As Above, So Below: Religion and Geography 9781646021536

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As Above, So Below

Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Proceedings

1. Language in the Ancient Near East, edited by L. Kogan, N. Koslova, S. Loesov, and S. Tischchenko. 2 volumes (RAI 53) 2. City Administration in the Ancient Near East, edited by L. Kogan, N. Koslova, S. Loesov, and S. Tischchenko (RAI 53) 3. Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East, edited by Gernot Wilhelm (RAI 54) 4. La famille dans le Proche-​Orient ancien: Réalités, symbolismes et images, edited by Lionel Marti (RAI 55) 5. Time and History in the Ancient Near East, edited by Lluis Feliu, J. Llop, A. Millet Albà, and Joaquin Sanmartín (RAI 56) 6. Tradition and Innovation in the Ancient Near East, edited by Alfonso Archi (RAI 57) 7. Private and State in the Ancient Near East, edited by R. DeBoer and J. G. Dercksen (RAI 58) 8. Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East, edited by Olga Drewnowska and Małgorzata Sandowicz (RAI 60) 9. Ur in the Twenty-​First Century CE, edited by Grant Frame, Joshua Jeffers, and Holly Pittman (RAI 62) 10. Law and (Dis)Order in the Ancient Near East, edited by Katrien De Graef and Anne Goddeeris (RAI 59)

Associated Volumes

1. Divination in the Ancient Near East, edited by Jeanette C. Fincke (RAI 54) 2. Divination as Science, edited by Jeanette C. Fincke (RAI 60) 3. Studying Gender in the Ancient Near East, edited by Saana Svärd and Agnès Garcia-​Ventura (RAI 59 and 60) 4. Distant Impressions: The Senses in the Ancient Near East, edited by Ainsley Hawthorn and Anne-​Caroline Rendu Loisel (RAI 61) 5. Patients and Performative Identities: At the Intersection of the Mesopotamian Technical Disciplines and Their Clients, edited by J. Cale Johnson (RAI 60 and 61) 6. As Above, So Below: Religion and Geography, edited by Gina Konstantopoulos and Shana Zaia (RAI 62)

As Above, So Below Religion and Geography

Edited by Gina Konstantopoulos and Shana Zaia

Eisenbrauns  | University Park, Pennsylvania

Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Rencontre assyriologique internationale (62nd : 2016 : Philadelphia, Pa.), author. | Konstantopoulos, Gina, editor. | Zaia, Shana, 1986– editor. Title: As above, so below : religion and geography / edited by Gina Konstantopoulos and Shana Zaia. Description: University Park, Pennsylvania : Eisenbrauns, [2021] | Series: Rencontre assyriologique internationale | “This volume presents studies based on papers that were presented in the context of a workshop of the same name that took place at the Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale meeting in Philadelphia on July 11, 2016”—Editor’s introduction. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Summary: “A collection of essays addressing the nexus of religion and geography in the ancient Near East, presenting several case studies that cover a range of time periods and areas to illuminate the diverse phenomena that occur when religion is viewed through the lenses of space and place”—Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2021021695 | ISBN 9781646021109 (hardback) Subjects: LCSH: Religion and geography—Congresses. | Middle East—History—To 622— Congresses. | LCGFT: Conference papers and proceedings. | Essays. Classification: LCC BL65.G4 R46 2016 | DDC 299​/.​21—dc23 LC record available at https://​lccn​.loc​.gov​/2021021695 Copyright © 2021 The Pennsylvania State University All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America Published by The Pennsylvania State University Press, University Park, PA 16802-1003 Eisenbrauns is an imprint of ​The Pennsylvania State University Press. The Pennsylvania State University Press is a member of the Association of University Presses. It is the policy of ​The Pennsylvania State University Press to use acid-​free paper. Publications on uncoated stock satisfy the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of ​Paper for Printed Library Material, ANSI Z39.48–1992.

Contents List of Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

Editors’ Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Gina Konstantopoulos and Shana Zaia

Chapter 1. Gods in the Margins: Religion, Kingship, and the Fictionalized Frontier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3 Gina Konstantopoulos

Chapter 2. Place and Portability: Divine Emblems in Old Babylonian Law . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 Seth Richardson

Chapter 3. Mari’s Investiture Scene and the Visualization of ​Kingship in the Old Babylonian Period . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Elizabeth Knott

Chapter 4. Divine Foundations: Religion and Assyrian Capital Cities . . . . 115 Shana Zaia

Chapter 5. Approaches to the Religious Topography of the Oasis of Taymāʾ, Northwest Arabia, During the First Millennium BCE: Images, Texts, and Space . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149 Arnulf ​Hausleiter and Sebastiano Lora List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193

Abbreviations

AO AOAT ARM ARN

AS AUM BASOR BDTNS BiOr CAD

CHANE CUSAS Di DN ETCSL FM GN Holma

JANER JAOS JCS Jean Tell Sifr JNES

Tablets in the Collections of the Musée du Louvre Alter Orient und Altes Testament Archives royales de Mari M. Çig, H. Kizilyay, and F. R. Kraus, eds. Altbabylonische Rechtsurkunden aus Nippur. Istanbul: Milli Eǧitim Basimevi, 1952. Assyriological Studies Andrews University Archaeological Museum tablet collection Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Database of Neo-​Sumerian Texts (http://​bdtns​.filol​.csic​.es) Bibliotheca Orientalis Ignace J. Gelb et al., eds. The Assyrian Dictionary of ​The Oriental Institute of ​The University of Chicago. 21 vols. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1956–2011. Culture and History of the Ancient Near East Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology Belgian Archaeological Mission to Iraq unpublished excavated texts divine name Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (http://​etcsl​.orinst​ .ox​.ac​.uk) Florilegium marianum geographic name Harri Holma and Armas Salonen. Some Cuneiform Tablets from the Time of the Third Ur Dynasty. Studia Orientalia 9/1. Helsinki: Harrassowitz, 1940. Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Cuneiform Studies Charles-​F. Jean. Tell Sifr: Textes cuneiformes conserves au British Museum. Paris: Librairie orientaliste Paul Geuthner, 1931. Journal of ​Near Eastern Studies

viii

Abbreviations

Kienast Kisurra LH

MC MYN NABU OB OLA Or PN PSD

RA RIMA 1

RIMA 2

RIMA 3

RIMB 2

RIME 1

RIME 2

RIME 3/1

RIME 3/2

B. Kienast. Freiburger altorientalische Studien 2 Laws of Ḫammurabi. Citations follow Martha Roth. Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor. 2nd ed. WAW 6. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997. Mesopotamian Civilizations Mesopotamian Year Names (http://​cdli​.ucla​.edu​/tools​/yearnames​ /yn​_index​.html). Nouvelles assyriologiques brèves et utilitaires Old Babylonian Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta Orientalia (NS) personal name Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary Project. The Sumerian Dictionary of the University Museum of the University of ​Pennsylvania. Edited by A. W. Sjöberg, with collaboration of ​Hermann Behrens, Philadelphia: Babylonian Section of the University Museum, 1884–. Restructured into online endeavor (http://​oracc​ .museum​.upenn​.edu​/epsd2). Revue d’Assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale A. Kirk Grayson. Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Assyrian Periods 1. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1987. A. Kirk Grayson. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC). The Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods 2. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1991. A. Kirk Grayson. Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC). The Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia Assyrian Periods 3. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1996. Grant Frame. Rulers of ​Babylonia: From the Second Dynasty of ​ Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Babylonian Periods 2. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1995. Douglas R. Frayne. Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Early Periods 1. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 2008. Douglas R. Frayne. Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334– 2113 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Early Periods 2. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1993. Dietz Otto Edzard. Gudea and His Dynasty. Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Early Periods 3/1. Toronto: University of ​ Toronto Press, 1997. Douglas R. Frayne. Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Early Periods 3/2. Toronto: University of ​ Toronto Press, 1997.

Abbreviations

RIME 4

RINAP 3/1

RINAP 3/2

RINAP 4

RINAP 5/1

RlA

RN SAA 20

SAAB SAAS TLOB 1

WAW WZKM ZA

ix

Douglas R. Frayne. Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC). Royal Inscriptions of ​Mesopotamia: Early Periods 4. Toronto: University of ​Toronto Press, 1990 A. Kirk Grayson and Jamie Novotny. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 1. Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-​Assyrian Period 3/1. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2012. A. Kirk Grayson and Jamie Novotny. The Royal Inscriptions of Sennacherib, King of Assyria (704–681 BC), Part 2. Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-​Assyrian Period 3/2. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2014. Erle Leichty. The Royal Inscriptions of ​Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC). Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-​Assyrian Period 4. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011. Jamie Novotny and Joshua Jeffers. The Royal Inscriptions of Ashurbanipal (668–631 BC), Aššur-​etel-​ilāni (630–627 BC), and Sîn-​šarra-​iškun (626–612 BC), Kings of Assyria. Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-​Assyrian Period 5/1. University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2018. Bruno Meissner, Erich Ebeling, Ruth Opificius, Dietz Otto Edzard, and Michael P. Streck, et al., eds. Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie. 15 vols. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1928–2017 royal name Simo Parpola, ed. Assyrian Royal Rituals and Cultic Texts. State Archives of Assyria 20. Helsinki: Neo-​Assyrian Text Corpus Project; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017 State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Studies Seth Richardson. Texts from the Late Old Babylonian Period. Journal of Cuneiform Studies Supplemental Series 2. Boston: American Schools of Oriental Research, 2010. Writings from the Ancient World Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und Vorderasiatische Archäologie

Editors’ Introduction Gina Konstantopoulos and Shana Zaia

This volume presents studies based on papers that were given in the context of a workshop of the same name that took place at the Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale meeting in Philadelphia on July 11, 2016. This session sought to advance the study of religion by means of an intersection that has not often been addressed, by considering the areas of influence that govern the relationships between religion and geography. The study of religion in the ancient Near East has been a central component of Assyriology since the field’s inception. Over time, research on religion has progressed from biblically centered or generalized works to more nuanced investigations of particular gods, time periods, civilizations, and textual genres. Increasingly, religion has been further examined in light of where it overlaps with other subject areas, be they connected, as with ritual and magic, or more distant, as with artistic and literary representations. The combination of religion and geography is one that has been addressed within a biblical context but has thus far not taken a substantial hold in Assyriological works. Thus, this volume seeks to ignite the conversation in Assyriology by approaching ancient Near Eastern religion through the lens of geography, from urban landscapes to literary locales and everywhere in between. To do so, this volume confronts such questions as: What are the implications when gods dwell in cities, in frontiers, in imagined spaces? Under what circumstances do gods move, travel, or take on geographic affiliations? What are the repercussions of peripatetic religious practices that cross different geographic boundaries? In what ways do religion and geography interact on political, social, and cultural levels? In exploring these lines of inquiry, the included essays thus investigate how religion responds to or is shaped by physical space and location, whether using textual, iconographic, or archaeological evidence. The authors of the following contributions have expertise in several fields, including Assyriology, ancient Near Eastern archaeology, and art history, and cover a broad timespan, a wide geographical scope, and a variety of visual and textual material while maintaining a cohesive perspective on the theme. The chapters progress chronologically, generally speaking, from earliest to latest. While naturally not providing an exhaustive study on this topic, it is our hope that these contributions not only provide a fresh perspective but also lay the foundations for future directions of study on the topic of religion and geography in the ancient Near East and related fields. The essays in this collection explore the intersection of religion and geography in a number of ways, presenting arguments and analysis based upon textual and material 1

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sources from the third through first millennia BCE, including Sumerian, Akkadian, and Aramaic. Gina Konstantopoulos’s contribution traces the presentation of two locations, the Cedar Forest in the Levant and the island of ​Dilmun, found in the Persian Gulf, as seen in royal inscriptions and Sumerian literary texts from the third and second millennia BCE. In doing so, it utilizes some of the earliest textual evidence seen in the volume in order to discuss how these locations, both of which existed at the intersection between real and fantastical space, were representations of ​both political power and religious significance. The next two chapters root their arguments in the Old Babylonian period, though they deal with very different aspects of power and religion as found in that time frame. Seth Richardson’s contribution centers on a discussion of ​how divine emblems were used in Old Babylonian legal environments, a use distinct from the roles they held in earlier periods. Divine emblems were utilized to resolve legal disputes and “establish the true legal situation,” or to arrive at a legal decision, and could also be employed in oath-​taking procedures. The evolution and expression of these functions is explored through an analysis of the portability of the emblems themselves: how they define themselves as objects in space and help define those spaces in turn. Elizabeth Knott’s contribution turns to the kingdom of ​Mari to discuss the ideology of ​kingship as represented in the Mari Investiture Scene, a famous wall painting found in the royal palace. Knott interprets the painting, which presents a mixture of elements from divine and human worlds, as a reference to the Mesopotamian concept of dominant kingship. By doing so, she ties the image to historical and contemporary statements of ​kingship as seen in the textual record. Though the painting’s date has traditionally been set to the reign of ​Yaḫdun-​Līm, Knott reopens the question of the painting’s dating, considering how it may be understood in relationship to the reign of Samsī-​Addu and Old Babylonian–period expressions of ​kingship. The last two chapters in this volume consider the questions of religion and geography as seen in the Neo-​Assyrian and Neo-​Babylonian periods, while also connecting those discussions to earlier foundations. The shifting capitals of the Neo-​Assyrian empire are the focus of Shana Zaia’s contribution, as she analyzes the different cities that were either newly founded or restored and renovated in order to serve as the empire’s capital. Though there was great political significance to the creation or restoration of a new capital city, imperial power was closely connected with religious ideology. These political changes were thus accompanied by theological justifications. The volume’s final contribution, by Arnulf ​Hausleiter and Sebastiano Lora, utilizes archaeological evidence in its analysis of the oasis of ​Taymāʾ, in Northwest Arabia. Located along major trading routes, such as the so-​called “incense road,” the local pantheon of ​Taymāʾ has been defined as Aramaean based upon evidence collected from first-​millennium documents. The oasis is well known in connection with the Neo-​Babylonian ruler Nabonidus’s ten-​year exile, a sojourn that resulted in the presence of ​Babylonian deities. However, the local religious framework remained present, though unexplored in scholarship. By incorporating recently discovered evidence, connections can be proposed between the local religious pantheon and other regions, links that predate the current first-​millennium evidence.

Chapter 1

Gods in the Margins: Religion, Kingship, and the Fictionalized Frontier Gina Konstantopoulos

The Mesopotamian frontier is, in some respects, a matter of perspective. Its definition is certainly mutable, as the frontier may be considered through a variety of mediums and means, be they geographic, cultural, linguistic, or imperial, among others.1 Locations that are thought to lie on the frontier are often described as peripheral, liminal, and even marginal, but the very idea of “the margin” necessitates a certain point of view. The periphery is created when it is set in a relationship, often a dependent or subordinate one, to the core, which is itself a predetermined geographic notion. The edges of the map are only defined as such because the cartographer has determined where the map should stop and what should be located in the center. In doing so, the cartographer has also determined, either through ignorance or by direct intent, to characterize the center and edges of the map as locations that are distinctly separate from one another. This essay concerns two such “peripheral” regions: the Cedar Forest and the island location known as Dilmun. It analyzes their role as locations that represented and expressed both kingly and divine power during the third and second millennia BCE, placing references to them within the larger context of their portrayal in both earlier and later periods. As we will see, these two locations were expressions of a frontier that was as much conceived and invented as it was actual. Royal inscriptions showcased the claims of rulers reaching these lands and directly exerting power and control over them, but such claims existed alongside their portrayals in Sumerian and Akkadian literary texts. The latter portrayed these locations as more fantastical lands, far-​distant and the home of ​both the monstrous and the divine. Though these texts come from different contexts and had different aims, their differing portrayals of

This essay is based on a paper first given at the “Religion and Geography” workshop held at the 2016 Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale; in the interim, I have revisited the topic and those connected to it and have integrated some of the resulting analysis. I would thank the helpful comments from the essay’s two reviewers and from the members and audience of the initial workshop for their engaging initial discussion. Moreover, I remain deeply grateful to my co-​organizer and coeditor, Shana Zaia, for her comments on this essay at several different junctures and her tireless work on the volume itself. 1. Though his Mesopotamian-​specific discussions are rooted in the context of the Assyrian imperial frontier, a sweeping introduction to the different dimensions of the frontier and borders can be found in Bradley Parker, “Toward an Understanding of ​Borderland Processes,” American Antiquity 71 (2006): 77–100. Parker detailed a “borderland matrix,” where the border and frontier are composed of a number of interconnected boundaries (geographic, political, demographic, cultural, and economic) that may exist at different degrees of impermeability. The abstract construction of the frontier is also described in Gina Konstantopoulos, “The Disciplines of Geography: Constructing Space in the Ancient World,” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History 4 (2017): 1–18.

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the Cedar Forest and Dilmun appear to function more in concert than in conflict and are thus to be considered in the context of each other.

The Cedar Forest Two categories of distant space are most often seen in the ancient Near East, creating a division between fully fictional and real but fictionalized lands. The former category describes fictional locations that, despite the well-​realized vividness of their depictions, remain fictional. These places may feature quite prominently in literary texts and function as settings for the narrative action of myths and epics, but they remain fictional creations. Aratta, a created space that plays a significant role in four Sumerian literary texts that focus on its rivalry with Uruk and its king, Enmerkar, is perhaps the paramount example of such a space.2 The other category, however, concerns the fictionalization of real locations, places that were known to exist, were connected to Mesopotamia through trade or military campaigns, and yet were given fantastical or otherwise extraordinary qualities because of their distance. In the Ur III and Old Babylonian periods, this second category contains such locations as Magan, in Oman; Marḫashi, on the Iranian plateau to the east of ​Elam; Meluḫḫa, in the Indus valley; Dilmun, linked to modern-​day Bahrain;3 and the Cedar Forest, which is most often connected to the forests of ​Lebanon. Although we see these locations appear across a wide variety of textual categories, this essay will focus predominantly upon two: royal inscriptions and literary texts. Of the places listed above, the Cedar Forest is the most mutable, shifting positions entirely over the course of its history. Although Gilgamesh, in his titular Akkadian epic, ventures toward a Cedar Forest indisputably located in the west and connected with the cedar forests of ​Lebanon, earlier references to a forest of cedars place such a location in the more nebulous “upper land” (i g i -​n i m), or even in the east. The Cedar Forest is first introduced as a location in texts from the late third millennium, appearing in royal inscriptions from the Early Dynastic period onward. En-​anatum I, in one of the earliest attestations of the forest, references it when he describes his actions of temple building, citing how he “brought shining cedars down for [Ningirsu] from the mountains” (eren babbar 2 kur-​t a mu-​n a-​t a-​e 11 ).4 This reference, 2. Specifically, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, Enmerkar and Ensuhkešdanna, Lugalbanda in the Wilderness, and The Return of ​Lugalbanda, to use the titles assigned to the four texts in the edition by Herman Vanstiphout (Epics of the Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta [Atlanta: Society of ​Biblical Literature, 2004]). The Lugalbanda texts, which function as a much more closely connected duology than the Enmerkar texts, are also referred to simply as Lugalbanda I and Lugalbanda II in some scholarship, with the latter also known by the title Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird. 3. Although the “idea” of ​Dilmun appears localized primarily to Bahrain, the extent of ​Dilmun as a political entity and influence expanded beyond Bahrain to include the island of ​Failaka further to the north in the Persian Gulf. Thus, like the Cedar Forest, which is in early Sumerian texts also referenced as lying to the east, Dilmun may too shift its location somewhat. In early periods—namely, the third millennium— Dilmun’s extent is principally illustrated through material and archaeological evidence; for an overview of the extent of ​Dilmun throughout different periods, see Steffen Laursen and Piotr Steinkeller, Babylonia, the Gulf ​Region, and the Indus: Archaeological and Textual Evidence for Contact in the Third and Early Second Millennia B.C., MC 21 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017). 4. RIME 1, E1.9.4.3: ii 2–3. Note that this and all translations from RIME volumes follow those published in the editions, unless otherwise noted.

