Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014 9781575064659, 1575064650

Citation preview

Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

In this book are presented papers on the main theme of the meeting, “Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East.” The 31 essays are organized into 5 sections: (1) plenary presenations on “What Is Fortune? What Is Misfortune?”; (2) humanity and fortune/misfortune and luck, with discussion of specific examples; (3) additional papers on definitions of fortune and misfortune; (4) the effects on city and state; and (5) God and temple.

Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

In the week between July 21 and 25, 2014, the University of Warsaw hosted more than three hundred Assyriologists from all over the world. In the course of five days, nearly 150 papers were read in three (and sometimes four) parallel sessions. Many of them were delivered within the framework of nine thematic workshops. The publication of most of these panels is underway, in separate volumes. As is usually the case, the academic sessions were accompanied by many opportunities for social interaction among the participants, and there was time to enjoy the historical and cultural benefits of Warsaw. Special honor was accorded to two American Assyriologists whose origins can be traced to Warsaw, Piotr Michalowski and Piotr Steinkeller, and a special session to recognize their contributions to the study of ancient Mesopotamia was organized.

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST

DR EWNOWSK A SA NDOW ICZ

Eisenbrauns

POB 275 Winona Lake, IN 46590 www.eisenbrauns.com

EISENBRAUNS

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

EDITED BY DREWNOWSKA AND SANDOWICZ

Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East

Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Warsaw 21–25 July 2014

edited by

Olga Drewnowska and Małgorzata Sandowicz

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2017

© 2017 by Eisenbrauns Inc. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Rencontre assyriologique internationale (60th : 2014 : Warsaw, Poland) | Drewnowska, Olga, editor. | Sandowicz, Małgorzata, editor. | Uniwersytet Warszawski, host institution. Title: Fortune and misfortune in the Ancient Near East : proceedings of the 60th Rencontre assyriologique internationale at Warsaw 21–25 July 2014 / edited by Olga Drewnowska and Małgorzata Sandowicz. Description: Winona Lake, Indiana : Eisenbrauns, 2016. | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2016039641 | ISBN 9781575064659 (cloth : alk. paper) Subjects: LCSH: Assyriology—Congresses. | Civilization, Assyro-Babylonian— Congresses. Classification: LCC PJ3121 .R45 2014 | DDC 892/.1—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016039641 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48–1984. ♾ ™

Contents Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Program . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

viii xvii   1

Part 1

What Is Fortune? What Is Misfortune? Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia Or How the Sumerians and Babylonians Thought of Their Place in the Flow of Things . . . . . . . . . . . . . .   5 Piotr Steinkeller The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature . . . . . . . . . . 25 Jacob Klein Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti . . . . . . . . . . 39 Gary Beckman

Part 2

Man

Fortune and Misfortune of the Individual: Some Observations on the Sufferer’s Plaint in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi II 12–32 . . . . . . . . . . 51 Tzvi Abusch On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children: The Abundance of Children According to the Omen Text K. 6403 . . . . 59 Nils P. Heessel Gendering for Fortune and Misfortune: Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 Kathleen McCaffrey Why Did Paškuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed? . . . . . . . . . . . 97 Zsolt Simon Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Magalie Parys Legal Remedies against Misfortune: Evasion, Legal Fiction, and Sham Transactions in Late Bronze Age Emar . . . . . . . . . . . 119 Lena Fijałkowska Hierarchy at the Hittite Court . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129 Tayfun Bilgin v

vi

Contents

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants in the Amarna Letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143 Graciela Gestoso Singer Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165 Benjamin Dromard Betting on the Right Horse: Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Yuval Levavi

Part 3

King

The Origins of the LUGAL Office . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Petr Charvát Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk . . . . . . . . . . . Dina Katz “Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tonia Sharlach The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rafał Koliński Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Daniel Bonneterre The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts . . . . . . . . . . . . Joanna Töyräänvuori “One Epic or Many?” Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stefan Jakob

193 201 211 221 237 247 259

Part 4

City and State Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver Regional Differences in Middle Assyrian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jacob Jan de Ridder The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers: Analyzing the Foreign Policy of the Assyrian Empire under Esarhaddon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Selim Ferruh Adalı Finis Assyriae: The Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stefan Zawadzki Fortune and Politics: Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e. and His Alliance with Media . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Kabalan Moukarzel

271 297 307 325 335

Contents More about the Crisis in Uruk . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Radosław Tarasewicz

vii 347

Part 5

God and Temple Don’t Insult Inana! Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency in the Light of New Textual Sources . . . . . . . . . Jana Matuszak Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana . . . . . . . . . . . Evelyne Koubková Within the Ekur: Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur . . . . Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay Some Remarks on the Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bernhard Schneider

359 371 383 409

Abbreviations A tablets in the collections of the Oriental Institute, University of Chicago A. tablets in the collections of the Aleppo Museum lexical list Aa = nâqu (MSL 14) Aa AASOR The Annual of the American Schools of Oriental Research Altbabylonische Briefe in Umschrift und Übersetzung AbB AbB 7 F. R. Kraus (ed.), Briefe aus dem British Museum (CT 52) M. Stol (ed.), Letters from Yale AbB 9 A. K. Grayson, Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles ABC Abk Aššur-bēl-kāla ABL R. F. Harper, Assyrian and Babylonian Letters Achaemenid History AchHist ADFU Ausgrabungen der Deutschen Forschungsgemeinschaft in Uruk-Warka Adn Adad-nīrārī I AfO Archiv für Orientforschung AfO Beih. Archiv für Orientforschung, Beiheft AHw W. von Soden, Akkadisches Handwörterbuch lexical series ki.KI.KAL.bi.šè = ana ittišu (MSL 1) Ai. American Journal of Archaeology AJA AKT Ankara Kültepe Tabletleri AKT 6a M. T. Larsen, The Archive of the Šalim-Aššur Family, vol. 1: The First Two Generations Al-Rāfidān Al-Rāfidān. Journal of West Asiatic Studies ALASPM Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt-Syrien-Palästinas und Mesopotamiens AMD Ancient Magic and Divination AMD 8/1 T. Abusch and D. Schwemer, Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals, Volume One R. C. Thompson, Assyrian Medical Texts AMT Anatolia Antiqua  Anatolia Antiqua. Eski Anadolu Analecta Orientalia AnOr AnOr 8 P. A. Pohl, Neubabylonische Rechtsurkunden aus den Berliner Staatlichen Museen P. A. Pohl, Neubabylonische Rechtsurkunden aus den Berliner Staatlichen AnOr 9 Museen, II. Teil AnSt Anatolian Studies. Journal of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara Antike Welt Antike Welt. Zeitschrift für Archäologie und Kulturgeschichte Antiquity Antiquity. A Review of World Archaeology AO tablets in the collections of the Musée du Louvre, Paris AOAT Alter Orient und Altes Testament AOATS Alter Orient und Altes Testament, Sonderreihe AoF Altorientalische Forschungen AOS American Oriental Series ARAM ARAM Periodical ARET Archivi reali di Ebla, Testi ARET 13 P. Fronzaroli, Testi di cancelleria: i rapporti con le città

viii

Abbreviations

ix

Ari Aššur-rēša-iši I Archív Orientální. Journal of African and Asian Studies ArOr ARM Archives royales de Mari G. Dossin, Correspondance de Šamši-Addu ARM 1 ARM 2 Ch.-F. Jean, Lettres diverses ARM 4 G. Dossin, Correspondance de Šamši-Addu ARM 10 G. Dossin, La correspondance féminine ARM 14 M. Birot, Lettres de Yaqqim-Addu, gouverneur de Sagarâtum D. Charpin et al., Archives épistolaires de Mari I/2 ARM 26 ARM 27 M. Birot, Correspondance des gouverneurs de Qaṭṭunân ARM 28 J.-R. Kupper, Lettres royales du temps de Zimri-Lim AS Amar-Su’en Assyriological Studies AS ASJ Acta Sumerologica ASKT P. Haupt, Akkadische und sumerische Keilschrifttexte field number of tablets excavated at Tell Atchana (Alalakh) AT ATU Archaische Texte aus Uruk Aub Aššur-uballiṭ I AuOr Aula Orientalis AuOr Suppl. Aula Orientalis, Supplementa AUWE Ausgrabungen in Uruk-Warka, Endberichte BagF Baghdader Forschungen BAM F. Köcher et al., Die babylonisch-assyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen Baghdader Mitteilungen BaM BASOR Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research BATSH Berichte der Ausgrabung Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad/Dūr-Katlimmu BATSH 9, Texte 3  W. Röllig, Land- und Viehwirtschaft am unteren Ḫābūr in mittelassyrischer Zeit Babel und Bibel BB BBVO Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient BCSMS Bulletin of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies BE The Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania Billa field numbers of tablets excavated at Tell Billa BIN Babylonian Inscriptions in the Collection of James B. Nies, Yale University, New Haven BIN 1 C. E. Keiser, Letters and Contracts from Erech written in the Neo-Babylonian Period C. E. Keiser, Neo-Sumerian Account Texts from Drehem BIN 3 Bibliotheca Orientalis BiOr BJS Brown Judaic Studies BM tablets in the collections of the British Museum, London Bo field numbers of tablets excavated at Boğazköy BoHa Boğazköy-Ḫattuša S. Herbordt (ed.), Die Prinzen- und Beamtensiegel der hethitischen BoHa 19 Grossreichszeit auf Tonbullen aus dem Nişantepe-Archiv in Hattusa A. Dinçol and B. Dinçol, Die Prinzen- und Beamtensiegel aus der Oberstadt BoHa 22 von Boğazköy-Ḫattuša vom 16. Jahrhundert bis zum Ende der Grossreichszeit Bulletin on Sumerian Agriculture BSA BSOAS Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies (University of London) BT Babylonische Texte CAD The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago

x

Abbreviations

Camb Cambyses J. N. Strassmaier, Inschriften von Cambyses Camb. CBQ The Catholic Biblical Quarterly Catholic Biblical Quaterly Monograph Series CBQMS CBS tablets in the collections of the University Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia CDLI Cuneiform Digital Library Initiative (http://cdli.ucla.edu/) CDLJ Cuneiform Digital Library Journal Colloquien der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft CDOG CDLN Cuneiform Digital Library Notes CH The Code of Hammurapi Culture and History of the Ancient Near East CHANE The Hittite Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago CHD CM Cuneiform Monographs CT Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets, & c., in the British Museum CTH E. Laroche, Catalogue des textes hittites CTMMA Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York CTMMA 2 I. Spar and W. G. Lambert, Literary and Scholastic Texts of the First Millennium B. C. CUSAS Cornell University Studies in Assyriology and Sumerology Dar Darius Dar. J. N. Strassmaier, Inschriften von Darius DeZ tablets in the collections of Deir ez-Zor Museum Diri lexical series diri DIR siāku = (w)atru (MSL 15) DMOA Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui DN divine name EA El-Amarna tablets (numbers according to J. A. Knudtzon, Die El-Amarna-Tafeln) EAd Erība-Adad I ED Early Dynastic EDHIL A. Kloekhorst, Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon EDP B. Alster, “Early Dynastic Proverbs and other Contributions to the Study of Literary Texts from Abū Ṣalābīkh,” AfO 38/39 (1991/1992): 1–51 Emesal-Voc. lexical series dimmer = dingir = ilu (MSL 4) Eothen Eothen. Collana di studi sulle civiltà dell’Oriente antico Epilepsia. Official Journal of the International League Against Epilepsy Epilepsia ePSD The Electronic Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary (http://psd.museum. upenn.edu/epsd) Erimḫuš lexical series erimhuš = anantu (MSL 17) ETCSL The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature (http://www-etcsl.orient. ox.ac.uk) FAOS Freiburger Altorientalische Studien GAAL Göttinger Arbeitshefte zur altorientalischen Literatur GAG W. von Soden, Grundriss der akkadischen Grammatik GCCI Goucher College Cuneiform Inscriptions GCCI 2 R. P. Dougherty, Archives from Erech: Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods Geneva Proverb Tablet  B. Alster and T. Oshima, “A Sumerian Proverb Tablet in Geneva. With Some Thoughts on Sumerian Proverb Collection,” OrNS 75: 31–72 GMTR Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record HANEM History of the Ancient Near East / Monographs HANES History of Ancient Near East / Studies HdO Handbuch der Orientalistik

Abbreviations

xi

J. Puhvel, Hittite Etymological Dictionary lexical series HAR-ra=hubullu (MSL 5) tablets in the Hilprecht Collection, Jena Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Semitic Series Hebrew Union College Annual I. J. Friedrich, Hethitisches Wörterbuch R. D. Biggs, Inscriptions from Tell Abū Ṣalābīkh K. Balkan, İnandık’ta 1966 Yılında Bulunan Eski Hitit Çağına ait bir Bağış Belgesi IM tablets in the collections of the Iraq Museum, Baghdad Iran. Journal of the British Institute of Persian Studies Iran Iraq Iraq. Journal of the British School of Archaeology in Iraq ISET M. Çiǧ, H. Kızılyay, and S. N. Kramer, (eds.), Istanbul Arkeoloji Müzelerinde bulunan Sumer edebî tablet ve parçaları / Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul lexical series izi = išātu (MSL 13) Izi Journal for Semitics  Journal for Semitics / Tydskrif vir Semitistiek JANER Journal of Ancient Near Eastern Religions JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JCS Journal of Cuneiform Studies JCS Suppl. Journal of Cuneiform Studies, Supplement JEOL Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch-Egyptisch Gezelschap / Genootschap Ex Oriente Lux JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient JKF Jahrbuch für kleinasiatische Forschung JMC Le Journal des Médecines Cunéiformes JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies JQR The Jewish Quarterly Review K. tablets in the Kouyunjik collection of the British Museum, London Kagal lexical series kagal = abullu (MSL 13) E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur juristischen Inhalts KAJ E. Ebeling, Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts KAR Kaskal. Rivista di storia, ambiente e culture del Vicino Oriente Antico Kaskal KBo Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi KMZ Keilschrifttexte aus mittelassyrischer Zeit KTU M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín, Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit Keilschrifturkunden aus Boghazköi KUB L field numbers of tablets excavated at Tell Leilan LANE Languages of the Ancient Near East LAPO Littératures anciennes du Proche Orient LAPO 16 J.-M. Durand, Les documents épistolaires du Palais de Mari, tome I Th. G. Pinches et al., Late Babylonian Astronomical and Related Texts LBAT Levant. The Journal of the Council for British Research in the Levant Levant Ch. Rüster and G. Wilhelm, Landschenkungsurkunden hethitischer Könige LhK K. K. Riemschneider, Die hethitische Landschenkungsurkunden LSU lexical series lú = ša (MSL 12) Lu Maarav Maarav. A Journal for the Study of the Northwest Semitic Languages and Literatures HED Hh HS HSAO HSM HSS HUCA HW IAS İK

xii M. mA/MA MAD MAD 1 MAL MARI MARV MB MC MDP MDP 27 MHEO MIO MRS MS MSL MSL 1 MSL 4

Abbreviations

field numbers of tablets excavated at Mari mittelassyrisch/Middle Assyrian Materials for the Assyrian Dictionary I. Gelb, Sargonic Texts from the Diyala Region Middle Assyrian Laws Mari. Annales de Recherches Interdisciplinaires H. Freydank et al., Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte Middle Babylonian Mesopotamian Civilizations Mémoires de la Délégation en Perse P. E. van der Meer, Textes scolaires de Suse Mesopotamian History and Environment, Occasional Publications Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschung Mission de Ras Shamra tablets in the Schøyen Collection, London and Oslo Materialien zum sumerischen Lexikon / Materials for the Sumerian Lexicon B. Landsberger, Die Serie ana ittišu B. Landsberger et al. (eds.), Part I: Emesal-Vocabulary; Part II: Old Babylonian Grammatical Texts; Part III: Neobabylonian Grammatical Texts B. Landsberger and M. Civil, The Series ḪAR-ra = ḫubullu. Tablet XV and MSL 9 related texts M. Civil et al., The Series lú = ša and Related Texts MSL 12 M. Civil et al. (eds.), Izi = išātu, Ká-gal = abullu and Níg-ga = makkūru MSL 13 M. Civil, et al. (eds.), Ea A = nâqu, Aa A = nâqu, with Their Forerunners and MSL 14 Related Texts M. Civil, The Series DIRI = (w)atru MSL 15 A. Cavigneaux et. al (eds.), The Series Erim-ḫuš = anantu and An-ta-gál = MSL 17 šaqû Materials for the Sumerian Lexicon, Supplementary Series MSL SS MSL SS 1 M. Civil, O. R. Gurney, and D. A. Kennedy, The Sag-Tablet Materialien zu den frühen Schriftzeugnissen des Vorderen Orients MSVO MVAG Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatischen Gesellschaft MVAG 41/3 K. F. Müller, Das assyrische Ritual, Teil 1: Texte zum assyrischen Königsritual Materiali per il vocabolario neosumerico MVN G. Pettinato and H. Waetzold, La collezione Schollmeyer MVN 1 G. Pettinato, S. A. Picchioni, and F. Reshid, Testi economici dell’Iraq MVN 8 Museum–Baghdad G. Pettinato, Testi economici neo-sumerici del British Museum (BM 12230 – MVN 17 BM 12390) M. Molina, Testi amministrativi neosumerici del British Museum (BM 13601 MVN 22 – 14300) R. Borger, Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon MZL tablets in the Nippur collection of the University Museum of the University of N Pennsylvania, Philadelphia nA/NA neuassyrisch/Neo-Assyrian Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires N.A.B.U. Neo-Sumerian Administrative Texts from Umma NATU NB Neo-Babylonian tablets in the Nies Babylonian Collection, Yale University, New Haven NBC Nbk. J. N. Strassmaier, Inschriften von Nabuchodonosor J. N. Strassmaier, Inschriften von Nabonidus Nbn.

Abbreviations NCBT

xiii

tablets in the Newell Collection of Babylonian Tablets, Yale University, New Haven Ni tablets excavated at Nippur, in the collections of the Archeological Museum, Istanbul Nisaba Nisaba. Studi Assiriologici Messinesi Nisaba 23 F. N. H. al-Rawi and L. Verderame, Neo-Sumerian Administrative Texts from Umma Kept in the British Museum, Part Three N-T field numbers of tablets excavated at Nippur Old Assyrian OA OAAS Old Assyrian Archives, Studies OB Old Babylonian Orientalia Biblica et Christiana OBC Old Babylonian Grammatical Texts OBGT OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OBTR S. Dalley, C. B. F. Walker, and J. D. Hawkins, Old Babylonian Texts from Tell al Rimah Oxford Editions of Cuneiform Texts OECT OECT 1 S. H. Langdon (ed.), The H. Weld-Blundell Collection in the Ashmolean Museum, vol. 1: Sumerian and Semitic Religious and Historical Texts Oriental Institute Publications OIP OIS Oriental Institute Seminars OLA Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta OLP Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica OPBF Occasional Publications of the Babylonian Fund OPBIAA Occasional Publications of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara OPSNKF Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund OrAnt Oriens Antiquus. Rivista del Centro per l’antichità e la storia dell’arte del Vicino Oriente OrNS Orientalia, Nova Series Palamedes Palamedes. A Journal of Ancient History Pallas Pallas. Revue d’études antiques Paléorient Paléorient. Revue pluridisciplinaire de préhistoire et protohistoire de l’Asie du Sud-Ouest et de l’Asie Centrale PBS Publications of the Babylonian Section, University Museum, University of Pennsylvania L. Legrain, Historical Fragments PBS 13 Philippika. Altertumswissenschaftliche Abhandlungen Philippika PIHANS Publications de l’Institut historique-archéologique néerlandais de Stamboul PN personal name Proto-Aa/Ea/Lu  lexical series (MSL 2, 9, 12, 14) PRU Le palais royal d’Ugarit PRU 3 J. Nougayrol, Textes accadiens et hourrites des archives est, ouest et centrales J. Nougayrol, Textes accadiens des archives sud (archives internationals) PRU 4 Å. W. Sjöberg (ed.), The Sumerian Dictionary of the University Museum of the PSD University of Pennsylvania tablets in the collections of the Princeton Theological Seminary PTS Quaternary Research Quaternary Research. An Interdisciplinary Journal Revue d’assyriologie et d’archéologie orientale RA REE Revista de Estudios de Egiptologia REL Reconstructed Eponym List (see G. Barjamovic, T. Hertel, and M. T. Larsen, Ups and downs at Kanesh: Chronology, History and Society in the Old Assyrian Period

xiv Religio RIMA RIMA 1 RIMA 2 RIMA 3 RIMB RIMB 2 RIME RIME 1 RIME 2 RIME 3/1 RIME 3/2 RIME 4 RINAP RINAP 4 RlA Rm. RN RS Sa SAA SAA 1 SAA 2 SAA 3 SAA 4 SAA 9 SAA 10 SAA 12 SAAB SAACT SAAS Sag SAKF SANE SANER SANTAG SAOC SAT SAT 3 SB Sb SBH SBTU

Abbreviations Religio. Revue pro religionistiku The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Assyrian Periods A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC) A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC) A. K. Grayson, Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC) The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Babylonian Periods G. Frame, Rulers of Babylonia: From the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC) The Royal Inscriptions of Mesopotamia, Early Periods D. R. Frayne, Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC) D. R. Frayne, Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC) D. O. Edzard, Gudea and His Dynasty D. R. Frayne, Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC) D. R. Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC) The Royal Inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian Period E. Leichty, The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC) Reallexikon der Assyriologie und Vorderasiatischen Archäologie tablets in the collections of the British Museum, London royal name field numbers of tablets excavated at Ras Shamra (Ugarit) Salmanassar I State Archives of Assyria S. Parpola, The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part I: Letters from Assyria and the West S. Parpola and K. Watanabe, Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths A. Livingstone, Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea I. Starr, Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria S. Parpola, Assyrian Prophecies S. Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars I. Kataja and R. Whiting, Grants, Decrees and Gifts of the Neo-Assyrian Period State Archives of Assyria Bulletin State Archives of Assyria Cuneiform Texts State Archives of Assyria Studies lexical series (MSL SS 1) K. Oberhuber, Sumerische und akkadische Keilschriftdenkmäler des Archäologischen Museums zu Florenz Sources from the Ancient Near East Studies in Ancient Near Eastern Records SANTAG. Arbeiten und Untersuchungen zur Keilschriftkunde Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilization Sumerian Archival Texts M. Sigrist, Texts from the Yale Babylonian Collection, Part II Standard Babylonian tablets from Susiana in the collections of the Musée du Louvre, Paris G. Reisner, Sumerisch-babylonische Hymnen nach Thontafeln griechischer Zeit Spätbabylonische Texte aus Uruk

