967
DOI: 10.1017/9781139939591
First edition © Cambridge University Press 2003
Second edition © Bill T. Arnold 2018
This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception
and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements,
no reproduction of any part may take place without the written
permission of Cambridge University Press.
First published 2018
Printed in the United States of America by Sheridan Books, Inc.
A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Arnold, Bill T., author. | Choi, John H., author.
Title: A guide to biblical Hebrew syntax / Bill T Arnold, Asbury
Theological Seminary, John H Choi, Asbury Theological Seminary.
Description: Second edition. | Cambridge, United Kingdom: Cambridge
University Press, 2018. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018031519 | ISBN 9781107078017 (hardback) |
ISBN 9781107434967 (paperback)
Subjects: LCSH: Hebrew language – Syntax. |
Bible. Old Testament – Language, style.
Classification: LCC PJ4701.A76 2018 | DDC 492.4/5–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018031519
ISBN 978-1-107-07801-7 Hardback
ISBN 978-1-107-43496-7 Paperback
Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy
of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication
and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain,
accurate or appropriate.
v

In memoriam
John H. Choi
1975–2015
vi
vi

Contents

Preface to the Second Edition page xiii

Preface to the First Edition xv
1 Int roducti o n 1
2 Nouns 6
2.1 Nominative 8
2.1.1 Subject 9
2.1.2 Predicate Nominative
(Copula-complement) 9
2.1.3 Vocative (Addressee) 10
2.1.4 Nominative Absolute (Dislocation) 10
2.2 Genitive 11
2.2.1 Possessive 13
2.2.2 Relationship 13
2.2.3 Subjective 14
2.2.4 Objective 14
2.2.5 Attributive 14
2.2.6 Specification 15
2.2.7 Cause 15
2.2.8 Purpose 16
2.2.9 Means 16
2.2.10 Material 16
2.2.11 Measure 17
2.2.12 Explicative 18
2.2.13 Superlative 18
2.3 Accusative 19
2.3.1 Object (Noun Complements) 20
2.3.2 Adverbial (Noun Adjuncts) 25
vii
vi

viii Contents

2.4 Apposition 29
2.4.1 Species 29
2.4.2 Attributive 30
2.4.3 Material 30
2.4.4 Measure 30
2.4.5 Explicative 31
2.5 Adjectives 32
2.5.1 Attributive 32
2.5.2 Predicate 33
2.5.3 Substantive 34
2.5.4 Comparative and Superlative 34
2.6 Determination 36
2.6.1 Referential (Anaphoric) 37
2.6.2 Vocative 38
2.6.3 Naming 38
2.6.4 Solitary 39
2.6.5 Generic 39
2.6.6 Demonstrative 40
2.6.7 Possessive 40
2.6.8 Associative 41
2.7 Numerals 41
2.7.1 Cardinal Numbers 42
2.7.2 Ordinal Numbers 44
3 V erb s 45
3.1 Stem 46
3.1.1 Qal (The G Stem) 47
3.1.2 Niphal (The N Stem) 48
3.1.3 Piel (The D Stem) 52
3.1.4 Pual (The Dp Stem) 56
3.1.5 Hithpael (The HtD Stem) 57
3.1.6 Hiphil (The H Stem) 59
3.1.7 Hophal (The Hp Stem) 63
3.1.8 Additional Derived Stems 64
3.2 Aspect 65
3.2.1 Perfect (Qatal Form /
Suffix Conjugation) 66
3.2.2 Imperfect (Yiqtol Form /
Prefix Conjugation) 69
ix

Contents ix

3.3 Modals 73
3.3.1 Jussive 73
3.3.2 Imperative 75
3.3.3 Cohortative 78
3.4 Nonfinites 79
3.4.1 Infinitive Construct 80
3.4.2 Infinitive Absolute 86
3.4.3 Participle 90
3.5 Other Verb Formations with Prefixed waw 95
3.5.1 Wayyiqtol (Past Narrative) 97
3.5.2 Wǝqatal (Irreal Perfect) 101
3.5.3 Waw in a Sequence of Volitives 105
3.5.4 Waw in Narrative Interruptions 106
4 Pa rt ic les 109
4.1 Prepositions 109
4.1.1 ‫ ַאַחר‬/ ‫ַאֲח ֵרי‬ 110
4.1.2 ‫ ֵאל‬/ ‫ֶאל־‬ 112
4.1.3 ‫ֵאֶצל‬ 115
4.1.4 ‫ ֵאת‬/ ‫ֶאת־‬ 115
4.1.5 ‫ְבּ‬ 116
4.1.6 ‫ֵבּין‬ 120
4.1.7 ‫ ַבַּעד‬/ ‫ְבַּעד־‬ 121
4.1.8 ‫ַיַען‬ 122
4.1.9 ‫ְכּ‬ 122
4.1.10 ‫ְל‬ 123
4.1.11 ‫ְלַמַען‬ 128
4.1.12 ‫ִלְפ ֵני‬ 128
4.1.13 ‫ִמן‬ 129
4.1.14 ‫ִמְפּ ֵני‬ 132
4.1.15 ‫ַעד‬ 132
4.1.16 ‫ ַעל‬/ ‫ֲעֵלי‬ 133
4.1.17 ‫ִעם‬ 136
4.1.18 ‫ַתַּחת‬ 137
4.2 Adverbs 139
4.2.1 ‫ אָז‬/ ‫ֲא ַזי‬ 139
4.2.2 ‫ַאְך‬ 141
4.2.3 ‫ַאל‬ 142
4.2.4 ‫ַאף‬ 142
x

x Contents

4.2.5 ‫ַגּם‬ 144

4.2.6 ‫ַה ְרֵבּה‬ 146
4.2.7 ‫יוָֹמם‬ 146
4.2.8 ‫כּה‬ ֺ 146
4.2.9 ‫ִכּי‬ 147
4.2.10 ‫ֵכּן‬ 147
4.2.11 ‫לא‬ֹ 149
4.2.12 ‫אד‬ ֺ ‫ְמ‬ 149
4.2.13 ‫עוֹד‬ 150
4.2.14 ‫ַעָתּה‬ 151
4.2.15 ‫ַרק‬ 151
4.2.16 ‫ָשׁם‬ 152
4.2.17 ‫ָתִּמיד‬ 153
4.3 Conjunctions 153
4.3.1 ‫אוֹ‬ 154
4.3.2 ‫ִאם‬ 154
4.3.3 ‫ְו‬ 156
4.3.4 ‫ִכּי‬ 160
4.3.5 ‫ֶפּן‬ 166
4.4 Particles of Existence/Nonexistence 166
4.4.1 ‫ַאִין‬ 166
4.4.2 ‫ֵישׁ‬ 167
4.5 The Particles ‫ ִה ֵנּה‬and ‫ְוִה ֵנּה‬ 167
4.5.1 ‫ִה ֵנּה‬ 168
4.5.2 ‫ְוִה ֵנּה‬ 169
4.6 The Relative Particles 171
4.6.1 ‫ֲאֶשׁר‬ 172
4.6.2 ‫ֶשׁ־‬, ‫ַשׁ־‬ 172
4.6.3 ‫ ֶזה‬, ‫ֺזה‬, ‫זֹוֹ‬, ‫זוּ‬ 173
5 C laus es an d Sen ten ces 174
5.1 Nominal and Verbal Clauses 176
5.1.1 Nominal Clause 177
5.1.2 Verbal Clause 180
5.2 Subordinate Clauses 184
5.2.1 Substantival Clause 185
5.2.2 Conditional Clause 186
5.2.3 Final Clause 187
5.2.4 Temporal Clause 189
5.2.5 Causal Clause 191
xi

Contents xi

5.2.6 Comparative Clause 192

5.2.7 Exceptive Clause 193
5.2.8 Restrictive Clause 194
5.2.9 Intensive Clause 194
5.2.10 Adversative Clause 194
5.2.11 Circumstantial Clause 195
5.2.12 Concessive Clause 196
5.2.13 Relative Clause 197
5.3 Additional Sentence Types 199
5.3.1 Interrogative Sentences 199
5.3.2 Oath Sentences 201
5.3.3 Wish Sentences 202
5.3.4 Existential Sentences 203
5.3.5 Negative Sentences 204
5.3.6 Elliptical Clauses and Sentences 204
Appendix A: Stem Chart 207
Appendix B: Expanded Stem Chart 208
Glossary 209
Select Bibliography 221
Subject Index 235
Scripture Index 239
xi
xi

Preface to the Second Edition

My coauthor and I were gratified by the reception of the

first edition of GBHS in 2003, and we were of course quite
pleased when the Press decided a second edition was in
order. This newly revised and expanded edition adds sev-
eral features, such as a new section on relative pronouns at
the end of Chapter 4, and generally updates the discussion
throughout. In particular, I have added discussion and foot-
notes to aid the student in moving as seamlessly as possible
between traditional grammatical categories and a relatively
new subdiscipline in biblical studies – that of discourse lin-
guistics. This has involved expanding the discussion at cer-
tain junctures, providing more explanation of the discourse
linguistic approach as compared to traditional explanations,
and of course, an updated bibliography. From the beginning,
John and I envisioned this little book as a bridge between
beginning grammars and advanced reference grammars, and
therefore as a tool to help intermediate students. The need
for such a bridge is even greater today than it was in 2003
because of continued advances in our understanding of the
specifics of Hebrew grammar. It is my hope that the changes
introduced in this second edition will make the bridge easier
to cross.
I have retained the same paragraph numbering throughout,
making it easy to locate a discussion whether one is referring
to the first or the second edition. For example, GBHS ¶3.1.3

xiii
vxi

xiv Preface to the Second Edition

will be the location for “Piel (the D Stem)” in both editions

regardless of pagination.
I owe much to my student, Joseph Hwang, who assisted me
immeasurably in the task in several ways. Also, my colleague
Professor John A. Cook has been an important conversation
partner, always gracious at points where we do not agree,
and gently nudging, coercing, and correcting me on certain
points. Professor Lawson G. Stone made several contribu-
tions, always displaying his measured and erudite good sense.
I also gratefully acknowledge once again his permission to
use a variation of his chart of derived stems in Appendix B, as
in the 2003 edition. Dr. Dale Walker graciously made detailed
comments and suggestions on the first edition, Dr. David
Schreiner assisted with bibliographic details, and my student,
Brad Haggard, assisted with the indexes.
Sadly, my coauthor was stricken with cancer just after we
signed the contract for this second edition. After a valiant
fight, John was taken from us entirely too soon, and the sense
of loss remains a heavy burden for all who knew him well, but
especially for his beloved Sylvia and for Sophia and Ethan.
The task of revising GBHS has been all the more difficult
because of so many memories of happier days when John and
I worked together on the first edition nearly fifteen years
ago. Having completed the task, I have no higher honor than
to dedicate this volume to his memory; ‫זכרונו לברכה‬.
Bill T. Arnold
xv

Preface to the First Edition

This book is intended to introduce basic and critical issues

of Hebrew syntax to beginning and intermediate students. It
grows out of eighteen collective years of experience in teach-
ing Biblical Hebrew to seminarians. Each year, we teach or
supervise the instruction for approximately 180 students in
preparation for ordained ministry or other religious profes-
sions. Our experiences led us to conclude that a significant
gap exists between, on the one hand, the current scholarly
understanding of Hebrew syntax, based on significant pro-
gress in the discipline in recent decades, and on the other
hand, the understanding of Hebrew syntax among our stu-
dents. The problem seemed compounded by the lack of
an intermediate-level grammar, holding a position between
beginning grammars and advanced reference grammars.
In addition, the ever-growing demands on theological edu-
cation today have resulted in less time to master Biblical
Hebrew. Often the first thing omitted in a beginning Hebrew
course is an overview of syntactical features. Our purpose,
then, has been simply to bridge the gap, as best as we can,
between our students and the best of current research on
Biblical Hebrew syntax.
This book, then, is not intended to replace the standard
reference grammars, which we have consulted constantly
in the process, but to present to beginning and interme-
diate students a means of entry into the latest scholarship

xv
newgenprepdf

xvi

xvi Preface to the First Edition

on Biblical Hebrew. To this end, we have included extensive

references in the footnotes where appropriate. In particular,
we have been most influenced by the unity brought to bear
on the Hebrew verbal system by Bruce K. Waltke and Michael
O’Connor. We have also consulted frequently the grammars
by Joüon-Muraoka, Gesenius-Kautzsch-Cowley, and to some
degree those by van der Merwe-Naudé-Kroeze and Meyer.
Through interaction with these and other sources of schol-
arship, we feel that we have, at several points, introduced
innovations in our explanations of Biblical Hebrew syntax
in an attempt to refine the way we read and interpret the
Bible today.
We express appreciation to our colleagues Joseph
R. Dongell, David L. Thompson, Lawson G. Stone, and Brent
A. Strawn for helpful suggestions on several points, and espe-
cially Dr. Stone for permission to use his chart in Appendix B.
We also benefited greatly from the comments and suggestions
of the anonymous external reviewers hired by Cambridge
University Press. The editors of the Press have been exem-
plary in every way, and we note especially Andrew Beck, who
has been a source of encouragement from the beginning. In
addition, Phyllis Berk and Janis Bolster made many improve-
ments during the production process.
1