Gods in the Margins

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however, provides little information as to the location of said cedars, other than placing them in the mountains well outside the Mesopotamian heartland. References to the mountains of cedar (kur ĝ i š er en) are repeated in an inscription by the ruler Mes-​ kigala in a fragmentary section that contributes little other than a citation of the name itself.5 From what can be interpreted, both texts firmly root the importance of these cedars in their connection to providing building material for temples. The Sargonic Period As references to the Cedar Forest are inextricably tied to kingship, it is not surprising that the location first develops more detailed imagery in the Sargonic period, as its expansionist kings required a broader vocabulary of space and place for narratives that centered on their military campaigns. Sargon utilizes the Cedar Forest as a marker of distance, placing it as an example of one of the extreme limits of ​his empire. A bilingual inscription from Nippur opens with imagery describing how Sargon made the ships of ​Meluḫḫa, Magan, and Dilmun, all also markers of extreme distance, moor at Agade. Following this, Sargon is given dominion over a number of distant lands, all of which have been the focus of ​his campaign, including Mari, Iarmuti, and Ebla, as “far as the Cedar Forest and the Silver Mountain” (t i r ĝ i š e r e n h u r- ​s a ĝ k u 3 - g a - ​š e 3 / a-​di3-ma gištir gišeren u3 kur.kur ku 3 ).6 The geographic reference is seen again, and nearly identically, in another inscription, focusing once again on these northern locations of Sargon’s campaign.7 Both provide us with our first opportunity to describe the boundaries of the upper land, a space that included Mari in eastern Syria, Ebla to its north and west, and Iarmuti on the Levantine coast. The Silver Mountain is more difficult to precisely determine: though there is more documentation for Mesopotamia’s reliance upon the rich silver mines in the Taurus mountains in the second millennium, there is support for the use of these mines before this period as well. We also have evidence for the presence of a silver mine in the east, possibly located in southern Iran.8 The Cedar Forest, however, appears as its own entity, a place distinct from the mountains it is located alongside. The Early Dynastic and Sargonic period texts cited above, dating to the middle and late third millennium BCE, cover a large part of the available range of titles applied to the Cedar Forest, and the term “cedar mountain” (kur ĝ iš er en) will continue to appear directly or be elided in texts, as in the inscription of ruler En-​anatum I (ca. twenty-​fifth century BCE). Alongside this appellation, however, the more precise term “cedar forest” (ĝ i š t i r ĝ i š e r e n o r ĝ i š t i r e r e n) continues to be employed, and in greater frequency, while the name “foothills of cedar” (h u r- ​s a ĝ ĝ i š e r e n) is also employed. These terms cover a wide range of possible 5. RIME 1, E.1.1.9.2001: i 1′–4′. 6. RIME 2, E2.1.1.11: 20–28; 24–34. Concerning Dagan, particularly his later connections with Ebla and the Levant, see the overview of the deity in Bradley L. Cromwell, “The Development of ​Dagan: A Sketch,” JANER 1 (2001): 32–83. 7. RIME 2, E2.1.1.12: 20′–21′. 8. See Joseph William Lehner, “Cooperation, the Craft Economy, and Metal Technology During the Bronze and Iron Ages in Central Anatolia” (PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 2015), 58–67, with cited bibliography; T. F. Potts, “Patterns of ​Trade in Third-​Millennium BC Mesopotamia and Iran,” World Archaeology 24 (1993): 392.

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As Above, So Below

semantic meanings, and references to cedars—be they in the forest, in the mountains, or in the foothills—do not all necessarily overlap with the Cedar Forest that appears as a fantastical location in literary texts, predominantly of the Old Babylonian period. These terms do, however, connect with a shared context concerning the depiction of the forest, a context whose foundations are established in the late third millennium, primarily through royal inscriptions. Narām-​Sîn follows the tradition of ​his grandfather Sargon in referencing the Cedar Forest, and the location appears in both year names and royal inscriptions attributed to the ruler. The former occurrences are interesting for their references to martial conflict despite their shorter length, appearing first as the simple formula that highlights his actions, and eventual destination, while on campaign: “The [year] Na[rām-​Sîn] we[nt] to the Cedar Forest” ([i]n 1 [mu] dna-[ra-​am-den.zu] a-​na gištir eren i-​li-[ku]).9 The martial context is emphasized in another year name: “The year Narām-​Sîn was [vi]ctorious [in battle] over . . . and [personally] cut down [cedar] in the [A]manus [Mountains]” (in 1 mu dna-​ra-​am-den.zu . . . [iš11]-a-​ru [u3 śu4-ma] in [kur a]m-​na-​ an [gišeren] ib-​tu2-qam), a mountain range in south-​central Turkey near the Gulf of İskenderun and a pivotal source of iron and other natural minerals.10 Narām-​Sîn’s royal inscriptions, however, provide greater detail in regard to the location of the Cedar Forest as it is used as a marker of the extent and reach of the king’s military, seen in an inscription describing a campaign against the city of  Talḫadum. As this campaign is focused on Narām-​Sîn’s actions in upper Mesopotamia, the Cedar Forest is once again used as a point of distance, as he describes how his new command stretches over “the land of ​Elam, as far as Paraḫšum, and the land of ​[S]ubartu, as far as the Cedar Forest” (kalam nim ki ka3-li2-śa-​ma a-​di3-ma pa2-ra-​aḫ-śumki u3 kalam šubur śu-​bar-​tim.ki a-​di3-ma gištir gišeren).11 This reference stands in contrast to one seen in another inscription, dedicating Narām-​ Sîn’s victory over Armānum and Ebla, where he uses the markers of “the Amanus, the Cedar Mountain, and the Upper Sea” (a-​ma-​nam śa-​du2 gišeren u3 ti-​a-​am-​tam2 a-li2-tam2).12 He reaffirms the connection between the Amanus Mountains and cedar trees when he travels to the former, cited as at the source of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, in order to cut down its cedars for a temple for the goddess Inana.13 In another inscription that positions the Cedar Forest as a marker of extreme, even terminal, distance, Narām-​Sîn groups a “land of cedars” alongside other locations to which he has campaigned: Māḫāzum, Puš, Ebla, Mari, Tuttul, Urkiš, Mukiš, Abarnum, and “the land where the cedars are cut down, along with their provinces” (kur 9. See I. J. Gelb and B. Kienast, Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften des dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr., Freiburger altorientalische Studien 7 (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag, 1990), 50, D-7. 10. See Aage Westenholz, Old Sumerian and Old Akkadian Texts in Philadelphia, Chiefly from Nippur, vol. 2 (Copenhagen: Carsten Niebuhr Institute, 1987), 203 n. 1. 11. RIME 2, E2.1.4.25: 6–16. 12. RIME 2, E2.1.4.26: i 22–27. Despite Narām-​Sîn’s claim to be the first ruler to conquer Ebla, he provides a nearly identical reiteration of Sargon’s list of geographic terms, which had certainly included Ebla. See A. Archi and Maria Giovanna Biga, “A Victory over Mari and the Fall of ​Ebla,” JCS 55 (2003): 29–31. 13. RIME 2, E2.1.4.29: 8′–10′. This is reiterated in a year name of Šar-​kali-​šarrī, attesting to the continued longevity of the concept in this period. Here, the king journeys, as his father had, to the sources of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers to log cedars for the construction of a temple to the god Enlil; see Gelb and Kienast, Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften, 54, D-27.

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7

e r e n - ​k u 5 m a - ​d a - ​m a - ​d [ a - ​b i]).14 Here, he is able to collapse the reference to the Cedar Forest with the location’s most prominent utility, the logging of its trees. He closes this list with references to Subartu on the “shores of the Upper Sea” (gaba-​ gaba a-ab-[ba i]gi- ​n im- ​m a) and Magan, placing the land of cedar-​felling firmly amongst these locations.15 ĝiš

Gudea: Building Detail A more detailed set of references to cedars is found within the Cylinders of Gudea, a long Sumerian prose narrative that details Gudea’s building of the temple of the god Ningirsu in Lagaš. At one point, the text describes the power of the ruler through an enumeration of the geographical borders of ​his influence, listing the distant lands that bring him material for the building of the temple.16 After materials are secured from the lands of ​Elam, Susa, Magan, and Meluḫḫa, the god Ningirsu himself orders additional building material be provided, opening a way to the “impenetrable cedar mountain” (kur ĝ iš eren-​n a lu 2 nu-​k u 4 -ku 4 -da).17 Gudea attacks this newly reachable space as if it were a hostile army that he hopes to subdue, felling trees and floating them downriver to the temple’s building site. The passage expounds upon the qualities and types of trees found within the forests of this cedar mountain. Alongside cedar trees from the “hills of cedar” (hur- s​ aĝ ĝiš eren), cypress (ĝiš šu-​u r 2 -me), zabalum-wood (ĝiš za-​b a-​l um), great spruce (u 3 -sug 5 gal-​g al), plane trees (ĝiš tu-​l u-​b u-​u m) and eranum-wood (ĝ i š e - ​r a - ​n u m 2) are all floated downstream.18 The actual geographic information provided by this passage is somewhat limited, and we may concretely infer only that cedar and other aromatic woods are found on the slopes of fairly distant or otherwise impassable mountains, in reach of one of the navigable watercourses of ​ Mesopotamia. The location does appear in the text immediately following a number of places—Susa, Magan, and Meluḫḫa—that were all located in the east. That listing of ​locations does not, however, require that Gudea’s cedar mountain be found in their proximity. While the textual proximity of these locations may allow us to infer an equally close geographic connection, it might also—and conversely—suggest that when Gudea had exhausted the resources found in these eastern locations, he turned to a completely different direction as the source for his timber. Other texts from this period are, thankfully, more forthcoming in regard to the location of the Cedar Forest. Another statue of Gudea from the city of Girsu describes Gudea’s felling of cedar trees from “the Amanus, the mountain range of cedar” 14. RIME 2, E2.1.4.1004: 8′. 15. RIME 2, E2.1.4.1004: 9′. 16. The construction and restoration of temple buildings was one of the most visible signs of the king’s power, as well as one of ​his main responsibilities in maintaining the power of ​his own image and, presumably, general cosmic and divine order. See Mark J. Boda and Jamie Novotny, eds., From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, AOAT 366 (Münster: Ugarit-​Verlag, 2010); Michael Roaf, “Mesopotamian Kings and the Built Environment,” in Experiencing Power, Generating Authority: Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of ​Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, ed. J. A. Hill, Philip Jones, and Antonio J. Morales (Philadelphia: University of ​ Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 337–44. 17. RIME 3/1, E3​/1​.1​.7​.CylA: xv 19. 18. RIME 3/1, E3​/1​.1​.7​.CylA: xv 27–34.

8

As Above, So Below

(ama-​a -​n um 2 hur-​s aĝ eren-​t a).19 The inscription stresses the massive size of the trees, with Gudea cutting, binding, and rafting downstream cedars that were fifty and sixty cubits in length, as well as boxwood trees (ĝiš taš karin) twenty cubits in length. Although the terms h u r-​s a ĝ and k u r are often used to describe mutually exclusive geographical features, this text utilizes them interchangeably, later describing how Gudea brought down the cedars from their mountain (kur-​b i im-​t a-​e 11 ), in a context that is shared with the previous attestation.20 Substantive references to the Cedar Forest continue after the reign of Gudea, but the corpus diminishes in both the number of references and the descriptive depth seen in individual attestations. The kings of the Ur III period adhere closely to the formula established by the Sargonic rulers, with an inscription, most likely naming and belonging to the king Šu-​Sîn, incorporating the “land of cedar-​felling” as one of the terminus points of imperial dominion, thus reduplicating the list of ​locations cited earlier by Narām-​Sîn in its entirety.21 Outside of this, we see few references to the Cedar Forest in the royal inscriptions during this period, though later texts that center on or are attested for these rulers are happy to incorporate the imagery in royal hymnology: “[Šulgi] . . . will fell large cedars in the huge forests for you, [Ninlil]” (ĝiš tir gal-​g al-​l a eren gal ma-​r a-​a n-​n i-[in-​k u 5]).22 The building and maintenance of temples was an essential aspect of ​kingship in Mesopotamia, and cedars, as well as the locations they were collected from, were inevitably connected to this responsibility. Second-​Millennium References Although the heyday of references to the Cedar Forest in royal inscriptions is seen in texts from the third millennium, the location is not abandoned in the early second millennium, only elided. Anam, king of Uruk, recounts bringing down cedar and elamakkum wood from the mountain ranges, in order to build the doors of a temple (ĝiš ig g a l - ​g a l e r e n - a ĝiše-​lam-​ma-​kum h u r- ​s a ĝ - ​t a d e 6 - a).23 Moving west, we see the ruler of ​Mari, Yaḫdun-​Līm, complicate the matter in his invocation of the topographical marker, utilizing it to establish his supremacy both geographically and chronologically. On a brick inscription recounting his building of the temple of Šamaš, Yaḫdun-​ Līm boasts that, from the “distant days of ​Mari’s first founding,” no king had reached the sea, nor “reached the mountains of cedar and boxwood, the great mountains” (kur gišeren u3 gištaškarin kur-i ra-​bu-​tim la ik-​šu-​du) and cut down those trees.24 He, of course, has achieved all of these great feats and elaborates on the impressive nature of ​his achievements. He has managed to cut down not only cedar and boxwood but also cypress and elammakum trees; he has not only reached the sea but also forced the land there to submit to him. In Yaḫdun-​Līm’s grander claims, we may see echoes 19. RIME 3/1, E3​/1​.1​.7​.StB: v 28. 20. RIME 3/1, E3​/1​.1​.7​.StB: v 36. 21. RIME 3/2, E3​/2​.1​.4​.2. This text reduplicates the list seen in the Narām-​Sîn inscription discussed earlier, found in RIME 2, E2.1.4.1004. 22. See Jacob Klein, “Šulgi and Išmedagan: Originality and Dependence in Sumerian Royal Hymnology,” in Bar-​Ilan Studies in Assyriology, ed. P. Artzi (Ramat Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 1990), 102–3, l. 8. 23. RIME 4, E4.4.6.2: 22–24. 24. RIME 4, E4.6.8.2: 34–40.

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9

of the tension that underlies the use of the Cedar Forest by different polities: both Sargon and Nāram-​Sîn claim Mari as a conquered space alongside the Cedar Forest, but the later rulers of ​Mari also choose to employ the forest to mark the extreme limit of their own dominion.25 Literary Texts and Hymns To return to the earlier periods that are the focus of this study, we see the topography of references to the Cedar Forest shift when considering its appearance within literary texts. The connection between cedars and their felling is first seen in textual copies of the Cursing of Agade that date to the Ur III period, but they are also present in the more numerous Old Babylonian sources for the text.26 In this section, the Cedar Forest is not cited as a destination toward which one could strive, but rather exists only metaphorically, as Narām-​Sîn’s intent to destroy the Ekur temple is described in terms of it being a plundered ship, a splintered mountain of ​lapis lazuli, and, finally, cut down by axes: “for the temple—though it was not the mountains where cedars are felled—he had large axes cast” (e 2 -e kur ĝ i š eren ku 5 nu-​m e-​a ur udu ha-​z i-​i n gal-​g al ba-​š i-​ in-​d e 2 -de 2).27 Just as kings demonstrated their dominion through cutting down the trees of the Cedar Forest, claiming them for their own and devastating the landscape in the process, Enlil prepares to visit the same destruction on the Ekur, using the location to signal that the most extreme of all possible devastations await the temple. Within royal inscriptions, particularly those from the Sargonic period, the Cedar Forest falls within the more broadly defined upper land (i g i - ​n i m), the borders of which can shift from king to king but nevertheless maintain a certain topographical constancy. Literary texts and divine hymns maintain a connection to the upper land but otherwise redefine the Cedar Forest, both by associating it more with the realm of the divine, rather than with more earthly rulers, and by reinforcing the distant and liminal nature inherent in the location. In regard to the first category, the Cedar Forest becomes directly linked to a number of deities, described as a realm that belongs to them or is otherwise used as their home. A širnamšub to Nanna (Nanna K), following this model, closes with a fervent plea addressed directly to the deity: “O Nanna, from the upper land I will live on your mountain of fragrant cedars” (d nanna igi-​n im-​t a k u r š i m ĝ i š e r e n - ​n a - ​z a ĝ e 2 6 - [ e m u - ​u n - ​t i l 3 - l e]), once again linking the upper 25. Though references to the Cedar Forest drop off during the Old Babylonian period, they gain a renewed importance under Assyrian kings in the late second and first millennia BCE. In the Neo-​Assyrian period in particular the Cedar Forest is closely linked to Lebanon and its cedars, cited alongside references to the Amanus mountains. Certain kings place greater emphasis on the Cedar Forest than others; Shalmaneser III’s frequent western campaigns had him consistently invoke the location as a marker of distance, as surveyed in Shigeo Yamada, The Construction of the Assyrian Empire: A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmaneser III (859–824 BC) Relating to His Campaigns in the West, CHANE 3 (Leiden: Brill, 2003). The Cedar Forest in ancient Mediterranean and Near Eastern contexts is also considered in Sara Rich, Cedar Forests, Cedar Ships (Oxford: Archaeopress, 2017), with some focus on later periods and integrating archaeological and material evidence. 26. The relevant passage (ll. 112–13) is preserved on one tablet from Nippur dating to the Ur III period, IM 70097, now in Baghdad. The composite score for the section shows that for this one source we have eleven and ten Old Babylonian tablets, respectively, for the two lines; see Jerrold S. Cooper, The Curse of Agade (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983), 141–42. 27. Ibid., ll. 112–13.

10

As Above, So Below

land (igi-​n im) to a liminal location abundant with cedar, which is here the mountains, or kur.28 Cedars were renowned for their fragrance (šim), a quality furthermore linked to the worship of deities.29 As with royal hymns, divine hymns are inherently hyperbolic texts, and claiming these mountains of cedar as belonging to Nanna may help establish the far-​ranging supremacy of the moon god. We see divine hymns connect the Cedar Forest to other deities, even those to whom the hymn is not dedicated, as in a širnamšub to the goddess Nisaba that connects the mountain of cedar (k u r ĝ i š e r e n) with Enlil.30 Her temple destroyed, Nisaba recounts her distraught state and isolation: “In the moonlight which fills the hills, the pure place, I lie down alone. By the cedar mountain where Enlil lies, I lie down alone” (iti 6 hur-​s aĝ ki sikil-​l a si-​a -​š e 3 aš-​š a mu-​u n-​n u 2 en / [kur] ĝiš eren-​n a d mu-​u l-​l il 2 nu 2 -a-​š e 3 aš-​š a mu-​u n-​n u 2 -en). The cedar mountain becomes a place of serenity and purity, but also one of isolation, its distant nature highlighted by the inherently liminal nature of the mountains, or “kur.” This use of the Cedar Forest and the upper land as markers of distance continues in literary texts, as seen in the Old Babylonian Sumerian literary text Enmerkar and Ensuhkešdanna. Here, the foreign sorcerer claims that he will make the full scale of Aratta’s dominion known, claiming that all will submit to “my great armies” (erin 2 gal-​ĝ u 1 0), from the lower to the upper land (s ig-​t a igi- ​n im- ​š e 3), from the ocean to the mountain of cedar (a b - ​t a k u r ĝ i š e r e n - ​š e 3), reinforcing the claim with the repeating cry of “to the upper land, to the fragrant cedar mountain” (igi-​n im-​š e 3 kur šim ĝiš eren-​n a-​š e 3).31 Despite the undeniably foreign nature of Aratta, its dominion can still be measured by the same markers, though the use of them has shifted slightly. The first line positions the two locations as opposing extremes, emphasized not only by the oppositional qualities used to describe the two locations—lower (s i g) versus upper (igi), ocean (ab) versus mountain of cedar (kur ĝiš er en)—but also in the use of ablative (-t a) versus terminative (-š e 3) case endings on the respective locations. The second line, however, utilizes a terminative for both the upper land and cedar mountain, equating the two locations with each other. The full dominion of Aratta’s power is thus detailed as from the lower land, presumably in the south, and from the 28. Nanna K, l. 20; see the edition in Åke Sjöberg, Der Mondgott Nanna-​Suen in der sumerischen Überlieferung (Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960), 80–88. 29. Beyond its significance as a divine attribute and use as an offering, incense, or the incense burner (niĝ 2 -na), was one of the three central cultic objects, alongside the water basin (a-​g ub 2 -ba) and the torch (gi-​i zi-​l a 2); see Piotr Michalowski, “The Torch and the Censer,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of ​William W. Hallo, ed. M. E. Cohen, D. C. Snell, and D. B. Weisberg (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993), 152–62. Concerning a broad overview of the cultic connotations of incense in the ancient Near East, see Kjeld P. Nielsen, Incense in Ancient Israel (Leiden: Brill, 1986), 30–32. 30. Nisaba B, ll. 23–24; for the edition, see Mark E. Cohen, “The Incantation-​Hymn: Incantation or Hymn?,” JAOS 95 (1975): 603–4. 31. Enmerkar and Ensuhkešdanna, 159–60; Vanstiphout, Epics of the Sumerian Kings. See also the edition in Claus Wilcke, The Sumerian Poem Enmerkar and En-​Suḫkeš-​ana: Epic, Play, Or? Stage Craft at the Turn from the Third to the Second Millennium B.C. with a Score-​Edition a Translation of the Text, American Oriental Series Essay 12 (New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2012), 60, which reads lugal-​ ĝ u 1 0 (“my king”) in lieu of e r i n 2 g a l - ​ĝ u 1 0 (“my great armies”) at the beginning of ​l. 159 above. These terms of ​lower land and upper land also appear in the Sumerian literary text Inana and Šukaletuda, with the lower land linked to the land where the sun rises and the upper land linked to the land where the sun sets, which falls in line with most directional assignations for the pair; see Konrad Volk, Inanna und Šukaletuda: Zur historisch-​politischen Literaturwerkes, SANTAG 3 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995), 177.