Abbreviations

xv

E. von. Weiher, Spätbabylonische Texte aus Uruk, Teil II Societé pour l’étude du Proche-Orient ancien Sémata: Ciencias Sociais e Humanidades A. Deimel, Die Inschriften von Fara, vol. 2: Schultexte aus Fara Schriften zur Geschichte und Kultur des Alten Orients Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East J. W. Heimerdinger, Sumerian Literary Fragments from Nippur S. N. Kramer, Sumerian Literary Texts from Nippur in the Museum of the Ancient Orient at Istanbul Sm. tablets in the collections of the British Museum, London SMEA Studi Micenei ed Egeo-Anatolici Sumerian Proverbs (see B. Alster, Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s SP Earliest Proverb Collections) Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten StBoT StBoT Beih. Studien zu den Boğazköy-Texten, Beiheft StMed Studia Mediterrenea StOr Studia Orientalia StPohl Studia Pohl StPohl 3 J. M. Sasson, The Military Establishments at Mari StPohl SM Studia Pohl, Series Maior STT O. R. Gurney, J. J. Finkelstein, and P. Hulin, The Sultantepe Tablets Sumer. A Journal of Archeology (and History) in Iraq Sumer Syria Syria. Revue d’art oriental et d’archéologie Š Šulgi ŠS Šu-Su’en tablets in the collections of the Staatliche Museen, Berlin T. TCL Textes cunéiformes du Louvre TCL 6 Fr. Thureau-Dangin, Tablettes d’Uruk à l’usage des prêtres du Temple d’Anu au temps des Séleucides G. Contenau, Contrats et lettres d’Assyrie et de Babylonie TCL 9 G. Contenau, Contrats néo-babyloniens, vol. 2: Achéménides et Séleucides TCL 13 Texts from Cuneiform Sources TCS TDP R. Labat, Traité akkadien de diagnostics et pronostics médicaux field numbers of tablets excavated at Tell Hariri (Mari) TH THeth Texte der Hethiter field numbers of tablets excavated at Tell Mardikh (Ebla) TM TMH Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht Collection of Babylonian Antiquities, Friedrich Schiller University, Jena TMH NF Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht Collection of Babylonian Antiquities, Friedrich Schiller University, Jena, Neue Folge TMH NF 3 S. N. Kramer and I. Bernhardt, Sumerische literarische Texte aus Nippur, vol. 2: Mythen, Epen, Weisheitsliteratur und andere Literaturgattungen Tukulti-Ninurta I TN Topoi Suppl. Topoi supplément Tp Tiglatpilesar I TR tablets from Tell Ar-Rimāḥ TTKY Türk Tarih Kurumu Yayınları Texte aus der Umwelt des Alten Testaments, Neue Folge TUAT NF U tablets from Ur UCP University of California Publications in Semitic Philology UCP 9–2-1 H. F. Lutz, Sumerian Temple Records of the Late Ur Dynasty Ur Excavations UE SBTU 2 SEPOA Sémata SF SGKAO SHCANE SLFNi. SLTNi.

xvi

Abbreviations

Ch. L. Woolley et al., Ur Excavations, vol. 2: The Royal Cemetery. A Report on the Predynastic and Sargonid Graves Excavated between 1926 and 1931 UE 3 L. Legrain, Ur Excavations, vol. 3: Archaic Seal Impressions Ur Excavations, Texts UET UET 6/2 C. J. Gadd and S. N. Kramer, Literary and Religious Texts, Second Part UF Ugarit-Forschungen. Internationales Jahrbuch für die Altertumskunde Syrien-Palästinas Ugaritica Ugaritica. Mission de Ras Shamra Ugaritica 5 J. Nougayrol et al. (eds.), Nouveaux textes accadiens, hourrites et ugaritiques UM tablets in the collections of the University Museum of the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia VAT tablets in the collections of the Staatlichen Museen in Berlin Vorderasiatische Schriftdenkmäler der Königlichen Museen zu Berlin / der VS Staatlichen Museen zu Berlin VT Vetus Testamentum WAW Writings from the Ancient World WB tablets in the H. Weld-Blundell Collection, Ashmolean Museum, Oxford WO Die Welt des Orients. Wissenschaftliche Beiträge zur Kunde des Morgenlandes Wissenschaftliche Veröffentlichungen der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft WVDOG WVDOG 130 H. Reculeau and B. Feller, Mittelassyrische Urkunden aus dem Archiv Assur 14446 Wiener Zeitschrift für die Kunde des Morgenlandes WZKM YBC tablets in the Babylonian Collection, Yale University Library, New Haven YOS Yale Oriental Series. Babylonian Texts YOS 1 A. T. Clay, Miscellaneous Inscriptions in the Yale Babylonian Collection A. T. Clay, Neo-Babylonian Letters from Erech YOS 3 R. P. Dougherty, Records from Erech, Time of Nabonidus (555–538 B.C.) YOS 6 A. Tremayne, Records from Erech, Time of Cyrus and Cambyses (538–521 YOS 7 B.C.) A. Goetze, Old Babylonian Omen Texts YOS 10 P.-A. Beaulieu, Legal and Administrative Texts from the Reign of Nabonidus YOS 19 Zeitschrift für Assyriologie und verwandte Gebiete / Vorderasiatische ZA Archäologie ZABR Zeitschrift für altorientalische und biblische Rechtsgeschichte ZATU M. W. Green and H. Nissen, Zeichenliste der archaischen Texte aus Uruk Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft ZAW ZL Zimrī-Līm UE 2

Program* Sunday, July 20 Old Library foyer 17:00–19:00 Registration

Monday, July 21 Old Library foyer 8:30–10:00 Registration Old Library auditorium 10:00–11:00 Welcoming session Marta Kicińska-Habior, Vice-Rector of the University of Warsaw Jolanta Sierakowska-Dyndo, Dean of the Faculty of Oriental Studies, the University of Warsaw Małgorzata Sandowicz, Chair of the Warsaw RAI Organizing Committee Piotr Michałowski, President of the International Association for Assyriology Opening session 11:00–11:30 Piotr Steinkeller, Luck, fortune and destiny in ancient Mesopotamia — or how the Sumerians and Babylonians thought of their place in the flow of things* 11:30–12:00 Stefan Zawadzki, Finis Assyriae: the fall of the Assyrian state or the fall of the Assyrian civilisation?* 12:00–12:30 Peter A. Miglus, Searching for fortune and misfortune in the Ancient Near East with archaeological methods 12:30–14:00 Lunch break Workshop IV. Divination: Masked by Religion? (Room 111) Chair: Jeanette C. Fincke 14:00–14:30 Jeanette C. Fincke, The oldest Mesopotamian astronomical treatise: enūma anu enlil 14:30–15:00 Yoram Cohen, Sheep anatomical terminology in the Šumma Immeru omens series and additional texts 15:00–15:30 JoAnn Scurlock, Mesopotamian medicine: religion or science?    *  Lectures

published in this volume.

xvii

xviii

Program

I Millennium Elam and Assyria (Room 116) Chair: Heather D. Baker 14:00–14:30 Jan Tavernier and Elynn Gorris, The fortunate Atta-hamiti-Inshushinak 14:30–15:00 Sanae Ito, The reconciliation of Assurbanipal with Babylon in ABL 926 15:00–15:30 Mordechai Cogan, A fresh look at the composition and editing of the Khorsabad Annals and summary inscription Literature: Myths (Room 211) Chair: Jacob Klein 14:00–14:30 Dina Katz, Fortune and misfortune in the career of Enmerkar the king of Uruk* 14:30–15:00 Jay Crisostomo, ‘Recount for me the Spell of Nudimmud’ . . . yet again 15:00–15:30 Evelyne Koubková, Fortune and misfortune of the eagle in the Myth of Etana* 15:30–16:00 Coffee break Workshop IV. Divination: Masked by Religion? (Room 111) Chair: Jeanette C. Fincke 16:00–16:30 Maria Stella Cingolo, Some remarks about the Old Babylonian libanomancy texts 16:30–17:00 Paul Delnero, Divination and religion as a cultural system 17:00–17:30 Krzysztof Ulanowski, “Shamash, great lord, whom I am asking, answer me with reliable ‘Yes!’.” The impact of divination on the result of war I Millennium Elam and Assyria (Room 116) Chair: Jon Taylor 16:00–16:30 Stefan Nowicki, Aššur as a donor of fortune and misfortune to Assyria and neighbouring lands 16:30–17:00 Melanie Gross, The fate of the enemy: Neo-Assyrian policy relating to foreign elites 17:00–17:30 David Kertai, Reconstructing a Neo-Assyrian royal banquet Literature: Myths (Room 211) Chair: Nathan Wasserman 16:00–16:30 Luciano Esteban Monti, The misfortune of Kumarbi: did it reflect shifts in Hurrian society? 16:30–17:00 Selena Wisnom, Blood on the wind and the tablet of destinies: intertextuality in Enūma Eliš 17:00–17:30 Noemi Colombo, Inanna in the good and bad graces of Gilgamesh 17:30–18:00 Alexander Loktionov, Shaping fortunes, crossing boundaries, changing identities: what is really happening in the Underworld Vision of an Assyrian Prince?

Program

xix

19:00–22:00 Reception Centralna Biblioteka Rolnicza, 66 Krakowskie Przedmieście St.

Tuesday, July 22 Workshop I. In Honour of Prof. Piotr Michałowski and Prof. Piotr Steinkeller (Room 111) Chair: Peter A. Miglus 9:20 Introduction: Peter Machinist 9:30–10:00 Walther Sallaberger, Developing procedures to handle the Sumerian lexicon 10:00–10:30 Christopher Woods, Economic forecasting at Uruk? The earliest evidence for contingency tables Workshop VII. Beyond Military: Fortifications and Territorial Policies in the ANE (Room 116) Chair: Cinzia Pappi 9:00–9:30 Alexander Sollee, Neo-Assyrian concepts of fortification 9:30–10:00 Lluís Feliu and Jordi Vidal, Fortifications as civic monuments: the case of second millennium Syria II Millennium Peripheries (Room 211) Chair: Richard Beal 9:00–9:30 Tayfun Bilgin, Circle of the king: hierarchy in Hittite administration* 9:30–10:00 Eva Von Dassow, How to get credit and avoid foreclosure in Arrapḫe 10:00–10:30 Lena Fijałkowska, Misfortune and legal remedies against it in Late Bronze Age Syria* 10:30–11:00 Coffee break Workshop I. In Honour of Prof. Piotr Michałowski and Prof. Piotr Steinkeller (Room 111) Chair: Piotr Bieliński 11:00–11:30 Gianni Marchesi, Caesar at Umma: interpreting UD.MUD.NUN in Early Dynastic texts 11:30–12:00 Xiaoli Ouyang, Place value notations in the Ur III period: unexpected evidence from marginal numbers in administrative records 12:00–12:30 Tonia Sharlach, Šulgi, mighty man, king of Ur*

Program

xx

Workshop VII. Beyond Military: Fortifications and Territorial Policies in the ANE (Room 116) Chair: Peter A. Miglus 11:00–11:30 Carlos Langa- Morales, Die Organisation und die Vernetzung der Festungen und Militärsiedlungen in der Ur III Zeit auf dem ZagrosGebirge nach den Feldzügen unter Šulgi und Amar-Suena 11:30–12:00 Dlshad Marf, Ancient fortifications and architectural ruins in the land of Lullubi and the province of Zamua/Mazamua (preliminary report on field work) 12:00–12:30 Cinzia Pappi, Twin cities: the territorial dynamics of paired fortresses in Assyria II Millennium Peripheries (Room 211) Chair: Wilfred van Soldt 11:00–11:30 Emanuel Pfoh, Prestige and authority in the southern Levant during the Amarna Age 11:30–12:00 Graciela Gestoso Singer, Fortunes and misfortunes of messengers and merchants in the Amarna letters* 12:00–12:30 Joanna Töyräänvuori, The royal adoption scene in Ugaritic and Biblical texts* 12:30

Photo session

12:45–14:00 Lunch break Workshop I. In Honour of Prof. Piotr Michałowski and Prof. Piotr Steinkeller (Room 111) Chair: Peter Machinist 14:00–14:30 Steven J. Garfinkle, Trade, tribute, and state formation in Ur III Mesopotamia 14:30–15:00 Yoram Cohen, Who’s who in the “House of Ur-Meme”: reconfiguring Old Babylon literature and Ur III historical sources 15:00–15:30 Mark Avila, Uri Gabbay and Marcel Sigrist, The darker side of Nintur* Workshop VII. Beyond Military: Fortifications and Territorial Policies in the ANE (Room 116) Chair: Simone Mühl 14:00–14:30 Nathan Morello, Borders and frontiers: Assyrian territorial policies and the role of fortifications in the southern Levant 14:30–15:00 Julia Linke, Royal (?) symbols for strength and safety: the Urartian kings and the foundation of fortresses 15:00–15:30 Simone Bonzano, A game for the throne: Urartian fortresses as a mean to develop the social landscape

Program

xxi

Omens and Divination (Room 211) Chair: Claus Ambos 14:30–15:00 Nils P. Heessel, About the fortune—or ill fortune—to have children* 15:00–15:30 Ann Guinan, Fortune and misfortune in equal measure Workshop IX. In Memoriam Pierre Bordreuil (Room 216) Chair: Michał Gawlikowski 14:00–14:20 Wilfred Van Soldt, The travelling queen of Ugarit 14:20–14:45 Valérie Matoïan, De l’alphabet cunéiforme aux divinités d’Ougarit : une recherche au sein de la mission de Ras Shamra 14:45–15:10 Cécile Michel, Lettre à Pierre (Bordreuil)  15:10–15:30 Françoise Ernst-Pradal, Pierre Bordreuil, un professeur de terrain 15:30–16:00 Coffee break Workshop I. In Honour of Prof. Piotr Michałowski and Prof. Piotr Steinkeller (Room 111) Chair: Cécile Michel 16:00–16:30 Nicole Brisch, Feeding the gods: ritual and divinity in Old Babylonian Nippur 16:30–17:00 Gary Beckman, Man’s fate: divine responsibility for human welfare in Hatti* 17:00–17:30 Paul-Alain Beaulieu, BM 45690 (King of Justice) in historical-legal context Workshop VII. Beyond Military: Fortifications and Territorial Policies in the ANE (Room 116) Chair: Jaume Llop 16:00–16:30 Franciszek Stępniowski, “Islands in the Stream” – riverine fortresses and forts of the Assyrian Empire 16:30–17:00 Maciej Grabowski, Babylon’s city walls and their use as burial sites during the Parthian period Omens and Divination (Room 211) Chair: Markham Geller 16:00–16:30 Rosel Pientka-Hinz, The colours of fortune and misfortune 16:30–17:00 Eckart Frahm, Turning the wheel of fortune: interpretations of omen apodoses in Assyrian and Babylonian commentaries and letters 17:00–17:30 Daniel Bonneterre, Finding the good genius in your bowl* Workshop IX. In Memoriam Pierre Bordreuil (Room 216) Chair: Brigitte Lion 16:00–16:30 Anne-Sophie Dalix, Pierre Bordreuil et les études nord-ouest sémitiques 16:30–17:00 Michel Al-Maqdissi, L’architecture religieuse en Phénicie septentrionale

xxii

Program

Wednesday, July 23 Workshop V. Patients and Patronage: At the Intersection of the Mesopotamian Technical Disciplines and Their Clients (BabMed) (Room 111) Chair: Eleanor Robson 9:00–9:30 Ulrike Steinert, Looking for clients in the Mesopotamian ritual texts 9:30–10:00 Justin Cale Johnson, Scribe and scholar, physician and exorcist 10:00–10:30 Lucia Raggetti, Tricks to enter the court: an early Medieval retrospective on the image of power Workshop II. Current Research in Cuneiform Paleography (Room 116) Chair: Gerfrid G. W. Müller 9:00–9:30 Armando Bramanti, Rethinking the writing space: anatomy of some Early Dynastic signs 9:30–10:00 Paola Paoletti, The lexical texts from Ebla: palaeography and sign identification in the Early Dynastic period 10:00–10:30 Massimo Maiocchi, From stylus to sign: a sketch of Old Akkadian palaeography Workshop VIII. The Reign of Esarhaddon (Room 211) Chair: Andrew Knapp 9:30–10:00 Selim Adali, The Anatolian and Iranian frontiers: analyzing the foreign policy of the Assyrian empire under Esarhaddon* 10:00–10:30 Amitai Baruchi-Unna, Esarhaddon’s prayer in the inscription AsBbA and the mīs pî ritual 10:30–11:00 Coffee break Workshop V. Patients and Patronage: At the Intersection of the Mesopotamian Technical Disciplines and Their Clients (BabMed) (Room 111) Chair: Markham Geller 11:00–11:30 Eleanor Robson, Between prebendary priesthood and private practice: evidence from the archives of Neo-Babylonian āšipus 11:30–12:00 Netanel Anor, The diviner and his client in the ritual of extispicy 12:00–12:30 Natalie Naomi May, Exorcists and “physicians” at Assur: more on their duties and interfamily relationships Workshop II. Current Research in Cuneiform Paleography (Room 116) Chair: Elena Devecchi 11:00–11:30 Gerfrid G. W. Müller, 3D-Joins und Schriftmetrologie: a pilot project for the computer-aided analysis of cuneiform script 11:30–12:00 Michele Cammarosano, Their styli before our hands: cuneiform scribes in 3D

Program

xxiii

Workshop VIII. The Reign of Esarhaddon (Room 211) Chair: Amichai Baruchi-Unna 11:00–11:30 Andrew Knapp, The murderer of Sennacherib, yet again 11:30–12:00 Martin Makinson, The importance of Til Barsip province under Esarhaddon 12:00–12:30 Kiril Mladenov, The conquest of Egypt and the substitute king rituals of Esarhaddon in 671 BC 12:30–14:00 Lunch break Workshop V. Patients and Patronage (BabMed) (Room 111) Chair: Henry Stadhouders 14:00–14:30 Strahil Panayotov, Psychosomatic problems of the Babylonian patient 14:30–15:00 Lidewij Van De Peut, The rhetorics of proverbs: solving misfortune in Hittite prayers 15:00–15:30 Markham Geller, The Mašmaššu as patient Workshop II. Current Research in Cuneiform Paleography (Room 211) Chair: Elena Devecchi 14:00–14:30 Jared Miller and Willemijn Waal, A paleographical approach towards the tablet fragments of the storerooms of Temple I of Hattusa 14:30–15:00 Jana Mynářová, Egyptians and the cuneiform tradition. On the palaeography of the Amarna documents 15:00–15:30 Françoise Ernst-Pradal, Paléographie des textes hourrites syllabiques de Ras Shamra/Ougarit, suite Literature: Wisdom and Hymns (Room 211) Chair: Dina Katz 14:00–14:30 Jacob Klein, The concept of ‘misfortune’ in Sumerian wisdom literature* 14:30–15:00 Gina Konstantopoulos, “O, your name” – the Sumerian šìr-namérim-ma hymns and the invocation of gods on behalf of the king 15:00–15:30 Jana Matuszak, Don’t insult Inana! Divine retribution for offence against common decency in the light of new textual sources* Archaeology (Room 216) Chair: Rafał Koliński 14:00–14:30 Bernhard Schneider, The Post-Kassite period within the Ekur of Nippur* 14:30–15:00 Helen Gries, An attempt to reconstruct the temple of Assur 15:30–16:00 Coffee break

xxiv

Program

Workshop V. Patients and Patronage (BabMed) (Room 111) Chair: Frans Wiggermann 16:00–16:30 Henry Stadhouders, Towards an edition of the Li’bum disease texts 16:30–17:00 Eric Schmidtchen, On impurity and diagnosis 17:00–17:30 Amar Annus, The motifs of the Adapa myth in exorcistic literature Workshop II. Current Research in Cuneiform Paleography (Room 116) Chair: Jana Mynářová 16:00–16:30 Strahil Panayotov, Cuneiform spotlight of the Neo- and Middle Assyrian 16:30–17:00 Jon Taylor, The rules of writing cuneiform: wedge order in NeoAssyrian and beyond 17:00–17:30 Michael Jursa and Reinhard Pirngruber, Diplomatics and paleography of Neo- and Late Babylonian archival documents Literature: Wisdom and Hymns (Room 211) Chair: Piotr Michałowski 16:00–16:30 Maurizio Viano, The fortune of wisdom literature in the Ancient Near East: the case of Vanity Theme 16:30–17:00 Enrique Jimenez, “Why do you weary yourself to compete with me?” Winning arguments in Babylonian disputation poems 17:00–17:30 Nathan Wasserman, Coup de foudre. . . . The fortunes and misfortunes of love: a new love dialogue 17:30–18:00 Tzvi Abusch, Fortune and misfortune: some observations on the sufferer’s plaint in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi* Archaeology (Room 216) Chair: Dorota Ławecka 16:00–16:30 Piotr Bieliński, Tell Arbid in north-east Syria – a third millennium b.c.e. shrine and its surroundings 16:30–17:00 A. Sollee, E. Kozal, M. Novák, A. Ahrens, S. Rutishauser, Archaeological research at Sirkeli Höyük: preliminary results of the latest excavations (2012 & 2013) and their implications

Thursday, July 24 Workshop III. New Sources and Insights on the Middle Assyrian Period (Room 111) Chair: Yigal Bloch 9:00–9:30 Stefan Jakob, One epic or many? New discoveries from the reign of Tukultī-Ninurta I* 9:30–10:00 Christian W. Hess, The Kings’ Speech: grammatical patterns in Middle Assyrian royal inscriptions 10:00–10:30 Jaume Llop, Relation between text and format in the Middle Assyrian archival texts

Program

xxv

Early Dynastic and Ur III (Room 116) Chair: Hans Neumann 9:00–9:30 Petr Charvát, The origins of the LUGAL office: temple, palace, or simply good fortune?* 9:30–10:00 Dorota Ławecka, Who were the tribute bearing people on the Standard of Ur? 10:00–10:30 Ingo Schrakamp, Urukagina and the history of Lagash Neo- and Late Babylonian Society (Room 211) Chair: Paul-Alain Beaulieu 9:00–9:30 Heather D. Baker, A measure of fortune: investigating social inequality in first millennium BC Mesopotamia 9:30–10:00 Benjamin Dromard, Made men: rich slaves of the Egibi 10:00–10:30 Paola Coro, Careers in Seleucid Uruk: the case of women 10:30–11:00 Coffee break Workshop III. New Sources and Insights on the Middle Assyrian Period (Room 111) Chair: J. Nicolas Postgate 11:00–11:30 Paul Gauthier, Ritual and administration in the Middle Assyrian Kingdom 11:30–12:00 Frans Wiggermann, The chronology of Middle Assyrian Tell Sabi Abyad 12:00–12:30 Daisuke Shibata, Hemerology, divination and Ilī-padâ’s illness Early Dynastic and Ur III (Room 116) Chair: David Owen 11:00–11:30 Christoph Schmidhuber, Re-usage of dedicatory and commemorative objects in Mesopotamia: new evidence from curses and other textual data 11:30–12:00 Sarah Clegg, Capturing the standards: economy and measuring systems in the third millennium BC 12:00–12:30 Anna Meskhi, Sumerian metrology, Sumerian beer, and Kartvelian languages Workshop VI. Beyond Hierarchies: Heterarchy and Gender (Room 211) Chair: Agnès Garcia-Ventura and Saana Svärd 11:30–12:00 Saana Svärd, On heterarchy, gender and Assyriology 12:00–12:30 Katrien De Graef, The importance of being the son of one’s sister. Power and heterarchy in the Sukkalmah regime 12:30–14:00 Lunch break

xxvi

Program

Workshop III. New Sources and Insights on the Middle Assyrian Period (Room 111) Chair: Stefan Jakob 14:00–14:30 Yigal Bloch, The dates of Ninurta-tukulti-Aššur and Mutakkil-Nusku 14:30–15:00 Joshua Jeffers, New evidence for the use of a non-intercalated lunar calendar during the reigns of Aššur-rēša-iši I and Tiglath-pileser I 15:00–15:30 Jacob Jan de Ridder, Chronological and regional developments in Middle Assyrian* Early Dynastic and Ur III (Room 116) Chair: Piotr Steinkeller 14:00–14:30 Anastas Shuke, Fortune on the origins and development of the Copula 14:30–15:00 Minna Lönnqvist, Climate change, the Martu wall and the fall of Ur* 15:00–15:30 Martin Worthington, Thoughts on Neo-Assyrian Grammar Workshop VI. Beyond Hierarchies: Heterarchy and Gender (Room 211) Chair: Agnès Garcia-Ventura and Saana Svärd 14:00–14:30 Fumi Karahashi, Overseers of weavers in Presargonic Lagash: E2-mete and her colleagues 14:30–15:00 Agnès Garcia-Ventura, Assessing the application of heterarchy to the analyses of textile workforce in Presargonic Lagash 15:00–15:30 Vanessa Juloux, How to define relation between ʿAnatu and Baʿlu: answer by absence of proofs 15:30–16:00 Coffee break 16:00–18:00 IAA General Meeting (Old Library Auditorium) 19:00–22:00 Reception University Library Garden 56–66 Dobra St.