1 Introduction

A t the heart of biblical interpretation is the need to read

the Bible’s syntax, that is, to study the way words, phrases,
clauses, and sentences relate to one another to create mean-
ing. Biblical Hebrew (BH) is a language far removed from us
in time and culture. Beginning students often learn to dis-
cern the elementary Hebrew phonology and morphology to
“read” the biblical text. But we believe exegesis (or the draw-
ing out of a text’s meaning on its own terms) requires more
than phonology and verb parsing. Achieving a deep-level
reading requires an understanding of syntactical relation-
ships, a topic that beginning grammars simply cannot cover
in detail. Thus, our task has been to help the reader grasp the
building blocks of BH, that is, the syntactical specifics that
constitute meaning. These are the linguistic details through
which the most profound of all statements can be made, and
have been made – those of Israel’s faith and its covenant rela-
tionship with Yhwh.
We have defined and illustrated the fundamental mor-
phosyntactical features of BH. The volume divides Hebrew
syntax, and to a lesser extent morphology (“the way words are
patterned or inflected”), into four parts. The first three cover
individual words (nouns, verbs, and particles) with the goal of
helping the reader move from morphological and syntactical
observations to meaning and significance. The fourth sec-
tion moves beyond phrase-level phenomena and considers

1
2

2 Introduction

the larger relationships of clauses and sentences. Each syn-

tactical category begins with at least one paragraph, giving
definition to that grammatical category. This is followed by a
list of the most common exegetical usages of that particular
grammatical phenomenon. We have provided at least one
example (and in most cases more than one) for each syn-
tactical function. Each example is followed by a translation,
in which the syntactical feature in question is italicized and
underlined where possible. The translations are often related
to the NRSV, although we have frequently taken the liberty
of altering the translations at points to illustrate the partic-
ular syntactical feature under discussion, at times sacrificing
English style to illustrate the Hebrew syntax. This is followed
by the biblical reference. All examples are taken directly from
the Hebrew Bible; on occasion, certain prefixed or conjoined
particles, which have no bearing on the syntactical principle
being illustrated, have been omitted for the sake of clarity in
the English translation.
Two caveats are needed at the outset. First, the very use
of such lists can be misleading. Itemizing or classifying the
various nuances of a given grammatical phenomenon may
oversimplify the uses of that feature in an effort to explain
its function in the language. This may lead the student to
assume, incorrectly, that the task of reading a text is done
simply by labeling or pidgeon-holing a sentence’s various
parts into categories. This is called the “naming fallacy,” in
which a reader applies a label or category to the grammatical
feature in question, and thereby assumes to have explained it,
or “read” the text. The naming fallacy has also been referred
to dismissively as “taxonomic” by those who believe com-
piling and using such classifications is illegitimate because it
fails to give adequate description of the linguistic realities of
the language. There is a degree of truth in this criticism of
using categories of nuanced meaning for each grammatical
phenomenon. However, the express purpose of this volume
is to make accessible to the intermediate student the most
common and easily understood ways in which each such
3

Introduction 3

grammatical feature is used. There is no attempt made here

to provide robust and thorough linguistic explanation for
the underlying realities of the language. The footnotes and
bibliography will be enough to guide the interested reader
into other literature where that is done, even to those treat-
ments that are in disagreement or tension with the few expla-
nations offered here.
And of course, languages do not work simply, nor always
according to predetermined, prescribed classifications. Any
given morphosyntactical feature of a language carries mean-
ing as determined by the context of its usage. As readers, we
observe the various nuances and meanings created in differ-
ent contexts and in different combinations with other words,
and we must admit that the same feature can have multiple
significances depending on its context. Grammars attempt
to separate those multiple significances into categorized lists,
making it as easy as possible for readers to discern the var-
ious ways in which a feature functions. Yet there is inherent
danger in the assumption that such lists somehow govern the
way a language works. The reverse is true, of course, so that
grammars simply observe how a language is working, and
then map recurring patterns in an effort to inform how a
particular feature is functioning in a given context. Students
must avoid the naming fallacy by remembering the artificial
way in which grammatical lists categorize a feature’s most
common usages. Reading an ancient language like BH is
therefore an acquired skill, requiring a certain artistic sensi-
tivity. The student first learns to identify the feature (part of
speech or parsing of a verb), which is either right or wrong.
Then comes the more difficult part of interpretation, which
requires this more nuanced “reading” of the word’s function
in the sentence.
Second, the categories for classification presented here are
by no means exhaustive, which would have required a book
many times this size. We have made frequent reference to
the leading reference grammars for additional information.
We have also omitted discussions of elementary phonology
4

4 Introduction

and morphology, including difficult forms or spellings that

may be unique or exceptional in some way, all of which are
covered sufficiently by numerous beginning grammars. In
our footnotes we have frequently included references to the
elementary grammars to encourage the reader to consult a
familiar source to review an elementary detail of phonology
or morphology, which may have been forgotten. For example,
our discussion of “determination” (Section 2.6) reminds the
reader that one of the ways a noun may be marked as definite
is with the prefixed definite article. Because all beginning
grammars explain the morphological details of the definite
article, with examples of the various forms it takes depending
on the noun it marks, we have not repeated that information
here. Instead, we direct the reader to review the beginning
grammars where needed.1 We have also omitted entirely, or
in some cases briefly summarized, certain theoretical and
complex grammatical issues that regularly make the standard
reference grammars unintelligible to the intermediate stu-
dent. We have, however, included many discussion footnotes
dealing with these issues to provide additional background
information that we believe will be of particular interest
to advanced students and scholars. In this way, we have
attempted to create a user-friendly volume of modest size.
For the most part, the features defined and illustrated
here pertain to the language used in the extended narra-
tives of the Pentateuch and the Historical Books, along with
prose sections of the Prophets and Writings. This language is
sometimes known as Classical BH.2 At times, we make further
observations on Late Biblical Hebrew (LBH), by which we

1 For more on morphology, beginning students may consult “How Hebrew

Words Are Formed” in Landes 2001, 7–39; Garrett and DeRouchie 2009,
366–70; and Silzer and Finley 2004, 91–97. More advanced readers
should turn to Blau 2010, 156–286, and specific to the nouns, Fox 2003.
2 “BH” will be used throughout for “Biblical Hebrew.” All other abbrevia-
tions may be found in Billie Jean Collins, Bob Buller, and John Kutsko,
eds., The SBL Handbook of Style: For Biblical Studies and Related Disciplines,
2nd ed. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2014), 216–60.
5

Introduction 5

mean the language of most of the biblical books written after

the exile (1–2 Chronicles, Ezra-Nehemiah, Esther, Daniel,
selected Psalms, Song of Songs, Ecclesiastes, and portions of
others).3 Although LBH has features that are often unique,
it also shares many features with BH. Thus, in some cases,
we have used examples from both BH and LBH to illustrate
the continuity of certain grammatical features of the Hebrew
language.

3 This list is only partial because it depends to a large degree on interpre-

tive issues about which scholars are not agreed. For these categories – BH
and LBH – we are relying on a widely accepted tripartite subdivision of
BH into archaic, standard, and late phases of the language, which are
based on the historical periods or stages of its usage; see Kutscher 1982,
12; Sáenz-Badillos 1993, 50–75 and 112–29. The first of these three,
the “archaic” phase, consists of the oldest epigraphic pieces of ancient
Hebrew, together with some of the poetic sections of the Bible. We refer
to this first phase of the language only in background discussion of the
history of the language. Our categories of BH and LBH are generally
related to the standard and late phases of the language, respectively. For
more on these distinctions, see Schniedewind 2013; Naudé 2010; Rooker
1990; Polzin 1976, 1–2; and the essays in Miller-Naudé and Zevit 2012.
Others divide the language further into four subdivisions: archaic, stan-
dard, transitional, and late; see Lam and Pardee 2016; Gianto 2016;
Hornkohl 2016; Morgenstern 2016.
6

2 Nouns

L anguages are like people – they relate to each other in

families or groups. The language of the Old Testament,
BH, belongs to a large group known as the Semitic languages.
By comparing evidence from early Semitic languages, schol-
ars have concluded that prebiblical Hebrew, and most likely
all the Semitic languages of the second millennium b.c.e.,
had a declension system for the nouns (i.e., inflections),
using cases parallel to those of Indo-European languages.1
Thus, endings were used to mark a subject case (parallel
to our subjective or nominative case, ending in singular -u,
plural -ū, and dual -ā), an adjectival case, which was used also
with all the prepositions (parallel to our genitive or posses-
sive, and ending in -i, -ı ̄, and -ay), and an object case that
also had many adverbial uses (accusative, ending in -a, - ı ̄,
and –ay). However, the case endings were almost completely
lost in all first-millennium Northwest Semitic languages, and
they were certainly lost throughout all attested Hebrew.2

1 Akkadian retains the cases in most dialects, as does Classical Arabic.

Among the Northwest Semitic languages, Amorite, Ugaritic, and the
Canaanite glosses in the Tell Amarna texts – all from the second millen-
nium b.c.e. – retain the case endings. On the preservation of cases in
Amarna letters written by Canaanite scribes, see the important discussion
of Rainey (1996, 1:161–70), although note his preference for “depen-
dent” case over “genitive.”
2 Blau 2010, 266–70; Garr 1985, 61–63; Sáenz-Badillos 1993, 23; Moscati
1980, 94–96; Bergsträsser 1983, 16–17; Harris 1939, 59–60; Joüon and

6
7

Nouns 7

BH compensates for the lack of case endings through

a variety of means, primarily word order (as in modern
English) and syntactical relationships, as well as through
the use of prepositions. The uses we most often associate
with the nominative case are discerned by word order and
the lack of other markers. The genitive is identified by the
construct relationship (Section 2.2), and the accusative pri-
marily by the definite direct object marker ‫ֵאת‬/‫ ֶאת־‬and other
syntactical relationships (Section 2.3). Keep in mind the dis-
tinction between form and function when thinking about BH
noun usage. Because of the loss of case endings “all these
originally morphological categories are now largely syntactic
ones.”3 In other words, the categories used here to describe
noun usage were once marked by morphology, or the actual
formation and spelling of the nouns, but are now unmarked
and discerned mostly by syntax, or the arrangement of the
nouns with other parts of speech in phrases or clauses. Once
the noun endings were lost, the language found other ways
to connote these functions.
We use the terms nominative, genitive, and accusative to
describe the functions of BH noun uses, not the forms of the
nouns. Although we are able to trace the history of the three
case functions in ancient Hebrew by comparing other Semitic
languages, some authorities believe we should abandon these

Muraoka 2006, 255–56; Bauer and Leander 1991, 522–23. Earlier gram-
marians believed the unaccented Hebrew ending ‫־ ׇ ה‬, used on certain
nouns denoting direction, was a vestige of the old accusative case ending
(so ‫ַא ְרׇצה‬, the so-called directive ‫־ ׇ ה‬, or he locale). However, Ugaritic has
a separate adverbial suffix –h in addition to an accusative case ending –a,
proving beyond doubt that the he locale in Hebrew is not a remnant of the
accusative (Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 185; Seow 1995, 152–53; and for
the older – now outdated view – cf. Kautzsch 1910, 249), or perhaps that
it was composed of both the accusative –a and the adverbial ending –h
(Blau 2010, 269). The closest BH comes to having cases is in the declen-
sion of the personal pronoun (cf. van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze
1999, 191).
3 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 410.
8

8 Nouns

grammatical labels altogether (especially “nominative”)

when describing BH syntax.4 Our objective is to identify and
describe the functions of the noun. Because the nouns in BH
function syntactically in the same distinct “cases” as its parent
language, it is still helpful to distinguish three case functions
in BH using the terminology nominative, genitive, and accusa-
tive.5 We will introduce other designations for these functions
where appropriate to assist the advanced student.

2.1 Nominative
Because a noun’s case function is not marked morpholog-
ically, the nominative can be detected only by the noun’s
or pronoun’s word order, by its agreement in gender and
number with a verb (although with many exceptions), or by
the sense of the context. Generally, the nominative may be
categorized as follows.6

4 So, e.g., Jan Kroeze accepts the use of “subject” as a designation for
Section 2.1.1, but proposes the following alternative designations for the
others: “copula-complement” for predicate nominative (2.1.2), “addressee”
for vocative (2.1.3), and “dislocative” for nominative absolute (2.1.4); Kroeze
2001, 47. Others will speak of “case relations” to describe the subjective,
objective, and attributive semantic categories occurring in BH; Cook and
Holmstedt 2013, 134–35. However, it is possible that referring to the
case system – nominative, genitive, accusative – clarifies features of noun
usage “more effectively than a rigid functional analysis alone” (Levinson
2008, 98). If the reader remembers that we are describing the syntactical
functions of these nouns rather than their grammatical morphemes,
we believe the traditional terminology is more helpful, and will enable
the reader to compare the uses of the noun in BH to other languages.
Cognate languages from antiquity preserving the morphological form, as
well as function include Classical Arabic, Akkadian, and Ugaritic; Joüon
and Muraoka 2006, 410.
5 It should be remembered that pronouns may serve in all these functions
as well.
6 Van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze 1999, 247–49; Kautzsch 1910,
451–55; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 128–30; Lambdin 1971a, 55;
Chisholm 1998, 61; Williams and Beckman 2007, 11–12.
9

2.1 Nominative 9

2.1.1 Subject
The noun or pronoun serves as the subject of an
action: ‫ׇבּ ׇרא ֱאֹלִהים‬, “God created” (Gen 1:1), ‫ ַוֺיּאֶמר ֱאֹלִהים‬,
“And God said” (Gen 1:3). In the same way, when used with
stative verbs the noun or pronoun may serve as the subject
of a state: ‫ׇחׇמס ׇמְלׇאה ׇהׇא ֶרץ‬, “the earth is filled with violence”
(Gen 6:13).
Rarely (and surprisingly), the definite direct object
(DDO) marker ‫ֵאת‬/‫ ֶאת־‬commonly used to mark the accu-
sative function of the noun (see Section 2.3), will occur on
a subject noun. This use of the particle ‫ֵאת‬/‫ֶאת־‬, by some
counts occurring twenty-seven times in the Bible, has led to
speculation that BH shared with other Semitic languages
an ergative, in which the subject of an intransitive verb
may share the same marking as the object of a transitive
verb.7 However, the idea that BH had an ergative use of
the noun is in doubt, and some of those occurrences with
‫ֵאת‬/‫ ֶאת־‬have other explanations.8 The intermediate stu-
dent should merely note the possibility when observing
the exceptional use of the DDO with subject nouns.