Gods in the Margins

11

ocean, which may be located in the south or west, to the upper land and the mountain of cedar, which are grouped together. The cedar mountain is set in opposition not to the lower land but to the ocean. If, then, this ocean refers to the Mediterranean rather than to the Persian Gulf, the mountains of cedar could arguably be set in the east, the oppositional direction, and the lines would indicate the encircling dominion of Aratta, with markers for each of the four cardinal directions represented. Should “ocean” be assumed to indicate the Persian Gulf, as is perhaps more likely given its connection to the “lower land,” the mountain of cedar would once again be placed alongside the upper land, as in Nanna K, and the emphasis would remain on the use of north and south to establish the extent of Aratta’s dominion. It is in a tigi to the goddess Inana (Inana E), however, that we see an interesting addition to the information on the location of the Cedar Forest. In praising her martial abilities as well as those of Ama-​ušumgal-​ana (here a proxy for the king Iddin-​Dagan), the text turns to describing the campaigns of the ruler, who goes out to the rebel lands, distant mountains that are as far away “as Utu rises from the fragrant cedar mountains” (d u t u k u r š i m ĝ i š e r e n - ​n a - ​t a e 3 - a - ​g i n 7).32 The sun god is associated with the “mountains of cedar” in other texts as well, though such attestations obscure specific geographic references.33 Here, however, the mountains of cedar are directly linked to the rising of the sun and thus unambiguously placed in the east, even at the far eastern horizon. Not only is this image of the sun god rising amidst the mountains well attested in cylinder seals from the late third millennium onward, but we also see a strong connection between the place of sunrise, on the eastern horizon, and the determination of destiny as decided by the sun god himself.34 Connections between the Cedar Forest and the east are supported by other artistic and textual depictions of the place where the sun rises. The role of the eastern horizon, already discussed in scholarship, is not unilaterally connected to the Cedar Forest, however.35 Both the eastern and western horizons, places where the sun appeared and set, were extreme liminal points, used to set the border of an empire or the known world, or mark the point of passage to another place, often the netherworld.36 Although Inana E contains the most overt reference to the Cedar Forest being located in the east, it is not an isolated occurrence, and a similar context is seen in the text of Lugalbanda 32. Inana E, l. 28; see A. Falkenstein, “Untersuchungen zur sumerischen Grammatik (Forsetzung),” ZA 48 (1944): 105–6. 33. A širnamšub to Utu (Utu F) cites a number of geographic identifiers for the mountains connected to Utu, linking them to cedar, cypress, silver, lapis lazuli, and where the gakkul plants grow. This far-​ ranging imagery may serve to glorify the mountains themselves, but Inana also expresses her desire to go to the “distant source of the rolling rivers [to the mountain]” (id 2 h al - h​ al - ​l a a k i - t​ a su 3 - u d - ​b i - [ še 3 kur-​š e 3]). See the edition of the text in Samuel Noah Kramer, “BM 23631: Bread for Enlil, Sex for Inana,” Or 54 (1985): l. 132. 34. See Janice Polonsky, “ki-dutu-​è-​a: Where Destiny Is Determined,” in Landscape in Ideology, Religion, Literature, part 3 of Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers, and Horizons in the Ancient Near East; Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Venezia, 7–11 July 1997, ed. L. Milano et al. (Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria, 2000) 89–100. 35. The eastern horizon within the Mesopotamian worldview is discussed in Christopher Woods, “At the Edge of the World: Cosmological Conceptions of the Eastern Horizon in Mesopotamia,” JANER 9 (2009): 183–239; Wayne Horowitz, Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography, MC 8 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 318–62. 36. Woods, “At the Edge of the World,” 187–88.

12

As Above, So Below

in the Wilderness, where the titular hero has wandered through the mountains on his way from Uruk to the city of Aratta, fictional but positioned in the east. The text closes with a difficult passage describing the reappearance of the sun and several stars, also rising in the east, over mountains of cedar and cypress: an sig 7 -ga-​a m 3 mul šar 2 -ra bi 2 -in-​e 1 1 -X mas-​s um ĝiš-​b ur 2 -gin 7 bal-​e -​d e 3 mul ĝiš gigir bi 2 -in-​e 1 1 ĝ iš eren duru 5 kur ha-​š u-​u r 2 -ra-​k e 4 ki [. . .]-un-​a k an-​u r 2 an-​p a sa-​p ar 3 [. . .] (In) a clear sky the numerous stars rose . . . The Sieve, to turn over like a trap, the Chariot rose; (Over) fresh cedars in the cypress mountains . . . A battle net from horizon to zenith . . . Lugalbanda in the Wilderness, 486, 497–9937 Though less overt than the reference to the cedar mountain’s eastern location seen in Inana E, this text nevertheless places the mountains of cedar and cypress, both aromatic woods, at the eastern horizon.38 As this passage furthermore occurs when Lugalbanda is lost in the wilderness en route from Uruk to Aratta, the perspective for the observation of these astral events is arguably eastward as well.39 Attestations of the Cedar Forest are prolific in literary texts from the Old Babylonian period. Although texts connected to Gilgamesh may represent the best-​known foray into the Cedar Forest, he is representative of a larger pattern, one that we have already seen perpetuated in the actions of Gudea and texts connected to both Enmerkar and Lugalbanda. The distinction between these two figures is one of ​both intent and action. Gudea’s journey to the Cedar Forest (or, more explicitly, the mountain range of cedar) is driven primarily by a desire to acquire building material. This is representative both of ​his ability as king and of the reach of ​his empire, but such propagandistic motives are, if anything, ancillary to his more mercenary intent found in these texts, and the acquisition of temple building materials remains paramount. The texts concerning the other rulers, whether in literary texts or royal inscriptions, utilize the Cedar Forest as a marker of extreme distance, demonstrating the reach of their own, often martial, might. In the case of ​Lugalbanda’s travel, the references to mountains covered with cedar and cypress illustrate how far beyond the borders of ​Mesopotamia the protagonist has journeyed in his wandering as well. 37. Vanstiphout, Epics of Sumerian Kings. 38. Cypress trees are principally paired with references to cedar when used to describe a geographic feature or location, though the former can appear on its own. In a širgida to Ninurta (Ninurta A; ETCSL c.4.27.01, Segment A: 13), for example, the deity Ninurta is described as “like Utu, rising from the Cypress” (d utu ha-​š u- u​ r 2 - t a e 3 - [ a m 3]), echoing the popular image of the sun god rising from between forested mountain peaks. 39. Though fictional, Aratta is generally situated in Iran. For an overview of its location, as well as the argument concerning its nature as a real or fictional location, see Piotr Michalowski, “Masters of the Four Corners of the Heavens: Views of the Universe in Early Mesopotamian Writings,” in Geography and Ethnography—the Ancient World: Comparative Histories, ed. K. A. Raaflaub and J. A. Talbert (Oxford: Wiley-​Blackwell, 2010), 159–60.

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References to tribute and conquest are thus intertwined with representations of the Cedar Forest. Depictions of the location in both the Epic of Gilgamesh and in Gilgamesh and Huwawa exist within this larger context of imagery, and just as the Cedar Forest often overlapped with locations titled the “cedar mountain” or “foothills of cedar,” the descriptions in these texts overlap with the broader context of imagery used to depict forests more generally. Though not every forest seems to be explicitly identified as or associated with the Cedar Forest, guarded by the monstrous Humbaba/ Huwawa, to which Gilgamesh travels, these locations are similarly used in narratives depicting a conquering king traveling to and entering them, often alongside his army, and finding the location to be foreign and hostile. Although these narratives are Old Babylonian literary texts, they center on the third-​millennium ruler, Sargon of Akkad, whose attestations to the Cedar Forest within his royal inscriptions we have already discussed. The location acquires greater descriptive depth within this material, as seen in the following four texts: Sargon, the Conquering Hero; Sargon in the Foreign Lands; Sargon, the Lion; and Sargon, the King of ​Battle.40 In the last two, references to the Cedar Forest are fragmentary at best, but the remainder include more substantial descriptions that illuminate the use and changing role of the Cedar Forest. The first of these, Sargon, the Conquering Hero, is an isolated text, found only on a single two-​column Old Babylonian tablet of unknown provenance.41 Set at Sargon’s court, the text opens with the ruler’s direct address to his warriors and soldiers, wherein he details the superlative nature of their valor and strength. It then shifts to a third-​person perspective and form of address in its second column, to describe the strength of Sargon’s army. Sargon and his warriors, who “like the stars in the sky covered the plain,” move forth on campaign,42 to encounter resistance not from an opposing military force but rather from the land itself. Sargon is described as having barely ventured into the land called Uta-​rapaštim (ú-​ta-​ra-​pa-​áš-​tim) before the forest retaliates: tu-​ša ge-​ri-​ma qi2-iš-​tum ig-​re-​e-​šu iš-​ku-​un ik-​li-​tam a-​na nu-​ur2 ša-​ma-​i id-ḫi-​im ša-​am-​šu-​um ka-​ak-​ka--bu u2-ṣu2-u2 // a-​na na-​ak-​ri-​im As if ​he were hostile, the forest waged war against him. It set darkness In place of the light of the heavens, The sun dimmed, The stars sallied forth against the enemy. Sargon, the Conquering Hero, 59–6443 40. Joan Goodnick Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade: The Texts, MC 7 (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997), 57–102. 41. Ibid., 59–60. 42. Ibid., 69, ll. 55–56. 43. Ibid., 70–71. The name of this land is somewhat problematic, and the simplest solution would be to emend the name “uta-​rapaštim” to match Utu-​napištim, the man who survived the deluge and whom

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The forest is conceived of as an enemy: foreign, unfamiliar, and hostile. It is not only an impediment to Sargon’s continued campaign but a threat in and of itself. Of course, the landscape of a forest dense enough to provide a shade that, as the text suggests, turned day into night would have been entirely foreign to the Mesopotamian army and king. That unfamiliarity could easily turn into hostility, and moving a large military force through such a dense forest would present any number of practical and logistical difficulties, undoubtedly adding to Sargon’s discomfort.44 Sargon in the Foreign Lands adds to this body of imagery. This text is unfortunately far more fragmentary than Sargon, the Conquering Hero, though it does repeat certain sections of ​the latter. Present in several fragments, including three from Šaduppûm or Tell Harmal, the text centers once again on a narrative of conquest.45 As opposed to the more general, unnamed forest in the previous text, here the Cedar Forest is directly invoked, appearing after Sargon’s troops have crossed the Amanus mountains: [qi2-š]a-​at e-​ri-​ni-​im ik-​šu-​ud qa-​su bi-​ri ik-[ki?]-li-​šu ḫa-​ni-​iš iš-​ku-​un ka-​ki-​šu i-​ta-​qi2 ni-​qi2-šu il-​bi-​in ap-​pa-šu te-​li-​ša-​am is3-qu2-ur e-​lu-​ti-​im i-​ta-​qi2 ni-​qi2-šu il-​bi-​in a-​pa-​šu-​ma te-​li-​ša-​am is3-qu3-ur i-​sa-​qa-​ra- me-​gi-​ir ir-​ni-​na He reached the cedar forest. Amidst its din(?) he bowed down, (and) Readied his weapons. He offered a sacrifice, made obeisance, Spoke distinctly. He offered his pure sacrifices, made Obeisance, spoke distinctly. He speaks, the favored one of the Goddess Sargon in the Foreign Lands, 12′–15′46 Two tropes are at work here: the first is the repeated imagery of the forest as a foreboding space: dark, foreign, and potentially hostile in and of itself. The second, however, is the connection between the forest—and specifically the Cedar Forest—and the divine, as well as the sacrifices that they require. Though the Cedar Forest is once again a foreign environment, it is not, as in the previous text, as overtly hostile in its depiction.47 Instead, its foreignness is rooted in its otherworldly qualities, features that connect it most strongly to the divine realm. It serves as a larger setting for deities, and that connection enables the sacrifices and offerings that Sargon provides on behalf of the divine who inhabit the forest. Gilgamesh meets on his quest for immortality. As it stands, the text has Sargon venturing with his army into the more literal translation of the “wide,” which is also semantically possible. See the footnote and further explanations in ibid., 69, l. 58. 44. Although forests are infrequently associated directly with difficult or fraught passage, mountains are often described as such and used in Middle and Neo-​Assyrian royal inscriptions to demonstrate the remote and difficult nature of frontier terrain; see Simonetta Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part I,” KASKAL 1 (2004): 139–77; Simonetta Ponchia, “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part II,” SAAB 15 (2006): 193–271. 45. Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade, 78–79. 46. Ibid., 82–83. 47. Note that the Cedar Forest is here written out syllabically as qišat erēnim. In previous examples of Akkadian texts, the Cedar Forest has overwhelmingly been represented through Sumerograms, primarily giš tir gišeren, with the determinative “giš” (wood) preceding “tir” (forest) occasionally omitted.

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Gilgamesh and the Cedar Forest The ease with which divine and supernatural figures find their homes in the Cedar Forest is underscored throughout the course of its appearances in the series of texts connected to Gilgamesh. In the Sumerian text of Gilgamesh and Huwawa A, Gilgamesh and Enkidu must cross seven mountain ranges in order to reach the Cedar Forest. They are specifically guided there by seven supernatural figures, who promise to guide the pair to the “portage places” (ma 2 -ur 3 -ma 2 -ur 3 hur-​s aĝ-​ĝ a 2 -ke 4) of the mountains.48 The very act of traveling to the Cedar Forest requires a journey of great distance, brought about only with supernatural assistance. The Sumerian text seems to indicate that Gilgamesh and Enkidu travel east to reach the Cedar Forest, contrary to the later associations between Lebanon and the Cedar Forest and the greater presence of cedar trees to the west of ​Mesopotamia. It is, however, possible to associate the ĝ i š e r e n of the Gilgamesh and Huwawa A with an aromatic juniper tree (Juniperus polycarpos), which was readily found in the foothills of the Zagros mountains.49 Capable of growing to heights of twenty meters, this tree would easily provide a dramatic enough setting. Although the Cedar Forest acts as an epic setting for the battle between Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and Huwawa, their opening interaction is political in nature. Mirroring the connection between kingship and the Cedar Forest, Huwawa is cast as a foreign power within these texts, described as the ruler of the distant land of the Cedar Forest. In the Old Babylonian Sumerian text of Gilgamesh and Huwawa A, Gilgamesh offers his two sisters in marriage to Huwawa, echoing the means by which alliances were brokered between the rulers of different lands.50 Gilgamesh swears on the life of ​both his mother and his father that his only aim is to increase Huwawa’s own renown and pleads, “So give me your aurae; I wish to join your family!” (ni 2 -zu ba-​m a-​r a su-​ zu-​a ga-​a n-​k u 4).51 Gilgamesh approaches Huwawa through the medium of familial understanding and the promise of fostering future political connections: he grounds his own presence by swearing by his mother and father, the latter of whom was a king, and promises his two sisters (Peštur, as seen above, and Enmebaragesi, in the lines preceding) to Huwawa in marriage. These political gestures hide his larger deception: his marriage promises are lies, the names of the potential wives merely puns engineered to mock Huwawa’s 48. Gilgamesh and Huwawa A, l. 60. 49. See Woods, “Edge of the World,” 191; Jacob Klein and Kathleen Abraham, “Problems of Geography in the Gilgameš Epics: The Journey to the ‘Cedar Forest,’ “ in Milano et al., Landscape, 65–66. Concerning the more modern remnants of the cedar forests in this region, see E. W. Beals, “The Remnant Cedar Forests of ​Lebanon,” Journal of ​Ecology 53 (1965): 679–94. 50. Gilgamesh and Huwawa A and B are two versions of one text that belongs to a group of five Sumerian texts connected to Gilgamesh, including Gilgamesh and the Bull of ​Heaven; Gilgamesh and Agga; Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld; and the Death of Gilgamesh. Of the five, only Gilgamesh and the Bull of ​Heaven is currently known from Ur III sources, though all are represented in Old Babylonian copies. Given the connected narrative of these texts, the absence of the other four in the Ur III period may stem from the chance nature of preservation and discovery rather than accurately reflect the literary landscape of the Ur III period; see Daniel E. Fleming and Sara J. Milstein, The Buried Foundations of the Gilgamesh Epic: The Akkadian Huwawa Narrative, Cuneiform Monographs 39 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 7–10. 51. For transliteration, see Dietz Otto Edzard, “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. II. Teil,” ZA 81 (1991): 209–12.

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ignorance.52 When Huwawa retracts his me-​l am 2, or his protective aurae, in response to these overtures, Gilgamesh seizes the opportunity and kills Huwawa, an act for which Enlil later admonishes him in a rebuke that reinforces the depiction of the Cedar Forest as a foreign polity with Huwawa at its head. He informs Gilgamesh that he should have treated Huwawa as an equal, should have eaten and drunk with him as one ruler would do with another.53 A more recently published additional fragment of ​Tablet V of the Akkadian Epic of Gilgamesh reiterates many of the qualities seen in the Sumerian account of Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s encounter with the guardian of the Cedar Forest.54 The abundant nature of the area is described in full and vivid detail, including a reference to the chorus of monkeys sounding like musicians, as if they were at the court of ​Humbaba: [pa-​ga-​t]i iš-tam-​ma-​ra mi-​ra-​nu [kīma ki-ṣi]r? na-​a-​ri u ti-​gi-​i u4-mi-​šam-​ma ur-​ta-ṣa-​nu ina pa-⸢ni⸣ dḫum-​ba-​ba [Monkey mothers] sing aloud, a young monkey shrieks: [Like a band(?)] of musicians and drummers(?), Daily they beat out a rhythm in the presence of ​Humbaba Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet V: 24–2655 In creating the overall appearance of a royal orchestra, we reaffirm Humbaba’s overall standing as a foreign ruler, or at least a figure of significance within the foreign land of the Cedar Forest. The Akkadian text minimizes, to a degree, the diplomatic nature of the interaction between Gilgamesh and Humbaba, with the battle between them presented as a more straightforward martial conflict. In the Sumerian text, Gilgamesh incorporates political subterfuge in order to win the day. Regardless, these more recent additions to the Akkadian epic confirm that, within his own domain of the Cedar Forest, Humbaba may still hold sovereign standing. Though it is not as explicit as Enlil’s admonishment in Gilgamesh and Huwawa A, Gilgamesh and Enkidu’s actions—and, moreover, Enkidu’s reaction to them—work to reinforce the analogue of the Cedar Forest as a foreign polity. After Humbaba’s defeat, Enkidu questions Gilgamesh, asking him, “[My friend,] we have reduced the forest [to] a desert ([ib-​ri ana] tu-​ša2-ar niš-​ta-​kan gištir), [how] shall we answer Enlil in 52. Gilgamesh offers Huwawa his two “sisters,” named Enmebaragesi and Peštur. As has been discussed by Alhena Gadotti and Piotr Michalowski, the former references the historical daughter of Šulgi, while the latter is also a famous king of ​Kish. On both names, see the discussion in Alhena Gadotti, “Portraits of the Feminine in Sumerian Literature,” JAOS 131 (2011): 199–200; Piotr Michalowski, “A Man Called Enmebaragesi,” in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, ed. W. Sallaberger et al., Orientalia biblica et christiana 14 (Wiesbaden: Harrosowitz, 2003), 195–208. 53. Enlil also chastises Gilgamesh, saying that he should have honored Huwawa rather than killing him, stating, “Was it said that you should erase his name from the earth?” (b a - ​d u 1 1 - g a - ​k e 4 - e š m u - ​n i k i - ​t a h a - ​l a m - ​k e 4 - e š). If ​Huwawa was positioned within the text as an analogue for a ruler, he was a ruler who operated with the full approval and legitimation of ​Enlil, and Gilgamesh’s actions violate the rules governing proper diplomatic engagement. 54. See F. N. H. Al-​Rawi and A. R. George, “Back to the Cedar Forest: The Beginning and End of ​ Tablet V of the Standard Babylonian Epic of Gilgameš,” JCS 66 (2014): 69–90. 55. Ibid.

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Nippur?”56 Gilgamesh and Enkidu have claimed the forest’s cedars and transported them downstream, but they have also devastated the land itself.57 In leveling the Cedar Forest, turning it from the previously lush and abundant forest into a devastated plain, Gilgamesh parallels the purported destruction of cities at the hands of conquering kings, who claimed to turn these cities from inhabited and vibrant communities to ruin mounds. This imagery of conquest is widely reiterated across the corpus of royal inscriptions and seen well into the first millennium.58 Although the Cedar Forest is an important source for material vital for the construction of temples, throughout the entire span of its attestations it is also invoked in the same breath as conquest. It is thus conceived of and realized in terms of these conquests, be they actual or fictional. Within the context of Gilgamesh and Huwawa A, in particular, the Cedar Forest is given a foreign court to match the conquest narrative, and that foreignness is emphasized by the monstrous, though bumbling and uneducated, qualities of its ruler, Huwawa. Overall, the Cedar Forest exhibits a more grounded reality in its attestations that, as we shall see, references to Dilmun lack, despite the well-​established economic connections between Dilmun and Mesopotamia.