Friday, July 25 Neo-Babylonian History (Room 111) Chair: Stefan Zawadzki 9:00–9:30 Kabalan Moukarzel, Fortune and politics: Nabopolassar’s campaign in 615 BC and his alliance with Media* 9:30–10:00 Yuval Levavi, Betting on the right horse – loyalty in the early years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire* 10:00–10:30 Małgorzata Sandowicz, The ultimate misfortune: the end of the Neo-Babylonian empire once again

Program

xxvii

Medicine and Rituals (Room 116) Chair: Antoine Cavigneux 9:00–9:30 Magalie Parys, Introduction to mental illness through a NeoAssyrian medical text* 9:30–10:00 András Bácskay, Phylacteries against fever 10:00–10:30 Marvin Schreiber, The ‘stone, plant, and wood’-schema in Late Babylonian astro-medicine Old Babylonian (Room 211) Chair: Katrien de Graef 9:00–9:30 Anne Goddeeris, Crisis? What crisis? Property speculation and redemption under the reign of Samsuiluna 9:30–10:00 Witold Tyborowski, Idū / kiṣrum variability in the Old Babylonian contracts of hire and its consequences 10:00–10:30 Lieselot Vandorpe, Shouldering a silent burden: name as a stigma for Old Babylonian slaves? 10:30–11:00 Coffee break Economy and Administration in the Persian Period (Room 111) Chair: Michael Jursa 11:00–11:30 Radosław Tarasewicz, Crisis in Uruk in the light of the texts concerning animal breeding* 11:30–12:00 Tytus Mikołajczak, The accounting tablets in the Persepolis Fortification Archive: correlations between seals and text contents Medicine and Rituals (Auditorium) Chair: Tzvi Abusch 11:00–11:30 Zsolt Simon, Why did Paskuwatti’s patient fail in the matrimonial bed?* 11:30–12:00 JoAnn Scurlock, Just in case: rituals for “Entering the palace” or perversion of justice? 12:00–12:30 Kathleen Mccaffrey, Gendering for fortune and misfortune: gender transition rituals of the Ancient Near East* 12:30–13:00 Piotr Michałowski, The ritual foundations of Mesopotamian civilizations Old Assyrian (Room 211) Chair: Piotr Taracha 11:00–11:30 Agnete Wisti Lassen, Sealing the Old Assyrian waklum-letters 11:30–12:00 Rafał Koliński, Misfortunes of Yasmah-Addu, the king of Mari* 12:00–12:30 Gojko Barjamovic, Fiddling with fortune: a new incantation from Kültepe and the spread of literacy 13:00–13:15 Closing session (Old Library auditorium)

Introduction The idea to bring the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale to Warsaw was suggested by Piotr Michałowski during the 2010 Barcelona meeting and approved a few days later by the General Assembly of the International Association for Assyriology. Between July 21 and 25, 2014, the University of Warsaw hosted over three hundred Assyriologists from all over the world. The organization of a congress of this size was a challenge for the small Assyriological community in Warsaw. We owe a debt of gratitude to fellow members of the Organizing Committee (Rafał Koliński, Adam Kryszeń, Magdalena Kapełuś, and Piotr Taracha) as well as to our colleagues from the Polish Oriental Society, who kindly agreed to support us. Our students and volunteers invested their time, energy, and enthusiasm to keep the RAI going; it is our duty and pleasure to acknowledge the help of Stanisław Chmielowski (Poznań), Karolina Cywińska, Kamil Kopacewicz, Justyna Kosiec, Kornel Krawczyk, Andrzej Pietras, and Paulina Pikulska (Warsaw). A generous grant from the Polish Ministry of Science and Higher Education enabled us to plan and host all the RAI events in an appropriate manner. Over five days, nearly 150 papers were read in three, sometimes four, parallel sessions. A large part of them was delivered within the framework of nine thematic workshops. J. Cale Johnson’s Patients and Patronage: At the Intersection of the Mesopotamian Technical Disciplines and Their Clients and Jeanette Fincke’s Divination: Science Masked by Religion? focused on ancient Near Eastern sciences. Beyond Hierarchies: Heterarchy and Gender, coordinated by Agnès Garcia-Ventura and Saana Svärd, addressed social issues. New Sources and Insights on the Middle Assyrian Period, organized by Yigal Bloch and Stefan Jakob, and The Reign of Esarhaddon, by Andrew Knapp and Amitai Baruchi-Unna, centred on historical problems. Scribal techniques were discussed in Current Research in Cuneiform Paleography, organized by Elena Devecchi, Gerfrid Müller, and Jana Mynářová. Archaeology was amply represented with lectures delivered in the panel Beyond Military: Fortifications and Territorial Policies in the Ancient Near East, organized by Simone Bonzano, Nathan Morello, and Cinzia Pappi. Participants of In memoriam Pierre Bordreuil, brought together by Valérie Matoïan and Michel Al-Maqdissi, paid hommage to the prominent French orientalist. Finally, one of the “themes” was our distinguished colleagues who started their academic careers at the University of Warsaw: a special session in honor of Piotr Michałowski and Piotr Steinkeller was prepared by Nicole Brisch and Christopher Wood. The publication of most of these panels is on the way. We are indebted to workshop organizers for bringing the speakers together and for their amazing patience and flexibility in view of frequent changes. Finally, we wish to thank the authors who decided to publish their contributions in the present volume for their cooperation and timely responses. We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Rector of the University of Warsaw, which facilitated the editorial work. Olga Drewnowska and Małgorzata Sandowicz 1

Part 1

What Is Fortune? What Is Misfortune?

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia — Or How the Sumerians and Babylonians Thought of Their Place in the Flow of Things Piotr Steinkeller Cambridge, MA

There’s divinity that shapes our ends, Rough-hew them how we will. Hamlet Act 5, Scene 2

1. Preface In this introductory paper, which, as customary in such cases, should serve as a general framework for the theme of the meeting, I will talk about the Mesopotamian ideas of destiny. To be sure, the theme of this congress is “Fortune and Misfortune.” Although both “fortune” and “misfortune” do find rough approximations in Sumerian and Akkadian (such as lamar, lamassu, damiqtu, ištaru, and lemuttu), these two concepts are more fundamentally aspects of what we call “destiny” or “fate.” This point was made very ably and eloquently by Francesca Rochberg, in her 1982 article entitled “Fate and Divination in Mesopotamia.” 1 It is fair to make a generalization that the concepts of “luck” and “fortune,” at least as autonomous, self-generating phenomena, were essentially alien notions to ancient peoples. Even Aristotle, who did believe in the existence of luck, and was particularly interested in the case of people who are consistently lucky, in the end concluded that luck must be divinely inspired or, in other words, that its source lies in the supernatural realm. 2 The idea that “luck” and “fortune” are bestowed upon us by divine forces, through a mechanism called “fate” or “destiny,” appears to be universal, surviving, if only in a residual form, to the present day — as shown, for example, by the continuing fascination with astrology. For this reason, my paper will rather address the question of destiny, offering a discussion of the most salient facts pertaining to this subject. In this I will be following into the footsteps of the excellent article by Rochberg just mentioned, as well as those of various other earlier studies of destiny in Mesopotamia, among which Author’s note: Abbreviations used follow those of the Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. The designations of Sumerian literary sources follow the names given to them in The Electronic Text Corpus of Sumerian Literature: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/catalogue.htm. 1.  Rochberg 1982: 365. 2.  See Johnson 1997.

5

6

Piotr Steinkeller

the ones written by A. Leo Oppenheim 3 and Wilfred G. Lambert 4 are especially important. 5 I hope that these remarks will be of help in setting a path for the papers and discussions to follow.

2. Terminology I begin my review with a discussion of the pertinent terminology. In Akkadian, the situation is quite straightforward. The Akkadian term for ‘destiny’ is šīmtu, which derives from the verb šiāmu ‘to determine’, more specifically, ‘to portion out, to set a limit by marking off ’, a sense that is also detectable in de-terminare itself, which means ‘to mark the end or the boundary of something’. Another, though much less frequently used Akkadian word for ‘destiny’ is isqu (usqu) ‘lot’, which derives from esēqu ‘to make a drawing, to incise a relief ’, in the D stem meaning specifically ‘to apportion lots’. 6 Since the Sumerian equivalent of isqu is giš-šub ‘cast stick’, in physical terms such ‘lots’ were wooden sticks provided with identifying marks. Since the “casting of lots” as a way of determining destiny is practically never mentioned in the early Sumerian contexts, this appears to have been a typically Akkadian concept. 7 The situation in Sumerian is a bit more complicated. The Sumerian equivalent of šīmta šiāmu, ‘to determine destiny’, is the construction nam . . . tar, in which the verb tar means ‘to apportion, to determine’, corresponding to the Akkadian parāsu. This sense of tar is also evident in the construction èn . . . tar ‘to investigate, to inquire, to ask’, 8 which is very common in Ur III economic and legal sources. The literal sense of èn . . . tar probably is ‘to determine the background of a case’, since its Akkadian equivalent is arkata parāsu, ‘to investigate the circumstances of a case’. 9 As for nam, we know that this word means ‘destiny’, since nam can be qualified by the adjectives such as dùg ‘good’, sag 9 ‘auspicious’, gal ‘great’, and gig ‘bitter’ 10 and takes possessive pronominal suffixes. 11 Furthermore, nam is equated with 3.  Oppenheim 1964: 198–206. 4.  Lambert 1972. 5.  For an extensive discussion of destiny in Mesopotamia, see also Lämmerhirt and Zgoll 2009. Owing to its peculiar theoretical underpinnings, and the author’s lack of Assyriological expertise, Lawson 1994, in spite of its promising title, is of little assistance. See Rochberg 1999. 6. See CAD I/J: 201 under isqu 3; CAD E: 331–32. Add ša me-še-ru-um i-si-iq-šu-ma “(Šamaš) whose lot is justice” (E4.6.8.2: 4 [RIME 4: 605]); Ballade of Early Rulers 1–2, cited below, n. 36. 7.  For the casting of lots in ancient Greece, see Stoneman 2011: 133–44. 8.  Lexically equated with šâlu ‘to ask, to inquire, to investigate’. See CAD Š/1: 274. 9.  See èn-bi t ar - r a = ar-ka-ta pa-ra-su, è n- b i b í - i n - ta r = ar-ka-su pár-sa-at (Ai. VI ii 36–37 = MSL 1: 81). As shown by the forms such as è n - b i t a r - r e - d a m (passim in Ur III texts) and the personal names such as Èn-mu-hé-tar-re (e.g., MVN 17 54 vi 18′) and Èn-mu-na-mu-tar (e.g., MVN 17 55 ii 11), èn denoted a concrete thing or concept. However, its meaning is unclear. See also the personal name Èn-mupàd-da (UCP 9–2-1 63: 6). It is possible that the same lexeme appears also in the interrogative expression èn-šè ‘how long?, till when?’ (Akk. adi mati). If è n indeed corresponds to arkatu (Sum. e g i r), then its meaning would be ‘back(ground)’ or the like. 10. See, e.g., nam dùg - g a t ar - r a (Gudea Cylinder B i 3); n a m s a g9- g a mu - ta r- re - é š - a (E1.14.20 iii 32–33 [RIME 1: 437]); e n n a m g a l t a r - t a r - r e (E4.2.14.6: 2 [RIME 4: 279]); n a - á g ú r u m u gi g-ga-à m (The Lament for Ur 315). 11.  See, e.g., ⸢ud⸣ dNin- g ír - su- k e4 . . . É- N i n n u -⸢t a n a m - n i⸣ m u - n a - ⸢t a r - r a⸣ (E1.9.5.26 iii 1–6 [RIME 1: 230]); l ug al- m e - e n nam - m u ud ba- t ar- ra (Šulgi B 192); n a - à m- z u i n - ta r- ra - à m (The Lament for Nippur 158).

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

7

šīmtu in lexical sources. It is highly likely that, in terms of its etymology, nam is identical with the nominal element nam, which serves to form abstract concepts in Sumerian, corresponding to the English -ship or -hood, as in nam-lugal ‘kingship’, or nam-munus ‘womanhood’. 12 The latter element should perhaps be explained as a frozen verbal form, consisting of the affirmative preformative na-, which means ‘truly, indeed’, and the verb -àm ‘to be’. 13 If this is correct, *na-àm > nam would mean ‘that which indeed is’, therefore ‘essence’ (essentia) or ‘essential nature’. And, needless to say, ‘essence’ would fit the notion of abstractness quite well, since “the essence of a king” or “king-essence” (to use the example I just cited) is a good approximation of the concept of “kingship.” 14 Among the examples where the sense of nam comes close to that of ‘essence’ or ‘nature’ particularly important are Enki and Ninhursag 200 and 219, and The Exploits of Ninurta 411 and 415, in which the nam of plants and stones respectively is determined. 15 If this explanation is valid, then the basic meaning of nam . . . t ar would be ‘to determine the essence or existence of a person or a thing’. Such an understanding of nam . . . tar finds support in comparative data, since in many languages ‘destiny’ means a portion or allotment, referring specifically to the share that deities or some other supernatural agents allot to each individual (usually at birth) as his or her destiny. A good example here is the Polish word szczęście ‘good fortune’, whose original sense is część or ‘part’. 16 The same is true of the Greek word μοῖρα, which, apart from ‘fate’, means ‘part’ or ‘portion’ (especially of land), and by extension one’s lifespan. Moira also became a personification of destiny — very much like nam-tar in Mesopotamian religion. 17 As the ancient Greeks imagined it, there were three Moirai or Fates, who controlled the thread of life of every mortal from birth to death. The whole process started with Zeus, who weighed the lives of men and informed the Fates of his decisions. The Fates then took over. One of them spun the thread of life, the second measured it with a rod, and the third snipped it with her shears.

12.  For this interpretation, see already Lambert 1972: 66. 13.  For other etymologies of nam, see Lämmerhirt and Zgoll 2009: 146. 14.  This sense is clear in the expression n a m - m u “it is my matter/business” (lit., my essence).” See, e.g., dDum u-z i Am a- ušum - g al- an- na- k e4 na m- mu b í -⸢d u g4⸣ “Dumuzi-Ama’ušumgalana has said: ‘It is my matter!’ ” (E2.13.6.4: 59–61 [RIME 2: 286]). It is likely that the same meaning of nam is found also in nam- b i - š è, also simply nam ‘because of, on accounts of, concerning’, an expression parallel to mu/sag/bar . . . a k - š è. See n a m ú r u - n a m u - n a- t e “concerning her city she approached him” (The Lament for Ur 311). Later texts explicitly connect n a m - b i - š è with šīmtu. See n a m- b i - š è g i6- p à r k i kug-ga im -m a-d a- an- k u4- k u4 = ana šīm[ti] (var. aššatti) ana gipāri elli ērubma (CT 16 pl. 16 v 13–15 + Lackenbacher, RA 65: 146 iii 1); dEn- líl- lá nu- še - g a n a m- b i - š è b í - i n - ta r- re - e š - à m = dMIN la šemâ ana šīmti išīmšunuti (CT 17 pl. 7 iv 11–12 + STT 173: 33–34); dEn - l í l n í g - n a m- š è n a m mu - u n tar-ra-š è = MIN a-na šim-ti šá ta-ši-mu “Enlil, in accordance with / because of what had been fated, (went away)” (Enlil and Ninlil 61, 62). All these data show that, like n í g, the abstract-forming n a m is an autonomous lexeme (against the conclusions of Tanos 2007: 251–52). 15.  Cf. Oppenheim 1964: 203: “The šimtu, then, is the ‘nature’ of these stones, and it is revealing that Latin natura renders Greek physis.” 16.  Brückner 1927: 544. 17.  As is well known, the divine n a m - t a r did eventually join the Sumero-Babylonian pantheon as one of the rulers of the Netherworld. See Oppenheim 1964: 203; Katz 2003: 390–91. As far as I can tell, he is not documented before Old Babylonian times (though he appears in Ur-Namma A 108). Two Ur III sources from Umma mention a certain Ù-ma-ni, the gúda priest of dNam-tar lugal (Nisaba 23 68: 6, AS 7/-; SAT 3 1507: 4, ŠS 4/xi), where, however, the deified destiny of the divine king is meant. The same entity is mentioned in an Ur III tablet from Girsu/Lagaš: beer and various flours n í g s í z k u r - r a d Lugal-nam-tar (MVN 22 10: 1–6, no year).

8

Piotr Steinkeller

A nice variant of this belief is found in the myth of Meleager. As you will recall, when Meleager was born his mother Althaea was visited by the three Moirai, who told her that he would live only as long as a certain log in the fireplace remained unburned. Althaea ran to the fireplace, snatched the log, extinguished the fire and hid it in her chest. Many years later when Meleager commits a terrible and inexcusable crime, Althaea decides to burn the log, thus putting an end to his life. In these concepts of fate, which appear to be universal, destiny is understood to be but ‘lifespan’, which is imagined to be a physical, measurable object — like a piece of cloth or a wooden log — whose length can be manipulated by the supernatural powers in charge. As I argued earlier, this is what the verb nam . . . tar apparently refers to: the act by which human existence is portioned out. Another reflection of this concept should likely be sought in the Sumerian construction nam . . . kud, which means ‘to curse’. There are good reasons to think that in its original, etymological sense nam . . . kud denoted the “cutting off ” or the reducing of lifespan, thus constituting a negative counterpart of nam . . . tar. 18 A term similar to nam-tar is eš-bar(-kin), which means ‘divine decision’, and corresponds to the Akkadian purussāʾu, a derivative of parāsu, ‘to apportion, to determine’. Like nam-tar, eš-bar(-kin) describes the decisions made by the divine assembly, but its importance appears to have been less final and dramatic. 19 The form eš-bar-kin is found in the third-millennium sources and the Old Babylonian literary texts whose origin may, with some confidence, be attributed to the Ur III and Isin/Larsa periods. It could, therefore, be the earlier one. Although it has been suggested that eš-bar-kin is a compound verb, which means ‘to seek a decision’, 20 the fact that, in the extant examples of eš-bar-kin, kin never appears as a verbal form speaks against such a possibility. An even more important argument here is that in the earliest examples of this word, dating to the Fara and Pre-Sargonic peri18. In the third-millennium sources, na m . . . k u d means ‘to curse’ and ‘to take an oath’ (in an assertive sense). Beginning in the Ur III period and later, the latter meaning is usually expressed by nam-érem . . . t a r, which signifies an oath-cum-curse. For the attestations, see Edzard 1975: 75–80, to which numerous attestations of NAM.KUD in the Ebla corpus are to be added (e.g., ARET 13: 286). That the nam of n a m . . . k u d is to be connected with n a m ‘essence’ may find support in the presence of the suffix -ani ‘his’ after n a m in an inscription of Eanatum: dNi n - k i n a m- n i ma - n i - k u d - rá (E1.9.3.1 rev. v 32–33 [RIME 1: 138]). See also the following Ur III passage, where the cutting of one’s essence apparently is meant (or at least implied): l ú u d - n a - m e n í g-⸢d a b5⸣- e ì -⸢ku d⸣- re6-[a] . . . l ú - b a dE n - l í l d Nin-líl-e nam h a - b a - d a - k u d - n e “if someone should one day cut off / reduce the provisions (of the statue), . . . may Enlil and Ninlil cut off / reduce that man’s essence (i.e., curse him)” (E3/2.1.4.7: 24–36 [RIME 3/2: 315]). 19.  See the following examples: mu dNin- ur t a én s i - g a l dE n - l í l - l á - ke4 é dE n - l í l dN i n - l í l - l á - ke4 eš -ba r-ki n b a-a b- dug4- g a “the year when Ninurta, the great ‘farmer’ of Enlil, pronounced a decision in the temple-household of Enlil and Ninlil” (Goetze, Iraq 22, Pl. 18, no. 5 N-T 490: 12–15 = year-formula Šulgi 24); lugal dE n- k i- k e4 e š - b a r - k i n b a - a n - s u m “master Enki has made a decision” (Gudea Cylinder B iv 3); eš -ba r- k in- g á šu lá- e - dè / nam - lug al ka l a m- ma k a r- k a r- re - d è “to despoil the divine decisions, to carry off the kingship of the Land” (The Lament for Sumer and Ur, 18–19); dA - n u n - n a - k e4ne .  .  . / Ub-š u-unk in- na k i di g al k ud- r u / e š- ba r- e s i - s á b a - ra - a n - z u - u š - à m “the Anunakene . . . in Ubšu-unkina, the place where important judgments are made, no longer impart decisions and justice” (The Lament for Nippur, 19–21); a m a dNin- tu(- ra) e š - b a r- k i n d u g4- g a “(temple for which) Mother Nintu pronounced decisions” (Keš Hymn 39); e š - b a r- k i n d u g4- g a š u g a l mu - u n - d u7- d u7 “(the heroes) grandly perfect the spoken decisions (of the Keš temple)” (ibid., line 61); e š - b a r - k i n - b i im-m i-in-eš-à m k i- bé bí- in- g i4- e š - à m “they indeed pronounced a decision regarding it, they indeed restored it (i.e., Uruk)” (The Lament for Nippur, 225). 20.  See Krecher 1981: 144, who translates “die richtige Entscheidung aufsuchen.”

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

9

ods, the spelling éš-bar-UNKIN consistently is used. 21 This strongly indicates that eš (2) -bar-kin is a phonetic realization of eš (2) -bar-unkin (> eš-bar-(un)kin), ‘decision of the assembly’. 22 Here it may be significant that, in the composition Enki and the World Order 18–19, 23 85, an eš-bar is submitted to the divine assembly (unkin), to be then referred to as eš-bar-kin. 24 A discussion of nam-tar and eš-bar(-kin) must take into consideration two other closely related concepts, giš-hur and me. As is made clear by the extant data, both giš-hur and me were believed to be intrinsic elements of the fate-deciding process. 25 Of the two, giš-hur is much easier to comprehend. Deriving from giš . . . h ur ‘to draw’ (eṣēru), it denotes physical plans or designs, such as those of temples and other buildings (e.g., Gudea Cylinder A v 4, vi 5). In the cosmological contexts, therefore, giš-hur (Akk. uṣurātu) means what can be described as “divine blueprints” or “cosmic geometry.” 26 The other term, me, is exceedingly difficult to translate. The concept of me was completely alien to the Akkadians, as shown by the fact that, even though there existed a loanword mû (plurale tantum only), 27 it was practically never used. Neither did Akkadian possess a corresponding native expression. 28 In my opinion, a key to the understanding of me is provided by the composition Inana and Enki, which famously describes how Inana stole the me from Enki and subsequently transferred them to her city of Uruk. As this story puts it in unequivocal terms, there was a me behind every material thing and abstract concept: a me of wisdom, a me of the plundering of cities, a me of running, a me of the carpenter, a me of happiness, a me of deceit, and so forth. In this way, there were the me of the kingship of Ur, as there were the me of Ninurta’s temple Eninnu. Gudea’s cylinders are particularly informative in this regard, since they say that, even though the me of Eninnu are 21.  For the examples, see Sjöberg 2003: 526–27. 22. Notice the spelling Ub - š u - k i n - n a - k a in Gudea Cylinder A 14, which replaces the usual Ub-š u-unkin-na. 23.  Cited below in n. 38. 24.  Note also the term k a - a š - b a r, which likewise denotes ‘divine decisions’, and, like e š - b a r(- k i n), is equated with purussāʾu in lexical sources. See CAD P: 529–30. It is unlikely, however, that the two terms are etymologically related. Here note that k a - a š - b a r actually derives from k a - a š . . . b a r. See, e.g., ka -aš unkin- na ša- m u- un- bar - r e - e n (Inana A 16); k a - a š b a r- b a r- re - me - e n ka - a š - mu bar-ra (Alster 1997: 184 [Coll. 9 Sec. E 4]). 25.  Note, especially, their attestations in The Lament for Sumer and Ur: i n i m d u g4- g a A n dE n líl-lá giš-hur ha - l a m - e - d é “to destroy the ‘divine plans’ by the spoken command of An and Enlil” (line 21); Ki-en-gi- r a m e - bi ha- lam - e - dè g iš- hu r- b i k ú r- ru - d è / U rí mki- ma me n a m l u g a l - l a bala-bi sù-sù-dè “to destroy the ‘forces’ of Sumer, to change its ‘divine plans,’ to alienate (lit., to make distant) the ‘forces’ of the cycle/turn of the kingship of Ur” (lines 27–28); m e K i - e n - g i - r a b a - d a - h a lam -e ki-bé ha- r a- ab- g i4- g i4 “the ‘forces’ of Sumer are being destroyed — may you restore them” (ibid., line 356); gi š- hur m e k ug - g a ba- da- ha- lam- e u ru kú r- š è b a - e - re7- e š “(because) the holy ‘divine plans’ and ‘forces’ were being destroyed, they (i.e., the priests) went away to a foreign city” (ibid., line 448); m e an-na g iš- hur k alam g i- né An- n é n a m- k ú r- re “may An not change the heavenly ‘forces’ and the ‘divine plans’ that make the Land firm/united” (line 493). 26.  Cf. Oppenheim 1964: 204; Rochberg 2004: 199: “These cosmic designs, perhaps the image of universality and regularity, are frequently associated with ‘destinies’ . . . the association of destinies and designs on the cosmological level connotes an order of things as a result of divine agency.” 27.  See CAD M/2: 156–57 under mû B. 28.  Lexical sources equate m e with the equally difficult Akkadian parṣu, variously meaning ‘ritual, temple office, divine power’ (see CAD P: 195), which is a loan from the Sumerian g a r z a. This further demonstrates the absence of a comparable concept in Akkadian.