2.1.2 Predicate Nominative (Copula-complement)

The noun or pronoun is equated with the subject by a “to
be” verb (stated or implied): ‫ ְיה ׇוה ֶמֶלְך‬, “Yhwh is king” (Ps
10:16). In this example, the subject noun (2.1.1) is Yhwh,
and the predicate nominative is “king.” In some grammars,
this will be known as a copula-complement.

7 Barton offers the following potential examples: Gen 4:18, 17:5, 21:5,
27:42; Num 3:46, 5:10, 35:6, 35:7; Deut 11:2, 15:3; Josh 22:17; Judg
20:44, 20:46; 1 Sam 17:34, 26:16; 2 Sam 11:25; 2 Kgs 6:5, 10:15; 2 Chr
31:17; Neh 9:19, 9:34; Jer 36:22; Ezek 10:22, 17:21, 35:10, 44:3; Dan
9:13; Barton 2012, 33. Compare Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 182–83.
8 Blau 2010, 24–25 and 266–67; at times called determinative accusative,
Williams and Beckman 2007, 24.
10

10 Nouns

The predicate nominative is often a clause of identification,

in which case the word order is likely subject-predicate: ‫ֲא ִני‬
‫ ְיה ׇוה‬, “I am Yhwh” (Exod 6:2), ‫ַאׇתּה ׇהִאישׁ‬, “You are the man”
(2 Sam 12:7).9 However, the word order is flexible, as this
clause of description illustrates, also with subject-predicate
order: ‫ִמְשְׁפֵּטי־ ְיה ׇוה ֱאֶמת‬, “the ordinances of Yhwh are true”
(Ps 19:9 [Eng 19:10]). The predicate nominative is one of
several ways nominal clauses are constructed (see Section
5.1.1, a).

2.1.3 Vocative (Addressee)

The noun designates a specific addressee and normally has
the definite article (see Section 2.6.2): ‫ִה ֵנּה ַהֲח ִנית ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “here
is the spear, O king” (1 Sam 26:22 Ketib). The addressee is
always defined conceptually and therefore definite, but in
practice the definite article is often omitted.10
The vocative noun stands separate from the clause’s
syntax and is often juxtaposed to a second-person pro-
noun (or pronominal suffix) reflecting the direct speech:
‫ֵחי־ ַנְפְשָׁך ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “as your soul lives, O King” (1 Sam 17:55),
‫ ְדַּבר־ֵסֶתר ִלי ֵאֶליָך ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “I have a secret message for you,
O King” (Judg 3:19). The second person may be expressed
by the imperative: ‫הוִֹשׁיֵענוּ ֱאֹלֵהי ִיְשֵׁענוּ‬, “Save us, O God of our
salvation” (1 Chr 16:35), ‫הוִֹשׁיׇעה ְיה ׇוה‬, “Save now, O Yhwh”
(Ps 12:2 [Eng 12:1]).

2.1.4 Nominative Absolute (Dislocation)

The noun is isolated or dislocated from the following sen-
tence (sometimes by an intervening subordinate clause or

9 Andersen 1970, 31–34.

10 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 476. With so many examples of vocative nouns
without the definite article, some prefer to say that “common nouns used
as vocatives may be either indefinite or definite”; Miller 2010. However
we choose to describe it, vocative is most often identified by the context.
1

2.2 Genitive 11

series of appositional terms) and then taken up again and

resumed by a pronoun serving as the subject of the sen-
tence: ‫ ְיה ׇוה הוּא ׇהֱאֹלִהים‬, “Yhwh, he is God” (1 Kgs 18:39),
‫אֵכל‬
ֺ ‫ׇהִאׇשּׁה ֲאֶשׁר ׇנַתׇתּה ִעׇמּ ִדי ִהוא ׇנְת ׇנה־ִלּי ִמן־ׇהֵעץ ׇו‬, “The woman,
whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the
tree, and I ate” (Gen 3:12). The nominative absolute nor-
mally serves to reactivate a noun or clause already known
from the context.
This construction goes by several names, including casus
pendens (Latin “hanging case”), dislocated construction, and
focus marker.11 The sentence constituent further down the
line taking up the noun or pronoun again may be called
the resumptive. Furthermore, such dislocation or suspen-
sion of a word is not limited to nominative (subjective)
functions. An accusative variation will be pointed out in
the following text (2.3.1, f).
Finally, care must be taken to distinguish dislocation
from simple fronting, which is a function of word order
(see 5.1.2, b.2). Fronting moves a noun (subject or object)
before the verb in a clause for focusing, or for introducing
or reactivating an entity.12

2.2 Genitive
Most relationships that exist between two nouns are
expressed in BH by means of a construction we call “gen-
itive” by analogy to similar functions in other languages.
English usually expresses this genitive relationship between
two nouns with the word “of.” For example, in the phrase
“the daughter of the king,” the noun “king” acts as a genitive

11 Khan 1988, xxvi–xxviii; Naudé 1990; Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 551–54;
Moshavi 2010, 81–83; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 76–77. See the dis-
cussion of casus pendens under the label left-dislocation in Holmstedt 2014,
118–24, or front dislocation in Korchin 2015.
12 Holmstedt 2014, 115–18; van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze 1999,
346–49; Long 2013, 179–84.
12

12 Nouns

modifier of “daughter.” Thus the genitive relationship often

denotes a possessive sense: “the king’s daughter.” However,
the genitive construction is used in BH to denote a wide
variety of other uses besides possessive. For example, “the
word of truth” does not mean “truth’s word,” but rather “the
true word.”13
The function of a BH noun is not marked morphologically
(by endings, for example). As we saw in Section 2.1, the nom-
inative function is most often detected only by word order or
context. Similarly, the genitive relationship is marked gram-
matically in BH by means of the construct state, in which two
(or more) nouns are bound together to form a construct
phrase or chain. In the structure construct + genitive, the geni-
tive modifies the construct (the initial word) in some way, fre-
quently as some sort of attributive adjective.14 Terminology
varies among the grammars, some referring to the initial
word as the status constructus and the final word as postcon-
structus.15 Nouns in the construct state lose their primary
stress when conjoined to the genitive, sometimes resulting
in vowel reduction. The intermediate student should review
beginning grammars for rules of vowel reduction on the con-
struct noun due to loss of their primary stress.16

13 English also uses “noun-noun compounds” (as in notebook and airport)

and “apostrophe-s” (Jeremiah’s confession) in ways similar to the Hebrew
construct phrase; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 141.
14 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 434–48; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 136–60;
Kautzsch 1910, 410–23, esp. 416–19; Williams and Beckman 2007,
13–18; Chisholm 1998, 62–64; van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze
1999, 197–200. On the genitive in epigraphic Hebrew, see Gogel 1998,
240–45.
15 Or using the Hebrew, ‫( ִנְסׇמְך‬supported) for the construct and ‫סֵמְך‬
ֺ (sup-
porter) for the genitive, in which case the genitive relationship is known
as ‫( ְסִמיכוּת‬support); van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze 1999, 192.
16 Lambdin 1971a, 70; Fuller and Choi 2006, 61–67; Seow 1995, 117–22;
Cook and Holmstedt 2013, 64 (and pages a5–a6 in Appendix A);
Webster 2009, 27–31; Pratico and Van Pelt 2001, 97–107.
13

2.2 Genitive 13

This list includes the most common ways in which a gen-

itive modifies the preceding noun(s) or adjective(s). One
should keep in mind that the genitive function may also be
expressed by the object of a preposition or a pronominal suf-
fix on a noun, and the categories listed here apply in these
situations as well.17

2.2.1 Possessive
The genitive has ownership of the construct: ‫ֵבּית־ ְיה ׇוה‬,
“the temple of Yhwh” or “Yhwh’s temple” (1 Kgs 6:37),
‫ִצְבאוֹת ְיה ׇוה‬, “the hosts of Yhwh” or “the hosts possessed by
Yhwh” (Exod 12:41). That which is possessed may be body
parts:18 ‫ִשְׂפֵתי־ֶמֶלְך‬, “lips of a king” or “a king’s lips” (Prov
16:10); or a characteristic, as in ‫ַה ְד ַרת־ֶמֶלְך‬, “the glory of a
king” or “a king’s glory” (Prov 14:28).
The direction of ownership may be reversed resulting
in a possessed genitive, in which case the genitive is owned
by the construct: ‫ַבַּעל־ַהַבִּית‬, “the owner of the house” or “the
house’s owner” (Exod 22:7 [Eng 22:8]), ‫ ְיה ׇוה ְצׇבאוֹת‬, “Yhwh
of hosts” or “Yhwh who possesses hosts” (1 Sam 1:11).

2.2.2 Relationship
The genitive marks someone standing in association with
the construct: ‫ְבּ ֵני ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “the king’s sons” (2 Sam 13:23),
‫ֶבּן־ׇדּ ִויד‬, “the son of David” or “David’s son” (1 Chr 29:22).
This genitive is common with pronominal suffixes: ‫ׇאִחי‬,
“my brother” (Gen 20:13). The genitive of human rela-
tionship normally refers to kinship, though other social
structures are possible.19

17 Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 138.

18 Waltke and O’Connor’s “genitive of inalienable possession” (145).
19 Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 145.
14

14 Nouns

2.2.3 Subjective
The genitive is the subject of a verbal notion expressed by
the construct noun:
‫ ֵיַשׁע ֱאֹלִהים‬, “the salvation of God” (Ps 50:23), ‫ְדַּבר־ ְיה ׇוה‬
“Yhwh’s word,” (Gen 15:1), ‫מה‬ ֺ ‫ׇחְכַמת ְשֹׁל‬, “Solomon’s wisdom”
(1 Kgs 5:10).

2.2.4 Objective
The genitive is the object of a verbal notion expressed
by the construct noun: ‫ִי ְרַאת ְיה ׇוה‬, “the fear of Yhwh” (Ps
19:9), ‫שׁד ֲע ִנ ִיּים‬
ֺ , “the violence of the oppressed” or “the
violence done to the oppressed” (Ps 12:6). Sometimes the
genitive identifies the recipient of the action implied
in the construct: ‫“ ְמ ַטר־ַא ְר ְצָך‬rain for your land” (Deut
28:12).
The direction is reversed in the action genitive, in which
the genitive expresses a verbal notion denoting action
directed toward the constuct: ‫ַעם ֶעְב ׇרִתי‬, “the people of
my wrath” or “the people who are the objects of my wrath”
(Isa 10:6).

2.2.5 Attributive
The genitive denotes a quality or attribute of the construct.
In translation, the genitive often becomes an adjective:
‫ ִגּבּוֹר ָחִיל‬, “a man of worth” or “a valorous man” (Judg 11:1),
‫“ ֵאֶשׁת ַחִיל‬a woman of worth” or “a valorous woman” (Ruth
3:11), ֺ ‫ַהר־ׇק ְדשׁו‬, “the mountain of his holiness” or “his holy
mountain” (Ps 48:2 [Eng 48:1]), ‫ֶמֶלְך ַהׇכּבוֹד‬, “the king of
glory” or “the glorious king” (Ps 24:7), ‫ִשְׂמַחת עוׇֹלם‬, “joy of per-
petuity” or “everlasting joy” (Isa 61:7).
The construct nouns ‫ִאישׁ־‬, ‫ַבַּעל־‬, and ‫ ֶבּן־‬often occur with
genitives to express the possessor of a quality, which is one
15

2.2 Genitive 15

way BH compensates for the lack of genuine adjectives:20

‫ִאישׁ ַה ׇדִּמים‬, “a man of blood” or “a blood thirsty man” (2 Sam
16:7), ‫ִאישׁ ְדׇּב ִרים‬, “a man of words” or “an eloquent man” (Exod
4:10), ‫ֶבּן־ׇמ ֶות‬, “the son of death” or “one who deserves death” (1
Sam 20:31), ‫ֶבּן־ֲחֵמשׁ ֵמאוֹת ׇשׁ ׇנה‬, “a son of five hundred years” or
“five hundred years old” (Gen 5:32), ‫ְבּ ֵני־ְבִל ַיַּעל‬, “sons of villainy”
or “villainous individuals” (Deut 13:14 [Eng 13:13]), ‫ַבַּעל ׇכּ ׇנף‬,
“master of wings” or “winged creature” (Pro 1:17).

2.2.6 Specification
The reverse of the attributive genitive, the specification gen-
itive is characterized by a quality or attribute of an adjec-
tival construct: ‫ְקֵשׁה־עֺ ֶרף‬, “stiff of neck” or “stiff-necked” (Exod
32:9), ‫תַאר‬ֺ ‫ ְיֵפה־‬, “attractive of shape” or “good-looking” (Gen
39:6), ‫ְטֵמא ְשׇׂפַתִים‬, “unclean of lips” or “unclean with regard
to the lips” (Isa 6:5), ‫ֶא ֶרְך ַאַפִּים‬, “long of nostrils [as source
of anger]” or “patient with regard to anger” (Exod 34:6).
The specification genitive may also be called the epexegetical
genitive.21

2.2.7 Cause
The genitive may be caused by the construct: ‫רוַּח ׇחְכׇמה‬,
“the spirit of wisdom” or “the spirit that causes wisdom” (Exod
28:3). The causal relationship may move in the oppo-
site direction, so that the genitive is perceived as causing
the construct: ‫חוַֹלת ַאֲהׇבה‬, “sick of love” or “sick because of
love” (Song 2:5), ‫ְמ ֵזי ׇרׇעב‬, “those exhausted of hunger” or
“exhausted people because of hunger” (Deut 32:24).22

20 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 439–40.