Dilmun, Island of the Gods In many ways, the Cedar Forest stands in contrast to the second location under consideration, Dilmun. Located at modern-​day Bahrain, the island was ideally situated to facilitate maritime trade through the Persian Gulf and attained prominence because of it. It was thus well attested in economic documents, with references seen from the late Uruk period onward.59 Unlike the Cedar Forest, however, which was reliably referenced well into the Neo-​Assyrian period, Dilmun is represented less frequently after the Ur III and Old Babylonian periods, thanks in part to a decline in that same

56. Ibid., ll. 303–4. 57. Specifically, Enkidu describes how they should let the Euphrates River (id2purattu) carry the cedars downstream to Nippur; see Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet V: 297 (edition: A. R. George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition, and Cuneiform Texts [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003]). The new tablet of this section features this episode in greater detail, describing how Gilgamesh and Enkidu create a raft of cedars that they appear to ride downstream; see Al-​Rawi and George, “Back to the Cedar Forest,” l. 318. 58. Ḫammurabi described how he “captured Mari, destroyed its wall, and turned the land into rubble heap and ruins” (RIME 4, E4.3.6.11: 27–30). Sennacherib stands as one of the foremost examples of the enduring power of such imagery, recounting in the so-​called Bavian Inscription the devastation he visits upon the city of ​Babylon, stating, “I destroyed, devastated, (and) burned with fire the city, and (its) buildings, from its foundations to its crenellations. I removed the bricks and earth . . . from the (inner) wall and outer wall, the temples, (and) the ziggurat, (and) I threw (it) into the Araḫtu river. I dug canals into the center of that city and leveled their site with water. I destroyed the outline of its foundations and (thereby) made its destruction surpass that of the Deluge. So that in the future, the site of that city and (its) temples will be unrecognizable, I dissolved it (Babylon) in water and annihilated (it), (making it) like a meadow” (RINAP 3, Sennacherib 223: 50b–53b). See also Marc van de Mieroop, “Revenge, Assyrian Style,” Past and Present 179 (2003): 3–4. Though Gilgamesh and Enkidu choose a more understated tactic than the vivid examples provided, their intent in devastating the Cedar Forest is quite similar. 59. In its earliest textual attestations, Dilmun is recorded in economic and lexical texts from Uruk III and Uruk IV; see Robert Englund, “Dilmun in the Archaic Uruk Corpus,” in Dilmun: New Studies in the Archaeology and Early History of ​Bahrain, ed. D. T. Potts (Berlin: D. Reimer Verlag, 1983), 35–37.

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trade that had elevated it to begin with.60 The relative paucity of its attestations is offset by the depth of its descriptions, as Dilmun is characterized with a detail that is not afforded to the Cedar Forest, with the exception of the latter’s references in texts concerning Gilgamesh. Dilmun may serve as a home for deities within literary texts, but it is also invoked, particularly within the sphere of royal inscriptions, as a point of distance, a liminal— though very real—location referenced in order to demonstrate the power of the king.61 Although a full survey of such attestations is well outside the present scope of this essay, a brief investigation provides a sufficient sketch of the overall pattern of ​Dilmun’s attestations. The location appears in royal inscriptions as early as the reign of Ur-​Nanše of ​Lagaš (ca. 2500 BCE), whose inscriptions make multiple references to trade from Dilmun, with ships coming from the island laden with timber they have brought as tribute.62 Sargon, similarly, proclaims that he “moored the ships of ​ Meluḫḫa, Magan, and Dilmun at the quay of Agade.”63 Sargon’s successors, however, no longer utilize references to Dilmun, although the other two locations remain present, with Nāram-​Sîn in particular making frequent mention of ​Magan in his royal inscriptions, describing his campaigns to conquer it and the objects he took as booty.64 In the same vein, the Ur III rulers Ur-​Namma and Šū-​Sîn consistently refer to other locations, including Magan, even when they do not reference Dilmun within their royal inscriptions.65 Evidence of economic interactions with Dilmun persists even when Dilmun is not consistently referenced in royal inscriptions, with merchants belonging to Dilmun seen during the Old Babylonian period.66 In later periods, such 60. Although references to Dilmun are occasionally seen in the Old Babylonian period, the name is infrequently attested in economic texts from the south of ​Mesopotamia after the end of the Isin-​Larsa period; see Harriet Crawford, “Dilmun, Victim of ​World Recession,” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 26 (1996): 13–17. In his eleventh regnal year, Samsuiluna claimed to have destroyed the walls of Ur and Uruk, striking a major blow to the southern port city upon which trade with Dilmun depended; see Andrea Seri, The House of ​Prisoners: Slavery and State in Uruk During the Revolt Against Samsu-​iluna, Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 2 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013), 20–54. 61. On Dilmun in myth more generally, see Bendt Alster, “Dilmun, Bahrain, and the Alleged Paradise in Sumerian Myth and Literature,” in Dilmun: New Studies in the Archaeology and Early History of ​Bahrain, ed. D. T. Potts (Berlin: D. Reimer, 1983), 39–74; Dina Katz, “Enki and Ninhursaĝa, Part One: The Story of ​ Dilmun,” BiOr 64 (2007): 567–90. 62. RIME 1, E1.9.1.2. The text references tribute coming through Dilmun from the foreign lands (kur-​ ta). The phrase is repeated in other texts, including RIME 1, E1.9.1.6a; E1.9.1.17; E1.9.1.20; E.1.9.1.22; and several others. The frequency of the references to Dilmun point to its prominence in this period. Gudea, following in the footsteps of Ur-​Nanše, also references Dilmun, along with Magan and Meluḫḫa, as bringing cargoes of timber to Lagaš: “Magan, Meluḫḫa, Gubin, and Dilmun—supplying (Gudea) with wood, (Ningirsu) let their timber cargoes (sail) to Lagaš,” (RIME 3/1, E3​/1​.1​.7​.StD: iv 7–14). 63. RIME 2, E.2.1.1.11; E.2.1.1.12. 64. RIME 2, E2.1.4.3. In RIME 2, E2.1.4.13, Narām-​Sîn describes not only his successful campaign against Magan but also his capture of its ruler. 65. Magan is referenced throughout royal inscriptions in the Ur III period. For Ur-​Namma, see RIME 3/2, E3​/2​.1​.1​.17; E3​/2​.1​.1​.18. For Šū-​Sîn, see RIME 3/2, E3​/2​.1​.4​.2. Meluḫḫa is also absent from Ur III sources; see Laursen and Steinkeller, Babylonia, 56–57. 66. We find references to one Ea-​nāṣir, a copper merchant with a reputation for dishonorable dealings, who is identified in texts as one of a number of merchants called the alik Tilmun, or “Dilmun traders.” Ea-​nāṣir is dated via mentions in other texts to the years Rīm-​Sîn 19 and Rīm-​Sîn 11 (1803 and 1811 BCE), providing a general range for his career as a merchant. See D. T. Potts, The Arabian Gulf in Antiquity I: From Prehistory to the Fall of the Achaemenid Empire (Oxford: Clarendon, 1990), 221–23. For standards providing equivalences between weights at Ur and Dilmun, see Michael Roaf, “Weights on the Dilmun

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as the royal inscriptions of Middle- and Neo-​Assyrian rulers, Dilmun continues to appear, increasingly presented as the furthest known point, a final outpost of real space set on the edge of empire and a marker of the extreme edge of conquered and claimed space.67 Beyond royal inscriptions, Dilmun is represented in a wide range of texts, including city laments, lexical lists, and proverbs, such as one that states: “A ship of ​Dilmun sank, though there was no wind” (ĝ i š m a 2 d i l m u n - ​n a t u m 9 n u - ​m i r b a - ​a n - ​d a -​ s u).68 Although the island is mentioned in a number of ​literary texts, including Enki and the World Order, it features most prominently in the text Enki and Ninhursaĝ. As the title suggests, the text is concerned with the actions of the god Enki, using Dilmun as the setting for his interactions with a number of other deities. A description of ​ Dilmun thus opens Enki and Ninhursaĝ, quickly establishing the more notable qualities of the land. It is described in nearly paradisiacal terms, as pure (k u 3 - g a - ​a m 3), sanctified (s ikil-​a m 3), and bright or shining (dadag-​g a- ​a m 3).69 This trio of verbs (k u 3, s i k i l, and d a d a g) is deliberately chosen to reinforce the pure and sanctified qualities of the island. These verbs directly evoke the language seen in incantations, where this vocabulary is incorporated into formulaic refrains meaning “may it be pure, may it be cleansed, and may it be bright” (h e 2 - k u 3 h e 2 sikil he 2 -dadag), though the particular order of the three may vary.70 These refrains directly preceded the closing rubric of incantations, noted by the use of ka- i​ nim-​m a (“it is the wording of the incantation”) to preface a summation of the incantation’s purpose.71 These qualities are occasionally elaborated upon in incantations, further underscored through analogic relationships to the heavens and the earth, as seen in fairly formulaic closing lines that proclaim, for example, “May it be purified like the heavens; May it be cleansed like the earth; In the midst of the heavens, may it be Standard,” Iraq 44 (1982): 137–41; Jesper Eidem and Flemming Højlund, “Trade or Diplomacy? Assyria and Dilmun in the Eighteenth Century BC,” World Archaeology 24 (1993): 441–48. 67. An inscription of the Middle Assyrian king Tukultī-​Ninurta I, for example, asserts that he is, among other epithets, the king of ​Dilmun and Meluḫḫa (RIMA 1, A.0.78.24: 15). Sargon II not only references the king of ​Dilmun (Uperi) but places the island thirty bēru away, in the midst of the sea; see C. J. Gadd, “Inscribed Prisms of Sargon II from Nimrud,” Iraq 16 (1954): 192–93. For an overview of Sargon II’s interactions with Dilmun, see Josette Elayi, Sargon II, King of Assyria, Archaeology and Biblical Studies 22 (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017), 190–94. The measurement bēru was used as a unit of distance as well as time, indicating a measure of over ten kilometers or a double-​hour, one twelfth of the day (CAD B, s.v. bēru A). Later Assyrian rulers such as Sennacherib, Esarhaddon, and Ashurbanipal all reference Dilmun throughout their inscriptions. The kings describe how Dilmun submitted in fear to the power of the god Aššur and the kings (RINAP 3/2, Sennacherib 168: 36b), declare themselves directly as the king of ​Dilmun (RINAP 4, Esarhaddon 48: 22), and use it as a geographic marker for the empire’s own extent (RIMB 2, Ashurbanipal B.6.32.19). 68. Bendt Alster, Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1997) 287–88, CT 58 30: line 1. The other proverbs on this tablet are unconnected to Dilmun. 69. Enki and Ninhursaĝ ll. 5–6. See edition in Pascal Attinger, “Enki et Nin[h]ursa[g]a,” ZA 74 (1984): 1–52. 70. Though partially reconstructed, this line is written in the closing lines of an Old Babylonian incantation as h e 2 - s i k i l h e 2 - k u 3 h e 2 - d a d a g; the meanings of the three verbs are, in such instances, fairly interchangeable. See M. J. Geller, “A New Piece of ​Witchcraft,” in DUMU-​E2-DUB-​BA-​A: Studies in Honor of Åke Sjöberg, ed. H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. T. Roth. (Philadelphia: University of ​Pennsylvania Press, 1989), l. 56′. 71. See M. J. Geller, “Incipits and Rubrics,” in Wisdom, Gods, and Literature: Studies in Assyriology in Honour of ​W. G. Lambert, ed. A. R. George and I. L. Finkel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000), 225–58.

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sanctified!” (an-​g in 7 he 2 -em-​k u 3 -ge / ki-​g in 7 he 2 -em-​s ikil-​e  / ša 3 -an-​n a-​ k e 4 h e 2 - e m - ​d a d a g - ​g e).72 The use of these geographic referents establishes that those pure and sanctified qualities reach as far as the upper and lower extremes implied by the heavens and the earth, an early prototype of the “as above, so below” refrain known from Western Hermetic texts, which describes a unity of all actions, reflecting both the microcosm and macrocosm of the universe.73 Dilmun’s paradisiacal qualities not only are described in terms of the purity it possesses but also are represented by what it lacks. Within the landscape of the text, Dilmun is a place without sickness, infirmity, or age: igi-​g ig-​e igi-​g ig-​m e-​e n nu-​m u-​n i-​b i sag-​g ig-​g i sag-​g ig-​m e-​e n nu-​m u-​n i-​b i um-​m a-​b i um-​m a-​m e-​e n nu-​m u-​n i-​b i ab-​b a-​b i ab-​b a-​m e-​e n nu-​m u-​n i-​b i No illness of the eye said: “I am an illness of the eye,” No affliction of the head said: “I am an affliction of the head,” No old woman (of ​Dilmun) said: “I am an old woman.” No old man (of ​Dilmun) said: “I am an old man.” Enki and Ninhursaĝ, 22–2574 Although only the illness of the eye and head are mentioned, we may pars pro toto assume that Dilmun similarly lacks all illnesses. The lack of the elderly has more far-​ reaching ramifications, given the very particular wording of this section of the text. The relevant lines do not merely state that the elderly are not found in Dilmun; after all, such a demographic would not necessarily establish Dilmun as a paradise, given the predominance of dystopian literature featuring targeted culls of a population’s elderly, often veiled by clever, if ​horrifying, euphemisms.75 Instead, they reject the possibility of such individuals: it is age itself that is denied. Dilmun is a place that exists before and beyond the mandated and structured flow of time, when age is not an affliction that troubles humanity, a situation akin to the longer lifespans seen with the certain rulers listed in the Sumerian King List.76 72. YBC 4184: 24–26; see J. van Dijk, “Un ritual de purification des armes et de l’armée essai de traduction de YBC 4184,” in Symbolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae: Francisco Mario Theodoro de Liagre Böhl Dedicatae, ed. M. A. Beek et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1973), 108–17. 73. As represented in the Emerald Tablet or Tabula Smaragdina, the text, translated from Arabic sources into Latin in the twelfth century CE, recounts that “what is below is like that which is above, and what is above is like that which is below.” See Florian Ebeling, The Secret History of ​Hermes Trismegistus: Hermeticism from Ancient to Modern Times, trans. D. Lorton (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2007), 48–50. 74. Attinger, “Enki et Nin[h]ursa[g]a.” 75. Though examples of such dystopias abound, I will limit myself to two. We see this in the increasingly dystopian utopia of ​Lois Lowry’s 1993 novel The Giver, where elderly and otherwise noncontributing members of society are “released to Elsewhere.” Similarly, Boxer, the hardworking and naïve horse of George Orwell’s 1945 novella Animal Farm, is sold to a knacker when his strength fails, though Napoleon and his fellow pigs claim that he was actually sent to the veterinarian. 76. We see extended lifespans in the reigns assigned to early, antediluvian kings in the Sumerian King List; see the edition in Thorkild Jacobsen, The Sumerian King List, AS 11 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939), and Claudine-​Adrienne Vincente, “The Tell Leilān Recension of the Sumerian King List,”

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The closing lines of the section describe Dilmun continuing the trend of the previous lines by proclaiming the island’s general safety and lack of either public or private grief: niĝir-​e zag-​g a-​n a nu-​u m-​n igin nar-​e e-​l u-​l am nu-​m u-​n i-​b i zag-​u ru-​k a i-​l u nu-​m u-​n i-​b i No herald made the patrol in his border district, No singer sang an elulam77 there, No wailings were sung in the city’s outskirts. Enki and Ninhursaĝ, 28–3078 We can infer that Dilmun is a place without death or calamity; there can be no obligation for mourning if death itself is unknown. Although we traditionally see a dichotomy between the dangerous country and the civilized world of the city, a space delineated and protected by the city, its walls, and the heralds or watchmen who guarded them, Dilmun also disregards those qualities. Even the outer edges of the city do not require protection, implying that enemies are also unknown in this setting. Despite all this, Dilmun is not perfect, as it lacks a directly accessible source of fresh water, which keeps the setting and the text as a whole from fitting easily into this classification of a precivilization paradise myth. The goddess Ninsikila laments the lack of freshwater in Dilmun, a plea that is answered not by Enki but by the god Utu, who restores freshwater to the island’s irrigation networks. Enki still occupies the central position in the text as its protagonist, and the main narrative is concerned with Enki’s sequence of sexual hijinks with the goddess Ninhursag, the ultimate result of which is the creation of eight minor deities to respectively heal Enki’s afflicted body parts.79 The concluding sections of the text function as an etiology for these minor deities, as well as an explanation for the treatment of illnesses and ailments afflicting the body. Enki’s own connection to Dilmun exists as a confluence of several factors. The island did possibly host a cult of ​Enki, though the existence of such a cult is debated and, if present, is one that would have developed after major contact with Mesopotamia was established.80 Enki, however, is represented in other texts in ways that place him, like Dilmun in Enki and Ninhursaĝ, as belonging to a space before proper, ordered time. This is most clearly seen in a passage of Enmerkar and the Lord of ZA 85 (1995): 234–70. Later, mankind is given shorter lifespans, with references to a limitation of 120 years; see Jacob Klein, “The ‘Bane’ of ​Humanity: A Lifespan of One Hundred Twenty Years,” Acta Sumerologica 12 (1999): 57–70. 77. The elulam is interpreted here as a “Klagelied” or even a funeral dirge, but it is rarely attested outside of this text; see A. Falkenstein, “Sumerische religiöse Texte,” ZA 56 (1964): 51–52. 78. Attinger, “Enki et Nin[h]ursa[g]a.” 79. The eight deities are assigned fates at the end of the text, with two declared to be the lords of distant lands: Ninsikila as the lord of ​Magan and Ensag as the lord of ​Dilmun. 80. Concerning the interpretation of the Barbar temple as a temple to Enki, see Potts, Arabian Gulf, 202–5; Khaled al Nashef, “The Deities of ​Dilmun,” in Bahrain Through the Ages: The Archaeology, ed. S. H. A. al-​Khalifa and M. Rice (London: Kegan Paul International, 1986), 340–66.

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Aratta often referred to as the “Incantation of ​Nudimmud” (n a m - ​š u b d n u - ​d i m 2 m u d - ​d a - ​k e 4), which describes a time when a number of predators, and even fear itself, are absent from the world and when all peoples “speak to Enlil in one language” (d en-​l il 2 -ra eme diš-​a m 3 he 2 -en-​n a-​a b-​d u 1 1).81 It is Enki who alters the speech of mankind in this passage, and although the interlude appears in this muddled, proto­ time, the text as a whole utilizes a primarily straightforward temporality in its narrative. In confusing the speech of men from one single tongue to many, he moves the passage away from a similarly paradisiacal prototime. Returning to Enki and Ninhursaĝ, although the text devotes considerable attention to the description of ​Dilmun as a quasi-​paradisiacal location, one pure, sanctified, and even free from illness and the ravages of time, it does less to connect that setting to the narrative itself, leading to the inevitable question of why the text is set on the island in the first place. Such a location, pointedly described as free from any and all strife and conflict, has fewer natural opportunities to serve as an exciting setting, in stark contrast to the more martial qualities of the Cedar Forest, which by default and design facilitate the battles that occur in texts set there. Thanks to its position as a trading center, Dilmun was certainly a well-​known location in the Ur III and Old Babylonian periods. Despite this concrete connection with Mesopotamia, Dilmun within literary texts is defined as not only distant but partially imagined, abstracted to appear as a place both faraway and fantastical. The qualities are referenced even when Dilmun is only an ancillary location: in the concluding lines of the Sumerian Flood Story, the gods settle Ziudsura in “an overseas country, in the land of ​Dilmun, where the sun rises” (k u r- ​b a l k u r d i l m u n - ​n a k i d u t u e 3 - š e 3 m u - ​u n - ​t i l 3 - e š).82 While the previously discussed reference to the rising sun in regard to the location of the Cedar Forest appears to directly connect to a location on the eastern horizon, Dilmun’s more fixed location to the south requires a different explanation. Dilmun’s island nature may provide one possible answer. This quality sets it apart from other referenced distant locations, such as the Cedar Forest, Marḫashi, and Meluḫḫa, even though the last two are also referenced as being reached by water. The association with the horizon alluded to in the flood story further reinforces Dilmun’s location as a liminal space, quite literally set on the edge of the map, and the requirement that one must cross the boundary of water in order to reach it reinforces its fantastical nature. The transitional properties of ​bodies of water and their ability to move a protagonist from a grounded setting to more fantastical one are elaborated in other texts, including, most famously, the Epic of Gilgamesh.83 Although, unlike his Sumerian counterpart Ziudsudra, Utu-​napištim is not directly described as placed in Dilmun, he is still relegated to the location that necessitates crossing a large body of water. To reach him, Gilgamesh states clearly the necessity of ​his crossing the 81. Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta, l. 146 (see Vanstiphout, Epics of the Sumerian Kings). 82. Sumerian Flood Story, Segment E. Transliteration for this segment following ETCSL; for earlier published editions, see also Samuel Noah Kramer, “The Sumerian Deluge Myth: Reviewed and Revisited,” Aramaic Studies 33 (1993): 115–21. 83. George, Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 517–22. On the sea as a border in Sumerian and Akkadian texts, see Gina Konstantopoulos, “The Bitter River and the Waters of ​Death: The Sea as a Conceptual Border in Mesopotamia.” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 35 (2020): 171–98.