10

Piotr Steinkeller

very great (A i 20, ix 12), they can, through the divine agency, be made even grander and more perfect (A ii 15, xx 13; B xiii 5, xvii 14). These facts strongly argue that the me was a cosmic force that controlled every aspect of the universe, material or abstract, and that this “force” could be manipulated by the divine realm. As such, the me should perhaps be described as absolutes or universals, which were not unlike the Platonic “ideas” or “forms.” I submit, therefore, that the me are the “forces” or “absolutes” controlling and empowering all the phenomena, while the giš-hur are the cosmic geometry, the blueprints that organize the me into one coherent system. If, as I suggest below (p.  13), the Mesopotamian universe should be envisioned a clock, then the me would constitute the clock’s constituent parts, the giš-hur would represent the clock’s overall design, and the nam-tar would be the power (main spring) that makes the clock tick.

3.  Fate-Deciding: The Agency Having offered these remarks on the native terminology, I will now proceed to describe how the system behind the fate-deciding seems to have worked. According to the testimony of Sumerian and Akkadian literary sources, fates emanated from the chief deities, usually a collegium (unkin, puḫru) of four or seven gods, among whom An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag/Ninmah/Nintu were particularly prominent. 29 An and Enlil played the deciding role in this process, though An, true to his character, was a figurehead, a sort of distant and abstract Director of the Board, who lacked any real executive powers. Those were the nearly exclusive prerogative of Enlil, the Chief Executive Officer par excellence, who is consistently identified as the supreme grantor of destinies. 30 Historically, though, things may have been different. There is convincing evidence that originally (by which I mean exceedingly remote, probably prehistoric times) destinies were granted by Enki. 31 It is characteristic that, well into the second millennium b.c.e. and even later, Enki is described as the “master of destiny” 32 and the one whose “destinies take precedence. 33 Among the Sumerian data that illustrate this point, particularly important are two creation accounts in which Enki is given the role of the original creator of destinies; 34 and the composition Enki and 29.  nam -l ugal- la k i- t uš- bi k úr - r u- dè / e š- b a r- ki n - g á š u l á - e - d è / . . . A n dE n - l í l dE n - k i Ni n-m a h-b i na m - bi ha- ba- an- t ar - r e - e š / nam - ta r- ra - b i n í g n u - kú r- ru - d a m a - b a š u mi ni-íb-b al -e / ini m dug4- g a An dEn- líl- lá- k a sag a - b a mu - u n - g á - g á “to change the seat of kingship, to despoil the divine decisions, . . . An, Enlil, Enki, and Ninmah determined the destiny (of Ur); this destiny nothing can change; who could alter it? who could oppose the spoken commands of An and Enlil?” (The Lament for Sumer and Ur 17–18, 55–57). 30.  dEn-líl l ú nam t ar - t ar - r e - dè šu na- an - n i - i b - b a l a - e “Enlil, the one who determines destiny, may he not overturn it!” (Šulgi X 71–72); Enlil bēlum mušīm šīmātim ša qibīssu la uttakkaru (CH XLIX 53–56); Enlil . . . mušīm šīmātim . . . Enlil bēlum rabiʾum ša qibīssu la uštepellu šīmat išimmu la uttakkaru = dEn-l[í l] . . . na m [t a r - r e] . . . [d u g4- g a - n]i š u n u - b a l a - e - d a m [n a m] í b - ta r- re - d[a nu-kúr-r]u-[da] (E4.3.7.7: 1–18 [RIME 4: 385]). 31.  For the early importance of Enki and his cult, see now Lisman 2013: 151–55. 32.  Ea šar šīmtim (E4.6.8.2 [RIME 4: 608]); Ea šar šīmāti (NAM.MEŠ) (The Story of Anzu, NA Version ii 46; Advice to a Prince 2 = Lambert 1960: 112–13). 33.  Ea . . . ša šīmātušu ina mahra illaka (CH XLIX 98–100). 34.  ud re-a nam ba- t ar - r a- a- ba / m u hé - g á l A n ù - tu d - d a / u n - e ú - š i m- g i m k i i n - d a rr a-ba / . . . / dEn-k i e n n a m - t a r - t a r - r e - d è “in those primeval days when destinies were determined (for the first time), when An gave birth to the years of abundance and people broke through the ground d

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

11

Ninhursag, where Enki determines the destinies (or “essence” / “nature”) of plants. 35 No less importantly, Enki was also believed to be the original possessor of the Tablet of Destinies, as well as of the “forces” (me) and “divine plans” (giš-hur). 36 He is routinely described as the “master of destiny” in other Sumerian sources as well. 37 This fundamental connection between Enki and fate-determining is further underscored by the fact that, according to at least one source, 38 Enki was believed to be the Master of Time (a kind of Mesopotamian Chronos), the one responsible for the process of days becoming months, of months turning into complete years — and for the timing of destinies and divine decisions accordingly. Although the chief deities just mentioned, who, if one may resort to a modern analogy, served as the Executive Committee or the Political Bureau of the pantheon, were primarily responsible for the granting of fates, other deities of importance actively participated in the process as well. A good example here is Nanše, the proprietor of the southern half of the city-state of Lagaš and a major deity in her own right, of whom it is said that she decides destinies like Enlil. 39 Although this like herbs, . . . (then) Enki the lord who determines destinies (built a temple for himself)” (Enki’s Journey to Nippur 1–5); [ud ul- e - r e]-⸢t a⸣ nam dùg t ar - r a - a - b a / [A n dE n - l í l] a n k i g i š - h u r- b i mu - u n gar-re-eš -a-b a / [nun?] e n g é št ug dag al- la- k e4 / [dE n - ki l u g a l n a m]-⸢ta r⸣- ra 3 - ka m- ma - b i na-nam “in those primeval days, when auspicious destinies were determined (for the first time), when [An and Enlil] established the ‘divine plans’ of heaven and earth, [at that time the Prince?], the lord of broad wisdom, [Enki, the master] of destinies, indeed was the third of them” (The Debate between Bird and Fish 1–4). 35.  dEn-ki-k e4 ú nam - bi bí- in- t ar šag4- ba b a - n i - i n - z u (line 219); ú g á - e n a m- b i l i - b í - ta rr e (line 200). 36. See Ninurta and the Turtle B 2–4: m e šu- g á š u b a - b a - mu - d è me - b i A b z u - š è b a - a n - g i4 / giš-hur š u-gá šu ba- ba- m u- dè g iš- hur - bi Abzu - š è b a - a n - g i4 / d u b n a m- ta r- ra -⸢b i⸣ A b z u - š è ba -an-gi4 m e ab - lá- e - e n “(Amar-Anzu speaking to Ninurta): As I let go the ‘forces’ out of my hands, you returned these ‘forces’ to the Abzu; as I let go the ‘divine plans’ out of my hands, you returned these ‘divine plans’ to the Abzu; you (also) returned the Tablet of Destinies to the Abzu; I am now deprived of the ‘forces’ (and all the rest)!”; k i dEn- k i- k e4 g iš- hur h u r- h u r- re / d i ma(KA.DÙG) d i n g i r- re - e - n e ke4 ki nam-sur-[s u r]- r e “at Enki’s place (i.e., in the Abzu) ‘divine plans’ are drawn, for the intentions of the gods boundaries are set”; Akkadian: it-ti dÉ-a uṣ-ṣu-ra-m[a?] uṣ-ṣu-ra-tum / [i]-na ṭè-em DINGIRma us-⟨-su⟩-qa us-qé-[e]-tu “with Ea ‘divine plans’ are drawn; according to the intentions of the gods lots are cast” (The Ballade of Early Rulers 1–2 = Alster 2005: 300). 37.  See, e.g., E4.2.14.6: 1–2 (RIME 4: 279): dEn - k i e n n a m g a l ta r- ta r- re “Enki, the lord who determines great destinies.” See further Enki and the World Order 74–76: A n l u g a l - d a B á ra g - a n - n a ka di s i s á-m e-e - e n / dEn- líl- da K ur - r a- ig i- g á l - l a - ka n a m d ù g ta r- ra - me - e n n a m / ta r- ra ki-Ut u-è-a-ke4 šu - g á m u - u n - g á l “together with An, the master, I render judgments in the Baragana; together with Enlil I determine auspicious destinies in the Kura-igigala; he placed in my hands the determining of destinies in the place where Utu rises.” 38. See Enki and the World Order 17–19, where one of Enki’s prerogatives is identified as follows: ud š id-e i t i é-b a k u4- k u4 m u šu du7- du7- da / m u š u - d u7 u n ki n - e e š - b a r s u m- mu - d a / e š bar-kin ud-da s i s á - s á - e - d a “to count the days (and) to complete the months (lit., to bring months into their houses), and so to bring the year to perfection; (and then) at the (divine) assembly, to render decisions for the perfected year (and) to line up decisions for the (specific) days.” See further ibid., lines 43–45: [dug4]-ga e š- bar k i- bi- šè g ar nam t ar - re g a l - z u / [u d - u d?] u d - d è s a g b a - a b - g i4 i ti é-b a ba -an-ku4 / [m u? ba]- e - a- è - dè šid- bi sá ba- a b - d u g4 “(you are the one) who assigns commands and decisions where they belong; who knows how to determine destinies; (it is through you) that the day confronts [other days?], the month is completed; in order that [the year?] may come out, the (total) number (of the months) is reached.” 39.  dN anše .   .   . nin dE n - l í l - g i m n a m t a r - t a r - r e “Nanše, the mistress who determines destiny like Enlil” (Gudea Cylinder A iv 8–9); [An] lug al- e ig i h ú l - l a - n i mu - u n - š i - b a r- b a r- re / dE n - l í l - d a ba rag nam -t a r-r e - da m u- un- da- an- t uš- a / a- a dE n - k i - k e4 n a m i - r i - i n - t a r “master [An] looks

12

Piotr Steinkeller

may partly be a poetic hyperbole, Nanše was probably responsible for the destinies affecting her own domain. A special role in the fate-deciding process was played by the birth-goddess Ninhursag/Ninmah/Nintu, who was believed to be the true power behind the conception, gestation, and birth of every human being and living thing. Once the birth took place, the birth-goddess would cut the umbilical cord and determine one’s destiny. 40 It would also appear that, in the case of truly weighty decisions (like the annihilation of mankind, for example), the consent of the divine assembly (unkin, puḫru) was required. 41

4.  Fate-Deciding: The Mechanics The next issue we need to consider is the nature of the fate-deciding process itself or what may be described as its mechanics. It is clear that there was one original establishing of fates, a kind of a big-bang event, which laid down the operations of the universe and set the whole system in motion. In fact, that primeval event is referred to in some sources, which even identify Enki as the agency behind it. 42 But the system so created did not remain immutable; subsequent revisions and updatings of destinies obviously were necessary. As described by W. G. Lambert back in 1972, “everything in the universe, material or immaterial, human or divine, was laid down by decree. . . . Everything, as laid down by the highest powers, should have remained immovable. But reality had to be faced. Things did in fact change, and this means that ‘destinies’ also changed.” 43 Needless to say, the process by which “destinies” were altered was predicated on the operation of the cosmos itself. As imagined by Lambert, the universe and “everything [in it] was established in the beginning and should have stayed that very way. History on this view is like the vibrations of taut string when plucked — upon you with joy; Father Enki has determined destiny for you, having placed you upon the dais of fatedeciding together with Enlil” (Nanše A 253–55). 40.  dN in-t u-e k i nam - dum u zi- da- k a m u- d a - a n - g u b - b é / g i - d u r ku d - d a n a m ta r- re - d a ini m sa g9-ge-bi m u - z u “I (i.e., Nungal) stand by Nintu at the place of child quickening; I too know the fine commands of cutting the umbilical cord and of fate-determining” (The Hymn to Nungal 71–72). This operation could also be performed by the health-specialist Gula: dG u - l a .  .  . gi - d u r ku d - rá - n i n a m hé-em-mí-íb-tar - r[e] “may Gula, through the cutting of his umbilical cord, determine his destiny” (van Dijk 1975: 54, 56, UM 29–15–367: 49–50). Cf. Stol 2000: 74–83. For a connection between the cutting of the umbilical cord and fate-determining, see also: ina milki ša ilim qabima ina bitiq abunnatišu šīmassum “by the divine decision it was ordained: when his umbilical cord was cut she was destined for him” (George 2003/I: 178–79 OB II iv 162–163). 41.  Among the extant illustrations of this procedure, see especially: d i - t i l - l a i n i m p u - ú h - r u um -m a -ka š u gi4- g i4 nu- g ál / inim dug4- g a An dEn - l í l - l á - k a š u b a l a - e n u - z u “there is no turning back of the completed judgment of the divine assembly; the spoken command of An and Enlil knows no overturning” (The Lament for Sumer and Ur 363–65); The Lament for Ur 152 (cited below, p. 15); i-lu i-na pu-uḫ-ri-šu-nu ḫa-la-aq(UG) KALAM iq-bu-ú “the gods have decreed the destruction of the Land at their gathering” (Jeyes 1989: 180–83, no. 18: 20–21); i-lu i-pa-ḫu-ru-ma mi-il-ka-am la ⸢da⸣-[am-q]á-am i-ma-[li]-ku, “the gods will gather together (and) render an unfavorable decision” (YOS 10 13: 15). For other mentions of the divine puḫru, see CAD P: 486–87. 42.  See above, p. 10. Note that Enuma eliš I 7–8, when describing the primordial state of things, implicitly attributes the creation of destiny to the gods: enūma ilāni la šūpû manamma šuma la zukkuru šīmatu la šīmu “when not one of the gods had been formed or had come into being, when no destinies had been determined.” My understanding of these lines follows Lambert 2013: 51. 43.  Lambert 1972: 67–68.

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

13

in due course the string ceases to vibrate and returns to the state it was in at the beginning.” 44 As this interpretation would have it, the changes of destinies were but occasional adjustments of the existing system. In my opinion, the situation is to be described a bit differently. A more apt characterization of the Mesopotamian universe is that it functions like a clock, which moves in cycles or turns (bala / palû), the basic and the shortest of them being the yearly cycle—that is, one lunar year. During each yearly cycle, some disorder is introduced into the system, and so the cosmic clock gets out of whack, so to say. Therefore, every year it needs rewinding and readjusting. Even more to the truth, at that moment the system gets overhauled in its entirety, becoming completely renewed or reborn like the Moon. This results in the generation of a completely new set of destinies, which replace the existing ones. 45 That nam -tar / šīmtu was not a permanent quality, which remained unchanged since it was assigned to an individual at his birth, is shown by the fact that our sources talk repeatedly of the gods’ ability to manipulate it: to change it (kúr, nukkuru, šunnû), to overturn it (šu bala (. . . a k), šupêlu), to make it worse (lummunu), to increase it, to make it bigger (gal, šurbû, wutturu), and so on. Examples of such usages are cited throughout this paper. In addition, note the following: Ea šar šīmāti šīmtašu ušannima, “Ea, the master of destinies, will change his destiny” (Advice to a Prince 2–3 = Lambert 1960: 112–13); Ea šar šīmtim šīmtašu lilemmen “may Ea, the master of destiny, worsen his destiny” (E4.6.7.2: 147–48 [RIME 4: 608]); d En-líl-le nam-tar-ra-zu mi-ni-íb-gal = Enlil šīmātik[a] u⸢šar⸣bi “Enlil has increased your destiny” (E4.3.7.7: 14′′–15′′ [RIME 4: 386]). As various literary sources tell us, this overhaul of the cosmic order took place at the end of the year, which was celebrated by the New Year festival. It was then that the performance of the earthly representatives of gods was reviewed and tested. If they passed the review, they were allowed to keep their positions. If they failed, they were removed from their offices and replaced by other, more deserving individuals. Probably the best and most eloquent description of this practice is found is the Hymn to Nanše (Nanše A), which dates to Gudea’s reign. Lines 94–129 of this composition paint a vivid and detailed picture of how, on the New Year, Nanše conducts a general audit of her household. A mention of the reappointment of a ruler to his office as part the New Year festivities is also found in one of Gudea’s original inscriptions. 46 But this tradition survived well into the first millennium b.c.e. We 44.  Lambert 1972: 71. 45. For the yearly updating of destinies, see the following passage from an OB hymn to Adad: šattišamma šīmtašu wutur mātātim šuknišam “increase his destiny yearly, submit the lands to his feet!” (CT 15 4 ii 15–16 = Römer 1967: 186). 46.  za g-m u d ùg - k a / lú ding ir - m u- g im / din g i r- ra - n i / dN i n - g í r- s u / l u g a l - mu / u n - g á g ù ù-na-dé-a / di-ku d - a - g á / š u ì - í b - b a l a - e - a “(if) the one who, after my master Ningirsu calls upon his personal god among the (gathered) people, at the auspicious New Year — as my personal god had been called upon (by Ningirsu earlier) — should then overturn my judgments” (Gudea Statue B viii 11–18; cf. also Gudea Statue I iii 11 – iv 1). As I understand this passage, it describes the selection/confirmation of a ruler at the time of the New Year, by which a superior deity (here Ningirsu) calls upon the personal god of an earthly ruler (rather than addressing the latter directly). The ancients apparently believed that, at the New Year, a gathering of the whole nation took place, each individual being accompanied by his personal god. The chief deity would then select his earthly representative (sipad, énsi), by addressing the personal god of the chosen one. As is made clear by an earlier passage of the same text, the role of the personal god was to make his charge to appear high among the gathered crowd, as if by pushing him up: sa g zi unki n- na pa è - a / dNin- g iš- zi- da / d i n g i r- ra - n a - ke4 “Ningišzida, the one who made

14

Piotr Steinkeller

can still find its echoes in the observances of the New Year or Akitu festival, which too entailed a review of the performance of the reigning king. The latter proceedings called for the famous “negative confession,” 47 which, like the review itself, may be traced back many centuries earlier. As far as I know, the earliest example of such a confession is found in an inscription of the Larsa ruler named Kudur-mabuk, who declares that “I did no wrong to Larsa and Emutbala; I did not do anything that was not pleasing to Šamaš.” 48 The end of the year thus formed a window of opportunity for the introduction of new destinies. During the first millennium, this procedure was one of the most important aspects of the New Year festival, for two days of it (the eighth and eleventh) were specifically devoted to the determining of the destinies of the king and of the Land. 49 Although only gods could decide fates, humans were in a position to initiate the whole process. A nice illustration of this is provided by the beginning lines of Gudea’s Cylinder A, where the population of Lagaš, overwhelmed by love and gratitude for their master Ningirsu, appeals to Enlil, on the day when fates are determined on heaven and earth — and thus on the New Year — to grant Ningirsu a new, more splendid home: ud a[n k]i-a nam tar-[tar-re-d]a Laga[ški]-⸢e⸣ me gal-la [sag] an-šè mi-ni-íb-íl d En-líl-e en dNin-gír-su-šè igi zi mu-ši-bar uru-me-a níg-du7 pa mu-na-è On the day when destinies are being determined in heaven and on earth, Lagaš, the one of great ‘forces,’ has raised its head to heaven (with a supplication). (In response) Enlil has cast his favorable gaze upon the lord Ningirsu. (Lagaš speaks): ‘In our city everything indeed is perfect!’ (i 1–4). 50

In this way, destinies were determined — or more correctly, redetermined — in yearly cycles. 51 It is even possible that the model for this procedure was provided (Gudea) appear high (lit., who lifted his head) in the assembly, his personal god” (iii 4–5). It is characteristic that the immediately following lines (iii 6–11) describe specifically the selection of Gudea by Ningirsu: “when Ningirsu gazed trustingly at his city, (and then) he found (selected) Gudea in the Land to be (his) shepherd, and grasped his hand from among 216,000 people.” Cf. also Gudea Cylinder A viii 13–14: luga l⟨-ni⟩- ir un- g á m u- na- zi šùd m u- na-DU / U b - š u - k i n - n a - k a mu - n a - g u b, “he rose for his master from among the (gathered) people, prayed to him; in the Ubšu-unkina he stood up for him.” 47.  At Babylon, this ceremony took place on the fifth day of the month of Nisannu, which marked the beginning of the calendrical year. See Pongratz-Leisten 1997; Zgoll 2006: 27; Ambos 2013: 73, 129. 48.  a-na Larsamki ù E-mu-ut-ba-la / mi-im-ma ú-la ú-ga-le-el / ša e-li dŠamaš la ṭa-ba / ú-la e-pu-uš (E4.2.13a.1: 4–7 [RIME 4: 267]). 49.  See Cohen 1993: 439; Zgoll 2006: 65. 50.  Here note that the inauguration of the temple took place exactly one year later, also on the New Year: m u gi n-na- àm it i t il- la- àm / m u g ibil an - n a i m- ma - g u b / i ti é - b a b a - a - ku4 / iti-bi ud 3-àm im-ta-zal “a year had gone, the months had been completed; the new year stood up in heaven, the (first) month has ‘entered its house’; and of that month the third day has passed” (Gudea Cylinder B iii 5–7). 51.  Against Polonsky 2000: 37, there is no evidence that “fate is decreed each morning with the rise of the sun.” The sources Polonsky refers to simply say that “destiny is determined at the place where Utu rises,” without indicating that it happens daily. The place of Utu’s rising, sometimes also identified as the Du6-kug, indeed was thought to be the locus of fate-deciding (e.g., Gudea Cylinder A xxvi 3; Temple Hymns 245; Cohen 1988/I: 350, lines 38–39). It is also true that Šamaš and other deities did render daily judgments, regarding extispicy queries, ghosts, witches, etc. (see Steinkeller 2005), but those were separate from and additional to the fate-deciding process.