21 Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 151.
22 This causational genitive, in which the movement is from genitive to
construct noun is quite close in meaning to 2.2.9, the genitive of means;
Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 439; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 146, and cf.
note 22.
16

16 Nouns

2.2.8 Purpose
The genitive denotes the intended use of the referent
of the construct: ‫צאן ִט ְבׇחה‬ ֺ , “sheep of slaughter,” or
“sheep intended for slaughter” (Ps 44:23 [Eng 44:22]),
‫ַא ְב ֵני־ ֶקַלע‬, “slingstones” or “stones intended for the sling”
(Zech 9:15).
Closely related to the idea of purpose is the genitive of
result, which denotes the result of an action implied in
the construct: ‫מוַּסר ְשׁלוֵֹמנוּ‬, “the chastisement of our welfare”
or “the chastisement that resulted in our peace” (Isa 53:5),
‫כּוֹס ַהַתּ ְרֵעׇלה‬, “the cup of staggering” or “the cup which results
in staggering” (Isa 51:17).

2.2.9 Means
The genitive is the instrument by means of which the
action implied in the construct is performed: ‫ַחְלֵלי־ֶח ֶרב‬,
“wounded of the sword” or “those wounded by the sword” (Isa
22:2), ‫ְשׂ ֻרפוֹת ֵאשׁ‬, “burned of fire” or “burned with fire” (Isa
1:7), ‫ְטֵמא־ ֶנֶפשׁ‬, “impure of a corpse” or “impure by reason of
contact with a corpse” (Lev 22:4).
When the genitive is personal, this becomes a genitive of
agency, which is similar to the subjective genitive (see Section
2.2.3): ‫ֻמֵכּה ֱאֹלִהים‬, “stricken by God” (Isa 53:4).23

2.2.10 Material
The genitive denotes the material from which the con-
struct is made: ‫ֲארוֹן ֵעץ‬, “an ark of wood” or “a wooden ark”
(Deut 10:1), ‫ְכֵּלי־ֶכֶסף‬, “vessels of silver” or “silver vessels”
(Gen 24:53), ‫ֵשֶׁבט ַבּ ְר ֶזל‬, “a rod of iron” or “an iron rod”
(Ps 2:9).

23 On the genitive of agency as a variation of subjective genitives, cf. Waltke

and O’Connor 1990, 143.
17

2.2 Genitive 17

2.2.11 Measure
The genitive marks the thing measured by a numeral in
the construct: ‫ְשׁ ֵני ׇב ִנים‬, “two sons” (Gen 10:25), ‫ִשְׁבַעת ׇיִמים‬,
“seven days” (Gen 8:10). The two common nonnumeric
counting terms in BH are ‫כֺּול‬/‫כּל‬ ֺ /‫ׇכּל־‬, “all” and ‫רֺוב‬/‫רב‬ ֺ ,
“multitude,” both of which may serve as the construct:
‫רב ׇדּ ׇגן‬ֺ , “plenty of grain” (Gen 27:28), ‫ְבׇּכל־ְלַבְבֶכם‬, “all your
heart” (1 Sam 7:3).
In particular, care must be taken with ‫כֺּול‬/‫כּל‬ ֺ /‫ׇכּל־‬,
because it is used so commonly in the Bible (more than
5,400 times), and has subtly different nuances depending
on the syntax, as follows.24

(a) Holistic – in construct with a definite singular noun to

denote its totality: ‫וְּבׇכל־ׇהׇא ֶרץ‬, “and in the whole earth” (Gen
1:26), ‫ׇכּל־ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל‬, “all Israel” (Deut 1:1).25

(b) Inclusive – in construct with a definite plural noun to

denote comprehensiveness, the inclusion of all its mem-
bers: ‫ׇכּל־ַהגֺּוִים‬, “all the nations” (Isa 2:2), ‫ׇכּל־ַהְמׇּלִכים‬, “all
the kings” (Josh 9:1). With little difference in meaning,
‫ׇכּל־‬/‫כּל‬
ֺ /‫ כֺּול‬takes on a quantitative sense with definite sin-
gular collective nouns or nouns of species: ‫ׇכּל־ַהיֺּום‬, “all the
days” (Gen 6:5), ‫כל ׇהׇא ׇדם‬ֺ ‫ ְו‬, “all humans” (Gen 7:21), ‫אן‬
ֺ ‫ׇכּל־ַהצּ‬,
“all the flocks” (Gen 33:13).

(c) Distributive – in construct with an indefinite singular

noun for “every, each”: ‫ׇכּל־ְבּכֺור‬, “every firstborn” (Exod
11:5), ‫ְבׇּכל־יֺום‬, “in every day” (Ps 7:12).

24 Kautzsch 1910, 411; Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 485–86; HALOT

2:474–75; DCH 4:402–12; Georg Sauer, TLOT 2:614–16; Bauer and
Leander 1991, 267–68.
25 In these examples, however, it should be remembered that in poetry, the
definite article may be left off in any case.
18

18 Nouns

(d) Adverbial – in the syntax of certain constructions, espe-

cially used after the prepositions ‫ ְבּ‬or ‫( ְכּ‬see Sections 4.1.5,
i and 4.1.9), ‫כֺּול‬/‫כּל‬ ֺ /‫ ׇכּל־‬expresses the adverbial “precisely,
exactly”: ֺ ‫אתו‬ ֺ ‫כל ֲאֶשׁר ִצ ׇוּה ְיה ׇוה‬ ֺ ‫מֶשׁה ְכּ‬ ֺ ‫ ַו ַיַּעשׂ‬, “Moses did every-
thing exactly as Yhwh had commanded him” (Exod 40:16);
‫ְבׇּכל־ַה ֶדּ ֶרְך ֲאֶשׁר ִצ ׇוּה ְיה ׇוה ֱאֹלֵהיֶכם ֶאְתֶכם ֵתֵּל֑כוּ‬, “you must follow
precisely the path that Yhwh your God has commanded
you” (Deut 5:33); ‫כל ַהִח ׇזּיֺון ַה ֶזּה‬ ֺ ‫כל ַה ְדׇּב ִרים ׇהֵאֶלּה וְּכ‬
ֺ ‫ְכּ‬, “exactly
according to these words and exactly with this vision” (2
Sam 7:17).

(e) Restrictive – in the syntax of certain other construc-

tions, especially with a negation particle ‫ ַאל‬or ‫לא‬ ֹ (see
4.2.3 and 4.2.11 respectively), or the particle of nonex-
istence ‫( ַאִין‬4.4.1), ‫כֺּול‬/‫כּל‬ ֺ /‫ ׇכּל־‬expresses the exclusion of
the noun it modifies: ‫כּל ֵעץ ַה ׇגּן‬ ֺ ‫אְכלוּ ִמ‬
ֺ ‫לא ת‬
ֹ , “[Did God say,]
‘You shall not eat from any tree in the garden’?” (Gen 3:1),
‫לא־ ֵיׇעֶשׂה‬
ֹ ‫ׇכּל־ְמׇלאׇכה‬, “no work shall be done” (Exod 12:16).

2.2.12 Explicative
The genitive is a specific member of a general category
or class denoted by the construct, and typically speci-
fies the proper noun for the construct: ‫ ְנַהר־ְפּ ׇרת‬, “the
river Euphrates” (Gen 15:18), ‫ֶא ֶרץ ִמְצ ַרִים‬, “the land of
Egypt” (Gen 41:19), ‫ ַגּן־ֵע ֶדן‬, “the garden Eden” (Gen 2:15),
‫ְבּתוַּלת ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל‬, “Virgin Israel” (Ams 5:2), ‫ַבּת־ִציּוֹן‬, “Daughter
Zion” (2 Kgs 19:21). Note that “of” is often unnecessary in
English translations of the explicative genitive.

2.2.13 Superlative
The genitive can be divided into parts, of which the con-
struct is the best, most, or the greatest form or expression
of the whole: ‫ִמְבַחר ְקׇב ֵרינוּ‬, “the choice of our graves” or “the
choicest of our graves” (Gen 23:6). Frequently a plural
19

2.3 Accusative 19

genitive will occur with the singular construct of the same

noun to express the superlative: ‫קֺ ֶדשׁ ׇק ׇדִשׁים‬, “holy of holies”
or “most holy” (Exod 29:37), ‫ֶמֶלְך ְמׇלִכים‬, “king of kings” or
“the greatest king of all” (Ezek 26:7), ‫ִשׁיר ַהִשּׁי ִרים‬, “the song
of songs” or “the choicest song” (Song 1:1).26

2.3 Accusative
As we have said, the accusative function of the noun is not indi-
cated morphologically as in Greek or Latin, but such functions
are nevertheless expressed through other grammatical features.
The use of the definite direct object marker ‫ֵאת‬/‫( ֶאת־‬DDO, also
known as nota accusativi) is one such grammatical tag, although
it hardly exhausts the forms taken by nouns with accusative
functions.27 In later biblical texts, the preposition ‫ ְל‬is used as
the DDO, probably due to Aramaic influence.28 And in the
Hebrew examples that follow, some accusatives are marked as
pronominal suffixes on the verb. In others, the accusative will
appear as the object of a prepositional phrase because many BH
verbs take prepositional phrase complements marking objects
with specific prepositions (e.g., the verb ‫ ׇע ַזר‬combined with the
preposition ‫ְל‬, “to help,” ‫ ׇדַּבק‬with ‫ְבּ‬, “to cling to,” ‫ ִנְלַחם‬with ‫ְבּ‬,

26 A similar meaning is possible (although not universally accepted) when

a divine name occurs as the genitive: ‫ְכּ ַגן־ ְיה ׇוה‬, “like a splendid garden (lit-
erally: a garden of Yhwh)” (Isa 51:3), ‫ַתּ ְר ֵדַּמת ְיה ׇוה‬, “a very deep sleep (liter-
ally: a deep sleep of Yhwh)” (1 Sam 26:12). For more on the use of divine
references to express a superlative, see Thomas 1954, 209–24; Thomas
1968, 12–24; and Brin 1992, 115–18.
27 While the only function of the DDO is to mark verbal objects, even it is
used inconsistently. It appears regularly on proper nouns, is consistently
absent on indefinite nouns, but occasionally appears to be optional even
for definite nouns. We have no satisfying explanation for why it is absent
on some definite nouns, although tentative answers may be found in dis-
course and syntax; see Bekins 2014 and Garr 1991.
28 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 418; Kautzsch 1910, 366. Cf. Lam 4:5; Ps
145:14; Ezr 8:24; 2 Chr 25:10.
20

20 Nouns

“to fight”).29 The English translations of the following examples

may look simplistic in places, while the Hebrew will illustrate the
variety of ways for marking the accusative function.
As we have seen, nouns with a genitive function modify
other nouns by means of the bound construction with those
nouns (or by means of prepositions). Here we turn to nouns
with accusative function, which modify verbs – denoting
either the direct object of a verb or serving as adverbial modi-
fiers. Although BH lacks explicit indicators of the accusative
beyond the DDO, its functions can be identified by compar-
ison with other Semitic languages where the accusative case is
marked by an ending (sg. –a, pl. –ı ̄, du. –ay; review discussion
in the first paragraph of this chapter). This list includes the
most common ways in which the accusative function appears
in BH.30 We have divided the uses into two groups, the first
listing examples of verbal objects in which the accusative is
the recipient of a verb’s action. The second group lists adver-
bial accusatives, in which the accusative modifies the circum-
stances surrounding the action of the verb.

2.3.1 Object (Noun Complements)31

The simplest form of the accusative is the direct object of a
transitive verb: ‫ׇבּ ׇרא ֱאֹלִהים ֵאת ַהׇשַּׁמִים ְוֵאת ׇהׇא ֶרץ‬, “God created

29 See van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze 1999, 240 and Waltke and
O’Connor 1990, 192.
30 Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 410–34; Meyer 1992, 412–20; Waltke and
O’Connor 1990, 161–86; Kautzsch 1910, 362–76; Williams and Beckman
2007, 18–25; Chisholm 1998, 64–66; van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze
1999, 241–47.
31 As we have seen, BH no longer marks accusatives morphologically.
Some grammarians prefer, therefore, to avoid designations such as
“direct object” and “adverbial accusative” because these designations are
thought to be anachronistic and misleading. Instead, these grammars
and reference tools most likely refer to these two phenomena as “[nom-
inal] complements” and “[nominal] adjuncts.” Cook and Holmstedt
2013, 132–33; van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze 1999, 241–45, and
see the discussion in Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 162–63.
21

2.3 Accusative 21

the heavens and the earth” (Gen 1:1), ‫מֶשׁה‬

ֺ ‫ִצ ׇוּה ְיה ׇוה ֶאת־‬, “Yhwh
commanded Moses” (Exod 40:32).32 However, the simplicity
of the direct object accusative changes depending on the
nature of the verb. The following variations are possible.

(a) Affected – The object, which exists before and apart

from the action of the verb, is reached by the action:
‫ַוַיּ ְרא ֱאֹלִהים ֶאת־ׇהאוֹר‬, “and God saw the light” (Gen 1:4), ‫ ַו ַיֲּע ׇזר־לוֹ‬,
“and he helped him” (2 Sam 21:17), ‫ ְיׇב ֶרְכָך ְיה ׇוה ְוִיְשְׁמ ֶרָך‬, “May
Yhwh bless you and keep you” (Num 6:24).