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sea (a.ab.ba lu-​bir).84 Upon hearing his objective, Siduri tells Gilgamesh that it is impossible: ul ib-​ši dgiš-gim2-maš ne2-be2-ru ma-​ti-​ma u ma-​am-​ma ša2 ul-​tu u4-um ṣa-​at {kur} la  ib-​bi-​ru tam-​ta e-​bir tam-​ti dutu qu-​ra-​du-​um-​mu ba-​lu dutu e-​bir tam-​tim man-​nu pa-​aš2-qat ne2-ber-​tum šup-​šu-​qat u2-ru-​uḫ-ša2 u3 bi-​ra-​a a.meš mu-​ti ša2 pa-​na-​as-​sa par-​ku There never was, Gilgamesh, a way across, Since the days of old, none can cross the ocean. The one who crosses the ocean is the warrior Šamaš, Apart from Šamaš, who is there that can cross the ocean? The crossing is perilous, its way full of ​hazard, and in between are the Waters of ​Death, that lie across the way forward. Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet X: 79–8485 The waters Gilgamesh does cross are cited as the “waters of death,” which may be a reference to the nonirrigable saltwater of the Gulf, though they are also described with poisonous qualities: if Gilgamesh were to touch the waters with his hand, it would immediately wither and “go lame.”86 Figuratively, the ocean’s association with death reinforces the barrier it presents, as well as foreshadowing Gilgamesh’s approaching confrontation with the realization and eventual acceptance of ​his own mortality. In moving first past the horizon, and now crossing the “waters of death,” Gilgamesh will be forced to confront the prospect of ​his own eventual demise.87

Conclusion In returning to the comparison between the two locations, although each is cast in a fantastical light and features a unique relationship to both the divine and mortal actors who may appear in texts featuring each, it is clear that Dilmun is mythicized to a degree that the Cedar Forest was not. Despite serving as a major trading center, and being thus well connected to Mesopotamia as a fully actualized, though distant, location, Dilmun is cast as a paradisiacal protoplace, thanks perhaps in part to its island nature, a quality that was unsurprisingly essential to its role as a major port and intermediary for maritime trade through the Gulf. The Cedar Forest, on the other hand, 84. Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet X: 76 (ed. George). 85. Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet X: 79–84 (ed. George). 86. Epic of Gilgamesh, Tablet X: 175 (ed. George). On this passage of the Gilgamesh epic, see Ann Kilmer, “Crossing the Waters of ​Death: The ‘Stone Things’ in the Gilgamesh Epic,” WZKM 86 (1996): 213–17. 87. The fear and uncertainty of death underscores the narrative of the Epic of Gilgamesh; see Sophus Helle, “Babylonian Perspectives on the Uncertainty of ​Death: SB Gilgamesh X 301–321,” KASKAL 14 (2017): 211–19.

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featured heavily in stories of military conquest, and those associations influenced its depictions in literature, grounding them, and it, in a firmer reality. I would stress the importance of these fantastical qualities, and the Cedar Forest and Dilmun are portrayed as larger-​than-​life settings not by accident but rather as a matter of necessity. It may seem that I have devoted more space to the “margins” than to the gods that the title of this article claimed we may find there, but the nature of these marginal locations enables the very presence of these divine figures within these epic and mythical narratives. When considering the roles of the Cedar Forest and Dilmun in the texts that feature them, particularly when these locations play prominent roles within the narrative, it is clear that the texts would not function so well were they set anywhere ordinary; nor would the protagonists find themselves capable of such grand battles and actions. The extraordinary nature of these spaces is required in order to create locations where the divine and the supernatural may interact with more human actors. Bibliography Al-​Rawi, F. N. H., and A. R. George. “Back to the Cedar Forest: the Beginning and End of ​ Tablet V of the Standard Babylonian Epic of Gilgameš.” JCS 66 (2014): 69–90. Alster, Bendt. “Dilmun, Bahrain, and the Alleged Paradise in Sumerian Myth and Literature.” Pages 39–74 in Dilmun: New Studies in the Archaeology and Early History of ​Bahrain. Edited by D. T. Potts. Berlin: D. Reimer, 1983. ———. Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections. Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1997. Archi, A., and Maria Giovanna Biga. “A Victory over Mari and the Fall of ​Ebla.” JCS 55 (2003): 1–44. Attinger, Pascal. “Enki et Nin[h]ursa[g]a.” ZA 74 (1984): 1–52. Beals, E. W. “The Remnant Cedar Forests of ​Lebanon.” Journal of ​Ecology 53 (1965): 679–94. Boda, Mark J., and Jamie Novotny, eds. From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible. AOAT 366. Münster: Ugarit-​Verlag, 2010. Bottéro, Jean, and Samuel Noah Kramer. Lorsque les dieuz faisaient l’homme: Mythologie mesopotamienne. Paris: Gallimard, 1993. Cohen, M. E. “The Incantation-​Hymn: Incantation or Hymn?” JAOS 95 (1975): 592–611. Cooper, Jerrold S. The Curse of Agade. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983. Crawford, Harriet. “Dilmun, Victim of ​World Recession.” Proceedings of the Seminar for Arabian Studies 26 (1996): 13–22. Cromwell, Bradley L. “The Development of ​Dagan: a Sketch.” JANER 1 (2001): 32–83. Dijk, J. van. “Un ritual de purification des armes et de l’armée essai de traduction de YBC 4184.” Pages 108–17 in Symbolae Biblicae et Mesopotamicae: Francisco Mario Theodoro de Liagre Böhl Dedicatae. Edited by M. A. Beek, A. A. Kampman, C. Nijland, and J. Ryckmans. Leiden: Brill, 1973. Ebeling, Florian. The Secret History of ​Hermes Trismegistus: Hermeticism from Ancient to Modern Times. Translated by D. Lorton. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2007. Edzard, Dietz Otto. “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. II. Teil.” ZA 81 (1991): 165–233. Eidem, Jesper, and Flemming Højlund. “Trade or Diplomacy? Assyria and Dilmun in the Eighteenth Century BC.” World Archaeology 24 (1993): 441–48. Elayi, Josette. Sargon II, King of Assyria. Archaeology and Biblical Studies 22. Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017.

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Englund, Robert. “Dilmun in the Archaic Uruk Corpus.” Pages 35–37 in Dilmun: New Studies in the Archaeology and Early History of ​Bahrain. Edited by D. T. Potts. Berlin: D. Reimer, 1983. Falkenstein, A. “Sumerische religiöse Texte.” ZA 56 (1964): 44–129. ———. “Untersuchungen zur sumerischen Grammatik (Forsetzung).” ZA 48 (1944): 69–118. Fleming, Daniel E., and Sara J. Milstein. The Buried Foundations of the Gilgamesh Epic: The Akkadian Huwawa Narrative. Cuneiform Monographs 39. Leiden: Brill, 2010. Gadd, C. J. “Inscribed Prisms of Sargon II from Nimrud.” Iraq 16 (1954): 173–201. Gadotti, Alhena. “Portraits of the Feminine in Sumerian Literature.” JAOS 131 (2011): 195–206. Gelb, I. J., and B. Kienast. Die altakkadischen Königsinschriften des dritten Jahrtausends v. Chr. Freiburger altorientalische Studien 7. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1990. Geller, M. J. “Incipits and Rubrics.” Pages 225–58 in Wisdom, Gods, and Literature: Studies in Assyriology in Honour of ​W. G. Lambert. Edited by A. R. George and I. L. Finkel. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000. ———. “A New Piece of ​Witchcraft.” Pages 193–205 in DUMU-​E2-DUB-​BA-​A: Studies in Honor of Åke Sjöberg. Edited by H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. T. Roth. Philadelphia: University of ​Pennsylvania Press, 1989. George, Andrew R. The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition, and Cuneiform Texts. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003. Helle, Sophus. “Babylonian Perspectives on the Uncertainty of ​Death: SB Gilgamesh X 301– 321.” KASKAL 14 (2017): 211–19. Horowitz, Wayne. Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography. MC 8. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011. Jacobsen, Thorkild. The Sumerian King List. AS 11. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939. Katz, Dina. “Enki and Ninhursaĝa, Part One: The Story of ​Dilmun.” BiOr 64 (2007): 567–90. Kilmer, Ann Draffkorn. “Crossing the Waters of ​Death: The ‘Stone Things’ in the Gilgamesh Epic.” WZKM 86 (1996): 213–17. Klein, Jacob. “The ‘Bane’ of ​Humanity: A Lifespan of One Hundred Twenty Years.” Acta Sumerologica 12 (1999) 57–70. ———. “Šulgi and Išmedagan: Originality and Dependence in Sumerian Royal Hymnology.” Pages 65–138 in Bar-​Ilan Studies in Assyriology. Edited by P. Artzi. Ramat Gan: Bar-​Ilan University Press, 1990. Klein, Jacob, and K. Abraham. “Problems of Geography in the Gilgameš Epic: The Journey to the ‘Cedar Forest.’ “ Pages 63–73 in Landscape in Ideology, Religion, Literature, and Art. Part 3 of Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers, and Horizons in the Ancient Near East; Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Venezia, 7–11 July 1997. Edited by L. Milano, S. de Martino, F. M. Fales, and G. B. Lanfranchi. Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria, 2000. Konstantopoulos, Gina. “The Bitter River and the Waters of ​Death: The Sea as a Conceptual Border in Mesopotamia.” Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 35 (2020): 171–98. ———. “The Disciplines of Geography: Constructing Space in the Ancient World.” Journal of Ancient Near Eastern History 4 (2017): 1–18. Kramer, Samuel Noah. “BM 23631: Bread for Enlil, Sex for Inanna.” Or 54 (1985): 117–32. ———. “The Sumerian Deluge Myth: Reviewed and Revisited.” Aramaic Studies 33 (1993): 115–21. Laursen, Steffen, and Piotr Steinkeller. Babylonia, the Gulf ​Region, and the Indus: Archaeological and Textual Evidence for Contact in the Third and Early Second Millennia B.C. MC 21. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2017. Lehner, Joseph William. “Cooperation, the Craft Economy, and Metal Technology During the Bronze and Iron Ages in Central Anatolia.” PhD diss., University of California, Los Angeles, 2015. Michalowski, Piotr. “A Man Called Enmebaragesi.” Pages 195–205 in Literatur, Politik, und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke. Edited by W. Sallaberger, K. Volk,

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A. Zgoll, and C. Wilcke. Orientalia biblica et christiana 14. Weisbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003. ———. “Masters of the Four Corners of the Heavens: Views of the Universe in Early Mesopotamian Writings.” Pages 147–68 in Geography and Ethnography—the Ancient World: Comparative Histories. Edited by K. A. Raaflaub and J. A. Talbert. Oxford: Wiley-​ Blackwell, 2010. ———. “The Torch and the Censer.” Pages 152–62 in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of ​William W. Hallo. Edited by M. E. Cohen, D. C. Snell, and D. B. Weisberg. Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993. Nashef, Khaled al-. “The Deities of ​Dilmun.” Pages 340–66 in Bahrain Through the Ages: The Archaeology. Edited by S. H. A. al-​Khalifa and M. Rice. London: Kegan Paul International, 1986. Nielsen, Kjeld P. Incense in Ancient Israel. Leiden: Brill, 1986. Parker, Bradley J. “Toward an Understanding of ​Borderland Processes.” American Antiquity 71 (2006): 77–100. Polonsky, Janice. “ki-dutu-​è-​a: Where Destiny Is Determined.” Pages 89–100 in Landscape in Ideology, Religion, Literature, and Art. Part 3 of Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers, and Horizons in the Ancient Near East; Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Venezia, 7–11 July 1997. Edited by L. Milano, S. de Martino, F. M. Fales, and G. B. Lanfranchi. Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria, 2000. Ponchia, Simonetta. “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part I.” KASKAL 1 (2004): 139–77. ———. “Mountain Routes in Assyrian Royal Inscriptions, Part II.” SAAB 15 (2006): 193–271. Potts, D. T. The Arabian Gulf in Antiquity I: From Prehistory to the Fall of the Achaemenid Empire. Oxford: Clarendon, 1990. Potts, T. F. “Patterns of ​Trade in Third-​Millennium BC Mesopotamia and Iran.” World Archaeology 24 (1993): 379–402. Rich, Sara A. Cedar Forests, Cedar Ships: Allure, Lore, and Metaphor in the Mediterranean Near East. Oxford: Archaeopress, 2017. Roaf, Michael. “Mesopotamian Kings and the Built Environment.” Pages 331–60 in Experiencing Power, Generating Authority: Cosmos, Politics, and the Ideology of ​Kingship in Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. Edited by J. A. Hill, P. Jones, and A. J. Morales. Philadelphia: University of ​Pennsylvania Press, 2013. ———. “Weights on the Dilmun Standard.” Iraq 44 (1982): 137–41. Römer, Willem H. P. “Mythen und Epen in sumerischer Sprache.” Pages 351–59 in Mythen und Epen I. Edited by O. Kaiser. Textes aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments 3/3. Gütersloh: Gütersloher, 1993. Seri, Andrea. The House of ​Prisoners: Slavery and State in Uruk During the Revolt Against Samsu-​iluna. Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records 2. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2013. Sjöberg, Åke. Der Mondgott Nanna-​Suen in der sumerischen Ūberlieferung. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1960. Van de Mieroop, Marc. “Revenge, Assyrian Style.” Past and Present 179 (2003): 3–23. Vanstiphout, H. Epics of the Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta. WAW 20. Atlanta: Society of ​Biblical Literature, 2003. Vincente, Claudine-​Adrienne. “The Tell Leilān Recension of the Sumerian King List.” ZA 85 (1995): 234–70. Volk, Konrad. Inanna und Šukaletuda: Zur historisch-​politischen Literaturwerkes. SANTAG 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995. Westenholz, Aage. Old Sumerian and Old Akkadian Texts in Philadelphia, Chiefly from Nippur. Copenhagen: Carsten Niebuhr Institute, 1987. Wilcke, Claus. The Sumerian Poem Enmerkar and En-​Suḫkeš-​ana: Epic, Play, Or? Stage Craft at the Turn from the Third to the Second Millennium B.C. with a Score-​Edition a Translation of the Text. American Oriental Series Essays 12. New Haven: American Oriental Society, 2012.

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Woods, Christopher. “At the Edge of the World: Cosmological Conceptions of the Eastern Horizon in Mesopotamia.” JANER 9 (2009): 183–239. Yamada, Shigeo. The Construction of the Assyrian Empire: A Historical Study of the Inscriptions of Shalmaneser III (859–824 BC) Relating to His Campaigns in the West. CHANE 3. Leiden: Brill, 2003.

Chapter 2

Place and Portability: Divine Emblems in Old Babylonian Law Seth Richardson

Bringing Emblems into Focus The term “divine emblem” denotes a class of objects from Babylonian material culture. Although their forms were highly protean, they often appeared as iconic images affixed to standards and thus were ideal for carrying in procession. Such emblems were used from fourth-​millennium Uruk all the way into at least Neo-​Babylonian times. But in one period alone, the quarter millennium from circa 1880 to 1620 BCE, emblems were turned to a very specific purpose not attested in other periods: the validation of ​legal proceedings. In this role, emblems were most often spoken of as the active agents that “went” various places that were then and thus established as courts. There they measured land and grain, made decisions about legal ownership, and authorized proceedings by their presence. After 1620, emblems faded into the background of ​legal use, employed only as the passive objects upon which oaths were sworn. This essay seeks to address why and how this specific legal use came to the fore when it did. In the sections below, I first try to tackle definitional questions of what a “divine emblem” was, according to the variety of descriptions, materials, names, and so on (“What Is a Divine Emblem?”), and then evaluate the cogency of the term as a phenomenal category (“The Categorical Question”). Next, in “Turning to Function,” I look more closely at the ways in which emblems were used in the corpus of ​“legal” texts examined here. (I put the word “legal” in scare quotes because the corpus under study includes especially letters that only describe or mention legal issues, and some contracts are legal in the sense of ​being witnessed but only anticipate the possibility of further legal process.) I then turn to three analyses of these uses: their crucial role in grounding law territorially (“Creating Venue and Jurisdiction”), and the importance of ​both “Portability” and “Flexibility and Ambiguity” to that role. These discussions require grappling with not only the specific discontinuities between the evidence we have and paradigms of ​Mesopotamian legal history—that is, taking stock of ​how often emblem use varied from the most typical functions—but also their intersection with questions of ​legal anthropology, political theory, and object agency / extended mind.

Earlier versions of this essay have been improved by comments from Clifford Ando, Gina Konstantopoulos, Eva Mol, Tally Ornan, Beate Pongratz-​Leisten, Justin Richland, Shana Zaia, and an anonymous reader; they all have my thanks.

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A better understanding of divine emblems requires a suspension of the belief that we already know what they are. The reader must balance his or her cultural expectations that objects cannot “act” (as of course, in a vulgar sense, they cannot) with the manifest Babylonian emic understanding that they could. In affording theoretical room for the agency of objects as a fixture of ​Mesopotamian thought, we account for not only a religious or philosophical principle in the abstract but the historical contexts in which subjective daily experiences played out. Without making space for this understanding, we could not hope for much more than a caricature, of silly people depending on mute things to do their thinking for them. Here, to speak of emblems “doing,” “going,” or otherwise acting with intentionality is to refer to a cultural belief in their capacity to do those things. I mean to account for the social and cognitive roles that the delegation of action to objects / landscapes / built environments performed in specific cultural contexts, rather than making any objective claim that they did so. Thus the reader who enters this essay with a firm idea that a “divine emblem” was a star on a stick signifying the presence of the god for which it was named must be prepared to complicate such a definition. Assumptions may be checked at the door of this essay (to be collected again on the way out, if need be), because the evidence shows that there were multiple senses in cuneiform antiquity of what or even “who” an emblem was, and what it ought to look like. Emblems took a wide range of forms, uses, owners, and names. But let us begin with a survey of what we know about these things.

What Is a Divine Emblem? Divine emblems have been studied extensively, both diachronically as a type1 and in their Old Babylonian (OB) contexts.2 Emblems are a class of objects we may think we know well: they were used all the way from the archaic period down to Late Babylonian times,3 known from hundreds of textual and iconographic sources, and even proper artifacts.4 They are first known from Uruk imagery identifying Inana’s 1. More generally, see, e.g., Tallay Ornan, The Triumph of the Symbol: Pictorial Representation of ​ Deities in Mesopotamia and the Biblical Image Ban, Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis 213 (Fribourg: Academic Press, 2005); Barbara N. Porter, “Blessings from a Crown, Offerings to a Drum: Were There Non-​ Anthropomorphic Deities in Ancient Mesopotamia?,” in What Is a God?, ed. B. N. Porter (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009), 153–94; Joanna Töyräänvuori, “Weapons of the Storm God in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Traditions,” Studia Orientalia 112 (2012): 147–80. 2. See especially the classic study of ​Rivkah Harris, “The Journey of the Divine Weapon,” in Studies in Honor of ​Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-​Fifth Birthday, ed. H. G. Güterbock and T. Jacobsen, AS 16 (Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, 1965), 217–24. See also: Karel Van Lerberghe, “L’arrachement de l’Emblème šurinnum,” in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of ​His Seventieth Birthday, ed. G. van Driel et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1982), 245–57; Johanna Spaey, “Emblems in Rituals in the Old Babylonian Period,” in Ritual and Sacrifice in the Ancient Near East, ed. J. Quaegebeur, OLA 55 (Leuven: Peeters, 1993), 411–20; Marten Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon as Prebend,” in The Ancient Near East, a Life! Festschrift Karel Van Lerberghe, ed. T. Boiy et al., OLA 220 (Leuven: Peeters, 2012). On divine measures, see Rients de Boer, “Measuring Barley with Šamaš in Old Babylonian Sippar,” Akkadica 134 (2013): 103–16. 3. Beate Pongratz-​Leisten, “Standarte (standard): A. Philologisch,” RlA 13:106–10, with evidence from as early as the Uruk vase (§3–4) and as late as Late Babylonian rituals (§6). 4. No object to my knowledge is inscribed and identified as an “emblem” (šu-​nir). For a likely case, however, note the iron trident-​thunderbolt excavated by John Russell at Tel Ahmar, found in situ on a

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cult and property, and then in the Early Dynastic period, in astral, iconic, and animal emblems associated with deities and cities—first in the administrative context of the city seals,5 and then (by name: Sumerian šu-​nir) as objects carried into battle with the king.6 Only beginning with the Sargonic period do we actually hear of them in temples,7 then in palaces,8 and then in civic settings, denoting work teams and clans.9 This third-​millennium evidence points to emblems as symbolic of the identity of groups and institutions. Emblems carried divine power and authorized the proceedings they attended. This much has long been established and remains undisputed. Emblems thus seem to be among the most familiar pieces of ​Mesopotamian cultural furniture. But once you have said that, you have pretty much said everything definitive you can say with precision about all emblems as an object class. Little about divine emblems can be pinned down in an exclusive sense: not, as we shall see, their names, formal characteristics, materials, cultic status, ownership, place of storage (or “residence”), specific function, or degree of agency. In the end, we have some grasp of their myriad attributes but can say little about them as a rule. The category is ripe for defamiliarization. Thus, a catalog of the emblems’ many different forms and uses is a necessary precursor to theorizing them, because their radical flexibility is fundamental to the ambiguating purpose proposed for them here. To begin with naming, there was a range of terms for divine emblems across all the major periods of ​Mesopotamian history (see table 2.1).10 The terminological variety reflects many different functional and periodic contexts—cultic uses here, literary uses there. We may note some important variations, such as the occasional divinization of some objects (the šurinnu, the urigallu, and a range of weapons), and the particular productivity of terms for weapon emblems, with a wide range of typical and fantastic arms, from maces and spears, on the one hand, to weapons called “Flood-​Storm” or “Mows-​Down-​a-​Myriad,” on the other. The variety of terms and names tells us little beyond the fact that emblems were broadly integrated into many different spheres of social, political, and religious life; at an early point, these terms had entered multiple institutional discourses, invoking multiple authorities. Beyond this, all we can say is that emblems were not all called the same thing, reflecting the fact that they were not all used for the same purpose; the category was broad and flexible. Narrowing our focus to the OB legal corpus, table 2.2 typologizes the 125 distinct objects appearing in our ninety-​five texts.11 The terms for these objects are distributed pedestal in a room with apparent cultic installations; see discussion in Guy Bunnens, A New Luwian Stele and the Cult of the Storm-​God at Til Barsib-​Masuwari (Leuven: Peeters, 2006), 68–69 and 154, figs. 51–52. 5. Pongratz-​Leisten, “Standarte,” §2. 6. Ibid., §§2 and 8 give the earliest instance as the Stele of the Vultures, written as šu-​nir (for the cities Girgilu, Larsa, Akšak, Apišal, Uruk, and URU×Aki) and depicted several times on the Stele itself. 7. The first indication comes in the year name Narām-​Sîn “a,” in  which the king “received a miṭṭum-weapon from the temple of ​Enlil”; even in this case, however, it is the king receiving rather than giving the emblem. 8. Pongratz-​Leisten, “Standarte,” §5, citing Ebla Palace G. 9. RIME 3/1, Gudea 1.1.7 Cyl A xiv 14–17. 10. Table 2.1 is a selected list and excludes the term manzazu, most OB attestations of which generally do not designate emblems. I note, however, the exception manzaz dmaḫ u eṭemmi, “symbol of ​Maḫ and of the spirits of the dead” (CAD E, s.v. eṭemmu), as used in an OB oil omen. 11. Four texts imply the use of emblems without specifically naming them. I became aware of a ninety-​ sixth text too late to incorporate into this study, MM 832 (AuOr 15 1997:111), a weapon of Šamaš used to measure (no verb preserved) an orchard in the village of Ša-​Ēnim.