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

15

by the operations of Sumerian temple-households, which conducted yearly audits of their assets and employees. At such reviews, which coincided with the end of the year and the New Year festival, the slate (or, more correctly, the clay tablet) was cleaned clear, and a new set of economic facts, rules, and prescriptions was made operative for the coming year. An essential part of these reviews were plans and economic forecasts for the future. These prognostications were not unlike the fates that the gods re-determined each year for the humans and the world at large. 52 While these routine, yearly redeterminations of fates were sufficient to take care of the regular operations of the universe, now and then unusual circumstances arose that called for an urgent ad hoc intervention. In such instances, as when humanity needed to be consigned to wholesale destruction, or when the seat of kingship had to be moved from one place to another, a special, extraordinary action of fate-determining had to take place. Involving all the members of the pantheon, a special meeting would then be called. Because of the importance of the matter, the decision had to be unanimous and sealed with an oath by all the attending deities. One such case is narrated in the The Lament for Ur lines 140–41, 152–53, 163–64, where the decision to annihilate the city of Ur is cemented by a divine treaty: úru-mú gul-gul-lu-ba im-me-ne-eš-a-ba Urímki gul-gul-lu-ba im-me-ne-eš-a-ba . . . 2-kam-ma-šè pu-úh-ru-um ki sag ki a-ba-da-gál-la d A-nun-na e-ne-èm KA-kéš-da-bi ba-an-dúr-ru-ne-eš-a . . . Urímki gul-gul-lu-ba á-bi hé-em-ma-an-ág-eš un-bi ug5-ge-dé na-àm-bi ha-ba-an-tar-re-eš When they (i.e., the divine assembly) decreed the destruction of my city, when they decreed the destruction of Ur . . . when there again was an assembly in the capital place, when the Anunakene sat down to make a sworn treaty . . . they ordered the destruction of Ur, they determined its destiny that its population be killed.

A similar action is described in the Babylonian Flood Story, where, in order to thwart Ea’s efforts to save the humanity from destruction, Enlil imposes a binding oath on all the members of the divine assembly. 53 Another famous instance of the “reversal of fortune” is the story describing UrNamma’s premature demise (Ur-Namma A). For reasons unknown, 54 Enlil decided to change Ur-Namma’s destiny, and so to terminate his life. This decision was made in the absence of Inana, Ur-Namma’s protectress and lover, who no doubt would 52.  It was undoubtedly in reflection of that administrative practice that the concept of the Tablet of Destinies (dub n a m - t a r - r a) came into being. This precious object, on which divine decisions were recorded, originally belonged to Enki, later to Enlil, Marduk, and Aššur. A particularly extensive and vivid description of the enormous powers resting in the Tablet of Destinies is offered by a Neo-Assyrian text from the reign of Sennacherib (George 1986). Its possession — like that of the Ring of the Nibelungen — meant the control of the entire universe. As narrated in the Babylonian Story of Anzu, the appropriation of the Tablet of Destinies by the demonic figure Anzu (who steals it from Enlil) leads to a universal chaos. An earlier Sumerian tale (Ninurta and the Turtle) describes a similar event, with a difference that the possessor of the Tablet of Destinies (and also of the “forces” and “cosmic plans”) appearing in it is Enki. 53.  Lambert 1969: 84–85 (vii 38–43), 120–21 (BE 39099 ii 44–46); George 2003/1: 704–5 (XI 14–19). 54.  As in the case of the decision responsible for the fall of the Ur III dynasty, it probably was just Enlil’s whim. For the latter event, see The Lament for Sumer and Ur 457: a - a dE n - l í l n a m mu - e - ta rr a ga lga b a-ra -an- du8- du8 “O Father Enlil, the destiny you have determined nobody can explain!”

16

Piotr Steinkeller

have refused to grant her consent had she participated in the proceedings of the divine assembly, and would have therefore frustrated Enlil’s plan. In order to prevent such a possibility, Enlil had sent Inana abroad, on the pretext of carrying out there a mission on his behalf. Having realized what was happening, Inana rushed back to the Ekur, confronting Enlil. But she arrived too late; Ur-Namma had already died. Inana then insulted An for changing Ur-Namma’s original fate, which had destined him for rulership. 55 When the measures instituted by such extraordinary alterations of existing (operative) destinies ran out their course, new destinies had to be immediately produced by the divine assembly, so that the normal state of things could be restored. 55.  For this interpretation, see already Steinkeller 1999: 132 n. 101. The crucial information is provided by line 7′ of the Susa version, which reads: n a m U r-dN a mma mu -⸢u n⸣- b a l a - e - e š - à m “they (i.e., the gods) indeed overturned Ur-Namma’s (original) destiny.” The Standard version line 17 reads instead: na m Ur-dNamma m u - u n - t a r - r a - š è “because the destiny of Ur-Namma was redetermined.” The rest of this episode is described in lines 196–210, which deserve to be quoted in full: 196) sag-kal dInana nin mè-a di-gá nu-mu-un-tìl 197) dEn-líl-le kur-kur-ra inim gal-gal-šè kin-gi4-a bí-in-gi4 (Susa: dEn-lil-le hur-sag gal-gal kin-gi4⸢a?⸣ bí-g[i]) 198) ki-bi-ta igi-ni gar-ra-ni 199) dInana É-kur za-gìn-šè sún-na-bi mu-un-[te?] 200) sag-ki huš dEn-líl-lá-ka ní igi dúb-dúb-bé 201) nin gal É-an-na ⸢GAM⸣-ma-ni nam-ma-da-ra-⸢a⸣-[è] 202) sipad zi É-an-na-⸢ta⸣ mu-un-è igi nu-mu-ni-i[n-du8] 203) nin-mu ⸢. . .⸣ a-ba un-gá mu-u[n-. . .] 204) dInana ud huš dumu-gal dSuen-na ⸢. . .⸣-ga 205) an ì-dúb-bé ⸢ki ì⸣-sàg-ge 206) dInana-ke4 tùr im-gul-e amaš im-tab-e 207) An lugal dingir-re-ne-ke4 in kúr ga-mu-un-⸢dúb⸣ 208) dEn-líl-le sag mu-da-an-zi-⸢ga?⸣ inim-bi a-ba mu-un-kúr 209) An lugal inim mah dug4-ga-ni inim-b[i] ⸢a⸣-ba mu-un-kúr 210) giš-hur kalam-ma hé-me-a-gub-ba sag ba-⸢ra-ba-an⸣-ús-sa 196) “(The dead Ur-Namma speaks): The foremost Inana, the lady of the battle, was not present at my judgment; 197) Enlil had sent her to the foreign lands on a very important mission (Susa: Enlil had sent her to the great mountain ranges with a message). 198) (As soon as) she saw from there (what was happening), 199) Inana humbly [approached?] the Ekur of lapis. 200) She gazes imploringly at Enlil’s fierce forehead. 201) (Enlil speaks): ‘O great mistress of the Eana! After he has been subjugated (to the Netherworld), he may not come up again! 202) The faithful shepherd has left the Eana, one has not seen him since. 203) My lady, ⸢. . .⸣’ 204) Inana, the fierce storm, eldest child of Suen, ⸢..⸣, 205) makes heaven tremble, earth shake. 206) Inana destroys cattle pens, destroys sheepfolds (saying): 207) ‘Let me hurl insults at An, the master of all the gods! 208) Enlil had (originally) elevated him (i.e., Ur-Namma) (for rulership). Who has now changed that command? 209) Who has changed the great spoken command of An, the master? 210) The ‘designs’ of the Land indeed had been established for us! But they have not have been maintained!’ ” For ⸢GAM⸣-ma-ni in line 201, cf. Inana’s Descent to the Netherworld 189: [k i - s i ki l d]G a - š a - a n - n a ku rr a nam-ba-da-[a n]-GAM-e “may one not subjugate the maiden Inana to the Netherworld!” For s a g . . . z i(-g) in line 208, see above, n. 46.

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

17

Good illustrations of such “restorative” redetermining of fates are provided by the Sumerian city lamentations: An lugal dingir-re-ne-ke4 múš-àm-zu hé-em-me d En-líl lugal kur-kur-ra-ke4 nam-zu hé-eb-tar-re May An, master of all the gods, say regarding you “It has been enough!” may Enlil, master of all the lands, re-determine your fate!                     (The Lament for Ur 381–82) Urímki uru an-né nam tar-re ki-bi ha-ra-ab-gi4-gi4 (Enlil says:) “may Ur, a city whose destiny is determined in heaven, be restored for you.”                     (The Lament for Sumer and Ur 469) arhuš ma-ra-an-tuku-àm ná-am-zu in-tar-ra-àm He indeed had mercy on you, and he indeed re-determined your fate.                     (The Lament for Nippur 158) A-nun-na en nam tar-re-da dù-ù-bi bí-in-ne-e[š]-àm

d

The Anunakene, the lords who determine destiny, have decreed that it (i.e., Adab) be rebuilt.                     (The Lament for Nippur 219) A-nun-na inim dEn-líl-lá-ta é b[í-in]-šub-bu-uš-a gil-sa ul-ta gar-gar-ra-ba tumu-e ba-ab-de6-a ki-bi-šè ku4-ku4-da bí-in-eš-àm en nam tar-re-ne d

The Anunakene, who, by the command of Enlil, had abandoned their temples, and (whose) treasures, accumulated since yore, had been carried away by the wind, these very lords who determine destiny have now decreed that that they are to be brought back to their places.                     (The Lament for Nippur 272–74) a-a dMu-ul-líl-lá úru-zu-a è-ì dub sag9-ga-na ba-an-gub = a-bi dMIN URU-ka ḫi-i-iṭ-ma DUB da-mi-iq-ti-šu šú-ṭur “O Father Enlil! Watch over your city! Place it down on your auspicious tablet! (Akk.: Write an auspicious tablet for it!)”                     (Cohen 1988/1 107 b+268)

5.  How the Foreknowledge of One’s Destiny May Be Obtained The desire to know what the future holds in store for us is intrinsic to human nature. Ancient Mesopotamians were not different in that respect. They too tried to take a peak into the future, which, as they believed, had already been determined by the gods, and which, therefore, already existed, if only as a blueprint. To them, every physical manifestation of their world was a potential sign or portent of what was to come. Such signs or “unprovoked messages,” known as gizkim in Sumerian and as ittû (also giskimmu) in Akkadian, were helpful hints or tips about the future events. But potentiality is not the same as certainty. To know for sure what the future would bring, they needed to induce their deities somehow to reveal to them the exact shape of preordained destinies. This was done through recourse to various

18

Piotr Steinkeller

divinatory methods of inductive nature, among which extispicy was by far the most important one. In the case of extispicy, the diviner would petition the gods on behalf of his client to give their answer to a particular inquiry. The procedure was envisioned as a divine trial over the client, at the conclusion of which the gods would inscribe their answer or verdict in the entrails of the sacrificial lamb. The answer, which was either positive or negative, and was known as kin-gi 4 -a or tertû, was an unequivocal statement about the things to come — or, to put it differently, the client’s destiny. 56

6.  Determinism in Ancient Mesopotamia? The facts I described so far are quite straightforward, without much ambiguity attached to them. I now move on to a considerably more controversial issue, which is the question of whether or not the Mesopotamian belief system was a deterministic one. 57 As for what determinism is, let me quote the definition of it as given by Francesca Rochberg: “The implications of determinism are that whatever happens happens of necessity, and whatever does not happen of necessity does not happen at all.” 58 For our particular case, this boils down to the question of whether destines, once determined, were subject to change. We have already seen that the system was not entirely immutable, since the gods were able to update the fates, either periodically, or when a special circumstance, necessitating a change in the existing destinies, did arise. It appears, however, that once it was decided and activated, a particular destiny could not be changed, not even by the deity personally responsible for it. Like a disease that must run out its course, the fate could not be stopped or altered until it was completely fulfilled. 59 As we have seen earlier, ancient sources insist on the point that the destinies emanating from the main gods, especially those declared An and Enlil, are not subject to change. But what does it mean that Enlil’s decisions cannot be changed? By whom? Obviously not by other deities, and even less likely by humans. I submit that, once they had been set in motion, or made operative so to speak, even Enlil himself was unable to alter his decisions. Examples confirming this supposition will be cited later on. But what about the humans? Could they escape the force of destiny? It has been claimed by some scholars — and I am referring here specifically to Francesca Rochberg, that this indeed was possible. The evidence cited by Rochberg in support of this view is the ritual called nam-búr-bi “its dissipation,” whose function was to counteract inauspicious portents. 60 Rochberg argued that, if the evil foreshadowed by a portent can be removed or stopped by recourse to magic means, then the system cannot be deterministic. 61 On the surface, this sounds convincing. But the situation 56.  See Steinkeller 2005: 12–14. 57.  For a useful review of the Classical views on destiny and determinism, see Stoneman 2011: 149–62. For the concept of destiny in the Hebrew Bible, see Machinist 1995. 58.  Rochberg 1982: 370 n. 27. 59.  Unless, of course, a special meeting of the divine assembly was called, and the fate was redetermined. But, as we have seen earlier, such reversals of destiny were rare, being occasioned by unique circumstances only. 60.  The nam-búr-bi was a ritualized appeal to the chief gods (in particular, Šamaš) that they annul the “evil” sign. See in detail Maul 1994. Cf. also Rochberg 2004: 194, 201–2. 61.  Rochberg 1982: 366.

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

19

is much more complex. To the best of my knowledge, the nam-búr-bi rituals deal exclusively with signs or portents. As I emphasized earlier, signs are dramatically different from destinies, in that they are mere potentialities, possibilities of what may or may not happen. In contrast, destinies are certainties or, to put it differently, future in the process of becoming. Perhaps the best way to characterize signs is to call them foreshadowings of possible disasters, comparable to the symptoms of a disease or the slight trembling of the earth that may signal a forthcoming earthquake. To offer a concrete example, the sighting of a snake on the first day of the month of Nisannu — and likewise on the first day of Ayaru — was a very bad portent, which signified death. 62 But it did not mean necessary death, only a possibility of death. In this way, the nam-búrbi ritual was directed against the symptoms of a possible doom, and not the true reality behind it, that is, one’s specific destiny, which did or did not mean doom, and which could be fully comprehended only through the performance of provoked omens. By dissipating an inauspicious sign, one hoped, perhaps not very logically — and here the role of magical thinking enters the picture — that the evil lurking behind it could somehow be stopped in its tracks. And that is what the nam-búrbi ritual was supposed to accomplish on the cosmological level: to convince gods that they should annul the inauspicious sign. Because of the inherent vagueness of signs, and the fact that practically everything occurring in the world was a sign, the nam-búr-bi must have been usually successful, since in most instances the evil portended by inauspicious signs never materialized. However, if someone’s fate indeed was that he should die on the first day of Nisannu or Ayaru, no nam-búr-bi would have saved him. This is confirmed by a Neo-Assyrian text recording instructions for a diviner, which says as follows: “Check (then) the date of that sign and should no (other) sign have occurred to counteract (that) sign, should no annulment (pissitu) have taken place, 63 one cannot make (it) pass by, its evil cannot be removed (and) it will happen.” 64 As a matter of fact, there is convincing evidence that šīmtu could not be changed, which establishes beyond any doubt that the Mesopotamian system was deterministic. Although immutable, šīmtu could occasionally be cheated by the use of clever casuistry. The most famous example of such subterfuge is the incident involving the rebuilding of Babylon by Esarhaddon. Following its destruction at the hand of Sennacherib, Marduk determined — in writing, I mind you! — that Babylon should lie in ruins for the next seventy years. But as his heart became quickly soothed, Marduk decided to reverse his original šīmtu. Although he could not make it completely void, he manipulated it — more exactly, its written form — to suit his purpose. This he did by turning the Tablet of Destinies upside down, thereby changing the numeral “seventy” into “eleven.” 65 Another well-known example of an attempt to cheat destiny is the practice of appointing a substitute king (šar pūḫi), in the instances when the life of the reigning 62. Maul 1994: 292–93 Schlangen-Namburbi 4/2 lines 1′–2′, 5′–6′, 11′. An identical omen is recorded in Tablet 22 of the series Šumma ālu 22 (Moren 1978: 151). 63. Meaning that the respective n a m - b ú r - b i has failed to accomplish its goal. A n a m - b ú r - b i ritual is mentioned later in this text (Oppenheim 1974: 198–201, l. 56). 64.  Oppenheim 1974: 198–201, ll. 44–46. Based on this passage, in a later study Rochberg reached similar conclusions herself. See Rochberg 2004: 201–2. 65.  Esarhaddon 104 i 34 – ii 9 (RINAP 4: 196), Esarhaddon 105 i 37 – ii 22 (RINAP 4: 203–3), Esarhaddon 114 i 19 – ii 18 (RINAP 4: 236), Esarhaddon 116: 7′–19′ (RINAP 4: 244–45).

20

Piotr Steinkeller

king was threatened by a bad portent. 66 The case of king Erra-imitti, who allegedly died while sitting out such an event, 67 is highly instructive, since it shows that this procedure, like the nam-búr-bi rituals, was futile against the force of destiny. Clearly, Erra-imitti’s šīmtu was that he should die, and, therefore, there was nothing that could have allowed him to escape that fate. My favorite illustration of the immutable nature of destiny, however, comes from the Babylonian “Flood Story,” as narrated in the Epic of Gilgameš, Tablet 11. As that story goes, Enlil, with the sworn approval of the pantheon, determines that the entire human race be wiped out by the flood. The flood happens, but, thanks to Ea’s help, Uta-napištim and his folk come out of it alive. Following the landing of the ark, Uta-napištim presents offerings to the gods, who gather around them like flies. Enlil too shows up. But seeing Uta-napištim, he asks angrily: “From where escaped this living creature? No man was supposed to survive the destruction!” The other gods plead with him, arguing that the flood was a bad idea. Urged by Ea to judge Uta-napištim’s case — in other words, to re-determine his destiny — Enlil blesses Uta-napištim and his wife, declaring matter-of-factly and without any great enthusiasm: “In the past Uta-napištim was one of mankind; from now on Utanapištim and his woman shall be like us gods.” End of story. At first sight this turn of events is surprising, and seemingly without an explanation. There is no reason why Uta-napištim and his spouse should have become elevated to godhood; the fact that they were able to survive the flood would have been sufficient to make them happy. They certainly did not deserve any extra reward. 68 On further reflection, however, we realize that their deification was ontologically necessary. Since Enlil had preordained that all humanity be destroyed by the flood, the survival of Uta-napištim and his wife contravened the principle of Enlil’s decisions being immutable and knowing no exceptions. At this point of the story, Uta-napištim and his wife constitute an embarrassing anomaly, which violates the basic order of things. The only thing Enlil can do now — and he does it reluctantly — is to turn Uta-napištim and his wife retroactively into gods, and so to preserve the cosmic order. 69 66.  For this ritual, see most recently Ambos 2013: 89–91, with earlier literature. 67.  See Ambos 2013: 89. 68.  The idea that Uta-napištim’s deification represented a reward goes back to Berossus: “Xisuthros himself did not appear to them any more, but there was a voice out of the air instructing them on the need to worship the gods, seeing that he was going to dwell with the gods because of his piety” (translation in Lambert 1969: 136). Similar explanations were offered by modern scholars: “It is true, Utnapishtim and his wife obtained eternal life, but that was an exceptional case; and, furthermore, it was by divine favor” (Heidel 1946: 12; see also ibid., 256–58); “On occasion, individual mortals are treated with love, affection, and compassion by the gods. Both An and Enlil cherished the Flood-hero, Ziusudra, presented him with eternal life” (Kramer 1963: 259); “. . . after the flood had abated Enki was able to persuade the other gods not only to spare Ziusudra but to give him eternal life as a reward for having saved all living things from destruction” (Jacobsen 1976: 114). Jacobsen’s explanation is based on the version of this episode as narrated in the Sumerian Flood Story lines 255a–60: An dE n - l í l Z i - u d - s u d - rá m unus -e-š[è?] / t i ding ir - g im m u- un- na- sum - mu / z i d a - rí d i n g i r- g i m mu - u n⟨-na⟩- a b - e11dè / ud-b a Zi -ud - sud- r á lug al- àm / m u níg - g ili m- ma n u mu n n a m- l ú - ù l u ù ri - a k / ku r b a l a kur Dilm un-na k i-dU t u - è - š è m u - u n - t ì l - e š “An (and) Enlil granted to Ziudsudra and his woman life like that of gods, they brought down for them eternal breath like that of gods. On that day Ziudsudra, the king, because he had protected the living things and the seed of humanity, they (i.e., An and Enlil) settled him in an overseas land, in Tilmun where the sun rises.” Note, however, that, in this version of the story, Ziudsudra’s “reward” for the saving of life was not immortality per se, but only his retirement in Tilmun. 69.  As far as I know, this interpretation has not been suggested before, except in a brief comment by Matthews and Don (1997: 25): “When it discovers that Utnapishtim and his wife survived in an ark, the

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

21

*  *  * The time allotted to me for this presentation is up, and so I better stop. I should not press my luck. Instead of a conclusion, I will just wish all of you good fortune for the congress itself and the time you will spend in Warsaw. Here I cannot omit to note that this year’s Rencontre is blessed by the numeral 60, the supreme round number and the luckiest one the Mesopotamians have known. This should bode well for our success!

Addendum I am grateful to Daniel Schwemer for bringing to my attention his article (2009), in which he discusses an interesting case of the “goddess of destiny.” This goddess is mentioned in the ritual tablet of the series Maqlû, where she appears as a personification of the witch’s destiny. One encounters here, apparently, a general concept, which assigned to each human his or her individual goddess of destiny. As Schwemer suggests, this person-specific goddess of destiny was closely similar to (or perhaps even identical with) the personal protective deity. divine assembly changes them into immortals, so that its decree ordering the destruction of all mortals by a flood could, at least technically, be fulfilled.” I owe this reference to Dr. Brian Doak, who, on my offering this explication in one of my Akkadian classes several years ago, recalled that he had seen this idea in print earlier.

Bibliography al-Rawi, F. N. H., and Verderame, L. 2009 Neo-Sumerian Administrative Texts from Umma kept in the British Museum, Part III. NATU 3. Nisaba 23. Messina: Dipartimento di Scienze dell’Antichità dell’Università degli Studi di Messina. Alster, B. 1997 Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections. 2 vols. Bethesda, MD: CDL. 2005 Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Ambos, C. 2013 Der König im Gefängnis und das Neujahrfest im Herbst. Dresden: ISLET. Brückner, A. 1927 Słownik etymologiczny języka polskiego. Kraków: Krakowska Spółka Wydawnicza. Cohen, M, E. 1988 The Canonical Lamentations of Ancient Mesopotamia. 2 vols. Potomac, MD: Capital Decisions Limited. 1993 The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Edzard, D. O. 1975 Zum sumerischen Eid. Pp.  63–98 in Sumerological Studies in Honor of Thorkild Jacobsen on His Seventieth Birthday, June 7, 1974, ed. S. J. Lieberman. AS 20. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Frayne, D. R. 1993 Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC). RIME 2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 1990 Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC). RIME 4. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press.