(b) Effected – The object did not exist prior to the verbal
action, but is brought about by the action and is therefore
the product or result of the action: ‫ ִנְלְבּ ׇנה ְלֵב ִנים‬, “let us make
bricks” (Gen 11:3), ‫ִכּי ִתְק ֶנה ֶעֶבד ִעְב ִרי‬, “when you purchase a
Hebrew slave” (Exod 21:2),33 ‫זֺ ֵרַע ׇז ַרע‬, “yielding seed” (Gen
1:29).34 The effected accusative occurs often with denomi-
native verbs forming its object from the same root, but is
not limited to so-called cognate accusatives (as the example
from Exod 21:2 shows). It is also concrete and external to
the verbal action, and therefore distinct from the internal
accusative (see the next section).

32 The DDO is primarily a marker of this accusative of object, though it

occasionally also appears with certain adverbial accusatives; Joüon and
Muraoka 2006, 414.
33 In this example, the act of purchasing changes the status of the person
from freeborn to slave. For an excellent example of how the distinction
between affected object and effected object can have important exeget-
ical insight, see Levinson 2008.
34 This same idiom elsewhere (‫ִתּ ְז ַרע ֶאת־ַז ְרֲעָך‬, Deut 11:10, and compare
22:9) is not an effected accusative because as the context makes clear and
as all the grammars recognize, the seed existed prior to the sowing and
is not brought about by the action. Thus not every cognate accusative is an
effected accusative; Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 420; Waltke and O’Connor
1990, 166.
2

22 Nouns

(c) Internal – The object is an abstract noun of action,

and implies an action in most cases identical with that
of the verb:35 ‫ׇפֲּחדוּ ׇפַחד‬, “they were overcome with fear
[literally: they feared a fear ]” (Ps 14:5). The object may
precede the verb: ‫ֵחְטא ׇחְטׇאה ְירוׇּשִַׁלם‬, “Jerusalem sinned
grievously [literally: sinned a sin]” (Lam 1:8). As these two
examples illustrate, the object is a noun formed from the
same root as the verb (so technically also cognate accusa-
tive), is generally indefinite, and as the following examples
show, is frequently modified by an attributive adjective:
‫ ַו ֶיֱּח ַרד יְִצׇחק ֲח ׇר ׇדה ְגּד ׇֺלה‬, “and Isaac trembled violently
[literally: trembled a great trembling]” (Gen 27:33),
‫אד‬ֺ ‫ ַו ַיְּך ְיה ׇוה ׇבׇּעם ַמׇכּה ַרׇבּה ְמ‬, “and Yhwh struck the people
with a very great plague [literally: struck … with a very
great striking]” (Num 11:33).
The concrete noun ‫קֺול‬, “voice” takes special uses of
the internal accusative. Although it has no corresponding
verb, ‫ קֺול‬appears to be used in a way similar to the internal
accusative with verbs expressing an emission of voice
(Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 422; Kautzsch 1910, 367–68).
Thus, we find it as an internal accusative noun of action
with ‫ׇק ׇרא‬, ‫ׇבׇּכה‬, ‫ ׇזׇעק‬, and ‫ׇע ׇנה‬, and usually modified as well:
‫ ְוׇענוּ ַהְל ִו ִיּם ְוׇאְמרוּ ֶאל־ׇכּל־ִאישׁ ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל קוֹל ׇרם‬, “Then the Levites
shall declare in a loud voice to all the Israelites” (Deut
27:14), ‫ ַו ְיׇב ֶרְך ֵאת ׇכּל־ְקַהל ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל קוֹל ׇגּדוֹל‬, “and he [Solomon]
blessed all the assembly of Israel with a loud voice” (1
Kgs 8:55).

(d) Complement – The object is a noun used with certain

intransitive verbs, which take on new transitive mean-
ings through a modification of their original meanings
(Kautzsch 1910, 368–70; Waltke and O’Connor 1990,
168). Verbs often taking the complement accusative include

35 For the following, see Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 421–20; Kautzsch 1910,
366–67; and Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 167.
23

2.3 Accusative 23

‫ ִריב‬, ‫כל‬ֺ ‫ ׇי‬, ‫ׇחֵפץ‬, ‫ ׇרׇצה‬, and ‫ׇשַׁכב‬. So, for example: ‫ ִריבוּ ַאְלׇמ ׇנה‬,
“plead for the widow” (Isa 1:17), ‫א ְיִבי ְיׇכְלִתּיו‬ ֺ ‫ֶפּן־ֺיאַמר‬, “lest
my enemy say, ‘I have prevailed against him’ ” (Ps 13:5),
‫ׇחֵפץ ְבָּך ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “the king is delighted with you” (1 Sam 18:22).
Most of these occur in the Qal stem, but occasionally even
the reflexive stems (Niphal and Hithpael) may take such an
accusative: ‫ַו ִיְּתׇפּ ְרקוּ ׇכּל־ׇהׇעם ֶאת־ִנ ְזֵמי ַה ׇזׇּהב ֲאֶשׁר ְבׇּא ְז ֵניֶהם‬, “and all the
people took off the rings of gold from their ears” (Exod 32:3).
Other verbs sometimes taking the complement accusative are
verbs of robing and disrobing (‫ׇלַבשׁ‬, ‫ׇפַּשׁט‬, and ‫)ׇע ׇדה‬, verbs of
fullness and emptiness (‫ׇפּ ַרץ‬, ‫ ׇגּ ַזל‬, ‫ׇמֵלא‬, ‫ ִנְז ַרע‬, ‫ׇשׁ ַרץ‬, ‫ׇשֵׂבַע‬, ‫ ׇגַּבר‬, and
others), as well as verbs of dwelling (‫ ׇיַשׁב‬, ‫גּוּר‬, ‫)ׇשַׁכב‬.36

(e) Double – The causative derived stems (Piel and Hiphil)

and certain other verbs sometimes have more than one
object.37 Both of the accusatives are often direct objects,
meaning we may speak of a double object accusative, although
occasionally the second of two objects is a complement
accusative or an adverbial accusative. In the case of the latter,
we may speak rather of a complex accusative.
(e.1) In causative sentences, the Piel or Hiphil of verbs
that are Qal transitives frequently require two accusatives.
Typically, the subject of the causation (often a person)
is used as a second accusative: ‫ִלַמּ ְדִתּי ֶאְתֶכם ֻחִקּים וִּמְשׇׁפִּטים‬,
“I have taught you statutes and ordinances [literally: I
have caused you (subject of causation/ accusative #2)
to learn statues and ordinances (accusative #1)]” (Deut 4:5),
‫ ַו ַיֲּאִכֵל ִני ֵאת ַהְמּ ִגׇלּה ַהֺזּאת‬, “and he [Yhwh] fed me this scroll [lit-
erally: and he caused me (subject of causation/accusative
#2) to eat this scroll (accusative #1)]” (Ezek 3:2). This double
accusative is common with verbs of fullness and emptiness,
robing and disrobing, and other causative constructions.

36 See Kautzsch 1910 (369–70) for details.

37 For details see Kautzsch 1910, 370–72; Joüon and Muraoka 2006,
422–425; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 173–77; and van der Merwe,
Naudé, and Kroeze 1999, 243–44.
24

24 Nouns

In some, however, the first object is not a direct object

accusative, but rather an adverbial accusative (see Section
2.3.2): ‫אׇתם ׇחְכַמת־ֵלב‬ ֺ ‫ִמֵלּא‬, “He [Yhwh] filled them with skill
[literally: he caused them (subject of causation/accusative
#2) to be full of skill (accusative #1)]” (Exod 35:35).
(e.2) The double accusative is also required by the nature
of certain verbs that are not necessarily verbs of causa-
tion. So verbs of making, forming, naming, or counting
often require two accusatives, the second of which is fre-
quently adverbial:38 ‫ ַו ִיְּב ֶנה ֶאת־ׇהֲאׇב ִנים ִמ ְזֵבַּח‬, “and he built the
stones [object #1] into an altar [object #2]” (1 Kgs 18:32),
‫ ַו ִיּיֶצר ְיה ׇוה ֱאֹלִהים ֶאת־ׇהׇא ׇדם ׇעׇפר‬, “Then Yhwh God formed
man [object #1] of dust [object #2]” (Gen 2:7), ‫ׇק ְרׇאה ְשׁמוֹ ׇדּן‬,
“she called his name [object #1] Dan [object #2]” (Gen
30:6). Likewise verbs of speaking and giving often require
two accusatives: ‫ ַו ִיֶּתּן־ׇלנוּ ֶאת־ׇהׇא ֶרץ ַהֺזּאת‬, “and he [Yhwh]
gave us [object #1] this land [object #2]” (Deut 26:9),
‫ ׇוֲאַצ ֶוּה ֶאְתֶכם ׇבֵּעת ַהִהוא ֵאת ׇכּל־ַה ְדׇּב ִרים ֲאֶשׁר ַתֲּעשׂוּן‬, “And I com-
manded you at that time all the things that you should do”
(Deut 1:18).

(f) Accusative Absolute (object dislocation) – On casus pendens,

also known as dislocation, see discussion of the Nominative
Absolute (Section 2.1.4). Such dislocation is rare in the accu-
sative function, and somewhat controversial. The following
examples appear to exhibit dislocation of nouns serving as
the object of the verbal action: ‫תּ ֶנ ׇנּה‬ ֽ ְ ‫ׇהׇא ֶרץ ֲאֶשׁר ַאׇתּה שׁ ֵֺכב ׇעֶליׇה ְלָך ֶא‬,
“the land on which you lie I will give it to you” (Gen 28:13);
‫לא־ִתְק ׇרא ֶאת־ְשׇׁמהּ ׇ ׇֽ‬
‫שׂרי ִכּי ׇשׂ ׇרה ְשׇׁמהּ‬ ֹ ‫ׇשׂ ַרי ִאְשְׁתָּך‬, “As for Sarai, your
wife – you shall not call her name Sarai, but Sarah shall be her
name” (Gen 17:15).

38 See the accusatives of material and product in Sections 2.3.2, f, and

2.3.2, g.
25

2.3 Accusative 25

2.3.2 Adverbial (Noun Adjuncts)39

In addition to the simple direct object of a verb (Section
2.3.1), some accusative nouns are indirectly subordinated to
the verb. Rather than specifying the person or thing directly
affected by the verb, such accusatives modify more precisely
the circumstances under which an action or situation occurs.
In other words, they serve as adverbial accusatives.40

(a) Place – The accusative signifies location with verbs of

motion or dwelling: ‫ֵצא ַהׇשּׂ ֶדה‬, “go out (into) the field” (Gen
27:3), ‫ ׇיׇצא ַאשּׁוּר‬, “he went (into) Assyria” (Gen 10:11),
‫ ַוֵיּ ְרדוּ ׇכל־ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל ַהְפִּלְשִׁתּים‬, “and all Israel went down (to) the
Philistines” (1 Sam 13:20), ‫עה‬ ֺ ‫ ַוֻתַּקּח ׇהִאׇשּׁה ֵבּית ַפּ ְר‬, “and the
woman [Sarai] was taken (into) Pharaoh's house” (Gen
12:15), ‫אֶהל‬ ֺ ‫מד ֶפַּתח ׇה‬ ֺ ‫ ַַו ַיֲּע‬, “and he [Yhwh] stood (at) the
doorway of the tent” (Num 12:5). The location may specify the
spacial extent of the verbal action: ‫דּף ַאֲח ׇריו ֶדּ ֶרְך ִשְׁבַעת ׇיִמים‬ ֺ ‫ ַוִיּ ְר‬,
“and he pursued after him a seven-day journey” (Gen 31:23),
‫ ַו ֵנֶּלְך ֵאת ׇכּל־ ַהִמּ ְדׇבּר ַה ׇגּדוֹל ְוַהנּוֹ ׇרא ַההוּא‬, “and we went (through) all
that great and terrible wilderness” (Deut 1:19). Sometimes
the accusative of place is used with verbs that have no specific
locational quality: ‫ ְוַאׇתּה ִתְּשַׁמע ַהׇשַּׁמִים‬, “and you yourself will
hear (in) heaven” (1 Kgs 8:32).
As one would expect, such syntactical relationships may
also be designated by prepositional phrases instead of
accusatives of place or time (see Section 4.1, and Kautzsch
1910, 377–84). In addition, BH may use the he locale (unac-
cented ending –āh used on certain nouns for direction or

39 On the designation “[nominal/noun] adjuncts” instead of adverbial accu-

satives, see Cook and Holmstedt 2013, 132–33; van der Merwe, Naudé,
and Kroeze 1999, 241–45, and the discussion in Waltke and O’Connor
1990, 162–63.
40 For more on the adverbial accusatives, see Joüon and Muraoka 2006,
425–30; Kautzsch 1910, 372–76; Waltke and O’Connor 1990, 169–73;
26

26 Nouns

location, also known as directive he) instead of the accusa-

tive of place:41 ‫ַֽא ְרׇצה ְכּ ַנַען‬, “toward the land of Canaan” (Gen
11:31); ‫יְמה‬ָ ‫יָ ְרדּו ֲאב ֶֹתיָך ִמ ְצ ָר‬, “your ancestors went down to
Egypt” (Deut 10:22); ‫ֶאל־ ִזְק ֵני ׇהִעיר ַהׇֽשְּׁע ׇרה‬, “to the elders of
the city at the gate” (Deut 22:15). Once thought to be a ves-
tige of the original accusative case ending, the discovery
that Ugaritic also had a separate adverbial suffix –h proves
that BH’s –āh ending is not simply a remnant of the accu-
sative case ending. It appears the final –h was an old adver-
bial ending, although the a-vowel before it may still reflect
the original accusative case.42

(b) Time – The accusative locates an action in time or

states its duration: ‫בא ַהיּוֹם ֶאל־ׇהׇעִין‬ ֺ ‫ ׇוׇא‬, “and I came today to
the spring” (Gen 24:42), ‫ ְיה ׇוה בֶֺּקר ִתְּשַׁמע קוִֹלי בֶֺּקר ֶאֱע ׇרְך־ְלָך‬,
“O Yhwh, in the morning you hear my voice; in
the morning I plead my case to you” (Ps 5:4),
‫ׇאֺנִכי ַמְמִטיר ַעל־ׇהׇֽא ֶרץ ַא ְרׇבִּעים יוֹם ְוַא ְרׇבִּעים ׇֽל ְיׇלה‬, “I will send
rain on the earth forty days and forty nights” (Gen 7:4),
‫ׇאגוּ ׇרה ְבׇאׇהְלָך עוׇֹלִמים‬, “Let me abide in your tent forever”
(Ps 61:5).