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between three categories more or less evenly:12 (A) thirty instances of šurinnu, “emblem”; (B) forty-​five instances of kakku, “weapon”; and (C) forty-​six instances of heterogeneously-​named or -described objects not called kakku or šurinnu; I also include four cases (D) in which the implied use of an emblem not named by the text seems convincing to me. There was little elaboration when it came to naming objects of the first two categories—just “emblem (of the god)” and “weapon (of the god)” would do13—and no clear criteria for the conditions under which it seemed necessary to be more specific about the particular form of other emblems (i.e., those in the third category). Another observation to make is that whereas the šurinnu-emblem and some specified objects were occasionally indicated with a divine determinative (i.e., preceded by a dingir sign), this was rarely if ever done for the kakku-weapon.14 Finally, lest we make too easy an equivalence between the emblems in legal texts and those celebrated in royal texts, it should be noted that except for references to the weapon Udbanuil (“No-​Resisting-​This-​Storm”),15 in no instance was an emblem used in a legal proceeding unambiguously the same emblem that had been given to a god or temple by a king, as documented in a year name16 or royal inscription.17 There is thus no way to prove that there were not multiple items called by the same name (like evil eyes), nor can we say whether the votives given by kings are the same ones appearing in the 12. Table 2.2 includes a few cases in which the presence of an emblem was implied without being specified (Jean Tell Sifr 58; CT 8 8c, the rental of a “journey,” without mention of an emblem; and TCL 11 245, mentioning either a god or his emblem), or where the emblem was not clearly divine (AbB I 29, with a “man in charge of the allotment[s] and the spear [which is the emblem of ​his authority]” and AbB XIII 181, “emblems of the palace”). Compare the implied functional equivalence of kakku and šurinnu in divinatory requests (CAD E, s.v. erištu A s. 1b) versus the apparent differentiation between them in Jean Tell Sifr 58 when both an “emblem” and a “weapon” (as well as two other objects!) are brought to a legal proceeding. Cf. n. 66 below. 13. This essay cannot accommodate a full consideration of the potential functional or other differences between “weapons” (gištukul, but occasionally šita2) and “emblems” (šu-​nir). See further Marten Stol, “Waffen im alten Mesopotamien (A),” BiOr 72 (2015): 613–22, and (for earlier periods) Ingo Schrakamp, “Krieger und Waffen im frühen Mesopotamien” (PhD diss., Phillipps-​Universität Marburg, 2010). 14. For dšu-​nir, see, e.g., ARN 174; Jean Tell Sifr 58; CT 2 1. For divinized specified objects, see eight cases cited in table 2.2. For the divinized weapon, however, see (only?) dšita2 of TCL 11 245. Seemingly, the writings gištukul/kakku never appear with divine determinatives in the OB period, though they later did (Andrew George, Babylonian Topographical Texts, OLA 40 [Leuven: Peeters, 1992], 293). 15. Udbanuil is named in Si 38, when Samsuiluna claims to have “restored” it. Interestingly, the two texts in our corpus that mention this object were both drafted in the generation before the “restoration”: BE 6/2 49 (Si 19) and PBS 5 100 (Si 26). The weapon is celebrated in literary sources from the šir3-gid2-da “Ninurta’s Return to Nippur” (ETCSL 1.6.1: 132), among a long list of the god’s weapons. 16. See esp. the year names Išbi-​Erra 18 and 20; Šu-​ilišu 3 and 5; Ur-​Ninurta “f ”; Iddin-​Dagan “c”; Išme-​Dagan “j”; Būr-​Sîn “c” and “e”; Lipit-​Enlil “c”; Urdukuga “b”; Damiq-​ilišu 10–12; Gungunum 10; Nūr-​Adad “d”; Rīm-​Sîn 19; Sin-​muballiṭ 3; Ḫammurabi 27; Samsuiluna 7, 18, 25a, and 31; Abi-​ešuḫ “g,” “h,” “n,” “t,” and “y”; Ammiditana 13, 24, 25, 27, and 31; Ammiṣaduqa 4 and 6; and Samsuditana 6 and 7. See also Išar-​ramašu “ba/bb”; Sumu-​iamutbala “d” and “e”; Daduša “h”; Ubaya “c”; and Bilalama “m.” On the imitation of earlier OB year name themes by the Babylonian dynasty, see Seth Richardson, “Before Things Worked: A ‘Low-​Power’ Model of ​Early Mesopotamia,” in Ancient States and Infrastructural Power: Europe, Asia, and America, ed. C. Ando and S. Richardson (Philadelphia: University of ​Pennsylvania, 2017), 40–42. Prior to this period, note Narām-​Sîn “a”; Šar-​kali-​šarrī “i”; Gudea 3, 4, 11, 14, and 16a; Ur-​ Nammu “o”; Šulgi 3, 8, and 16; Amar-​Sîn 3; Šu-​Sîn 2 and 8; and Ibbi-​Sîn 12, 16, and 21. 17. Votive emblems are named in RIME 4, E4.1.2.2: i 15–22 and iv 3′–5′; E4.1.4.7, E4.1.4.9; E4.2.8.6; E4.2.8.7; E4.2.13.13; E4.2.13.15 (Frgm. 16); E4.2.14.9; E4.2.14.10, E4.2.14.2006; E4.3.6.2(?); E4.3.6.11; E4.3.7.9 (inscribed with ancestral names); E4.3.10.1; E4.4.6.2; and E4.11.2.2. Cf. the large class of unknown dedicated objects, e.g., RIME 4, E4.1.3.2 and E4.2.11.1 (ni2-mu-​sa4-a, “a thing given a name”), of which the incidence is difficult to calculate.

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realm of ​legal practice. The implications of all these variances, however, are difficult to assess. Formally, things are no clearer: OB emblems took the shape of abstract objects and animals; of tools, vessels, body parts, crowns, monsters, and household implements; as weapons with only material descriptions, on the one hand, or with fantastical names, on the other (e.g., the “Weather-​Beast” of the god Bēl-​gašer). These emblems could be made of wood, stone, copper, or even flour,18 occasionally gold, but earlier ones were also made of reed, fleece/hair, cloth, or even oil.19 They were sometimes adorned with precious stones20 or were even the divinized poles on which other emblems were mounted. None of this variability in form is surprising if we compare it to the long list of terms for emblems in all periods (i.e., comparing table 2.1 with table 2.2). What we see again, rather than identity or essence, is flexibility: a flexibility of form. Who used emblems? The list would include some of the figures and bodies we normally associate with judicial procedure—judges,21 rābiṣu-officials,22 and assemblies23—but also officials in charge of šukussu-plots,24 mayors,25 elders,26 the “old men,”27 wards,28 governors,29 foremen,30 “gentlemen,”31 gagûm-officials,32 gudapsûand šangû-priests,33 watering-​district councils,34 heralds,35 paternal households,36 private individuals,37 and “the city” at large.38 18. CT 2 9; compare with the “magic drawings” with flour cited in CAD Q, s.v. qēmu c, and with the zi3 gub-​ba šu-​nir-​ra of Ur III Santag 6 295 (BDTNS). 19. At least in the Ur III period, note the terms appearing in the BDTNS website: udu/sila4/maš2 šu-​nir; siki šu-​nir-​ra; i3 šu-​nir-​ra; šu-​nir zabar; zi3 gub-​ba šu-​nir-​ra. 20. CAD D, s.v. dušû A s. 1, and the concluding discussion (p. 202a). 21. MHET II 669; CT 48 5; CT 4 47; Pinches Peek 13; CT 2 1; Jean Tell Sifr 58. Jurisdiction is implied in CT 2 45, ARN 174, and BE 6/1 10, all di.ku 5 .meš šarrim; cf. BE 6/1 103, judges of Sippar. See Anne Goddeeris, Economy and Society in Northern Babylonia in the Early Old Babylonian Period (ca. 2000– 1800 BC), OLA 109 (Leuven: Peeters, 2002), 429–32. 22. CT 4 47a; Pinches Peek 13. See especially the comments of Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 429–32, listing several of our texts. 23. CT 8 19a. 24. AbB I 29. 25. AbB VI 181; CT 4 23a; Szlechter Tablettes 122; TCL 11 245; Jean Tell Sifr 71. 26. AbB VI 181; Holma 9; CT 48 2; ARN 174; AbB IX 194; TCL 11 245; AbB IV 40; Jean Tell Sifr 58 and 71. 27. AbB IV 118, which mentions both the šīb ālim u awīlû labīrūtim, the “elders of the city” and the “old men”; CAD Š/2, s.v. šību A 2b, gives for the latter “long-​time residents” (or perhaps “old families”). However the term is to be translated, they are two different groups of people and not identical. 28. RA 25 43; BM 80989; BE 6/2 58; BE 6/1 103. For discussion of BM 80989, see Seth Richardson, “ ‘The Crowns of ​Their bābtum’: On Wives, Wards, and Witnesses,” JAOS 132 (2012): 623–39. 29. Gautier Dilbat 13; CT 48 2. 30. AbB V 264. 31. AbB XII 64. 32. PBS VII 85; CT 2 47. 33. In general, for the rentals-​of-​the-​journeys-​of-​the-​weapon-​of-​Šamaš texts, but in the former case, also TCL 11 245. 34. AbB IX 194. 35. ARN 174. 36. Apparently in CBS 1513, an inheritance division, where the oath is taken in the “sanctuary of the house of their father” (i-​na E2 i-​še-​er-​tim ša E2 a-​bi-​šu-[nu]); see Spaey, “Emblems,” and Töyräänvuori, “Weapons of the Storm God,” 152. 37. RA 25 43, where “the sons of ​Baginum” are the apparent subject; TLB I 245+259; MHET II 49. 38. AbB IV 40; Jean Tell Sifr 58.

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Where were emblems used? At the gates,39 courtyards,40 and inner sanctuaries41 of temples;42 in local fields43 and orchards;44 in city wards;45 in remote rural villages,46 private households,47 and the cloister;48 at building plots49 and canal-​dredging sites.50 Despite the frequent use of emblems to determine the ownership and extent of real property, however, they were not always used at the site of property in question.51 Where were emblems housed? This is usually not specified, but our few indications say that they resided in temples,52 wards,53 the cloister,54 or their own individual shrines or chapels.55 Then there are questions of multiplicity related to the referentiality, ownership, and representation of emblems. What (if any) other divine entities did emblems reference or signify? Did those entities own them? Did emblems actually represent those entities, as image or icon, and how? As an illustration of ​how complicated the answers may be, let us take for example the single most commonly mentioned OB emblem, that of Šamaš in Sippar. Here we find complications of ownership and identity in the following instances: when the emblem was rented out by the temple of Sîn rather than the temple of Šamaš,56 when it was sent from the cloister to be compared with another emblem of Šamaš kept somewhere else,57 when an emblem of Šamaš was kept in the Ningal temple,58 in a proceeding witnessed both by Šamaš (the god) and his emblem (why both?),59 when two different emblems of Šamaš went side by side,60 and the several cases in which the emblem was marked by its own dingir sign (see again table 2.2: 39. Gate of Šamaš: YOS 12 73; AUM 73.3193; VS 8 71; CT 48 1. Gate of Sîn: Jean Tell Sifr 58. 40. TCL 11 245, in the courtyard of ​Ninmar. 41. CT 8 3a: ina eširtim ša ilīšunu. 42. The procedures in CT 2 9 and ARN 174 take place in the temple, but the precise location is not specified. 43. AbB IV 40; AbB XII 64. 44. Jean Tell Sifr 71. 45. CT 2 1; BE 6/2 58; BM 80989; RA 25 43. Note the unusual reference to an emblem-​bearer’s passage through a city street on his way to a field in AbB XII 64. 46. TLOB 1 65, 65a, and 65b; CT 4 23c and 40c(?); Szlechter Tablettes 28 (MAH 16387); OLA 21 1, 6, and 62; CT 4 18c and 29a; CT 8 8c; TCL 1 140; possibly YOS 12 442. 47. CT 8 19a; Jean Tell Sifr 58; Gautier Dilbat 13; CBS 1513, ina bīt ešertim ša bīt abīšunu, “in the sanctuary of the house of their father.” CT 8 19a: the emblem is brought to a litigant’s house, even though the dispute is about a field; probably also Di 2122. 48. BE 6/1 103; CT 2 47. 49. VS 9 130; possibly also TCL 1 70 (e2 duru5). 50. AbB XIII 115. 51. Cf. Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon,” 562: “A Mari letter shows that a divine ‘weapon’ (or symbol) ‘rests’ (rabāṣum) on the place where it has to establish the truth.” Though this is often the case in the present corpus, it is not always so. 52. TCL 11 245; CT 2 9; ARN 174. AbB XII 64 implies the return of an emblem to the Eulmaš temple. 53. BM 80909. 54. PBS 7 85. 55. CT 2 1; Pinches Peek 13. Cf. CAD I, s.v. iltu s.: “The emblems of the goddesses are brought out from their shrines, RA 35 ii 4 (Mari rit.).” 56. TLOB 1 65b. 57. PBS VII 85; see Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon,” 219. 58. CT 2 9. 59. BM 80909. 60. BE 6/1 103; see also BM 96998 mentioned in Michel Tanret, The Seal of the Sanga: On the Old Babylonian Sangas of Šamaš of Sippar-​Jaḫrūrum and Sippar-​Amnānum (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 131, with one emblem of Šamaš from the Edikudkalama in Babylon and the other from the Edikuda in Sippar-​Amnānum.

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A4, B1, and six objects in class C).61 The emblems’ possession by or relation to the divinities to which they were assimilated is not unambiguous; they were not so straightforwardly owned by, kept by, proxies for, or representative of the gods for which they were named, nor were they ever clearly identified as autonomous or unique—or not.

The Categorical Question Before turning to questions of what emblems did (rather than what they were or looked like), it seems relevant to pause and ask: should we think of divine emblems as a single class at all? One might conclude, given the heterogeneity of form and nomenclature, the very opposite: that emblems, unique objects shaped by profoundly local knowledge, are not substantially comparable or classifiable. But we may yet speak confidently of a perception by our historical subjects that “emblems” were a single phenomenon. Two boundaries of the category, one positive/inclusive and one negative/exclusive, show us this. The “positive” aspect is that emblems were categorically distinct enough in the Sumero-​Akkadian lexicon to have been consistently differentiated from other cultic paraphernalia—from statues, votives, thrones, and so on. An “emblem” was, therefore, not simply any thing one might put in a cella with a god; they were entities distinct from other kinds of objects, if often radically underdescribed. In this sense, the categorical autonomy of ​“emblems” parallels that of ​“images” (alam/ṣalmu), which were similarly rarefied lexically without being taxonomically isolable. As Roy Ellen has put it, the various objects called “emblems” were a “cognitively salient category,” with a habitual name but with only sufficient, not necessary, attributes.62 They were “obvious” in emic terms, if not definable in etic ones. The superclasses of ​“emblems” and “images,” amorphous as they were, were more or less intuitive to our historical subjects, despite the heterogeneous uses to which they might be put and the seeming lack of interest in describing their aesthetic and formal attributes. The coherence of emblems was built in at a unifying, conceptual level of flexible practice rather than terminology. Conversely, the “negative” or exclusive boundary is that no other types of objects could, apparently, be substituted to do the things that emblems did: we do not read that flags or banners were carried into battle, that statues of gods were used to measure fields, that cuneiform tablets were used for taking oaths,63 or that totems of ancestors were used to judge law cases. Using these counterfactuals—since they describe practices that were never used—may seem a little silly, but they speak to a basic point that, despite the variety of uses to which emblems were put, other objects were generally 61. E.g., Jean Tell Sifr 58; BE 6/1 103; ARN 174: dšu-​nir. On the deification of objects, see Gebhard Selz, “Vergöttlichung A.,” RlA 14:545–48, §2.1. 62. Roy Ellen, “Ethnomycology Among the Nuaulu of the Moluccas,” Economic Botany 62 (2008): 489–91. 63. This despite the fact that tablets were otherwise the only objects that contained the terms of testimony given or evidence of witnessing. Other objects, however, such as hems of garments, were used in some oath procedures.

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not used to accomplish all these functions. All this must encourage us, because the task of correlating the lexical, representation, and functional evidence for “emblems” as a phenomenal category would otherwise seem futile. The problem of classifying and understanding the nature of ​“divine emblems” nevertheless remains pertinent: a disambiguation of their constituent attributes (divine authority, ownership, use, terminology) suggests that the very absence of clear and exclusive formal and functional criteria for the class was, itself, crucial to their operation. And so the categorical/formal and functional questions remain inextricably interrelated. One could assume that emblems had, over the course of the third millennium, been used to identify groups and authorize proceedings, as we have understood, and that, as they had once been performative in cult, battle, and the royal court, so now, in the OB moment, their identification and authorization function was simply introduced to a new context, that of the law. And one could, if one wanted, focus on particular texts that seem to epitomize functions like witnessing and measuring. But a survey and analysis of the ninety-​six OB letters, contracts, and proceedings, which mention 125 individual emblems in legal contexts (see table 2.3), complicates those assumptions; the exceptions are more common than the paradigms. As we will see below, there remained broadly different uses and appearances of emblems, even within legal contexts. The reader who wants a singular and definitive statement as to what these objects looked like, or who used them and how, will not find it here.