22

Piotr Steinkeller

1997 Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC). RIME 3/2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 2008 Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC). RIME 1. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Fronzaroli, P. 2003 Testi di cancelleria: i rapporti con le città (Archivio L. 2769). ARET 13. Rome: Missione Archeologica Italiana in Siria. George, A. R. 1986 Sennacherib and the Tablet of Destinies. Iraq 48: 133–46. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goetze, A. 1947 Old Babylonian Omen Texts. YOS 10. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1960 The Chronology of Šulgi Again. Iraq 22: 151–56. Gurney, O. R., and Finkelstein, J. J. 1957 The Sultantepe Tablets I. London: British Institute of Archeology at Ankara. Heidel, A. 1946 The Gilgamesh Epic and Old Testament Parallels. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jacobsen, Th. 1976 The Treasures of Darkness: A History of Mesopotamian Religion. New Haven: Yale University Press. Jeyes, U. 1989 Old Babylonian Extispicy: Omen Texts in the British Museum. Leiden: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul. Johnson, K. 1997 Luck and Good Fortune in the Eudemian Ethics 8.2. Ancient Philosophy 17: 85–102. Katz, D. 2003 The Image of the Netherworld in the Sumerian Sources. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Kramer, S. N. 1963 The Sumerians: Their History, Culture, and Character. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Krecher, J. 1981 Sumerogramme und syllabische Orthographie in den Texten aus Ebla. Pp. 135–54 in La lingua di Ebla, ed. L. Cagni. Istituto Universitario Orientale, Seminario di Studi Asiatici, Series Minor 14. Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale. Lackenbacher, S. 1971 Note sur l’ardat-lilî. RA 65: 119–54. Lambert, W. G. 1960 Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1969 Atra-ḫasīs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1972 Destiny and Divine Intervention in Babylon and Israel. Oudtestamentische Studiën 17: 65–72. 2013 Babylonian Creation Myths. MesCiv 16. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lämmerhirt, K., and A. Zgoll 2009 Schicksal. Pp. 145–55 in RlA 12. Landsberger, B. 1937 Die Serie ana ittišu. MSL 1. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Lawson, J. N. 1994 The Concept of Fate in Ancient Mesopotamia of the First Millennium: Toward an Understanding of Šīmtu. OBC 7. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

Luck, Fortune, and Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia

23

Leichty, E. 2011 The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC). RINAP 4. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lisman, J. J. W. 2013 Cosmogony, Theogony and Athropogeny in Sumerian Texts. AOAT 409. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Lutz, H. F. 1928 Sumerian Temple Records of the Late Ur Dynasty. UCP 9–2-1. Berkeley: University of California Press Machinist, P. 1995 Fate, miqreh, and Reason: Some Reflections on Qohelet and Biblical Thought. Pp. 159–75 in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield, ed. Z. Zevit, S. Gitin, and M. Sokoloff. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Matthews, V. H., and Don C. B. 1997 Old Testament Parallels: Laws and Stories from the Ancient Near East. Fully Revised and Expanded Edition. New York: Paulist Press. Maul, S. 1994 Zukunftsbewältigung: Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen Denkens anhand der babylonisch-assyrischen Löserituale (Namburbi). BagF 18. Mainz: Phillip von Zabern. Molina, M. M. 2003 Testi amministrativi neosumerici del British Museum BM 13601–14300. MVN 22. Rome: Bonsignore Editore. Moren, S. M. 1978 The Omen Series “Šumma Alu”: A Preliminary Investigation. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Pennsylvania. Oppenheim, A. L. 1964 Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1974 A Babylonian Diviner’s Manual. JNES 33: 197–220. Pettinato, G. 1993 Testi economici neo-sumerici del British Museum (BM 12230–BM 12390). MVN 17. Rome: Bonsignori Editore. Polonsky, J. 2000 ki-dutu-è-a: Where Destiny is Determined. Pp.  89–100 in Landscapes: Territories, Frontiers, and Horizons in the Ancient Near East. Papers Presented to the XLIV Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Venezia, 7–11 July, 1997. Part 3: Landscape in Ideology, Religion, Literature and Art, ed. L. Milano, S. de Martino, F. M. Fales, and L. B. Lanfranchi. HANEM 3. Padua: Sargon srl. Pongratz-Leisten, B. 1997 Das “negative Sündenbekenntnis” des Königs anlässlich des babylonischen Neujahrfestes und die kidinnūtu von Babylon. Pp. 83–101 in Schuld, Gewissen und Person: Studien zur Geschichte des inneren Menschen, ed. J. Assmann, T. Sundermeier, and H. Wrogemann. Studien zum Verstehen fremder Religionen Band 9. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Rochberg, F. 1982 Fate and Divination in Mesopotamia. Pp. 363–71 in Vorträge gehalten auf der 28. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale in Wien, 6.-10. Juli 1981, ed. H. Hirsch and H. Hunger. AfO Beih. 19. Horn: Verlag Ferdinard Berger. 1999 Review of The Concept of Fate in Ancient Mesopotamia of the First Millennium. Toward an Understanding of Šīmtu, by Jack N. Lawson. JNES 58: 54–58.

24

Piotr Steinkeller

2004 Heavenly Writing: Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Römer, W. H. P. 1967 Studien zu altbabylonischen hymnisch-epischen Texten. Pp. 185–99 in Heidelberger Studien zum Alten Orient: Adam Falkenstein zum 17. September 1966, ed. D. O. Edzard. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Schwemer, D. 2009 Tod, Geschick und Schicksalsgöttin: Übergänge zwischen Leben und Tod in babylonischen Abwehrzauber-Ritualen. Pp. 583–96 in Tod und Jenseits im alten Israel und in seiner Umwelt: Theologische, religionsgeschichtliche, archäologische und ikonographische Aspekte, ed. A. Berlejung and B. Janowski. Forschungen zum Alten Testament 64. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Sigrist, M. 2000 Texts from the Yale Babylonian Collection, Part 2. SAT 3. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Sjöberg, Å. W. 2003 Notes on Selected Entries from the Ebla Vocabulary eš2-bar-kin5 (I). Pp. 527–68 in Festschrift für Burkhart Kienast zu seinem 70. Geburstage dargebracht von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, ed. G. J. Selz. AOAT 274. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Steinkeller, P. 1999 On Rulers, Priests and Sacred Marriage: Tracing the Evolution of Early Sumerian Kingship. Pp. 103–37 in Priests and Officials in the Ancient Near East, ed. K. Watanabe. Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter. 2005 Of Stars and Men: The Conceptual and Mythological Setup of Babylonian Extispicy. Pp. 11–47 in Biblical and Oriental Essays in Memory of William L. Moran, ed. A. Gianto. Biblica et Orientalia 48. Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico. Stol, M. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx. Stoneman, R. 2011 The Ancient Oracles: Making the Gods Speak. New Haven: Yale University Press. Tanos, B. 2007 The Polysemy and Productivity of the Formative Element nam in Old Babylonian Literary Sumerian. Pp. 250–72 in Analysing Literary Sumerian: Corpus-based Approaches, ed. J. Ebeling and G. Cunningham. London: Equinox Publishing. van Dijk, J. J. 1975 Incantations accompagnant la naissace de l’homme. OrNS 44: 52–79. Zgoll, A. 2006 Königslauf und Götterrat: Struktur und Deutung des babylonischen Neujahrfestes. Pp. 11–80 in Festtraditionen in Israel und im Alten Orient, ed. E. Blum and R. Lux. Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 28. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus.

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature Jacob Klein Bar-Ilan

Since the major theme of the 60th Rencontre was defined as “Fortune and Misfortune,” I decided to examine the meaning and usage of the Sumerian word nam-tar ‘fate’ in Sumerian wisdom literature, assuming that it is an approximate equivalent of the English ‘fortune’. 1 My attention was immediately caught by the beginning of the second proverb collection, which contains a section of 13 proverbs (SP 2.2–14) 2 with the key-word nam-tar ‘fate’, referring to human conditions of ill fate or misfortune. Surprisingly, this is followed by a section of 21 proverbs (SP 2.15–34) with the key-word ùkur ‘poor man’, ‘beggar’, dealing with the miserable conditions of the economically poor. Now, the juxtaposition of these two sections seems to indicate that Sumerian practical wisdom in general (or at least the editor of proverb of collection 2) considered poverty a major symptom of ill-fate, misfortune. 3 In the following paper, I will first examine the usage and meaning of the lexeme nam-tar in wisdom literature. Thereafter I will investigate the characterization of the poor and poverty in this genre, with particular attention to the attitude of society to this lowly social class. Finally, I will examine the relationship between the two concepts, fate and poverty, from the point of view of the editors of the proverb collections.

1.  nam-tar ‘Fate’/‘Fortune’ as a Neutral Concept The etymology and exact meaning of nam-tar as a verbal noun and a compound verb will not be discussed here. It is fairly certain that nam-tar originally was a neutral expression, denoting simply ‘fate’ and ‘to decree the fate’, respectively. 4 Author’s note: Sumerian literary compositions are cited under the titles adopted in ETCSL. 1.  According to The Random House Dictionary of the English Language: College Edition (1968), the English word ‘fortune’ has two basic meanings. In a limited, favorable sense, this word means ‘good luck, prosperity’. In a more general, neutral sense, it means: ‘lot, fate, destiny’. The word is derived from Latin Fortūna (equivalent to the Greek goddess Tyche), the goddess of fortune and personification of luck in Roman religion. She was also a goddess of fate. Conceptually, therefore, she is the approximate equivalent of Sum. n a m - t a r, Akk. namtaru. 2.  Henceforth, all Sumerian proverbs will be quoted according to the edition of B. Alster (1997). See also the more recent composite electronic edition ETCSL 6.1–6.2. Quotations follow the system: SP 2.2–14 = Sumerian Proverbs, Collection 2, nos. 2–14 (Alster 1997: 46–49), etc. 3.  Note that already Alster observed that some of the proverbs in the former section speak about fate from the point of view of a beggar (see Alster 1997: 360, comments on SP 2.2 and 2.5). 4.  The word n a m - t a r is obviously a compound lexeme, consisting of the verbal root tar meaning ‘to cut’ or the like, and the primary noun n a m, whose exact meaning is elusive. It may or may not be

25

26

Jacob Klein

Accordingly, when these expressions refer to a favorable fate decreeing, the noun nam is occasionally qualified by a respective adjective, such as e.g., nam-tar namti-la “a fate of life” (E4.2.13.16 48 [RIME 4: 234]), 5 nam dùg tar “to decree a good destiny” (Šulgi D 384) and so on. 6 On the other hand, when an unfavorable fate is referred to, usually nam-tar is qualified by the adjective gig, as in the expression nam-tar gig-ga-ĝu 10 “my bitter fate” (Man and his God 68). 7 Nevertheless, as pointed out by Janice Polonsky in her dissertation on the determination of destiny in ancient Mesopotamia, in most genres of Sumerian literature, fate decreeing refers to propitious fate, and therefore the noun or the verb nam-tar need not to be qualified by pertinent adjectives. Thus, for example, the element nam-tar in personal names from ED times on refers always to a favorable destiny of the child. 8 Likewise, in most literary genres, such as royal literature, mythology, and hymnology, where the term nam-tar usually concerns the fate of a king or an ancient hero, it refers to a favorable fate, whether it is qualified by a relevant adjective or not. 9

2.  nam-tar as ‘Misfortune’ in Sumerian Proverb Literature The situation is quite different as to Sumerian wisdom literature from the Old Babylonian period, 10 where the concept of nam-tar is found only with regard to the fate of a common individual. 11 A survey of Sumerian wisdom literature indicates identical with the proclitic noun n a m-, which always precedes verbal roots to form an abstract noun, such as, e.g., nam - r a ‘booty’, n a m - n a r ‘music’, n a m - m a h ‘greatness’. The meaning of the above proclitic nam is defined by the grammars as a prefixed particle, “serving to express an abstract concept” (Edzard 2003: 24; Michalowski 2004: 32), which “can approximately be translated with ‘something’ or ‘everything that belongs to it’ ” (Thomsen 1984: 57). However, it is obvious that, contrary to the latter, n a m in the compound n a m - t a r is an independent lexical word. See, e.g., Falkenstein 1949: 62: n a m - t a r - r a “was angeschnitten ist” = “Geschick”; Tanos 2007: 250–53. The word n a m, in this context, is equated in the bilingual lexical and literary texts with Akk. šīmtu “determined order, nature of things, lot, (personal fate)” (CAD Š3 11; AHw 1238b); and these same meanings are assigned to the Sumerian word by most Sumerologists; see, e.g., ePSD, sub n a m - t a r; ETCSL Glossary, sub n a m - t a r (with 670 attestations). 5.  For n am- t a r - n a m - t i - l a, see also E4.2.13.10 43 (RIME 4: 216); E4.2.13.22 35 (RIME 4: 245) passim. 6.  Note further the very common Ur III personal name n a m - z i - t a r - r a “the one who was destined for a good fate,” for which see Sollberger 1966: 155 sub 508 (n a m . t a r); Limet 1968: 497–98; Frayne 1997: xliii (ensi of Nippur in the reign of Šū-Sîn); and cf. the Sumerian folk-tale Enlil and Namzitara (recent editions: Kämmerer 1998: 218–27; Cohen 2010: 87–97). This personal name is documented no less than 202 times in CDLI. 7.  Compare na- áĝ - t ar - zu g ig - g a- àm “your fate is bitter” (Lament for Nippur 139). 8.  Note especially the third-millenium personal name l ú - n a m - t a r - r a “a man of (favorable) fate.” See also the Sargonic name n a m - t a r - r é (E2.9.2.2003: 4 [RIME 2: 255]); and the common Ur III name lú-nam-tar-ra (Limet 1968: 483; documented in CDLI 25 times). Note further the bilingual Old Babylonian Lu C7 11–13 (MSL 12: 197): lú- nam - t ar - r a = ša ši-ma-tim, l ú - n a m- ta r- ra = ša na-am-ta-r[i-e], lú-nam -t a r-gig-g a = ša ši-ma-t[u-šu mar-ṣa]. 9.  This is true especially as to the cylinders and statues of Gudea, and the royal hymns of the Ur III kings. See, e.g., Šulgi A 9: lú nam t ar - r a de n - l í l - l á - m e - e n “I am the man whose (favorable) fate was decreed by Enlil.” See further the comprehensive and systematic survey of this term in Lämmerhirt and Zgoll 2009: 145–55. 10.  This term appears only in the wisdom literature of the Old Babylonian period, being entirely absent in Early Dynastic wisdom literature. 11.  An exception to this rule may be SP 3.83, which reads: u d u l - è n a m a l - t a r - r a / du tu g u b ba-ni nam-luga l m u - u n - n a - a n - š ú m. According to Falkowitz, the first editor of Collection 3, “this

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

27

that in almost all occurrences of the term nam-tar in this genre, it refers to ill fate rather than to a favorable one, whether or not it is qualified by an adjective. In other words, it almost always refers to some form of misfortune. 12 Another remarkable literary observation to be noted is the fact that nam-tar is attested only in the proverb collections proper; it does not appear in other forms of practical wisdom literature. 13 That nam-tar in the Sumerian proverbs frequently occurs in a non favorable, pessimistic context, had been observed already by Alster. 14 A careful survey by the present author indicates that this term, as a rule, refers to the miserable condition of an individual, which fell in his lot, and cannot be reversed. In most cases, the unlucky individual utters in the first person a complaint about his misfortune. Sometimes he addresses his complaint to an unidentified individual: nam-tar-ĝu10 ga-àm-dug4 in-na-àm pa ga-àm-è su-lum-mar-àm Let me tell (you) about my fate: it is an insult; Let me reveal it (to you): it is a disgrace. (SP 2.2) 15

Occasionally, there is a sinister saying about bitter fate, sounded as a general impersonal statement: in-na in-bi-im áš-e áš-bi-im nam-tar-ra ki pél-pél-lá-bi entry is a reference to royal investiture” by Utu, one of the gods who determined the fate and gave kingship at sunrise. Accordingly, he translates: “The sun arises and fate is determined. Utu, when standing (in the sky) gave him kingship” (Falkowitz 1980: 201). Alster, however, considers this proverb to deal with everyday life of the individual, translating: “By sunrise decisions are made. When the sun is up, kingship is assigned,” and takes it to mean that “one should make use of the early hours of the day to accomplish his goals” (Alster 1997: 95, 386). For other proverbs, in which n a m - t a r refers to human decisions, or the determination of the nature of a thing by a human agent, see SP 1.26 “(Only) after you have eaten the bread you have made its nature decided” (Sum. n a m h é - e b - t a r); SP 1.67 “The city’s character (ETCSL: fate) cannot be determined; its registrar of deeds is a merchant”; note further the unique expression nam-tar eĝir-ra “the future state of thing” (The Lazy Slave Girl 15 [Alster 2005: 371]). 12.  A statistical survey with the help of the major modern databases (such as ETCSL and CDLI), supplemented with some recently published sources, indicates that n a m - t a r, in the meaning of ‘fate’, with reference to the fate of the individual determined by divine authority, is attested in Sumerian wisdom literature at least 16 times; these include only two proverbs in which n a m - t a r appears as a compound verb (SP 2.9–10), otherwise always as a verbal noun (cf. SP 2.2–8; 2.11–14; SP 1.80; SP 3.83; SP 3.176; YBC 7532; Instruction of Šuruppak [Alster 1974] 170–71). It is to be noted that 11 out of these 16 attestations are concentrated in the section of Collection 2 under discussion. A survey of all other literary genres points to a reversed ratio between the two grammatical forms of n a m - t a r: As against a total of ca. 80 occurrences of n a m - t a r as a verbal noun, we find hundreds of its occurrences as a compound verb. 13.  Collected by Alster (2005). The only exception to this rule is Instructions of Šuruppak 170–71 (see preceding note). 14. Alster 2005: 153, comment to Instructions of Šuruppak 170. He refers there to all proverbs containing the expression n a m - t a r (some of them irrelevant to the present study). In his opinion, these sayings “yield a rather sinister picture, although far from devoid of humor.” See also Lämmerhirt and Zgoll 2009: 151–52 sub §10 “Pessimismus gegenüber dem Schicksal.” 15.  A variant extended version of this proverb is UET 6/2 292 obv. + rev. See the other parallel SP 26 Sec. C 9–11: tum9 u18- lu ig i- ĝ á sahar - r a bí- i[n - s i] / a - n a - à m e ĝ e r- ra -[ĝ á] n e mu - u n - s u - u b s u-ub -[bé-en] / n am - t ar - ĝ u10 g a- àm - d[ug4 in- na - à m] / p a g a - a b -⸢è⸣ [s u - l u m ma r- à m] / i n - n a in-b[i-im áš-e áš - b i - i m] “The south wind has filled my eyes with dust; why does it kiss me backwards? Let me tell you about my fate: it is an insult. Let me reveal it to you: [it is a disgrace]. It is the harshest [of] insults, [the greatest of curses].”

28

Jacob Klein It is the harshest of insults, the greatest of curses! 16 It is the most disgraceful of all fates! (SP 1.80) 17

In another case, the complaint is addressed to one’s female neighbor, coupled with the fear that she might rejoice over the individual’s misfortune, rather than sympathize with him: nam-tar-ĝu10 usar-ĝá ga-na-ab-dug4 in-na ma-ĝá-ĝá Were I to tell my (female) neighbor about my fate, she would heap insults upon me. 18 (SP 2.3)

Now, it is a well-known fact that in Mesopotamian religion in general the existential condition—namely, the fate of an individual—is directly connected with his moral or religious conduct. In other words, Mesopotamian theology and outlook is firmly based on the doctrine of retribution. To be sure, this doctrine is manifested in many proverbs, which express the idea that the individual’s conduct in matters of religion and ethics directly affects his fate, and that various gods are responsible for guarding this principle. However, when one examines the context in which nam-tar is mentioned in proverb literature, it seems to be disconnected from the doctrine of retribution. Thus, there is a well-known pessimistic statement, which alludes to the arbitrariness and unpredictability of divinely determined fate, in the Old Babylonian version of the Instructions of Šuruppak (Alster 1974) 170–71: 16.  Literally: “It is the insult of (all) insults, it is the curse in/of (all) curses.” Compare such biblical superlative phrases as ‫“ עבד עבדים‬the lowest servant” (Gen 9:25) or ‫“ שיר השירים‬the most excellent song” (Cant 1:1) or ‫“ הבל הבלים‬utter futility” (Eccl 1:2). 17.  For the present translation, see Jacobsen 1959: 461 sub 1.83. For k i p é l - p é l - l á - b i, see Man and his God 32: du- lum - m a k i pé l- pé l- la- bi saĝ - e - e š mu - e - ri g7 “(Hence) you have doled out to me the most disgraceful of all sufferings.” An alternative translation of k i p é l - p é l - l a - b i could be “the most burning/grievous (of all fates)” (for this meaning, see PSD B: 153, sub b í l - l a 1). Alster 1997: 20 reads in-na i n-b i-im áš- e áš- bi- im / nam - t ar - r a k i g i b i l - g i b i l - l á - b i and translates: “It is an insult (resulting) from an insult; it is a curse (resulting) from a curse; it is the constant renewal of destiny.” Their translation assumes that the preceding proverb (SP 1.79) provides the context (see Alster’s comment to these two proverbs, ibid., 349–50). However, the reading k i g i b i l - g i b i l - l á - b i for k i p é l - p é l - l a - b i is to be rejected on the basis of grammatical considerations. Note that this proverb is found in a cluster of proverbs (SP 1.78–1.81) with the key word á š (curse). See also the translation of Gordon 1959: 82: “In a taunt is its taunt; in a curse is its curse. (Such is) the constant renewal of destiny!” 18. Alternatively, this line may be read as in n a - m a - ĝ á - ĝ á, translating: “let her not treat me with another insult!” or “she will surely heap insults upon me.” The motif of telling one’s troubles to the female neighbor, for finding in her a comfort, is known from other genres of Sumerian literature. Thus, e.g., the poet of the individual lament Man and his God advises any sufferer, who is not aware of his misdeeds, to tell his friends, including his female neighbor, of his misery. See ll. 4–5: ĝišb a l a ĝ - d i x? u s a r ku-li-ni ur5! x [h]u?- m u- un- na- búr - e šà x x ⸢hé - e b?⸣- h u ĝ - e “Let the harp player, his female (or) male companion, assuage his spirit! Let him soothe his heart!” Admittedly, it is not clear whose heart are the neighbor woman and the friend supposed to soothe: that of the sufferer or that of the personal god. Note further Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave 159, which shows that the neighbor women was expected to pray for a sick child, or lament the dead child, just like his mother and brothers: u s a r a m a - ĝ u10 é - a ku4-ra -na ér-ĝu10 nu- še8- še8 “My mother’s (female) neighbor who enters (our) house is not here to weep over me.” There is another proverb concerning the female neighbor in this cluster (SP 2.8), which is still not comprehensible: u s a r a m a - ĝ u10 é - a- na zi mu - u n - d i - n i - g i4, translated by Alster (1997: 46): “(My) neighbour and my mother are on friendly terms in her house.” For another proverb, expressing the ungratefulness of a neighbor, see SP 21 Sec. A 4 (Alster 1997: 252): k a š g a - ⸢ z é - z é - e b ⸣ u s a r n u - k a l ⸢e⸣ “Should I make the beer sweet, (my) neighbour would not appreciate it.”

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

29

nam-tar peš10 dur5-ra-àm lú-da ĝìri-ni im-ma-da-an-zé-er Fate is a wet bank; it can make one slip. 19

Another proverb expresses even more explicitly and sharply the arbitrariness of fate, disconnecting it totally from one’s conducts: nam-tar-re gaba-ri-me-en zid-du dug4-ga-ab érim-du dug4-ga-ab I am confronting Fate: “Speak in the way of a righteous, (or) speak in the way of a wicked (it makes no difference).” (SP 3.176) 20

One cannot find a more explicit statement as to the fortuitousness of fate than the proverb, which puts in the individual’s mouth the complaint: ud nam-tar gig-ga-ka ba-tu-ud-dè-en I was born on an ill-fated day. (SP 2.5) 21

This proverb seems to indicate that a man’s fate is determined by the day of his birth, which may happen to be a lucky day or an unlucky day; and that a man’s fate is determined when he is still an innocent infant, unable to distinguish between good and evil. Furthermore, there are numerous proverbs in which fate (nam-tar) is likened to a sinister, cruel entity, which clings to the individual for the rest of his life. In these proverbs, nam-tar seems to be a sort of autonomous force, acting independently without divine control. Some see in these descriptions a mere poetic personification of an abstract concept. 22 Nevertheless, sometimes one is not sure, whether nam-tar refers to the abstract idea of “fate” or to the mythological Namtar, the divine, netherworld, demon of plague and death. Note nam-tar in the following two proverbs: nam-tar ur-ra-àm zú mu-un-da-an-kud túg-mu-dur7-ra-gin7 im-ma-tab-tab a-ba-àm lú-ĝu10 hu-mu-un-da-an-zu Fate is a dog – well able to bite. Like dirty rags, it clings, saying: “Who is my man? 23 Let him know it.” (SP 2.11)

19.  Literally: “Destiny is a wet bank that makes a men’s feet slip away from him” (Alster 2005: 86). Wilcke (1978: 208 sub ll. 175–76) translates: “Das Schicksal ist (wie) ein feuchtes Ufer; es hat (schon) Menschen ausgleiten lassen.” This proverb is quoted under occasional theoretical statements about fate; see, e.g, Lämmerhirt and Zgoll 2009: 145–46 sub “Algemeines.” 20.  So Alster (1997: 109); Lämmerhirt and Zgoll (2009: 151) translate: “I am one who defies Fate (while he says): Speak in the way of a just man, (or) speak in the way of a wicked man (it makes no difference).” 21.  For nam- t a r g i g - g a “bitter fate” in individual and communal laments, see Man and His God 68 and Lament for Nippur 117–18, 139. 22.  See Alster 1997: xxiii: “Abstract notions are expressed through realistic images.” As an example, he quotes SP 2.11, which likens fate to a biting dog (see below). 23.  I.e., “Who is my victim?”