(c) Manner – The accusative is an indefinite noun

describing the way in which an action or situation is per-
formed: ‫כּן ִיְשׂ ׇרֵאל ֶבַּטח‬
ֺ ‫ ַו ִיְּשׁ‬, “and Israel will swell in safety”
(Deut 33:28), ‫ ִדְּב ֵרי ַה ְנִּביִאים ֶפּה־ֶאׇחד טוֹב ֶאל־ַהֶמֶּלְך‬, “the
words of the prophets with one accord are favorable to
the king” (1 Kgs 22:13), ‫ ַו ַיַּען ׇכּל־ׇהׇעם קוֹל ֶאׇחד‬, “and all the
people answered with one voice” (Exod 24:3). Adjectives
and participles may also serve as accusatives of manner:

Williams and Beckman 2007, 24–25; van der Merwe, Naudé, and Kroeze
1999, 244–45; and Chisholm 1998, 64–65.
41 Hoftijzer 1981; Joüon and Muraoka 2006, 256–58. On the form and
general function of he locale; see Lambdin 1971a, 51–52; Seow 1995,
152–53; Ellis 2006, 271; Hackett 2010, 201–2; Webster 2009, 84, and
other beginning grammars.
42 Blau 2010, 269.
27

2.3 Accusative 27

‫קב ׇשֵׁלם ִעיר ְשֶׁכם‬

ֺ ‫בא ַיֲע‬
ֺ ‫ ַו ׇיּ‬, “and Jacob came safely into the city
of Shechem” (Gen 33:18),43 ‫ ְוׇאֺנִכי הוֵֹלְך ֲע ִרי ִרי‬, “and I go
childless” (Gen 15:2), ‫קוֹל דּוֹ ִדי ִה ֵנּה־ ֶזה ׇבּא ְמ ַדֵלּג ַעל־ֶהׇה ִרים‬, “the
voice of my beloved; behold he comes leaping upon the
mountains” (Song 2:8).

(d) State – The accusative is an indefinite noun describing

a feature, state, or quality of the subject at the time of the
verbal action:44 ‫ ַו ֵיֵּצא ַהַמְּשִׁחית ִמַמֲּח ֵנה ְפִלְשִׁתּים ְשֹׁלׇשׁה ׇראִשׁים‬,
“And raiders came out of the camp of the Philistines in three
companies” (1 Sam 13:17), ‫ ַוֲא ׇרם ׇיְצאוּ ְגדוּ ִדים‬, “and the Arameans
went forth as maurading bands” (2 Kgs 5:2), ‫ְשִׁבי ַאְלׇמ ׇנה ֵבית־ׇאִביְך‬,
“remain as a widow in your father’s house” (Gen 38:11).45
The accusative may also describe a feature, state,
or quality of the object at the time of the verbal action:
‫ ַוֲא ִני ִה ְנ ִני ֵמִביא ֶאת־ַהַמּבּוּל ַמִים‬, “and I myself [Yhwh] am bring-
ing a flood of waters” (Gen 6:17), ‫עז‬ ֺ ‫ִתְּד ְרִכי ַנְפִשׁי‬, “march on,
my soul, in strength” (Judg 5:21), ‫אְתָך ֶמֶלְך ַעל־ֲאׇרם‬ ֺ ‫ִה ְרַא ִני ְיה ׇוה‬,
“Yhwh has shown me that you will be king over Aram” (2
Kgs 8:13).
Like the accusative of manner, the accusative of state may be
expressed by adjectives or participles: ‫אׇלה‬ ֺ ‫ֵא ֵרד ֶאל־ְבּ ִני ׇאֵבל ְשׁ‬,
“I will go down to the grave to my son mourning” (Gen
37:35), ‫ֲא ִני ְמֵלׇאה ׇהַלְכִתּי‬, “I went away full” (Ruth 1:21),
‫מֶשׁה ֶאת־ׇהׇעם בֶֺּכה‬ֹ ‫ ַו ִיְּשַׁמע‬, “and Moses heard the people weep-
ing” (Num 11:10).

(e) Specification – The accusative clarifies or explains fur-

ther the verbal action, which would otherwise be generally

43 Notice that this example also has a second accusative, which is an accusa-
tive of place: “into the city of Shechem.”
44 This use of the accusative is similar to the accusative of manner, and some
grammars combine the treatment of the two (cf. Kautzsch 1910, 374–75).
45 Note that this example contains two accusatives, the first an accusative of
state (widow) and the second an accusative of place (father’s house).
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see also a difference in the styles of wearing the hair, the French
queues and bags contrasting markedly with plain English heads of hair
or professional wigs. Most of the company moved in “an eternal circle,
to see and to be seen”; others stood near to enjoy the music; others
again regaled themselves at the tables with the excellent fare provided
for the inclusive sum of half-a-crown; while a thoughtful minority gazed
from the gallery and moralized on the scene. The display and
extravagance evidently surprised Moritz, as it surprises us when we
remember that it was at the close of a ruinous war. In the third year of
the struggle, the mercurial Horace Walpole deplored the universal
distress, and declared that when he sat in his “blue window,” he
missed nine out of ten of the lordly chariots that used to roll before it.
Yet, in the seventh year, when the half of Europe had entered the lists
against the Island Power, the Prussian pastor saw nothing but
affluence and heard nothing that did not savour of a determined and
sometimes boastful patriotism. At Ranelagh he observed that everyone
wore silk stockings, and he was informed that even poor people when
they visited that abode of splendour, dressed so as to copy the great,
and always hired a coach in order to draw up in state at the
20
entrance.
Ranelagh and Vauxhall, we may note in passing, were beyond the
confines of the London of 1780. The city of Westminster was but
slowly encroaching on Tothill Fields; and the Queen’s House, standing
on the site of the present Buckingham Palace, commanded an
uninterrupted view westwards over the fields and market gardens
spreading out towards the little village of Chelsea. On the south of the
Thames there was a mere fringe of houses from the confines of
Southwark to the Archbishop’s palace at Lambeth; and revellers
returning from Vauxhall, whether by river or road, were not seldom
sobered by visits from footpads, or the even more dreaded Mohawks.
Further afield everything was completely rural. Trotter, Fox’s secretary,
describes the statesman as living amidst bowers vocal with song-birds
at St. Ann’s Hill, Wandsworth; and Pitt, in his visits to Wilberforce or
Dundas at Wimbledon, would probably pass not a score of houses
between Chelsea and the little old wooden bridge at Putney. That
village and Wimbledon stood in the same relation to London as
Oxshott and Byfleet occupy to-day. North of Chelsea there was the
hamlet of Knightsbridge, and beyond it the villages of Paddington and
“Marybone.”
As Hyde Park Corner marked the western limit of London, so
Bedford House and its humbler neighbour, the British Museum,
bounded it on the north. The Foundling Hospital stood in open fields.
St. Pancras, Islington Spa, and Sadler’s Wells were rivals of Epsom
and Tunbridge Wells. Clerkenwell Church was the fashionable place
for weddings for the richer citizens who dwelt in the northern suburbs
opened up by the new City Road completed in 1761. On the east,
London ended at Whitechapel, though houses straggled on down the
Mile End Road. The amount of the road-borne traffic is curiously
illustrated by the fact that the Metropolis possessed only three bridges,
London Bridge, Westminster Bridge, and Blackfriars Bridge; and not till
the year 1763 did the City Fathers demolish the old houses standing
on London Bridge which rendered it impossible for two carts to pass.
Already, however, suburbs were spreading along the chief roads out of
London. In the “Connoisseur” of September 1754 is a pleasingly
ironical account of a week-end visit to the villa of a London tradesman,
situated in the desolate fields near Kennington Common, from the
windows of which one had a view of criminals hanging from gibbets
and St. Paul’s cupola enveloped in smoke.
Nevertheless, the Englishman’s love of the country tended to drive
Londoners out to the dull little suburbs around the Elephant and
Castle, or beyond Tyburn or Clerkenwell; and thus, in the closing years
of the century, there arose that dualism of interests (city versus
suburbs) which weakens the civic and social life of the metropolis. A
further consequence was the waning in popularity of Vauxhall and
Ranelagh, as well as of social clubs in general. These last had
furnished a very desirable relief to the monotony of a stay-at-home
existence. But the club became less necessary when the family lived
beyond the river or at “Marybone,” and when the merchant spent much
time on horseback every day in passing from his office to his villa.
Another cause for the decline of clubs of the old type is doubtless to be
found in the distress caused by the Revolutionary War, and in the
increasing acerbity of political discussions after the year 1790. Hitherto
clubs had been almost entirely devoted to relaxation or conviviality. A
characteristic figure of Clubland up to the year 1784 had been Dr.
Johnson, thundering forth his dicta and enforcing them with thumps on
the table. The next generation cared little for conversation as a fine art;
and men drifted off to clubs where either loyalty or freedom was the
dominant idea. The political arena, which for two generations had been
the scene of confused scrambles between greedy factions, was soon
to be cleared for that deadliest of all struggles, a war of principles. In
that sterner age the butterfly life of Ranelagh became a meaningless
anomaly.
For the present, however, no one in England dreamt of any such
change. The spirit of the nation, far from sinking under the growing
burdens of the American War, seemed buoyant. Sensitive littérateurs
like Horace Walpole might moan over the ruin of the Empire; William
Pitt might declaim against its wickedness with all his father’s
vehemence; but the nation for the most part plodded doggedly on in
the old paths and recked little of reform, except in so far as it
concerned the abolition of sinecures and pensions. In 1779–80 County
Associations were founded in order to press on the cause of
“œconomical reform”; but most of them expired by the year 1784. Alike
in thought and in customs England seemed to be invincibly
Conservative.
The reasons, other than racial and climatic, for the stolidity of
Georgian England would seem to be these. Any approach to
enthusiasm, whether in politics or religion, had been tabooed as
dangerous ever since the vagaries of the High Church party in the
reign of Anne had imperilled the Protestant Succession; and far into
the century, especially after the adventure of “Bonnie Prince Charlie,”
all leanings towards romance were looked on as a reflection on the
safe and solid House of Brunswick. Prudence was the first of political
virtues, and common sense the supreme judge of creeds and conduct.
External events also favoured the triumph of the commonplace,
which is so obvious in the Georgian literature and architecture. The call
of the sea and the influence of the New World were no longer
inspirations to mighty deeds. The age of adventure was past, and the
day of company promoters and slave-raiders had fully dawned.
Commerce of an almost Punic type ruled the world. Whereas the wars
of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had turned mainly on
questions of religion, those of the eighteenth centred more and more
on the winning of colonial markets as close preserves for the mother-
country. By the Peace of Utrecht (1713) England gained the first place
in the race for Empire; and a clause of that treaty enabled her to
participate in the most lucrative of trades, the kidnapping of negroes in
Africa for the supply of Spanish-America. Never was there a more
fateful gain. It built up the fortunes of many scores of merchants and
shipowners, but it degraded the British marine and the populace of our
ports, in some of which slaves were openly sold. The canker of its
influence spread far beyond ships and harbours. Its results were seen
in the seared conscience of the nation, and in the lowering of the
sense of the sanctity of human life, which in its turn enabled the blind
champions of law, especially after the scare of 1745, to multiply capital
punishments until more than 160 crimes were punishable by death.
The barbarities of the law and the horrors of the slave-trade finally
led to protests in the name of humanity and religion. These came in
21
the first instance from the Society of Friends. But the philanthropic
movement did not gather volume until it was fed by the evangelical
revival. Clarkson, Zachary Macaulay, Wilberforce (the ablest champion
of the cause), and John Howard, the reformer of prisons, were living
proofs of the connection which exists between spiritual fervour and
love of man. With the foundation, in the year 1787, of the Society for
the Abolition of the Slave Trade, the philanthropic movement began its
career of self-denying effort, which for some five years received
valuable support from Pitt. Other signs of a moral awakening were not
wanting. In 1772 Lord Chief Justice Mansfield declared that all slaves
brought to the United Kingdom became free—a judgement which dealt
the death-blow to slave markets in this country. In 1773 John Howard
began his crusade for the improvement of gaols; and seven years later
Sunday Schools were started by Robert Raikes. The protests of Burke
and Sir Charles Bunbury against the pillory, the efforts of the former in
1784–5 to prevent the disgraceful overcrowding of the prisons, and the
crusade of Romilly against the barbarities of the penal code are also a
tribute to the growth of enlightenment and kindliness.
These ennobling efforts, however, failed to make any impression
on what is termed “Society.” The highest and the lowest strata are, as
a rule, the last to feel the thrill of new movements; for surfeit and
starvation alike stunt the better instincts. Consequently, Georgian
England became strangely differentiated. The new impulses were
quickly permeating the middle classes; but there their influence
ceased. The flinty hardness of the upper crust, and the clayey
sediment at the bottom, defied all efforts of an ordinary kind. The old
order of things was not to be changed save by the explosive forces let
loose in France in 1789. That year forms a dividing line in European
history, as it does in the career of William Pitt.