Turning to Function: The Old Babylonian Legal Context If most questions about divine emblems concern what they were and what they looked like, and if these questions are impossible to answer, then it seems appropriate to step back and examine our own slightly obsessive desire to have definitive answers to questions about which Mesopotamians themselves apparently cared little. What we can more profitably look at instead is what divine emblems did. For this, the context of OB legal proceedings is ideal, since it is one of their best-​attested uses. Here, they are commonly associated with two activities: oaths and measuring. The Corpus Under Study The ninety-​six texts listed in table 2.3 form the corpus for this study, which is based on terminology (see discussion above regarding table 2.2). To reiterate, I occasionally call them “legal texts,” but advisedly, since I include not just lawsuits but letters, memoranda, and agreements that in some way document judicial processes, anticipate them (e.g., by the appearance of witnesses in contracts), or describe processes of administrative law. The list includes many texts previously treated together by Rivkah Harris, Karel Van Lerberghe, and Marten Stol (among others). However, my list adds and excludes a small number of texts on two grounds. First, because what I intend to analyze is the development of ​law in one historical-​political context (northern Babylonia), I do not include parallel and even typologically identical

36

As Above, So Below

texts from, for instance, Susa, Alalakh, or Mari,64 even though the evidence from those non-​Babylonian texts generally supports the arguments I make here, sometimes explicitly so.65 Second, I do not include journey texts that do not actually specify the use of divine emblems or weapons but where their presence has sometimes been assumed.66 That is, in a few texts mentioning “journeys” without specifying the presence of emblems, it cannot be assumed that emblems were in fact used—these texts may point to the existence of pilgrimages or other kinds of ritual processions about which we know little. Notwithstanding those few exclusions, it is still the longest list of emblems in any such study, and ninety-​six cases is probably quite enough for the purposes of establishing the points I make here. One of the most arresting aspects of organizing these texts in terms of date and provenance is how temporally and geographically confined the legal use of emblems really was. Their appearance in law cases has often been folded into general discussions, which makes it appear that the legal function of emblems was a fixed and regular feature of institutional life in all Mesopotamian times and places. But in fact their use as active legal instruments was confined to a period of about 260 years in northern Babylonia, to judge by the texts.67 What is most remarkable about this is not so much that we have no record of emblems used in law cases before 1880 BCE (there being relatively few documents describing such processes) but that post-OB law cases used them only as the passive objects on which oaths were sworn and not as witnesses or agents to appear in venue, to measure, to determine, and so on.68 And even within this 260-year timeframe, the legal use of emblems was overwhelmingly a north-​Babylonian phenomenon: only thirty-​one of ninety-​six texts (about a third) come from the Babylonian south, and seventeen of those date to the Babylonian occupation there (see table 2.4), at Isin, Larsa, Kutalla, Nippur, and Ur.69 Of the remaining fourteen cases, only eleven clearly originate from the preconquest

64. E.g., at least ten texts from outside of ​Babylonia are discussed by Töyräänvuori, “Weapons of the Storm God,” together with Babylonian ones. 65. See, e.g., the Mari letter calling for a “Weapon of Šamaš” to be brought from Sippar for a judgment, cited by Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon,”, 561. 66. For instance, BM 80984 (Aṣ 11) is the hire of or by four men (ll. 5–7) ana girri siḫir mātim / ša dutu [u3] da-​a ga 2 .gi 4 .a / [ana] iti 1.kam u3 u 4 15.kam, “for a 45-day journey (through) the entire land of Šamaš and Aya-​of-​the-gagûm.” The tablet is substantially broken to the left, but there seems to be no obvious break in which šu-​nir, gištukul, or anything similar might be restored. The contract thus appears to document a cultic journey, but not one that employed an emblem. On similar grounds, I exclude YOS 12 354. Cf. n. 12, above, which describes the inclusion of a few such texts in table 2.2. 67. The earliest appearance of divine emblems in OB legal texts is around 1880 bc (Greengus Ischali 27, Kraus AV 246, Kienast Kisurra 159); the latest dates to 1620 BCE (CT 4 23c [Sd 5]). 68. As Shana Zaia points out, however, the incorporation of divine and astral emblems into, e.g., narûmonuments, might have accomplished a witnessing function. On oaths in the Ur III period, see now Steven Garfinkle, “What the ‘Man of One Mina’ Wanted: Law and Commerce in the Ur III Period,” in Law and (Dis)Order in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 59th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Held at Ghent, Belgium, 14–19 July 2013, ed. K. De Graef and A. Goddeeris (University Park, PA: Eisenbrauns, 2021), 87–94. 69. As Marc Van de Mieroop has observed, BIN 7 176 is the first Isin text dated under the rule of ​ Hammurabi (Ha 30/v/14) (“The Reign of Rim-​Sin,” RA 87.2 [1993]: 59 n. 39). Other postconquest texts include AbB II 28; AbB IV 40, 79, and 118; AbB IX 194; Arnaud Textes syriens 53: 75; YOS 12 73 and 325; Birot Tablettes 19; BE 6/2 49 and 58; PBS 5 100; TCL 11 173; Holma 9; Jean Tell Sifr 58 and 71; UET 5 254.

Place and Portability

37

south, about 10 percent of the corpus;70 three others, from Larsa, cannot be dated.71 The variety of uses detailed below thus largely manifests itself within a corpus of north-​Babylonian tradition. Uses and Cases One may begin with a brief sketch of the use and process common to many of our texts. The episodes all relate to legal conflicts of some kind: disputes over ownership of property, the validity of certain contracts, or the collection of taxes. In these episodes, emblems were brought to a variety of sites (sometimes on the ground of the dispute itself, but just as often not) by a wide variety of priests, officials, or other persons and were typically fixed in place. Around this point, the court would proceed with testimony and evaluation of evidence, with the emblem witnessing and sometimes used (somehow) to measure property or grain. The emblem’s “decision” was often characterized as the discovery of ​“the true situation.” How, in these situations, did one use an emblem? I will take three approaches to the question. First, I categorize the basic functions denoted verbally (see table 2.5). The specific methods are usually not elaborated, but we may identify five basic types of activities performed by/with emblems: (1) moving, (2) fixing/unfixing, (3) measuring/deciding, (4) cleansing, and (5) witnessing oaths. Only one of these functions was uncommon—the cleansing function, which appears in only four instances—while the others are better represented. The witnessing / oath-​taking function has received the most scholarly attention of the five. The aspect of movement has been noted, though it has been not much considered beyond the context of the “journey” texts. The two functions denoted by specific verbs—the “pulling out” (nasāḫu) and “establishing the true legal situation” (bâru A)—have also been discussed elsewhere, but not as parts of ​larger categories of fixing/unfixing and measuring/deciding. Second, I investigate the role of the voices (active, passive, and instrumental) used to describe those actions. The potential for the emblems to act in their own right has not been systematically studied; a consideration of their active and instrumental roles (in terms of ​“object agency” and “extended mind”) gives a view onto the cognitive processes by which law was established as an infrastructural norm.72 Third, I take stock of the range of other actors for whom the same verbs are used in legal contexts. While this cannot pretend to be a full study of the duties, obligations, and sanctions of all participants in the legal arena (perhaps some brave soul might take this up for future study),73 an initial comparison to the roles of other actors begins to outline the unique place emblems occupied in the legal process, as they created 70. Preconquest: CUSAS 36 152; YOS 8 76; Kienast Kisurra 159; YOS 8 159; TCL 10 34; TCL 10 4a; AbB VIII 12; PBS 8/2 264; UET 5 251 and 267. 71. No date: CUSAS 131 and 137; TCL 11 245. 72. For much of what follows about object agency, I am indebted to conversations with Eva Mol. 73. I am grateful to Vanessa Juloux for introducing me to John Searle’s deontic categories of right and obligation (see Vanessa Juloux, “Prolégomènes à l’étude des relations de pouvoir entre les entités animées dans KTU 1.1–6: Cadre relationnel de ʾAnatu et Baʾlu,” Res Antiquae 13 [2016]: 123–64); I am grateful to Nicola Laneri for introducing me to ideas about “extended mind” (see Marco Mazzone and Nicole Laneri, “Reconsidering the Extended Mind: Mind and Matter in Philosophy and Archaeology,” Italian Journal of Cognitive Sciences, no. 2 [2017]: 251–60).

38

As Above, So Below

norms and expectations vis-​à-​vis other actors and the special status-​functions granted to them. Nine verbs of movement describe the action of emblems in fifty-​two cases (see table 2.5A), in a semantic range of going, entering/arriving, and circumambulating (saḫāru). All but eight of those fifty-​two cases use the verbs alāku,74 waṣû, and arādu. Among the forty-​three uses of those three verbs, twenty-​five cast the emblem in the active role, as the “goer”; fourteen uses pose human users as the subjects; and three more do so instrumentally (i.e., someone “goes with” an emblem). There are no cases in which the emblem is passively said to have “been moved.”75 By way of comparison, the verbs of fixing and unfixing—staking the emblems into the ground and pulling them out of it—relate much more squarely to the work of their human users (see table 2.5B). Nine verbs of fixing/unfixing appear in the corpus, used thirty-​two times: nineteen of those phrases have human users as the subjects; six more have the emblem as the passive subject (especially from the verb šakānu, “to set [it] in place”); one case is instrumental. Seven texts seem to establish the emblem as setting up or seating itself ​(with izzuzzu, maḫāru, and wašābu), but never in the physical actions of unfixing itself, either by “grasping” or by “pulling out.” In balance, this gives a strong sense that emblems were thought, of their own accord, to move and arrive but that when it came to their manipulation at the site of ritual, it was humans who did the job. This sense finds a very strong middle ground when it comes to the functional reasons why emblems moved and were set up in the first place: for deciding and for witnessing. Nine different verbs are used in connection with the emblems’ ability to measure and decide (in thirty-​two passages; see table 2.5C), but by far the most common is bâru, “to establish the true legal situation” (bâru A),76 used eighteen times. Of those, fourteen instances are explicitly instrumental: human users “established the true legal situation with the weapon/emblem” (ina šurinnim/kakkim).77 This reflects the overall distribution of the other verbs in this category as well, as twenty-​two of the thirty-​two passages use an instrumental voice. A similar state of affairs pertains when it comes to both cleansing and witnessing / oath-​taking. The four cases of cleansing are all instrumental (see table 2.5D). The witnessing function (see table 2.5E) turns out to be less prevalent than one might think, appearing in only twenty-​two passages—though it might also reasonably be argued that witnessing was implicit in every instance in which an emblem was deployed, whether specified or not. Regardless of specificity, how was the witnessing of an emblem considered to have been done? Of the twenty-​two cases, nine are instrumental 74. Including calling the emblems the ālik maḫri or the mutallikti panī. 75. The wording of CUSAS 36 131 seems ambiguous to me; Andrew George has translated it as “They should take (her) to the place where she previously invoked the Bird Snare” (Babylonian Topographical Texts), but it is not clear to me that “They should take (it [=ḫuḫaru]) to the place where she previously invoked it” does not fit just as well. Either way, however, it indicates human agency. 76. CAD B, s.v. bâru A 2 (“to become established, proven [in legal context]”) and 3 (burru, “to establish the true legal situation . . . by a legal procedure involving an oath” [or without one]). 77. In some cases, the instrumental use is implied by sequential action, e.g., YOS 8 159; similarly, the relevance of a verb in sequence following a first action of an emblem is implied, e.g., Kienast Kisurra 159: warki ašlim u qanîm pāštum ša Ningizzida u kukkurratum ša Ninurta lilikma kirâm sunniq, “Have the ax of ​Ningizzida and the kukkurratu-emblem of ​Ninurta follow the measuring-​line and rod, thus check (the dimensions of ) the orchard carefully” (CAD P, s.v. pāštu a-2′, emphasis mine); also UET 5 254.

Place and Portability

39

expressions (especially ina + zakāru, “to swear with/by”); nine have active human subjects or emblems as passive subjects; only four cast the emblems in active roles, though in the relatively passive activities of ​“hearing” and the verbless act of witnessing (often indicated by igi + {emblem}) rather than (themselves) “swearing.” Summing up, the verbal assemblage suggests that emblems were conceived of as agents with the independent capacity to move, and especially to move to the legal venue, but that it was at that site and in that venue that human users then manipulated them. Those things then being accomplished, fields of evaluative decision-​making opened up in which a fusion of agencies was necessary to arrive at resolutions— in which people could come to important conclusions, but only instrumentally, with the emblems. Of the fifty-​five instances in which an emblem was used to decide/ measure, cleanse, or witness an oath, the instrumental sense is used thirty-​five times; only five cases have the emblem acting of its own accord. The record is nuanced, but this still leaves emblems with the capacity to act as subjects and agents in a remarkable array of activities: not only going but also standing, receiving, sitting, hearing, judging, and (though ambiguously and entirely inferred by their witnessing function) being “present” (or having “a presence”). As with gods who witness texts and are sworn upon,78 emblems not only were secondarily agentive (i.e., for their human users or the gods, especially when used instrumentally) but could be so primarily—that is, when they dispersed agency to human users through plain expressions that the objects did things themselves (“the emblem went,” “the weapon decided,” etc.). The importance of making this distinction is to say that emblems not only were powerful metaphors for the actions of other agents but were routinely endowed with agency and capacity in their own right. They could do things; certain things had to be done with them; they were not mere metaphors for or extensions of the gods with which they were ambiguously identified—indeed, one thing that is never said is that any action or decision of an emblem was that of a god.79 In cognitive terms, it was necessary for agency to be both distributed and shared for the legal power of emblems to be perceived as valid, for people to perform, perform with, and have performance done upon them. Were (any of ) these functions ones that could also be performed by human agents in legal processes, without the aid of emblems? Many spring to mind immediately, even without reference to our corpus: witnessing, judging, appearing, and so on. But two verbs in particular turn out to be surprisingly rare in OB legal cases with people as the subjects: “to go” (alāku) or “to go down” (arādu80) to a court. Judges might “convene” (izzuzzu) or “be summoned” (dekû) there, plaintiffs might “make a claim” (but not “bring a claim”; bâšu) the barley of a taxable field.

56

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Provenanceb

golden emblem (of Annunitum?)

waṣû, nasāḫu, bâru A

NB Sippar

K

weapon of Šamaš

maḫāru

NB Sippar region

ARN 174 (=Ni. 1291)

Š (2×+)

gold emblems (of Šamaš?)

alāku, izuzzum

NB Sippar

Arnaud Textes syriens 53: 75–76 (L.74.63)

Š, O

emblem of Sin, hand (rittum) of Belet-​ilī ((d)Maḫ)

[no verb]

SB Larsa

AUM 73.3193

O (2×)

stone (na4), copper ax (urudušen. tab. ba), and trap (ḫuḫāru)

waṣû

NB Sippar+

BDHP 36

Š

emblem of Šamaš

arādu

NB Sippar

BE 6/1 10

Š

emblem of ​[broken]

waṣû

NB Sippar

BE 6/1 103

Š

emblem of Šamaš

kânu, arādu

NB Sippar

BE 6/2 49

O

Udbanuilla, emblem of ​Ninurta

qabû, magāru, sanāqu

SB Nippur

BE 6/2 58

K

copper mace (urudušità) of ​ Ninurta

izzuzzu, bâru A

SB Nippur

BIN 7 176

O

dog (ur-​gi7) of Gula

tamû, kašādu

SB Isin

Birot Tablettes 19

Š

gold emblem (šu-​nir ku3-gi)

arādu, maḫārum

SB Larsa region

BM 108887

K

weapon of ​Marduk

šakānu, bâru A, nasāḫu

NB

BM 80989

O (2×)

crowns (2 aga) of Šamaš and Marduk

{presence as witnesses}

NB Sippar

Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

AbB XII 64

Š

AbB XIII 115

Place and Portability

57

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

Late OB (post-​Si)

Golden emblem “goes out” (from Eulmaš?) to measure a field, possibly wrongly reassigned from one family to another. Oath: nīš Šamaš. Significant portion untranslated.

Pientka, Spätaltbabylonische Zeit, 223

unknown

Earth excavated from alluvial field to be accepted “in the presence of the weapon of Šamaš.”

See also AbB XIII 110 and 111

Ad/Aṣ

Adoption before the judges and elders in the Šamaš temple: ina e 2 dUtu dšu.nir ku 3 .gi alik maḫra TI NA izzizuma, “(the witnesses) assembled in the temple of Šamaš the gold emblems, the heralds. . . . “

Si 11

Dispute concerning an orchard; maškim presides.

Si (oath)

Oath regarding measuring of ​house property. All three objects probably, but not explicitly, of Šamaš.

CAD P, s.v. pāštu a-2′; CDLI no. P250266

AS

Settlement between two branches of a family about an inherited estate.

CAD A/2, s.v. arādu; Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon,” 233 and n. 111

Sa 3

Litigation between two households; royal judges (di.ku 5 . meš šarrim) and a maškim di.ku 5 preside.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 113, 430

Aṣ 01

Litigation concerning a slave’s loan of grain, wrongfully recovered; judges of Sippar preside: ēma ša ēm 2 šurinnū ša Šamaš [ana] dag.gi.a urdūma ukīnšu, “Wherever . . . , two emblems of Šamaš went down [to] the ward and he (i.e., the guilty party) installed (them) there.”

Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 370, 383, 403, with literature; Richardson, “ ‘Crowns of ​Their bābtum,’ ” 632, 634; CAD B, s.v. bābtum

Si 19

Dispute concerning a field; oath before divine emblem: maḫar dud.ba.nu.il qabbam iqbūšunuši PN ina mitgurtišu lu 2 .ki.inim.ma.meš ana dud.ba.nu.il la usanniqu.

Si 23

Dispute concerning a jilted and slandered bride; the ward has jurisdiction.

Hallo, “Slandered Brider”; Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 367n22, with literature; CAD B, s.v. bābtum; s.v. bâru A 3a-2′

Ha 30

Oath sworn in a dispute concerning a house plot.

CAD M/1, s.v. māmītu

Si 7

Account of receipt of ​bricks before an emblem.

CAD M/1, s.v. maḫāru 1a-3′

unknown

Concerns earth excavated from a canal. Not published. Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon,” gives: gištukul ša dMarduk l[i]-ša-​ki-​in-​ma (2) i-​na gištukul ša dMarduk sah‌̮ ar.h‌̮ i.a (3) ki-​iš-​da-​ti-​ia bi-​ir-​ra-​am-​ma (4) lu-​sú-​uḫ.

Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon”

Sd 4

Certification of ilku-delivery of three women, given on behalf of their brothers-​in-​law, before two divine crowns (igi 2 aga ša DN1 u3 DN2 ša dag.gi 4 .a-šina).

Richardson, “ ‘Crowns of ​Their bābtum’ ”; cf. Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon,” 219

58

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Provenanceb

weapons of Šamaš (of different temples)

alāku, izzuzu

NB Sippar

K

weapon of Adad

ebēbu

NB Sippar+

CT 04 18c

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

CT 2 1

Š (2×)

divine emblems

našû A, alāku (ālik maḫri)

NB Sippar

CT 2 45 (case= MHET II 2 183)

O

saw (šaššārrum) of Shamash

sanāqu

NB Sippar

CT 2 47

Š, O (2×)

Saw (šaššārru) and emblem of Shamash, snake (bašmum) of ​ Ešḫarra of Shamash

erēbum

NB Sippar region

CT 2 9

Š, O (2×)

emblem of Šamaš (kilkillu), flour circle (kippat qēmim)

nasāḫu, nadānu

NB Sippar+

CT 4 23a

Š

emblem

qabû, alāku

NB Sippar+

CT 4 23c

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

CT 4 29a

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

CT 4 47a

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nasāḫu

NB Sippar

CT 48 1

Š, O

emblem of Šamaš, kilkillu

nasāḫu, tamû (ašar māmītu)

NB Sippar

CT 48 2

Š

emblem of Sin

wašābu, šemû

NB: Akšak?

CT 48 5

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nadānu

NB Sippar+

Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

BM 96998

K (2×)

CBS 1513

Place and Portability

59

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

Ad 29

Oath taken before two weapons of Šamaš (from two named temples) in a proceeding concerning adoption and inheritance; assembly and judges preside.

Veenhof, “Fatherhood”; Tanret, Seal of Sanga, 131

Ad (oath)

Settlement of inheritance, including division of fields; one man “clears” another in the “sanctuary of the house of their father.” Cf. CT 8 2.

Spaey, “Emblems,” 418, 420; Töyräänvuori, “Weapons of the Storm God,” 152

Aṣ 8

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

ca. Aṣ 1

Two emblems brought from chapels for an oath regarding inheritance of fields and houses in Babylon and Sippar; proceedings held in the ward, with two different colleges of judges presiding. Duplicate in CT 2 6.

CAD N/2, s.v. našû A 7b-1′; s.v. ṣabātu 8 + pû a); Pientka, Spätaltbabylonische Zeit, 642 (for date)

Ha 15 (oath)

Measurement of property checked against sale documents: ina šaššārim ša Šamaš bītum ussanniqma; process includes the di.ku 5 .meš šarrim.

CAD S s.v. sanāqu 14; CAD Š/2, s.v. šaššarum d

Sm

Possession of a house bequeathed by one nāditu to another contested by paternal estate; process in the gagûm before judges and witnesses.

CAD B, s.v. bašmum; CAD Š/2 , s.v. šību 3c; Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 136, esp. re: CT 45 18; Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 373n41

Ha (oath)

Resolution of inheritance dispute; property includes a house. Disputant pulls out š. in Ningal temple; takes oath by kilkillu and kippat qēmim.

CAD Š/3, s.v. šurinnu 1a

Si

Lawsuit concerning a debt; rabiānum and judges involved; witnesses deposed before emblem.

CAD Š/3, s.v. šurinnu, 1a; CAD A/1, s.v. ālik maḫri, a-3′; Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon,” 561n3

Sd 5

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

Aṣ 5

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

AS 11

Settlement for the loss of an ox decided by a pulling-​out of the šurinnu of Šamaš; as in BE 6/1 10, a maškim di.ku 5 presides.

Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 375, 408n157; CAD N/2, s.v. nasāḫu 1d

Sm 12

Litigation about invested capital of deceased partner between two families. An oath by the kilkillu, and a pulling-​out of the šurinnu are required. Presiding officials include šakkanakku, ugula dam.gàr.meš, rabiānum, and judges; cloister officials witness. Connected to VS 8 71.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 115, 430–31; CAD K, s.v. kilkillu

Ha 30

Family dispute about a slave. Emblem of Sîn, with elders of Akšak and Zarda, sits (ušbuma) to hear a tablet read. gir 3 . nita 2 official presides.

Van Lerberghe, “Arrachement,” 442

Si 21+

Legal procedure over real estate of nāditus; judges preside.