30

Jacob Klein nam-tar 24 ur-gir15-ra-àm eĝer-ra-na mu-un-DU Fate is a dog walking always behind a man. (SP 2.14)  25

3.  Poverty as a Symptom of ‘Misfortune’ We have seen that the above cluster of thirteen proverbs (SP 2.2–14) focuses on the keyword nam-tar, referring always to ill fate, misfortune. The question arises: What is considered by the compiler of proverb collection 2 to be the life condition characteristic of misfortune? The answer to this question is, to my mind, given by the following section of 21 proverbs, with the keyword ùkur ‘poor man’, ‘beggar’, referring to the miserable conditions of the economically poor. The juxtaposition of these two sections seems to indicate that Sumerian practical wisdom in general (or at least the editor of proverb of collection 2) considered poverty a major symptom of ill-fate, misfortune. That the editor of our collection considered misfortune to be virtually identical with poverty and misery, is indicated already by the last proverb of the above section (SP 2.14), quoted above: nam-tar (var. du-lum) ur-gir15-ra-àm eĝer-ra-na mu-un-DU Fate (var. toil) is a dog walking always behind a man.

Interestingly, while one source 26 reads in this proverb nam-tar, three sources 27 substitute it with the term du-lum ‘hard work, toil’, indicating that the two concepts are virtually the same. The parallelism between nam-tar in the sense of ‘misfortune’ and du-lum is indicated also by juxtaposing SP 1.80 with Man and his God 32: in-na in-bi-im áš-e áš-bi-im nam-tar-ra ki pél-pél-lá-bi

du-lum-ma ki pél-pél-la-bi saĝ-e-eš mu-e-rig7

It is the harshest [of] insults, [the greatest of curses]!28 It is the most disgraceful29 of all fates! (SP 1.80)

You have doled out to me the most disgraceful of all sufferings. (Man and his God 32)

To be sure, du-lum is a poetic word for all kind of suffering. While in our proverb it seems to refer to the hard work and toil of the poor, in Man and his God it  28 29

24.  Var. du-l u m ‘hard work, toil, misery’ (for this proverb, constituting the transition between the the nam-tar section and the ù k u r section, see below). 25. See further SP 2.12: nam - t ar t úg - g a- àm e d i n - n a mu - u n - n a - a n - l á “Fate is a cloth, stretched out over one in the desert”; SP 2.13: n a m - t a r u d h u š k a l a m - m a r i - a “Fate is a raging storm blowing over the Land.” Note, finally, the somewhat enigmatic proverb, which may belong to this same category: a -a ig i i- ni- in- bar nam - t ar - ĝ u10 b a - d i b - b a “I looked into the water. My destiny was drifting past” (SP 2.4 = Ni 9824). Alster (1997: 360) correctly sees in this proverb “a metaphor based on daily life,” but he does not attempt to explain its meaning. It could mean that when the unfortunate individual (the beggar) sees his own wretched image swaying in the water, it reminds him of his miserable, unstable fortune. 26.  Text A (= CBS 13980). 27.  Texts C (= CBS 4576), M (= CBS 13866), and PPP (= A 30205). 28.  For the present tentative translation of this line, see n. 16 above. 29.  For the present translation of k i p é l - p é l - l á - b i, see n. 17 above.

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

31

most probably refers to suffering from an undetermined disease. 30 It is all the more surprising, that the semi-divine demons nam-tar and á-sàg, which normally bring upon humanity plagues and mortal diseases, in proverb literature bring upon him poverty and destitution. This is already signaled in the following two proverbs, included in the nam-tar section of our proverb collection, in which the individual complains about his extreme poverty: nam nu-tar-re ki-gul-la 31 gaba ba-an-⸢ri⸣-[me-en] lú kug lá zu-me-en igi-za ga-gub ma-an-dug4-e-še I am one whose fate has not been determined, confronted by a destitute. “I will be the one who knows how to settle the account; let me serve you,” she said to me. (SP 2.9) 32 nam nu-tar-re á-sàg-e 33 gaba ba-an-ri-me-en 34 kug níĝ-gur11 zu-me-en igi-za ga-gub ma-an-dug4-e-še I am one whose fate has not been determined, confronted by a sickness demon. “I am one who knows wealth and possessions; 35 let me serve you,” he said to me. (SP 2.10) 36

If I correctly understand these two proverbs, the unfortunate individual complains that he is so impoverished, literally ill-fated (nam nu-tar-re) 37 that even a (female) destitute and an asag-demon know better than him how to handle money and property. Alternatively, even such persons can manage his accounts. 30. In Man and His God, this term is attested no less than 7 times (cf. ll. 11–13, 47, 67, 71–79, 125–30). A revised edition of this composition by the present author is forthcoming (for the time being, see Klein 2006). Akk. dullum, the equivalent of Sum. d u - l u m, is attested as well in the Old Babylonian Man and his God 2, 10, and 49 (see Lambert 1987: 188–93). 31.  For k i gu l - l a, see also Nanše A 165–66: nu- s i ki .  .  . n u - mu - s u .  .  . k i - g u l - l a á - tu k u - ú r ĝ á ĝá-da “the orphan. . . , the widow. . . , the destitute delivered up to the powerful” (see further Hoe and Plow 46, 178). Note that the first line of SP 2 begins with the expression ki-gul-la, albeit in a different, literal meaning ‘destroyed place’: k i g u l - l a - b a k i hé - e n - g u l / k i n u - g u l - l a - b a g ú - ĝ ì ri h é - e n - ĝ á l “In those places which have been destroyed, let more places be destroyed. And in those places which have not been destroyed, let a breach be made there” (so Alster 1997: 44 and ETCSL). For k i - g u l - l a, see CAD K: 349 sub kigullu A (fem. kigullatu). Since Akk. ki-gul-lim is attested in lexical lists always in parallelism with female persons (such as ekûtu, batultu, aštamme, kuzīru, and ḫarimtu), Jacobsen (1959: 477, following Landsberger) assumes that it denotes a ‘female waif ’, literally a ‘destroyed place’, as contrasted with a virgin (ki-s i k i l). The fem. kigullatum is attested only once in a late Akkadian source. 32.  This proverb is translated by Jacobsen 1959: 476: “As the saying goes: I am one whom, before his fate was determined, a waif applied; ‘I am a master paymaster, let me serve you!’ she said to me.” 33.  Jacobsen (1959: 477) assumes that á - s à g parallels the former k i - g u l - l a and therefore means ‘bondman’, i.e., a person bound, debt slave (< á - s ì g - a), to be separated from the sickness demon, its namesake. 34.  Text P (3N-T 761 = IM 58687), omits -m e - e n. 35. For kug and n í ĝ - g u r11 in parallelism, see Dumuzi-Inana O 26: n í ĝ - g u r11 tu k u n a m- ta rr a [t uku? hé-me- e n] / z a - e l ú k u g - t u k u - b i [h é -m e - e n] “[May you be] the owner of property, [the owner] of fortune, [may you be] the owner of silver!” 36.  Jacobsen (1959: 476) translates this proverb: “As the saying goes: I am one whom, before his fate was determined, a bondman applied; ‘I am an expert on money and goods, let me serve you!’ he said to me.” 37.  The present translation (“one whose fate has not been determined”), is based on the assumption that nam nu-tar- r e stands here for n a m n u - t a r - r a. Note further SP 1.67 u r uki n a m- b i n u - ta r- re / s aĝ-tùn-bi dam- g à r - r a, which is usually translated: “The city’s character/fate cannot be determined; its registrar of deeds is a merchant.” In view of the last two proverbs a better translation could be: “The city’s fate has not been determined (i.e., it has an evil fate); its registrar of deeds is a merchant.”

32

Jacob Klein

Let us now turn to the adjacent section of collection 2 (SP 2.15–35), consisting of 21 proverbs, out of which at least 17 proverbs contain the key word ùkur ‘poor (man)’. 38 We also find the term ùkur 11 times scattered in other proverb collections. 39 Thus the keyword ùkur occurs in the proverb collections at least 28 times. In all other genres of Sumerian literature, on the other hand, the term ùkur occurs only about 10 times. The ten or so occurrences of the term ùkur outside proverb literature, can be found mainly in myths, epics, divine hymns and royal literature. As a rule, he and his social equivalents, such as the son of the widow (dumu nu-mu-un-su) 40 or the prostitute (kar-ke 4 ), are protected or patronized by gods and kings. 41 The context, in which the poor (ùkur) is mentioned in the proverbs, is entirely different. The proverbs, as a rule, describe the extremely low social status and the grim conditions of the poor man’s life, in a realistic way and in rather harsh and unsympathetic terms. 42 One can distinguish between three major groups of proverbs concerning the poor: There are proverbs, which describe the extremely low economical status of the poor, in concrete snapshots taken from daily life; another group of proverbs depict the extremely low social status of the poor, in general, abstract terms; a third group of proverbs describes the way they are treated or appreciated by other fellow people. The first group of proverbs, as usual, gives concrete examples, how needy and economically deprived are the poor: The poor lack the basic needs of livelihood, especially food, and clothing. See, for example, the following pertinent examples: ùkur-re níĝ gu7-ù-da-ni-šè igi an-ši-dù-dù The poor man is (always) on the lookout for his food. (SP 2.15) 43 ùkur a-na-àm al-tur-re é-na4kinkin(HAR)-na gú imšu-rin-na-ka túg bír-ra-ni nu-kalag-ge-dam 38.  SP 2.15–19; SP 2.22–24; SP 2.26–27; SP 2.28 (n a m - ù k u r); SP 2.29–33. SP 2.20 and 2.35 clearly do not contain our keyword. SP 2.21 and 2.25 are extremely fragmentary, and may have contained the key word in the lacunae. 39.  For ùkur, see SP 1.55; SP 1.57; SP 9 Sec. A 3; SP 11.7; SP 12 Sec. D 5; SP 17 Sec. B 5; SP 22 iii 31. For nam-ùkur, see SP 1.15 and SP 3.106. 40.  The widow is attested at least 28 times in Sumerian literature, out of which only four appear in the proverb collections. Interestingly, a non-conformist Old Babylonian lexicographer gave the Sum. logogram LAL.DU, pronounced /uku/ (ú k u or ù k u r) four Akkadian equivalents: lapnum ‘poor’ (the main Akk. equivalent), almattum ‘widow’, katûm ‘destitute’, and enšum ‘weakling’. There is a possibility that he equated the above logogram with Akk. šaplum ‘lowly’ too. This unique, bilingual syllabary, being at the same time a sort of synonym list, is found in the Shlomo Moussaieff tablet collection, and will be published by the author and Yitschak Sefati. 41. Gods – Inana, Utu, and possibly Hendur-saĝa; kings – Urukagina, Gudea, Ur-Namma, and Išmedagan. Cf. E1.9.9.1 v 22–vi 3 (RIME 1: 260), xi 17–19 (RIME 1: 264); E1.9.9.3 ii 10′–14′, iii 6′–9′ (RIME 1: 273); Gudea Cylinder B xviii 4–7; Laws of Ur-Namma, Prologue A 162–65; Išmedagan A 203. 42.  To be sure, it is extremely difficult to classify the proverbs concerning the poor according to their thematic contexts, or analyze them in abstract, logical terms. This is because these proverbs are cast in concrete, factual descriptions or sometimes are garbed in metaphors and allegorical language. But the main difficulty to understand a proverb is its lack of wider context, and laconic form. Therefore, a great many of these remain obscure or are subject to different interpretations. 43.  See also SP 17 Sec. B 6: ù k u r t u7- a i g i b a r - r a “A poor man stares into the cauldron.” See further SP 2.16 and SP 2.22 (=SP 17 Sec. B 5).

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

33

níĝ ú-gu dé-a-ni nu-mu-un-kíĝ-kíĝ-dam How lowly is the poor man! The area around the oven is a mill-house to him. 44 His torn clothes will not be repaired. That which he has lost will not be searched for. (SP 2.29) 45

Due to his poverty, the poor cannot be choosy and demanding: ùkur-re níĝ šu ti-a-ni zú an-ur5 46 The poor man chews whatever he is given. (SP 2.19)

Another proverb, which seems to refer to the poor suffering from the lack of food, is SP 2.30: ùkur ur5-ra-àm al-tur-re ka-ta kar-ra ur5-ra ab-su-su The poor man is this lowly: his debts are paid off with what is taken from his mouth. 47

Two somewhat enigmatic proverbs seem to express the radical idea, that for a starving poor man death is better than life: ùkur nam-ti-bi nam-úš-da ⸢nu⸣?-[ub-dirig] The lives of the poor are not [better] than death. (SP 1.57) ùkur ha-ba-ug7 nam-ba-da-tìl-i ninda ì-pàd mun nu-pàd mun ì-pàd ninda nu-pàd uzu ì-pàd gazi nu-pàd gazi ì-pàd uzu nu-pàd Let the poor man die, let him not live: When he finds bread, he finds no salt. When he finds salt, he finds no bread. When he finds meat, he finds no condiments. When he finds condiments, he finds no meat. (SP 1.55) 48 44.  The present translation of this line follows that of ETCSL, assuming that the area around the oven is where the poor has to grind his flour by himself, not in a regular mill-house, for being so little; for a different translation and interpretation, see Alster 1997: 51 and 362. 45.  According to Alster (1997: 362), this is a miniature poem on the living conditions of the poor: no one helps mend their ripped clothes or find their lost articles. Note further SP 3.106, which is an exceptional proverb, dealing with public poverty (crisis) rather than private one: š e n u - ĝ á l - l a š u i r iki- k a / gi nu-ĝál-la nam - ù k u r - r a d i r i g - g a “Where there is no grain, this is a (sign of) vengeance turned towards a city; where there are no reeds, it is the worst of all poverty.” Alster (1997: 387) points our that the lack of food and reeds represents the most serious situation a city could confront. 46.  For zú-ur5 in a somewhat similar context see Curse of Agade 252–53: ĝiši g g a l kušg u r21 é a d - d a na -ka kušgur21-bi zú- ni- t a hé - ur5- r e “(out of starvation) may he chew the leather hinges on the main door of his father’s house!” Alster (1997: 361) comments: “The implication seems to be that a poor man must eat anything he can get, whether or not he finds it pleasing.” For a proverb expressing the same idea, see SP 12 Sec. D 5. 47. Translation after ETCSL (for a different translation, see Alster 1997: 51). Another proverb, which seems to refer to the poor man who due to his lack of basic financial means cannot pay off his debts, and hence cannot cultivate his field, is SP 2.17: ù k u r - r e š e u r11- ru n u - mu - u n - z u - a z í z a - n a ba -ur11-ru “How can a poor man who doesn’t know how to cultivate barley manage to cultivate wheat?” 48.  So text A (= Ni 9804+). Texts Y (= CBS 13852+) and CBS 6139 add a line reading: ì ì - p à d š aĝan nu-pàd š a ĝ a n ì - p à d ì n u - p à d “When he finds oil, he finds no jar. When he finds a jar, he finds no oil.” The idea expressed by this proverb seems to be: Since the poor has no food, or cannot enjoy

34

Jacob Klein

Another group of proverbs, as I mentioned before, depict the extremely low social status of the poor in general, abstract, terms or by indicating the way they are treated or appreciated by the financially strong. Some of these proverbs categorically point out the bitter fact that the poor belong to the lowest rank of society: ùkur si-ig kalam-ma-ka The poor are the weak in the Land. (SP 2.32) 49 ùkur nu-kal The poor man is not appreciated. (SP 2.18) 50

According to one proverb, the opinion or the testimony of a poor is disregarded: inim ùkur-ra-šè šu la-ba-ši-in-ti The word of a poor man is not accepted. (SP 2.27) 51

Consequently, being a poor man’s friend yields neither power nor status: ku-li ùkur-ra-ka níĝ hu-hu-nu nu-mu-un-su-a-ka Being a poor man’s friend (amounts to) the weakness of a widow. (SP 2.33) 52

4.  The Attitude toward the Poor in the Sumerian Proverbs The question arises: What is the purpose of the above proverbs, which depict in such realistic and gloomy way the fate of the poor man? Are they objective, neutral his food, better is death than life for him. Alster (1997: 346) refers to Ahiqar III 66: “My son, for a man who has no meal during his life, death is preferable than life” (cited from Nau 1909: 174; for this reference I am indebted to Michael Sokoloff). See also Ben Sira 30:17: “Better death than a bitter life, and eternal repose than chronic sickness”; 41:2: “O death, your judgment is good to a person who is needy and lacking strength. . .” (A New English Translation of the Septuagint, International Organization for the Septuagint and Cognate Studies, New York: Oxford University Press, 2007: 704 and 753). Compare further the following Rabbinical sayings: “And it was taught: Four are counted as dead: A poor man, a leper, a blind person, and one who is childless” (Babylonian Talmud, Nedarim 64b); “What amounts to death? Poverty; for thus said the Master: ‘A poor man is considered as dead’ ” (Yalkut Shimoni, Psalms 831). Note that Alster (1997: xxv) offers a somewhat different interpretation to this proverb, discussing it under “Satirical Proverbs.” 49. For s i-ig (probably phonetic for sig, Akk. enšu, qatnu, šaplû) in similar context, see Debate between Grain and Sheep 173–74: é - b a! k a- ba bur u5mušen d a l b a - a b - [ ra ] - g i n7 è h s i - i g ka l a m- ma š è ba -ni -ib-ku4-r e - e n: “like small flying birds chased from the door of a house, you are turned into the lame and the weak of the Land.” Alster (1997: 51) equates here s i - i g with Akk. šaqummatu ‘silent.’ 50.  For the verb ka l in similar context, Alster (1997: 361) refers to OECT 1 13 i 8 (a wisdom text): dum u-m unus lú níĝ nu- t uk u g al4- la- a- [ni lú n a - me ] n u - u n - n a - ka l -[le?] “a daughter of a poor man: [no one] appreciates her vulva.” 51.  Reading and translation of this proverb follows ETCSL. Cf. Eccl 9:15: “A poor man’s wisdom is scorned, and his words are not heeded.” The reference may also be to the weight of the poor man’s testimony in court. Alster (1997: 50) reads k a (for i n i m) translating: “One cannot take (anything) out of the mouth of the poor.” 52. Literally: “It is the friend of the poor. It is the weakness of a widow.” For the grammatical structure of this saying, see Alster 1997: 362. The parallelism between the poor and the widow recalls the numerous parallels in other literary genres.

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

35

observations of a social phenomenon; or perhaps they harbor some didactic purpose, teaching a lesson? According to Alster (1997: xxiv), . . . proverbs hardly ever express innovative thoughts or revolutionary ideas aimed at improving the living conditions of humankind. On the contrary, proverbs are extremely conservative; they promulgate the status quo. They do not question the validity of the existing social order. Those at the bottom of the social scale are told to stay there. It is likewise characteristic that no compassion is expressed toward the underprivileged. The weak have to help themselves (. . .). The social outlook clearly indicates that one cannot escape the role in society to which one is born (. . .). 53

We have a third group of proverbs, which seem to bear out this hypothesis. According to one of these proverbs, the poor should live in accordance with his low social and financial status: lú níĝ-tuku ú [dùg?]-⸢ga? 54 hé-gu7⸣-e ùkur zíd-SAHAR-bi hé-⸢gu7⸣-[e] Let the wealthy man eat [fine] food, Let the poor man eat milla flour. (SP 12 Sec. D 5) 55

According to another proverb, the poor man should usually be submissive, and respect his rich patron: é-é? ⸢ùkur?⸣-ùkur!-ra? téš-e la-ba-gam-e Not all the households of the poor are equally submissive! (SP 2.26) 56

But what is most important, the poor should be loyal to the authorities: nir-ĝál kug-zu-àm ùkur šu dim4-ma-àm šu ĝar ĝál-la arattaki-ka When the authorities are wise, and the poor are loyal, it is the effect of the blessing of Aratta. (SP 9 Sec. A 3) 57 53.  As an illustration of these principles, Alster quotes the following proverbs: “Don’t give the halt man a club for his arm! Let Enlil help him!” (SP 15 Sec. B 6 = UET 6/2 305 = UET 6/2 330); “A soldier is bound to (be) a dog, (he) gets grass for flour” (EDP 32); “The dog is bound to the threshold” (EDP 63). 54.  For the tentative restoration of ú - [ d ù g ] - ⸢ g a ⸣ or ú - [ d ù g - g a ] - ⸢ b i⸣ in the first line, cf. Būr-Suen A 19: ú dùg hé-b í- íb- g u7- e “ may he provide . . . with good food”; Bird and Fish 64: ú d ù g - g a - b i n u m u-e-ši -ib-gu7-e n “You cannot eat the sweet plants there. . .”; Elegy for Nannaya 92: ú d ù g h é - ri - i b gu7-e “ may he cause you to eat fresh food.” Note also Ur-Nammu C 75: ù ĝ - e ú n i r- ĝ á l b í - í b - ⸢ g u7?⸣- e n “I cause the people to eat splendid food.” 55. On this proverb, see Alster 1997: 427 (note that SAHAR is read in ETCSL as k u k k u š [for milla], and the proverb carries there the siglum SP 12 Sec. C 6). This proverb may be compared with Geneva Proverb Tablet (Alster and Oshima 2006) rev. ii 8 (= SP 1.178): à m - g u7- g u7-{zu}- me - e n n í ĝ n a mba -lá-{u-}e-en dum u- g i7- m e - e n nam - ba- r a- t ur?- tu r?- e n “You, who are used to eat (fine/plenty of) food, may you lack nothing! You, who are a noble man, may you never be in want!” (for my reading and translation of this proverb, see now Klein 2015: 277, ll. 287–88). 56.  For the present translation of this proverb, see Gordon 1959: 192: “All the households of the poor are not equally submissive!” (for a similar translation, cf. ETCSL: “Not all the households of the poor will bow down together”). Alster (1997: 362) fails to translate the whole proverb, being reluctant to accept Gordon’s above translation. See further SP 2.24: ù k u r - r e n í ĝ - t u k u - n a s u n7?- n a [x x]. . . . “The poor man [should not speak] with arrogance toward his patron!” 57.  This is a very popular saying, having several duplicates (cf. SP 10.3–4 = Ni 9867 = CBS 14189 = NBC 9763 = MDP 27 216 = Geneva Proverb Tablet obv. iii′ 5 [Klein 2015: 275]). For the interpretation, see Alster 1997: 419.