* * * * *
Though ominous signs of the approaching storm might already be
seen, the noble and wealthy wasted their substance in the usual round
of riotous living. It may be well to glance at two of the typical vices of
the age, drinking and gambling, of course in those circles alone where
they are deemed interesting, for thence only do records reach us.
Drinking did not count as a vice, it was a cherished custom. The
depths of the potations after dinner, and on suitable occasions during
the day, had always been a feature of English life. Shakespeare seems
to aim these well-known lines at the English rather than the Danes:

This heavy-headed revel east and west

Makes us traduced and tax’d of other nations:
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase
22
Soil our addition.

Certainly in the eighteenth century drinking came to be in a sense

a flying buttress of the national fabric. The champions of our
“mercantile system” brought about the signature of the Methuen Treaty
of 1703 with Portugal, in order to favour trade with that harmless little
land at the expense of that with our “natural enemy,” France. Hostility
to the French being the first of political maxims, good citizens thought it
more patriotic to became intoxicated on port wine than to remain sober
on French claret. Though we may not endorse Adam Smith’s hopeful
prediction that the abolition of all duties on wine would have furthered
the cause of temperance, yet we may agree that the drunkenness of
the age was partly due to “the sneaking arts of underling tradesmen”—
when “erected into political maxims for the conduct of a great empire.”
Equally noteworthy is his verdict that drunkenness was not limited to
people of fashion, and that “a gentleman drunk with ale has scarce
23
ever been seen among us.”
The habit of tippling, which even the moralist Johnson (aet. 70)
said might “be practised with great prudence,” was everywhere
dominant. The thinness and unpracticality of the studies at the old
universities were relieved by the depth and seriousness of the
potations. The phrase, “a port wine Fellow,” lingered to the close of the
nineteenth century as a reminiscence of the crusted veterans of a
bygone age, whose talk mellowed at the second bottle, and became
drivel only at the fourth. Lord Eldon relates how a reverend Silenus, a
Doctor of Divinity of Oxford, was once discovered in the small hours
feeling his way homewards by the delusive help of the railings
encircling the Radcliffe Library, and making lay remarks as to the
24
unwonted length of the journey. Where doctors led the way,
undergraduates bettered the example; and the customs of Cambridge,
as well as the advice of physicians, served to ingrain in Pitt that love of
port wine which helped to shorten his life.
But the Universities only reflected the customs of an age when
“drunk as a lord” had become a phrase. In fashionable society it was
usual to set about tippling in a methodical way. Sometimes, at the
different stages of the progress, travellers’ impressions were recorded
in a quaintly introspective manner. Rigby, Master of the Rolls in
Ireland, when jocularly asked at dinner by the Prince of Wales to
advise him about his marriage, made the witty and wise reply: “Faith,
your Royal Highness, I am not drunk enough yet to give advice to a
25
Prince of Wales about marrying.” The saying recalls to mind the
unofficial habit of training and selecting diplomatists and ambassadors,
namely, to ply the aspirants hard and then notice who divulged fewest
secrets when under the table.
Fortunately, amidst the Bacchic orgies of the time, the figure of
George III stood steadfast for sobriety. His tastes and those of Queen
Charlotte were simple and healthy. Further, he was deeply impressed
by the miserable end of his uncle, the Duke of Cumberland, whose
frame, always unwieldy, became a mass of gouty corpulence and
staggered on to dissolution at the age of forty-four. The Duke, so it is
said, had long before warned the King, if he wished to live to a healthy
26
old age, to avoid all the pleasures of the table. The life and death of
the Duke—an example more potent than words—and the homely
tastes of the royal pair themselves, served to keep the bill of fare at
Windsor well within the compass of that of many a small squire. After
hunting for a whole morning, the King was sometimes content to lunch
on a jug of barley-water. Stories to this effect endeared “farmer King
George” to the plain, wholesome folk of the provinces in whom lay the
strength of England; but they aroused no responsive feeling in
courtiers and nobles, who looked on such lenten fare as scarcely
human, certainly not regal.
The behaviour of the Prince of Wales, however, tended to bring
matters back to the level beloved of the Comus rout. The orgies of
Carlton House were not seldom bestial; and yet fashionable society
seems to have suffered no qualms on hearing that the prince was
more than once saved from suffocation by prompt removal of
27
enswathing silks. Dinners became later, longer, and more luxurious.
Experienced diners were those who could reckon the banquet, not by
the number of glasses, but of bottles. Instead of figuring as an incident
in the course of the day, dinner became its climax. We find Horace
Walpole in February 1777 complaining that it absorbed the whole of
the evening: “Everything is changed; as always must happen when
one grows old and is prejudiced to one’s old ways. I do not like dining
at nearly six, nor beginning the evening at ten at night. If one does not
conform one must live alone.”
Many letters of that amusing writer show how the latter part of the
four hours was spent. Take this reference to the death of Lord
Cholmondeley: “He was seventy and had a constitution to have carried
him to a hundred, if he had not destroyed it by an intemperance that
would have killed anybody else in half the time. As it was, he had
outlived by fifteen years all his set, who have reeled into the ferry-boat
so long before him.” There Horace Walpole laid his finger on one of the
sores of the age. Statesmen and generals, parsons and squires, were
generally worn out at fifty-five; and if by reason of strength they
reached three score years and ten, those years were indeed years of
sorrow and gout. In the annals of that period it would be impossible to
find a single man possessed of the vigour of Mr. Gladstone at eighty,
or the subtlety and firmness displayed by Beaconsfield at Berlin at the
age of seventy-four. A nonagenarian was never seen at St. Stephen’s:
at seventy statesmen were laid by in flannel and wheeled about in
bath-chairs. The cause of it all may be summed up in one word—port
wine.
This chapter would extend to an unwieldy length if a full account
were given of what was, perhaps, the most characteristic vice of the
age. Gambling has always flourished in an uncultured, reckless and
ostentatious society. Men who have no mental resources within
themselves are all too apt to seek diversion in the vagaries of chance.
Tacitus noted it as the worst vice of the savage Teutons whom in other
respects he lauded; and certainly none of their descendants gamed
more than the Englishmen of the Georgian era. In vain did the King set
his face against the evil. The murmurs grew not loud but deep when he
forbade gambling at Court on that much cherished occasion, “twelfth-
night.” The courtiers then substituted cards, and betted furiously on
them, until they too were banished from the royal palaces, even on that
28
merry festival. But here again the Prince of Wales neutralized his
father’s example, and before long succeeded in contracting debts to a
princely amount, whereupon they were considerately paid by
Parliament. That sturdy opponent of George III, Charles James Fox,
outran even the Prince of Wales in zeal. At an all night sitting he is
known to have lost £12,000; and, putting fortune to the test, lost
successively £12,000 and £11,000 more. His great rival, the younger
Pitt, plunged into play for a brief space, but on finding it get too strong
a hold over him, resolutely freed himself from its insidious meshes.
Thereafter that genial wit, George Selwyn, pointed the moral of their
early careers by comparing the rivals to the industrious and idle
apprentices of Hogarth.

* * * * *
The mention of Hogarth awakens a train of thought alien to his
self-satisfied age. One begins to inquire what was the manner of life of
those coarse thickset figures who fill the background of his realistic
canvases. Were Englishmen of the lower orders really given over to
Bacchic orgies alternating with long spells of flesh-restoring torpor?
What was their attitude towards public affairs? While Rousseau began
to open out golden vistas of a social millennium, were the toilers really
so indifferent to all save the grossest facts of existence? The question
is difficult to answer. The Wilkes affair seemed for the time to arouse
universal interest, but the low class Londoners who bawled themselves
hoarse for “Wilkes and Liberty” probably cared for that demagogue
mainly because he was a Londoner bent on defying the House of
Commons. Personal feelings rather than political convictions seem to
have determined their conduct; for Wilkes was not reviled a few years
later when he went over to the King’s side. Meanwhile the Gordon
Riots had shown the London populace in another light. As for the
County Reform Associations of the years 1780–4, they had very little
hold upon the large towns, except in Yorkshire; and there the
movement was due to the exceptionally bad representation and to the
support of the great Whig landlords. The experience of those decades
proves that political action which arises out of temporary causes
(especially of a material kind) will lead to little result.
That mercurial and ill-educated populace seems to have shaken
off its political indifference only at the time of a general election. Moritz
describes the tumultuous joy with which Londoners took part in the
election of the year 1782. The sight of carters and draymen eagerly
listening to the candidates at the hustings; their shouts for a speech
from Fox; the close interest which even the poorest seemed to feel in
their country’s welfare, made a deep impression on Moritz, who found
the sight far more exhilarating than that of reviews on the parade
ground at Berlin. His mental comparison of Londoners with the
Romans of the time of Coriolanus was, however, cut short when he
saw “the rampant spirit of liberty and the wild impatience of a genuine
English mob.” At the end of the proceedings the assembly tore down
the hustings, smashed the benches and chairs, and carried the
29
fragments about with them as signs of triumph. Rousseau and
Marat, who saw something of English life during their stay in this
country, declared that Britons were free only during an election; and
the former averred that the use which they made of “the brief moments
30
of freedom renders the loss of liberty well deserved.” Certainly their
elections were times of wild licence; and the authorities seem to have
acquiesced in the carnival as tending to promote a dull, if not
penitential, obedience in the sequel. Not without reason, then, did
Horace Walpole exclaim, at the close of the American War—“War is a
tragedy; other politics but a farce.”
The moralist who cons the stories of the frivolity and vice of that
age is apt to wonder that any progress was made in a society where
war and waste seemed to be the dominant forces. Yet he should
remember that it is the extravagant and exceptional which is
chronicled, while the humdrum activities of life, being taken for
granted, find no place either in newspapers, memoirs, or histories. We
read that in the eight years of the American War the sum of
£115,000,000 was added to the National Debt, the interest on which in
31
the year 1784 amounted to £9,669,435. But do we inquire how a
country, which with great difficulty raised a revenue of £25,000,000 a
year, could bear this load and the far heavier burdens of the
Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars? The problem seems insoluble
until we remember that British industry was then entering on its most
expansive phase. The condition of our land may be compared with that
of a sturdy oak which has had one of its limbs torn away and its foliage
blighted by a storm. Yet, if the roots grip the soil deep down, the sap of
a single season will restore the verdure, and in a few years the dome
of foliage will rise as shapely and imposing as ever. So was it to be
with England. Her astonishingly quick recovery may be ascribed partly
to the exertions of the great man whose public life will here be set
forth. But one man can do little more than direct the toil of the many to
fruitful issues; and the fruitfulness that marked the first decade of his
supremacy resulted from the contact of the nation’s roots with a new
and fertile layer of soil.
Below the surface of the national life, with its wars and party
intrigues, there lay another world, in which the thoughts of Watt and
Trevithick, of Hargreaves, Arkwright and Cartwright, were slowly taking
shape in actuality. There lay the England of the future. Already its
strength, though but that of an embryo, sufficed to send up enough of
vital sap quickly to repair the losses of war; and the first claim of the
younger Pitt to the title of Statesman lay in his perception of the needs
and claims of this hidden life.
 The mechanical inventions which led up to the era of great
production resulted indirectly from the outburst of industrial activity that
followed the victorious issue of the Seven Years’ War. “Necessity is the
mother of Invention”; and the great need after 1763 was to quicken the
spinning of yarn so that the spinsters of a household could keep the
father supplied with enough weft for his loom. This necessity
quickened the wits of a Lancashire weaver, Hargreaves; and in 1764
he constructed his “jenny,” to lighten the toil of his wife. In quick
succession came the inventions of Arkwright and Crompton, as
already noted. The results obtained by the latter were surprising,
muslin and other delicate fabrics being wrought with success in Great
Britain. In a special Report issued by the East India Company in 1793,
the complaint was made that every shop in England offered for sale
“British muslins equal in appearance and of more elegant patterns than
those of India, for one fourth, or perhaps more than one third, less
32
price.” Further improvements increased the efficiency of this
machinery, which soon was used extensively in the north-west of
England, and in Lanarkshire. The populations of Manchester, Leeds,
33
Sheffield, and Birmingham, after 1780, began to increase amazingly.
Hitherto they had numbered between 30,000 and 60,000 souls. Now
they began to outstrip Bristol and Norwich, the second and third of
English cities.
It is noteworthy that the Industrial Revolution in this, its first phase,
brought wealth and contentment to all members of the community. The
quantities of thread, varying in fineness, but severally invariable in
texture and strength, enabled the hand-loom weavers to push on with
their work with none of the interruptions formerly caused by the
inability of hard-pressed spinsters to supply the requisite amount of
yarn. These last, it is true, lost somewhat in economic independence;
for by degrees they sank to the position of wage-earners in mills, but
they were on the whole less hard-worked than before, water furnishing
the power previously applied by the spinster’s foot; and the family
retained its independence because the father and brothers continued
to work up cloth on their own hand-looms and to sell the produce at the
weekly markets of Manchester or Blackburn, Leeds or Halifax. In the
case of the staple industry of Yorkshire, many men reared the sheep,
dressed and dyed the fleeces, worked up the thread into cloth, and
finally, with their sons, took it on a packhorse to the nearest cloth
market. A more complete example of economic independence it would
be difficult to find; and the prosperity of this class—at once farmers,
and dyers, manufacturers, and cloth merchants—was enhanced by the
new spinning machinery which came rapidly into use after the year
1770.
This fact is emphasized in a vivid sketch of life in a Lancashire
village drawn by one who saw it at the time of these momentous
developments. William Radcliffe describes the prosperity which they
brought to the homes of the farmer-artisans who formed the bulk of the
population of his native village of Mellor, about fourteen miles north of
Manchester. He calls the years 1788 to 1803 the golden age of the
cotton industry. Every out-house in the village was fitted as a loom-
shop; and the earnings of each family averaged from 80 to 100 or
34
sometimes even 120 shillings a week. This account, written by a
man who rose to be a large manufacturer at Stockport is probably
overdrawn; but there can be no doubt that the exuberant prosperity of
the North of England provided the new vital force which enabled the
country speedily to rise with strength renewed at the very time when
friends and enemies looked to see her fall for ever. Some idea of the
magnitude of this new source of wealth may be gained from the official
returns of the value of the cotton goods exported from Great Britain at
the following dates:

1710 £5,698
1751 45,986
1764 200,354
1780 355,060
1785 864,710
1790 1,662,369
1795 2,433,331
1800 3,572,217
1806 9,753,824

After 1803 Cartwright’s power-loom came more and more into use,
and that, too, at the time when Watt’s steam-engine became available
for general use. The pace of the Industrial Revolution was thus
accelerated; and in this, its third phase, the far-reaching change
brought distress to the homes of the weavers, as was to be seen in the
Luddite riots of 1810–11. This, however, belongs to a period later than
that dealt with in these pages. Very noteworthy is the fact that in the
years 1785–1806, which nearly cover the official life of Pitt, the exports
of cotton goods increased almost twelvefold in value; and that the
changes in the textile industries enhanced not only the wealth of the
nation but also the prosperity of the working classes in districts which
had been the poorest and most backward.
Limits of space preclude any reference to the revolution wrought in
the iron industry when coal and coke began to take the place of wood
in the smelting of that metal. It must suffice to say that, whereas the
English iron industry had seemed in danger of extinction, it now made
giant strides ahead. In 1777 the first iron bridge was erected at
Coalbrookdale, over the Severn. Six years later Cort of Gosport
obtained a patent for converting pig-iron into malleable-iron by a new
35
and expeditious process; and in 1790 the use of steam-engines at
the blast furnaces trebled their efficiency. This and the former
reference to the steam-engine will suffice to remind the reader of the
enormous developments opened up in all manufactures when the skill
and patience of Watt transformed a scientific toy into the most
important generator of power hitherto used by man.
Thus, in the closing years of the eighteenth century—that much
despised century, which really produced nearly all the great inventions
that the over-praised nineteenth century was merely to develop—the
Industrial Revolution entered on its second phase. The magnets which
thenceforth irresistibly attracted industry, and therefore population,
were coal and iron. Accordingly, as Great Britain had abundance of
these minerals in close proximity, she was able in a very short space of
time to become the workshop of the world. The Eldorado dreamt of by
the followers of Columbus was at last found in the Midlands and
moorlands of the north of England. For the present, the discovery
brought no curse with it. While multiplying man’s powers, it also
stimulated his ingenuity in countless ways. Far from diverting his
energies from work to what is, after all, only the token of work, it
concentrated his thoughts upon productive activity, and thus helped
not only to make work but to make man.
While the moors and vales of the North awakened to new and
strange activities, the agricultural districts of the Midlands and South
also advanced in wealth and population. A scientific rotation of crops,
deep ploughing, and thorough manuring of the soil altered the
conditions of life. Here again England led the way. Arthur Young, in his
“Travels in France” (1787–9) never tires of praising the intelligence and
energy of our great landowners, whereas in France his constant desire
is to make the seigneurs “skip.” In the main, no doubt, the verdict of
Young was just. Landlords in England were the leaders of agricultural
reform. In France they were clogs on progress. Yet, the changes here
were not all for good. That is impossible. The semi-communal and
almost torpid life of the village was unequal to the claims of the new
age; and, amidst much of discomfort and injustice to the poor,
individual tenures, enclosures, and high-farming became the order of
36
the day. New facilities for travel, especially in the form of mail-
coaches, better newspapers (a result of the Wilkes affair)—these and
other developments of the years 1770–84 heralded the dawn of an age
which was to be more earnest, more enlightened, less restful, and far
more complex. The times evidently called for a man who, while holding
to all that was best in the old life, fully recognized the claims of the
coming era. Such a man was William Pitt.
In many respects he summed up in his person the tendencies of
the closing decades of the century, just as the supreme figure of his
father reflected all that was most brilliant and chivalrous in the middle
of the Georgian era. If the elder Pitt raised England to heights of
splendour never reached before, the younger helped to retrieve the
disasters brought on by those who blindly disregarded the warnings of
his father. In the personality both of father and of son there was a
stateliness that overawed ordinary mortals, but the younger man
certainly came more closely into touch with the progressive tendencies
of the age. A student of Adam Smith, he set himself to foster the
industrial energies of the land. In order to further the cause of peace,
he sought the friendship of the French nation, of which Chatham was
the inveterate enemy; and in the brightest years of his career he
seemed about to inaugurate the golden age foretold by the Illuminati.
As by contact with Adam Smith he marched at the head of the new
and peaceful commercialism, so too through his friendship with
Wilberforce he felt the throb of the philanthropic movements of his
times.
For the new stirrings of life in the spheres of religion, art, and
literature, Pitt felt no deep concern. Like his father, and like that great
genius of the South who wrecked his career, he was “a political being.”
In truth, the circumstances of the time compelled him to concentrate all
his energies on public affairs. It was his lot to steer the ship of state
through twenty of the most critical years of its chequered voyage.
Taking the tiller at a time of distress, he guided the bark into calmer
waters; and if he himself did not live on to weather a storm more
prolonged and awful than that from which he at first saved his people,
yet even in the vortex of the Napoleonic cyclone he was to show the
dauntless bearing, the firm faith in the cause of ordered freedom, the
unshaken belief in the destinies of his race, which became the son of
Chatham and the typical Englishman of the age.
 CHAPTER I
EARLY YEARS

I am glad that I am not the eldest son, but that I can serve my
country in the House of Commons like papa.—Pitt, May 1766.

C HAMPIONS of the customs of primogeniture must have been

disquieted by observing how frequently the mental endowments
of the parents were withheld from their eldest son and showered upon
his younger brother. The first Earl of Chatham was a second son, and
found his doughtiest opponent in Henry Fox, Lord Holland, also a
second son. By a singular coincidence the extraordinary talents of their
second sons carried them in their turn to the head of their respective
parties and engaged them in the longest duel which the annals of
Parliament record. And when the ascendancy of William Pitt the
Younger appeared to be unshakably established, it was shattered by
the genius of the second surviving son of Charles Marie de
Buonaparte.
The future defender of Great Britain was born on 28th May 1759,
just ten years before the great Corsican. His ancestry, no less than the
time of his birth, seemed to be propitious. The son of the Earl of
Chatham, he saw the light in the year when the brilliant victories of
Rodney, Boscawen, Hawke, and Wolfe lessened the French navy by
sixty-four sail of the line, and secured Canada for Britain. The almost
doting fondness which the father felt for the second son, “the hope and
comfort of my life,” may perhaps have been the outcome of the mental
ecstasy of those glorious months.
If William Pitt was fortunate in the time of his birth, he was still
more so in the character of his father. In the nature of “the Great
Commoner,” the strain of pride and vanity was commingled with
feelings of burning patriotism, and with a fixed determination to use all
honourable means for the exaltation of his country. Never since the
age of Elizabeth had Englishmen seen a man of personality so
forceful, of self-confidence so indomitable, of patriotism so pure and
intense. The effect produced by his hawk-like eye, his inspiring mien
and oratory was heightened by the consciousness that here at last was
an honest statesman. In an age when that great party manipulator,
Walpole, had reduced politics to a game of give and take, the
scrupulous probity of Chatham (who refused to touch a penny of the
interest on the balance at the War Ministry which all his predecessors
had appropriated) shone with redoubled lustre. His powers were such
as to dazzle his contemporaries. The wide sweep of his aims in 1756–
61, his superb confidence as to their realization, the power of his
oratory, his magnetic influence, which made brave officers feel the
braver after an interview with him—all this enabled him completely to
dominate his contemporaries.
In truth his personality was so dazzling as to elude the art of
portraiture. At ordinary times he might have been little more than a
replica of that statesman of the reign of Charles II whom Dryden has
immortalized:

A man so various that he seemed to be

Not one, but all mankind’s epitome.

But Chatham was fortunate in his times. He certainly owed very

much to the elevating force of a great idea. In the early part of his life,
when no uplifting influence was at work, his actions were often grossly
incongruous and at times petty and factious. Not until he felt the
inspiration of the idea of Empire did his genius wing its way aloft. If it
be true that the Great Commoner made the British Empire, it is also
true that the Empire made him what he was, the inspirer of heroic
deeds, the invigorator of his people.
In comparison with these qualities, which entitle him to figure in
English annals as Aristotle’s “magnificent man,” his defects were
venial. Nevertheless, as some of them lived on in a lesser degree in
his son, we must remember his arrogance, his melodramatic airs, his
over-weening self-will, and his strange inconsistencies. In no one else
would these vices and defects have been tolerated; that they were
overlooked in him is the highest tribute that can be paid to the
splendour of his services and the sterling worth of his nature.
If we look further back into the antecedents of the Pitt family, we
find it domiciled at or near Blandford in Dorset, where it had produced
one poet of quite average abilities, Christopher Pitt (1699–1748),
whose translation of Virgil had many admirers. The love of adventure
and romance, so often found in West Country families, had already
been seen in Thomas Pitt (1653–1726), who worked his way to the
front in India despite the regulations of the Company, became
Governor of Madras, and made his fortune by very questionable
37
transactions. His great stroke of good fortune was the purchase of
the famous diamond, which he thereafter sold to the Regent of France
for nearly six times the price of purchase. He married a lady who
traced her descent to a natural son of James V of Scotland; and to this
union of a daring adventurer with the scion of a chivalrous race we
may perhaps refer the will-power and the mental endowments which
shone so brightly in their grandson, the first Earl of Chatham.
On his mother’s side the younger Pitt could claim a distinguished
descent. Her maiden name was Hester Grenville, and she was the
daughter of Richard Grenville and Hester, Countess Temple. The
appended table will show the relation of the Pitt and Grenville families:
 RICHARD GRENVILLE m. HESTER (Countess Temple).
|
+-----------------------+------+-----------------------+
| | |
RICHARD GRENVILLE GEORGE GRENVILLE HESTER GRENVILLE (created
(Earl Temple), (1712–70) (m. Baroness Chatham in 1761) m.
(1711–79). Elizabeth Wyndham). William Pitt (created Earl of
| Chatham in 1766).
+-----------------+----------+ |
| | |
GEORGE GRENVILLE WILLIAM WYNDHAM GRENVILLE |
(2nd Earl Temple, (Lord Grenville), |
and Marquis of Foreign Minister |
Buckingham), d. 1813. in 1791–1801, |
and 1806–7. |
|
+--------------------+---------------+-----------+------+-------+
| | | | |
HESTER JOHN (2nd Earl HARRIET WILLIAM PITT JAMES CHARLES
(1755–80) m. Lord of Chatham) (1758–86) (the younger) (1761–79).
Mahon (3rd Earl (1756–1835). m. Mr. E. (1759–1806).
Stanhope). Eliot.
|
+----+
|
LADY HESTER STANHOPE, etc.

The personality of Lady Chatham, if less remarkable, is more

lovable than that of her husband. In contrast to his theatrical, lordly,
and imperious ways, she shone by her simplicity and sweetness. His
junior by many years, she accepted his devotion with something of
awe, and probably felt his oft recurring attacks of gout, for which he
magniloquently apologized, to be a link between them; for the Jove of
the Senate became docile and human when he was racked with
38
pain. Her tender care at these times, and at others her tactful
acquiescence in his moods and plans, ensured tranquillity and
happiness in their household. Not that she lacked firmness of
character, when occasion required; but we may ascribe her pliability to
the personal ascendancy of her lord, to the customs of the times, and
to her perception of the requisites for a peaceful existence. She carried
her complaisance so far as to leave to her consort the choice of the
residence at Hayes, near Bromley, in Kent, which he bought at the end
of the year 1754. The following are the almost Griselda-like terms in
which she defers to his opinion on the matter: “For the grand affair
proposed by my dear love, I have only to reply that I wish him to follow
what he judges best, for he can best judge what sort of economy suits
with the different plans which he may choose to make hereafter.
39
Whatever you decide upon will be secure of being approved by me.”
When a woman renounces all claim to a voice in the selection of
her abode, we may be sure that she will neither interfere much in her
husband’s political career, nor seek to shine in a salon of blue-
stockings. In fact, Lady Chatham’s influence on her children was
purely domestic. Her realm was the home. There is scarcely a trace of
any intellectual impress consciously exerted upon her gifted son,
William; but her loving care ensured his survival from the many
illnesses of his early years; and she dowered him with the gentler traits
for which we search in vain in the coldly glittering personality of
Chatham. As examples of her loving care for her children, I may cite
the following passages from her letters. In August 1794, when she felt
old age coming on apace, she wrote in this tender strain:

I feel that I cannot support the idea of leaving you, my beloved

sons, without saying unto ye how truly my fond affection has
increasingly ever attended ye both, and that my constant prayers
have been daily addresst to the Omnipotent Disposer of all events,
that you might be directed in all things by the blessing of heavenly
wisdom....

Or take this gentle chiding to William (25th April 1796):

I do not [hear] from you, my dear son, but I hear often of you in
a way that makes up to me in the best manner possible for your
silence. I cannot, however, help wishing that my pleasure was
increased by receiving now and then a few words from you, and
immediately comes almost a reflection that obliges me to unwish it
again, that I may not take up any part of the small leisure you have
to enjoy a little relaxation from your various calls.

The old lady long retained her vigour; for in the autumn of 1795
she describes herself as “stout enough both in body and mind to wish
40
the wind to shift to the east so that the fleet might not be detained.”