60

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Provenanceb

CT 6 22a

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku, igi

NB Sippar

CT 8 19a

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku

NB Sippar

CT 8 3a

Š

emblem of ​Enlil

ebēbu

NB Sippar

CT 8 8c

K?

[divine weapon?]

waṣû

NB Sippar?

CUSAS 36 131

O

trap of Šamaš (ḫuḫarum)

zakāru, wabālu

SB (Larsa)

CUSAS 36 137

K (2×)

weapons (gištukul) of ​Ninurta and Lā-​maḫār

šakānu, epēšu (+nikkassu)

SB

CUSAS 36 152

K (2×)

weapons (gištukul) of Bēlet-​ilī and Išar-​padda

izzuzzu

SB (Adab)

Di 1674

K

weapon (probably)

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû (probably)

NB Sippar

Di 2122

Š

emblem of Šamaš

unknown

NB Sippar region

Di 821

K

weapon (probably)

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû (probably)

NB Sippar

FLP 1340

O

silver lance (šukurru)

nasāḫu

NB Malgium?

Gautier Dilbat 13

O

ax of Uraš

redû, sanāqu

NB Dilbat

Gautier Dilbat 35

K

weapon of Uraš

alāku

NB Dilbat

Greengus Ishchali 27

O (2×)

weather-​beast (ūmum) of Bēl-​ gašer, spear (šukurru) of ​Wer

magāru

NB: Ischali

Holma 9

K (2×)

weapons of ​Marduk and Adad

bâru A

SB Larsa + (GN Karisu?)

Place and Portability

61

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

AS 32

Dispute concerning division of orchards and field between an ugbabtu and her brothers; her share had originally been established (kunnu) in the presence of the šurinnu of Šamaš, which also acts as witness in this proceeding; a maškim presides.

Harris, Ancient Sippar, 135, 144 n. 9, 240, 313, 377; Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 114, 432; AuOr XV/1–2 no. 13

Aṣ 5

Dispute between two parties over a field; assembly presides; witnesses include two captains.

Harris, Ancient Sippar, 64–65; Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon,” 218

Aṣ 11

Oldest brother charged with organizing division of inheritance by oath; property includes house property in Sippar-​Amnānum.

Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 396; CAD E, s.v. ebēbu 2

Ha?

Rental of a journey of a divine weapon (object implied).

See n. 84; CAD G, s.v. girru 5

“from Rīm-​ Sîn I to Samsu-​iluna”

refers to a woman PN: “They should take (her) to the place where previously she invoked Bird Snare”; the “business” (ṭēmu) is not made clear; unclear that this could not be translated as the ḫuḫarum “going” rather than PN.

“from Rīm-​ Sîn I to Samsu-​iluna”

“I assembled the ploughmen and ox-​drivers, the cowherds and the shepherds, the whole town [of ​Imbukum], and they set up the symbols of DN1 and DN2. I reckoned up their accounts . . . “ The GN is not otherwise known; “reckoning” not clearly carried out by or with emblems.

time of Rim-​Sin

“We [officers of ​Balmunamḫe] and the townsfolk had a meeting, the emblems of DN1 and DN2 were present, and not one bushel of coarse flour was put into store.”

Aṣ 5+

Rental of a journey of a divine weapon; not published.

Tanret, Seal of Sanga, 16

Si

Boundaries of a house established with an emblem; not published.

Spaey, “Emblems,” 413n16; Tanret, Seal of Sanga, 48n79, 54

Aṣ 11

Rental of a journey of a divine weapon; not published.

Tanret, Seal of Sanga, 16

Ha 15

Dispute between two families over a house as part of a terḫatum-payment; mentions one PN of ​Malgium.

Owen and Westbrook, “Tie Her Up”

AS 13

Two parties dispute dimensions of a house: urudušen.tab.ba ša Uraš ana bītim irdûma bītam usanniquma; with TLB 245, 259, 261. Involves šakkanakku of ​Babylon.

CAD P, s.v. paqāru; s.v. pāštu a-2′; Van Lerberghe, “Arrachement”

unknown

Litigation concerning an ancient holding (eqlam labīrūti).

unknown (ca. 1880 BC) Ha/Si

CAD Š/3, s.v. šukurru; Ellis, “Archive” Subject of dispute unclear; objects appear “probably as witnesses” (Ellis, “Archive”); oath by RN (nīš lugal) and Sîn of ​Kamanum, not gods of the emblems; in e 2 DN.

CAD B, s.v. bâru A 3a-2′

62

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Provenanceb

emblem (dš.) of d Nanna, bird (dmušen) of ​Ninmarki, spade (dmar) of ​Marduk, stone-​ weapon (gištukul ša abnum)

šakānu, elēlu, izuzzum

SB Kutalla

O

copper ax (šen-​tab-​ba ud-​ka-​ bar) of ​Lugalkidunna

našu, saḫāru, bâru A 3a-2

SB Kutalla

Kelsey Museum 89596

O (2×)

stone (na4) and copper ax (urudu.šen-​tab-​ba) of Šamaš

zakāru

NB Sippar region+

Kienast Kisurra 159

O (2×)

ax (pāštum) of ​Ningizzida and kukkurratum of ​Ninurta

alāku, sanāqu

SB Kisurra

MHET II 1 119

K

weapon of Sîn

arādu, bâru A

NB Sippar

MHET II 1 49

Š

emblem of Šamaš

esēḫu, waṣû, saḫāru, bâru A

NB Sippar+

MHET II 1 54

Š

emblem

aḫāzu, pasāsu

NB Sippar

MHET II 5 669

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nadānu

NB Sippar+

MHET II 6 700

Š (2×)

emblem of Sîn and Šamaš

[uncertain]

NB Sippar+

OLA 21 1

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû (in break)

NB Sippar

OLA 21 6

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû (in break)

NB Sippar

OLA 21 62

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

PBS 5 100

O

Udbanuilla, emblem of ​Ninurta

ezēbu, wašābu, šemû

SB Nippur

Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

Jean Tell Sifr 58

Š, K, O (2×)

Jean Tell Sifr 71

Place and Portability

63

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

Ha 41

Audit of silver collected from soldiers’ estates: [kīma] ṭuppāni tammara [in]a kakkim ša Marduk ina kakkim ša Adad kaspam ša ina bītāti rēdûtim uštaddinu birranim u ṭuppī terrama kunka, “When you (pl.) examine the tablets, establish for my benefit, with the help of the symbol of ​Marduk and the symbol of Adad, (how much) silver they have collected from the estates of the rēdû-soldiers and return my tablet under seal.” Mentions the šībūt ka-​rí-[ ].

CAD Š/1, s.v. šakānu 11a; Š/3, s.v. šurinnu 1; Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon”

Si 5

Objects used to determine ownership of ​house and orchard in inheritance dispute; city, judges, and elders preside (Schorr, Urkunden, 259; see RA 12 116).

Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 374; Charpin, Archives familiales, 188, 254; Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon”; CAD B, s.v. bâru A 3a-2′

Early/Middle OB

Boundaries of a field to be determined by carrying emblem around it; oath to be taken; city prefect and elders preside.

CDLI no. P235271

Se

Objects used for oath at the Gate of Šamaš regarding animals consigned for herding.

CAD P, s.v. pāštu a-2′

Sm 13

Letter ordering the survey of field dimensions: warki ašlim u qanîm pāštum ša Ningizzida u kukkurratum ša Ninurta lilikma kirâm sunniq, “Have the ax of ​Ningizzida and the kukkurratu emblem of ​Ninurta follow the measuring-​ line and rod, thus check (the dimensions of ) the orchard carefully.”

AS

Litigation concerning a field.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 162

AS

Dispute between two families concerning the size of a house lot; judged in the Šamaš temple: ina šurinnim ša dUtu PN isuḫma itaṣi e 2 isḫur e 2 ki PN2 ù PN3 aḫišu ubir.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 72

AS?

Dispute concerning the size of fields divided between two families.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 82

unknown

Dispute between two families over a field ša iṣṣiatim; judges use emblem; cloister official witnesses.

Ad 33

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

Aṣ 5

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

Ad/Aṣ

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

Si 26

Inheritance/adoption dispute.

CAD E, s.v. ezēbu 8b

64

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

PBS 7 85

K

weapon of Šamaš

madādu, wašābu, šapāku, maḫāru

NB Sippar+

PBS 8/2 264

O

ax (šen-​tab-​ba)

none?

SB Kutalla

Pinches Peek 13

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nadānu, magāru

NB Sippar

RA 25 43

Š

emblem of Sîn

waṣû, dânu

NB Sippar+

Scheil Sippar 287

K

divine weapon

[no verb]

NB Sippar

Szlechter Tablettes 122 (Pl. XVII; MAH 16147)

K?

[divine weapon?]

[no verb]

NB Sippar

TCL 1 140

K

weapon of Adad

waṣû

NB (see n. 84)

TCL 1 70

Š

emblem

bâru A

NB Sippar

TCL 10 34

O (2×)

trap (gišḫuḫāru), double-​axe (šen-​tab-​ba), and stone (na4), all of Šamaš

šakānu

SB Larsa

TCL 10 4a

O (x4+)

large nikkassu-emblems (nikkassu rabûtum), bronze double-​ axe (šen-​tab-​ba ud-​ka-​bar), and stone (na4), all of Šamaš

šakānu

SB Larsa

TCL 11 173

K, O

weapon of Šamaš, large nikkassu-emblem (ni-​ka9 gu-​la).

arādu

SB Larsa +

TCL 11 245:34?

K

divine weapon (dšita)

waṣû

SB Larsa +

TLOB 1 65

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

Provenanceb

Place and Portability

65

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

unknown

Weapon used to measure barley related to a priestly office; cloister and a nadītu involved; weapon received from the cloister; cf. AbB XI 85, which gives gišbán rather than giš tukul.

CAD K, s.v. kakku 3b; CAD M, s.v. madādu; Harris, “Journey of the Divine Weapon,” 219

RS 35

Lawsuit concerning two prebends and an adoption/ inheritance.

Charpin, Clerge d’Ur, 169; CAD P, s.v. pāštu a-2′

Sa 11

Dispute over the ownership of a purchased house: ana é šu.nir kù.gi dUtu PN dajanu iddinuma ina é šu.nir dUtu imtagruma, “He gave to the shrine of the golden emblem of Shamash, and in the shrine of the emblem of Shamash he found favor”; judges and maškim preside (same men as BE 6/1 10).

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 81, 113, 431

Ha 23

Family claims a dissolved paternal estate within a ward: šurinnam rabâm ša Sîn ušēṣ[iu] babtum ù itašu izzizuma, “They took out the great symbol of Sîn; the ward and its neighbors(?) took up a position”; called a “judgment (dīn) of Sîn.”

Richardson, “Old Babylonian Period,” 634

Ha 13

Inheritance division concerning rural properties and prebend of tax collection; emblem to be carried through the region of the Silakkum canal; includes features similar to a “journey” text (e.g., called a “kaskal” and rights to collect biltu; cf. CT 8 19a and 40c, which do not share these features).

Harris, Ancient Sippar, 154 and n. 3

Aṣ 14

Barley to be collected in the countryside among the mārē ilī u ištar; weapon implied but not mentioned; rabiānum presiding.

Harris, Ancient Sippar, 185 and n. 180, 205; Stol, “Renting the Divine Weapon,” 570–72

Si 22+

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Adad.

CAD G, s.v. girru 5

Sm 13

Legal ownership of a field and e2-duru5 established with the emblem between a brother, sister, and other relatives.

CAD B, s.v. bâru A 3a-2′; Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 120

RS 9

Settlement of inheritance dispute; objects to be used for oath.

WS 8

Objects set up before witnesses.

CAD N/2, s.v. nikkassu A

Ha 40

Sons repudiate the debts and assets of their father’s estate.

Dercksen, “Nikkassū”; CAD N/1, nadû 1c-6′ and 2h

unknown

Trial to investigate theft of temple property; priests, city prefect, and local judges preside; oath before the weapon.

Westbrook, “Old Babylonian Period,” 368, 373, 420; CAD B, s.v. bâru A 3a; s.v. aṣû 2b

Aṣ 10

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

66

As Above, So Below

Table 2.3. Emblem Type (continued) Implicated Verbs (CAD)

Text

Objecta

Emblem Type

TLOB 1 65a

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

TLOB 1 65b

K

weapon of Šamaš

alāku (muttalikti panī), waṣû

NB Sippar

UCP 10 107

K

great weapon (gištukul.[gal])

[uncertain]

NB: Ischali?

UET 5 251

W, O

weapon of ​Ninlil and double ax (urudušen.tab. ba) of ​[?]

zakāru

SB Ur

UET 5 254

K

weapon of ​Ninublaga

waṣû, zakāru

SB Ur

UET 5 267

O

“copper” (urudu) of ​Ninezida

IGI

SB Ur

Van Lerberghe Kraus AV 246

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nasāḫu

NB Sippar

VS 22 28

K

weapon of ​Zababa

šakānu, bâru A

NB Babylon

VS 7 56

K

weapon of ​Marduk

[uncertain]

NB Kiš

VS 8 71

Š

emblem of Šamaš

nasāḫu

NB Sippar

VS 9 130 (case: VS 9 131)

Š, O

emblem of Sin, saw (šaššāru) of Šamaš

bâru A

NB Sippar+

YOS 12 325

O

trap of Šamaš (ḫuḫaru)

zakāru

SB Larsa +

YOS 12 442

O

ax (pāštum) of Šamaš

unclear

NB Sippar

YOS 12 73

O (2×)

stone double-​axe (na4šen.tab. ba) and trap (ḫuḫāru) of Šamaš

waṣû, zakāru

SB Larsa

YOS 8 159

O?

object unclear: X.X.GAL2

alāku, bâru A

SB Larsa

YOS 8 76

O (2×)

hand of Bēlet-​ilī (drittum ša Maḫ), dog of Gula (dkalbum ša dGula), and spear of ​Ištar (dgiš ?  .   tukul imittum ša dIštar)

šakānu

SB

d

Provenanceb

K = kakkum; Š = šurinnu; O = other B = Babylonia; NB = Northern Babylonia; SB = Southern Babylonia; + = probably c Ad = Ammiditana; Aṣ = Ammiṣaduqa; AS = Apil-​Sîn; Ha = Hammurabi; RS = Rim-​Sîn I; Sa = Sabium; Sd = Samsuditana; Se = Sumu-​el; Si = Samsuiluna; Sle = Sumu-​la-​el; Sm = Sîn-​muballiṭ; WS = Warad-​Sîn a

b

Place and Portability

67

Datec

Passage / Notes

Citation / Literature

Aṣ 6

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš.

See n. 84

Aṣ 11

Rental of a journey of a weapon of Šamaš; the weapon is leased from the Sîn temple, not the Šamaš temple.

See n. 84

unknown

Settlement concerning a house; elders of the city preside.

RS 28

Lawsuit concerning house and utensils; oath taken on objects.

Ha 32

Commercial dispute.

Charpin, Clerge d’Ur, 88–89; CAD A/2, s.v. aṣû 2b

WS 6

Silver repaid before object to an ugbabtu-woman and her brother; witnesses same as UET 5 209.

CAD B, s.v. bābtu 2c

Sle

A man pulls out the emblem in order to reject a claim over him as a slave; oath taken before šurinnu of Šamaš; oath by Immerum and Sumu-​la-​el.

Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 112, 332; Van Lerberghe, “Arrachement”

Ad 8

Determination of ​barley owed.

Ad 24

Dispute concerning a house; oath implied; elders of ​Kiš preside.

Sm

Dispute between households after the death of a business partner; invested silver claimed by deceased’s family; Šurinnu of Šamaš pulled out for an oath in a proceeding at the gate of Šamaš; šakkanakkum presides.

CAD K, s.v. kilkillu; CAD N, s.v. nasāḫu; Goddeeris, Economy and Society, 115–16, 139, 425, 427, 431. Cf. CT 48 1

Ha 35

Size and equal division of ​house plot established in estate division procedure.

CAD B, s.v. bâru A

Si 12

Lawsuit over goods before gal.ukkin.na; oath by ḫuḫaru of Šamaš (ll. 9–11).

CAD Ḫ, s.v. ḫuḫāru (2); CAD N/2, s.v. našāqu

Si 24

Rental of a journey of an ax of Šamaš; hire of a nadītu’s slave is implied.

Harris, Ancient Sippar,: 68n69, 346

Si 3

Dispute concerning a house in the village of Abi-​sare; oath taken at the Gate of Šamaš on the objects; judges and the gal.meš dUtu preside.

CAD Ḫ, s.v. ḫuḫāru (2)

RS 49

Lawsuit concerning stolen pigs; presence of emblem uncertain; note use of term ku 3.gal 2, “holy.”

CAD B, s.v. bâru A 3a-2′

RS 29

Deed for the gift of an orchard; “symbols (ilū) (before which the oath was taken).”

CAD I–J, s.v. ilu 7b; CAD R, s.v. rittu

68

As Above, So Below Table 2.4. Provenance of Eighty-​One Texts in the Corpus A Babylonian South: 31 total (*17 under Babylonian rule) Adab: 1 Isin: 1 (1*) Kisurra: 1 (0*) Kutalla: 3 (1*) Larsa: 16a (10*) Nippur: 3 (3*) Ur: 3 (1*) General: 3b (1*) * =dating to Babylonian occupation B Babylonian North: 64 total Akšak(?): 1 Babylon: 2 Dilbat: 3 Ischali: 2 Kiš: 1 Malgium(?): 1 Sippar: 38 Sippar (probably): 13 General: 3 C Babylonia (uncertain): 1 total (AbB VIII 22) a The dates of CUSAS 36 131 and TCL 11 245 are uncertain; Andrew George reckons CUSAS 36 131 and 137 to date to the time span of ​“Rīm-​Sîn I to Samsu-​iluna.” b The date of CUSAS 36 137 is uncertain; see note above regarding date.

B. Fixing/ Unfixing standing, appearing (izzuzzu)

arriving (kašādu) carry (wabālu)

circumambulating (saḫāru)

going/coming down (arādu)

going out (waṣû)

A. Moving entering (erēbu) giving, handing over (nadānu) leading (redû) processing, going (alāku)

ARN 174; BE 6/2 58; Jean Tell Sifr 58; BM 96998; CUSAS 36 152

BDHP 36; BE 6/1 103; Birot Tablettes 19; AbB IV 40; TCL 11 173; MHET II 119

CT 4 23a, CT 4 18c, 23c and 29a; OLA 21 1, 6, and 62; TLOB 1 65, 65a, and 65b; ARN 174; CT 6 22a; CT 8 19a; CT 2 1; BM 96998 AbB XII 64; YOS 12 73; TCL 11 245; UET 5 254

CT 2 47

Emblem as Active Subject

Emblem as Passive Object

TCL 1 140

Kienast Kisurra 159; YOS 8 159

Human User(s) as Subject(s) with Instrumental Use of Emblems

MHET II 49; Jean Tell Sifr 71 BIN 7 176 CUSAS 36 131

RA 25 43; MHET II 49; AUM 73.3193; CT 4 18c, 23c and 29a; OLA 21 1, 6, and 62; TLOB 1 65, 65a, and 65b; CT 8 8c

Gautier Dilbat 13 AbB I 29

Pinches Peek 13; CT 2 9

Human User(s) as Active Subject(s)

Table 2.5. Verbs of the Corpus, with Subjects/Objects and Voices Identified. (Darker shading indicates more frequent attestation of forms.)

Place and Portability 69

judging (dânu)

“establishing the true legal situation” (bâru A)

C. Measuring/ Deciding counting (madādu) allocating (esēḫu) checking (sanāqu)

presenting/receiving (maḫāru) grasping (aḫāzu) lifting, fetching (našû A) seating (wašābu) depositing (šapāku)

fixing (kânu) pulling out (nasāḫu)

setting in place (šakānu)

RA 25 43

CT 48 2

Birot Tablettes 19

Emblem as Active Subject

VS 22 28

Jean Tell Sifr 71

YOS 8 76; Jean Tell Sifr 58; TCL 10 34; TCL 10 4a; BM 108887

Emblem as Passive Object

Table 2.5. Verbs of the Corpus, with Subjects/Objects and Voices Identified. (continued)

PBS 7 85 MHET II 49 CT 2 45Iu; Kienast Kisurra 159Iu AbB VI 181; Holma 9; VS 9 130; TCL 1 70; AbB II 28; AbB IV 79; AbB IV 118; YOS 8 159; AbB IV 40; Jean Tell Sifr 71; BM 108887; MHET II 119; AbB V 264; AbB IX 194

AbB VIII 12

Human User(s) as Subject(s) with Instrumental Use of Emblems

MHET II 49; AbB XII 64; AbB IV 118.

Gautier Dilbat 13; BE 6/2 49

PBS 7 85

MHET II 54 CT 2 1 PBS 7 85; PBS 5 100 PBS 7 85

BE 6/1 103 AbB XII 64; CT 2 9; Van Lerberghe Kraus AV 246; VS 8 71; CT 4 47a; CT 48 1; FLP 1340; BM 108887 PBS 7 85

CUSAS 36 137; VS 22 28; AbB X 54

Human User(s) as Active Subject(s)

70 As Above, So Below

agreeing (magāru) hearing (šemû) testifying (qabû) swearing (