36

Jacob Klein

Another proof for this hypothesis seems to come from the juxtaposition of the section dealing with nam-tar ‘fate’, with the section dealing with ùkur ‘the poor’, in proverb collection 2. The editor of this collection perhaps wanted to teach his students three lessons: (1) that poverty is a major symptom of ill-fate, misfortune; (2) that it is usually determined for a person from his birth to stay with him during his entire lifetime; and (3) if one is lucky to have been born in a wealthy family, and inherited an estate, he should not waist his wealth by mismanagement or by leading a life of idleness. I have already pointed out above that in Mesopotamian religious thought, the individual’s existential condition, i.e., his fate, is directly connected with his moral or religious conduct. In other words, Mesopotamian theology and outlook is firmly based on the doctrine of retribution. In an article co-authored with Nili Samat, 58 we have demonstrated that this doctrine is manifested in many proverbs. Numerous proverbs express the idea that the individual’s conduct in matters of religion and ethics directly affect his fate, and that various gods are responsible for guarding this principle. However, as we have seen, when one examines the context in which nam-tar is mentioned in proverb literature, this rule seems not to be applicable, or at least to be ignored. In proverb literature, nam-tar is closely connected with poverty, as a predetermined and unalterable destiny. The question arises: How to explain this seeming contradiction between the pessimistic view of fate in connection with the poor, and the rather optimistic outlook as to fate and divine providence, in general? It seems to me that the only way to solve this problem is to assume that in a conservative society such as Ur III and Old Babylonian Mesopotamia, the doctrine of retribution was considered to take effect in a closed social system: It seems to have been applied only to the socially well established middle and high classes, who were in full control of their life, and were considered to act out of they free will. The members of the socially inferior class, the poor, were believed to be condemned to miserable life, controlled by and depended on the rich masters whom they served, even if they were not legally enslaved. Thus, if I am right, the ethical-theological system of the divine providence and retribution was considered valid only as far as the higher echelons of society were concerned. To them were basically the proverbs written and only they were intended to learn from them practical wisdom. In fact, we have a single, exceptional proverb from an unknown provenance, containing the term nam-tar, which only strengthens the above rule. This proverb unexpectedly preaches the optimistic doctrine of divine retribution: lú inim gi-na bal-bal inim diĝir-ra-ni-ta nam-tar sag9-ga-àm ud šú-uš mu-da-ĝál The man who speaks just words, thanks to the word of his personal god his fate is favorable, (and) he is with him all the time. (YBC 7352) 59 58.  “Religion and Ethics in Sumerian Proverb Literature,” in Marbeh Hokmah: Studies in the Bible and the Ancient Near East in Loving Memory of Victor Avigdor Hurowitz (Winona Lake, IN: 2015), 295–321. 59.  Alster 1997: 332 (quoted by Lämmerhirt-Zgoll 2009: 151 sub “Conduct and Fate”). The adverb ud-šú-uš (= Akk. ūmišamma), translated here “all the time”, means literally “daily.” Alster translates: “(he is with him) till the end of the day”; ETCSL translates: “(and he is with him) throughout the day.”

The Concept of “Misfortune” in Sumerian Wisdom Literature

37

If the hypothesis presented in this paper is correct, we have to assume that this exceptional, optimistic proverb was addressed to those who belonged to the wealthy class of society; or at least it was written by a scholar who never experienced poverty and destitution.

Bibliography Alster, B. 1974 The Instructions of Šuruppak: A Sumerian Proverb Collection. Mesopotamia 2. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. 1991/1992  “Early Dynastic Proverbs and other Contributions to the Study of Literary Texts from Abū Ṣālābīkh.” AfO 38/39: 1–51. 1997 Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections. 2 vols. Bethesda, MD: CDL. 2005 Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda, MD: CDL. Alster B., and Oshima, T. 2006 A Sumerian Proverb Tablet in Geneva with Some Thoughts on Sumerian Proverb Collections. OrNS 75: 31–72. Cohen, Y. 2010 ‘Enlil and Namzitarra’: The Emar and Ugarit Manuscripts and a New Understanding of the ‘Vanity Theme’ Speech. RA 104: 87–97. Edzard, D. O. 2003 Sumerian Grammar. HdO 71. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Falkenstein, A. 1949 Grammatik der Sprache Gudeas von Lagaš, vol. I: Schrift- und Formenlehre. AnOr 28. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. Falkowitz, R. S. 1980 The Sumerian Rhetoric Collections. Ph.D dissertation. University of Pennsylvania. Frayne, D. R. 1990 Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595 BC). RIME 4. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 1993 Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC). RIME 2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 1997 Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC). RIME 3/2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 2008 Presargonic Period (2700–2350 BC). RIME 1. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Gordon, E. I. 1959 Sumerian Proverbs: Glimpses of Everyday Life in Ancient Mesopotamia. Philadelphia: The University Museum. Jacobsen, T. 1959 Notes on Selected Sayings. Pp. 447–87 in Gordon 1959. Kämmerer, T. R. 1998 šimâ milka: Induktion und Reception der mittelbabylonischen Dichtung von Ugarit, Emār und Tell el-ʿAmarna. AOAT 251. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Klein, J. 2006 ‘Man and His God’: A Wisdom Poem or a Cultic Lament? Pp. 123–43 in Approaches to Sumerian Literature: Studies in Honour of Stip (H. L. J. Vanstiphout), ed. P. Michalowski and N. Veldhuis. CM 35. Leiden: Brill. 2015 A New Look at the Sumerian Proverb Tablet from Geneva. Pp. 271–304 in Studies in Sumerian Language and Literature: Festschrift Joachim Krecher, ed. N. Koslova, E. Vizirova, and G. Zólyomi. BB 8. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

38

Jacob Klein

Lambert, W. G. 1987 A Further Attempt at the Babylonian ‘Man and His God’. Pp. 187–202 in Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner, ed. F. Rochberg-Halton. AOS 67. New Haven: American Oriental Society. Lämmerhirt, K. and Zgoll, A. 2009 Schicksal A. Pp. 145–155 in RlA 12. Limet, H. 1968 L’anthroponymie sumérienne dans les documents de la 3e dynastie d’Ur. Paris: Société d’Édition «Les Belles Lettres». Michalowski, P. 2004 Sumerian. Pp.  19–59 in The Cambridge Encyclopedia of the World’s Ancient Languages, ed. R. D. Woodard. Cambridge: Cambrige University Press. Nau, Fr. 1909 Histoire et sagesse d’Ahiqar l’Assyrien. Traduction des versions syriaques avec les principales différences des versions arabes, arménienne, grecque, néo-syriaque, slave et roumaine. Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Polonsky, J. 2002 The Rise of the Sun God and the Determination of Destiny in Ancient Mesopotamia. Ph.D dissertation. University of Pennsylvania. Sollberger, E. 1966 The Business and Administrative Correspondence under the Kings of Ur. TCS 1. Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin. Tanos, B. 2007 The Polysemy and Productivity of the Formative Element nam in the Old Babylonian Literary Sumerian. Pp. 250–72 in Analysing Literary Sumerian: Corpus-based Approaches, ed. J. Ebeling and G. Cunningham. London: Equinox. Thomsen, M.-L. 1984 The Sumerian Language: An Introduction to its History and Grammatical Structure. Mesopotamia 10. Copenhagen: Akademisk Forlag. Wilcke, C. 1978 Philologische Bemerkungen zum Rat des Šuruppag und Versuch einer neuen Übersetzung. ZA 68: 196–232.

Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti Gary Beckman

The University of Michigan to the memory of Harry A. Hoffner Jr., 1934–2015

For the Hittites of Late Bronze Age Anatolia, it seems, no event in the natural world or in the life of human beings, individually or collectively, took place that was not determined by the gods. Divine interest and influence even encompassed the setting of the lifespan and fortunes of each individual man and woman. In this essay, I will discuss the bundle of ideas constituting Hittite conceptions of the parahuman direction of the destinies of mortals. As is usual in the study of Hittite civilization, the bias of the available information toward the monarch and his extended family and court leaves us better informed about the rulers of Ḫatti than concerning ordinary members of society, but there is no reason to believe that basic conceptions regarding the life experiences and ultimate fate of ruler and commoner were dissimilar. The Hittite words for ‘fate’ are gulšuwar, 1 an abstract noun derived from gulš-, ‘to inscribe, engrave, mark’, and the collective plural common gender result noun from the same verb, gul(aš)ša. The para-human beings responsible for inscribing or determining an individual’s fate, an undifferentiated collegium of uncertain number, took their name from this latter word: dGulšeš. 2 We may refer to them simply as the Fate-deities. 3 Given the etymology of their name, it is reasonable to assume that they inscribed their findings on some kind of writing surface, but there is as yet no evidence for the presence in Hittite mythological thought of Tablets of Destiny, such as are attested for Mesopotamian culture 4 and among the Hurrians. 5 These Fate-deities attended the birth of every child, along with their colleagues the Birth-deities or Mother-goddesses, who are usually designated by 1.  KBo 13.2 (CTH 309) rev.  2: [n a m . t a r] = šīmta šâmu = gul-ša-aš gul-šu-w[a-ar]; KUB 3.110 (CTH 309): 16–17: [ši-i]m-tù = dNAM-aš = [ . . . ]. Note among the evil influences to be countered in a ritual: dGul-ša-aš i-da-a-lu gul-aš-šu-wa-ar, “evil/negative determination of the Fate-deities,” KUB 43.72 (CTH 470) ii 11. On fate in Ḫatti, see in general Schwemer 2009. 2. See Melchert forthcoming, where he refutes the argument of Waal (2014) that the words in this complex should be understood as Sumerographic, dGUL-šeš, etc. Melchert delivered this paper as a lecture at the AOS Annual Meeting in New Orleans, March 2015. Archi 2013: 18 also doubts Waal’s conclusion. For the Palaic Gulzanikkeš, see Carruba 1970: 61. 3.  For a detailed discussion, see Archi 2013. 4.  In the Anzu Epic and the Enūma eliš. See Lambert 2013: 449–53. 5.  še-ḫur-ni-bi-ni tup-pí-ni, “the tablet of fate,” KUB 29.8 (CTH 777) iii 42.

39

40

Gary Beckman

the Sumerogram DINGIR.MAḪ.MEŠ/ḪI.A, possibly to be read in Hittite as Kunuštalleš. 6 By the time of the writing of our texts, the two groups of divinities had become so closely identified due to this shared activity that they had been largely conflated. 7 A major complex of rituals is dedicated to the joint worship of these two divine collegia. 8 In any event, there can be little doubt that the Fate-deities, like the Mother-goddesses, were conceived of as female. Their Hurrian counterparts were the Ḫudena Ḫudellura, likewise goddesses. 9 A good illustration of the responsibilities of these deities around a birth is provided by an incantation in which both groups are addressed: In regard to this matter we have just now summoned as witnesses the Mothergoddesses and the Fate-deities. [And], if a person is born at a certain time, [then] as the Fate-deities and [the Mother-goddesses] on that day designate well-being for him/her 10—now this is that day! May you, O Fate-deities and [Mothergoddesses], today designate life, [joy], strength, long years (and numerous other boons) for the king (and) queen! 11

That is, just as these powers would ideally allot a positive destiny to the newborn, the practitioner asks that they now shower good things upon the royal couple. 12 From this passage we may deduce that for the Hittites fate was not irrevocable, 13 but could be changed for the better if one had friends in high places. Furthermore, there is no indication that the Anatolian gods themselves were subject to the constraints of fate, or that the cosmos was expected to develop according to a pattern ordained at the beginning of time. On a more particular mythological level, an individual’s fate was allotted by a pair of goddesses of Hattic origin, Ištuštaya and Papaya. 14 An excerpt from a building ritual reads: When the king enters the building, the Throne summons the eagle, “Come, I am sending you to the sea. When you go, spy out the grove in the steppe. Who is present (there)?” (The eagle) replies, “I have observed (them). It is Išduštaya and Papaya, the chthonic and primeval . . . -deities who are present there kneeling.” (The Throne) says, “What are they doing?” (The eagle) replies to her, “(One) holds a distaff; (others) hold full spindles. They are spinning the years of the king. There is no limit or number to the years.” 15 6.  See Haas 1994: 372 and Melchert 1993: 109. 7.  See Beckman 1983: 238–48. 8.  CTH 434. Note especially KUB 33.76: 20′: ⸢d⸣Gul-ša-aš ŠA LUG[AL MUNUS.LUGAL . . . ] and cf. KUB 56.20 (CTH 590) i 17′: DINGIR.MAḪ ŠA NÍ.TE MUNUS.LUGAL. The attention paid to the Birth-deity of an adult suggests that one of these goddesses continued to be responsible for an individual later in life. 9.  From Hurrian ḫud-, ‘exalt; establish’ (Richter 2012: 175–76). 10.  At least in mythology, this was also the moment when the father might bestow a programmatic name (such as Ullikummi, ‘destroyer of [the city] Kumme/iya’) on his offspring. Cf. Hoffner 1968. 11. KUB 43.55 (CTH 448) ii 11–21; for transliterations see Beckman 1983: 244–45, Haas 1988: 90–91, and Taracha 2000: 58–61. 12.  Of course, the Fate-deities could also intervene for ill in one’s later life. Note KUB 23.85 (CTH 180): 5–6: ziqqa mTattamaruš DUMU.MUNUS NIN-YA DAM-anni dān ḫarta [n]u=tta dGulšaš ḪUL-aḫta n=aš=ta=kan BA.ÚŠ, “You, Tattamaru, had married my niece, but Fate mistreated you and she died on you.” 13.  The birth hemerologies (CTH 545, ed. Fincke 2004: 218–19, 221; cf. Beckman 1983: 14–17) are translations of Akkadian originals and probably not for practical use. 14.  Haas 1994: 372–73; for full details see Franz-Szabó 1976–1980 and 2003–2005. 15.  KUB 29.1 (CTH 414) i 50–ii 10; for complete translation of the text see Beckman 2010: 72–75.

Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti

41

The idea that the fabric of a person’s destiny is spun or woven by female deities is of course paralleled by the activity of the Greek Moirai (Fates), most prominent among whom is Klotho, “the Spinner.” It is uncertain whether this similarity is due to the shared inheritance of a Proto-Indo-European conception, 16 or rather just reflects an obvious metaphor developed by a pre-industrial society for the creation of a complex interlocking system of happenings or ideas. And if the web of one’s life is conceived of as a textile, it will certainly be women or goddesses who create it. 17 At any rate, the indigenous Anatolian background of Ištuštaya and Papaya speaks against their momentous handiwork having come down to them from Indo-European forerunners. Their precise relationship to the dGulšeš and DINGIR.MAḪ.MEŠ/ḪI.A cannot be recovered from our sources. Within the Hittite pantheon, this pair of spinners and weavers belonged to the circle of the underworld deity Lelwani and was worshiped in her temple, 18 along with the divinized Day, dUD = dŠiwatt-, usually qualified in later texts as dUD.SIG5, “Favorable Day,” a euphemism for the day of one’s death. 19 Thus, as in many other cultures, in Ḫatti the life crises of birth and death were closely associated. Between these signal events, over the course of his or her life, the Hittite was accompanied by a kind of “guardian angel,” most often represented in texts by the Sumerogram dLAMMA. We cannot be certain that the Hittite reading of this term when it is used as a generic designation for this type of minor deity is Inara, later Kurunta, as it most certainly is when it indicates the important Protective Deity represented graphically as a stag or antlers. 20 Be that as it may, this tutelary figure is of male gender and had a less frequently attested female counterpart (wife or perhaps daughter), dAla. 21 I believe that it is the LAMMA who is often depicted on the stamp seals of individuals of the Empire period as a horned figure shouldering a bow (Fig. 1). 22 The horns, of course, are a sign of divinity 23 and their presence shows that the warrior or archer cannot be understood as a crude “portrait” of a seal’s owner. Those LAMMAs responsible for major figures in Hittite society might receive offerings in the state cult and in magical rites, as for instance, the LAMMA of the king or far less often that of the queen. 24 Even particular possessions, physical features, and characteristics of the monarch might have their own guardians. Among the dozens of LAMMAs worshipped in a single festival are those of the Labarna’s (emperor’s) horses, his spear, his shoulders, his (entire) body, his heroism, and his lordliness. 25 Befitting their status that was inestimably higher than that of the common man or woman, rulers in Ḫatti, at least during the Empire period, stood under the

16.  So Bossert 1957: 352; contra Archi 2013: 15. On common Indo-European conceptions of fate and the Fates, see West 2007: 379–85. 17.  On the predominant role of women cross-culturally in textile production, see Barber 1994. 18.  Torri 1999: 11. 19.  Torri 1999: 13. 20.  Hawkins 2004. 21.  Hawkins 2006: 56–57. 22.  For example, the sealing of Mala-ziti, Herbordt 2005: 263, pl. 18, nos. 228–29. 23.  See Beckman 2012. 24.  For references, see van Gessel 1998: 697. 25.  KUB 2.1 (CTH 682), ed. McMahon 1991: 96–115; horses (ii 13), spear (ii 14), shoulders (ii 18, iii 7–8), body (iii 6), heroism (ii 22), lordliness (ii 46).

42

Gary Beckman

Fig. 1.  Seal impression of Mala-ziti. After Herbordt 2005: 263, pl. 18, no. 229.

protection of major figures of the pantheon. 26 We may mention here the teams of Muršili II and the Mighty Storm-god, of Muwattalli II and the Storm-god of Lightning, of Hattušili III and Šaušga of the city of Šamuḫa—an Ištar-type, and of Tudḫaliya IV and Šarruma. This sheltering relationship is expressed verbally by the idiom “to take by the hand” and represented visually in the so-called Umarmungsszene, 27 (Fig. 2) in which a deity enfolds the ruler in a protective embrace. The intervention of a god in human events on behalf of a protégé is known in Hittite as the exercise of parā ḫandan(da)tar. 28 The verb ḫandāi- means ‘to arrange; determine’; the preverb parā contributes the notion ‘im voraus, in advance’. Thus the shorter abstract form built directly to the verbal stem, 29 parā ḫandatar, means literally ‘prearrangement’ as a divine activity, while the longer version parā ḫandandatar is formed from the (passive) participle and strictly speaking would indicate the ‘(condition or result of) prearrangement’. In practice, however, these two “univerbierte” 30 phrases in which preverb and verb have become fused into a single lexical element 31 are employed interchangeably and—always keeping in mind the very different theological underpinnings of the Christian religious system from which the term is drawn—might be translated as ‘providence’. The earliest Hittite king to invoke the concept of parā ḫandan(da)tar is Muršili II, who in his Annals speaks of his patron, the Mighty Storm-god, manifesting his parā ḫandandatar by casting a lightning bolt upon the city of his enemy, Uḫḫa-ziti of Arzawa. 32 He also attributes the demise of rebels against his dominion to the parā ḫandatar of the divine guarantors of an oath: 26.  Thus far, major deities as protectors are attested only for kings of the late fourteenth and the thirteenth centuries. It is uncertain whether these figures replace the royal LAMMAs known from ceremonial texts, or whether they offered extra attention. See Taracha 2013. 27.  See Klengel 2002. 28. CHD P: 130–33: ‘divine guidance’; HED Ḫ: 105–6: ‘providence, blessedness’; EDHIL: 290: ‘providence’. 29.  See Hoffner and Melchert 2008: 57 (§2.33). 30.  For this grammatical phenomenon, see Kamenhuber 1974. 31.  Note that the CHD has booked parā ḫanda(nda)tar under P. 32.  KUB 14.15 (CTH 61) ii 2, ed. Götze 1933: 46: [nu=za dNIR.GÁ]L pa-ra-a ḫa-an-ta-an-da-tar tikkušnut.

Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti

43

Fig. 2.  Tudḫaliya IV in the embrace of Šarruma, Yazılıkaya, Chamber B. After Bittel et al. 1975: pl. 62.

(The people of the city of Kalašma rose in revolt), [and] the Oath-gods manifested their parā ḫandatar. The [Oath]-gods seized them so that brother betrayed brother, friend betrayed friend, [and] they killed one another. 33

But it is Muršili’s son, Ḫattusili III, who makes the greatest use of this notion as a Leitmotiv in his so-called “Apology.” 34 Although styled as a dedication to his protective goddess Šaušga of Šamuḫa of goods confiscated from his defeated enemies, this document is in fact a justification of the actions of the usurper in deposing his nephew Urḫi-Teššup, who had reigned for a short time as Muršili III. According to Ḫattušili, his entire career had been guided by the parā ḫandan(da)tar of Šaušga. Immediately following the heading of the text in which he introduces himself, he begins: “I shall speak of the parā ḫandandatar of Šaušga.” 35 The deity had displayed this quality from Ḫattušili’s earliest youth, informing his father Muršili through a dream that the boy was not long for this world—literally that he was “one whose years were short,” 36 and that he would thrive only if he were dedicated to her service. 33.  KBo 2.5 (CTH 61) iv 14–18, ed. Götze 1933: 192–93: [nu kū]ruriḫḫir nu=šmaš DINGIR.MEŠ MĀMĪTI [pa-ra]-a ḫa-an-da-a-tar tikkušnuir n=aš DINGIR.ME[Š MĀMĪTI e]ppir nu=za ŠEŠ-aš ŠEŠ-an kattan peškit. 34.  For thoughts on this composition, see Beckman forthcoming b. 35.  CTH 81, cited according to the composite text in the edition by Otten 1981: 4, i 5: ŠA dIŠTAR pa-ra-a ḫa-an-da-an-da-tar memaḫḫi. 36.  Otten 1981: 4, i 14: ANA mḪattušili MU.KAM.ḪI.A maninkuwanteš.

44

Gary Beckman

This advice was of course duly followed, and as a consequence, Ḫattušili informs us, “Whenever I became ill, as a sick man I regularly experienced the ḫandandatar of the deity.” 37 By the way, we know from various other sources that Ḫattušili never enjoyed robust health, suffering in particular from some sort of ocular disorder. 38 Following an accusation by his enemies of disloyalty to his brother, the king, Ḫattušili was cleared through a legal proceeding, because “On that occasion My Lady Šaušga manifested her parā ḫandandatar.” 39 When years later the break came between Ḫattušili and his nephew, the former issued the challenge: “Come, Šaušga of Šamuḫa and the Storm-god of Nerik will decide our legal case!” 40 Just as in Mesopotamia, political and military conflicts in Ḫatti were thought to be a type of lawsuit, Hittite ḫanneššar, with the gods serving as adjudicators. We might even consider portions of the “Apology” we have been discussing here to be Ḫattušili’s arkuwar, or ‘legal pleading’, before the divine tribunal. In this composition, the course of the civil war in Ḫatti, or if one prefers, of the trial between Urḫi-Teššup and Ḫattušili, is described in but a few lines. The author reports that “My Lady Šaušga then manifested her parā ḫandan(da)tar in great measure” 41 by appearing in a dream to Hittite noblemen, informing them that she had directed all the lands of Ḫatti to join the camp of her devotee. With such divine backing, the outcome of the struggle was literally preordained. Ḫattušili continues: “At that time I experienced the parā ḫandan(da)tar of My Lady Šaušga in great measure,” 42 and he therefore succeeded in shutting up his adversary in a certain town “like a pig in a poke.” Instead of putting Urḫi-Teššup to death, however, an action for which there was ample precedent in connection with internecine strife within the Hittite royal clan, out of respect for his late brother Ḫattušili merely sent him into exile. Summing up his career, our protagonist states that “My Lady Šaušga kept installing me (in office), step by step,” 43 from equerry to the highest position in the land. What observations can we draw from this review of Šaušga’s guiding hand behind the career of Ḫattušili? 44 As stated at the outset of this presentation, the Hittites held their gods to be all-powerful. The voluminous Hittite archives show us that humans could be severely punished for angering the deities through such of37. Otten 1981: 6, i 44–45: mān=mu ištarakzi kuwapi nu=za=kan ¬ irmalaš=pat ŠA DINGIRLIM ḫa-an-da-an-da-tar uškinun. What is the significance of the absence of parā here? Perhaps this lends a nuance of immediacy. 38.  See the text edited in Otten and Souček 1965 (CTH 585) and Edel 1994/2: 270. In CTH 384 (tr. Singer 2002: 101–5) Puduḫepa requests that the Sun-goddess of Arinna correct Ḫattušili’s failing health in return for the service he had rendered her in recovering the city of Nerik, home of her son. 39.  Otten 1981: 18, iii 15–16: nu=za dIŠTAR GAŠAN-YA pa-ra-a ḫa-an-da-an-da-tar apēdani=ya meḫuni tikkušanut. 40. Otten 1981: 22, iii 70–71: eḫu nu=wa=naš dIŠTAR URUŠamuḫa dU URUNeriqqa=ya ḫanneššar ḫannanzi. 41.  Otten 1981: 24, iv 18: nu=za dIŠTAR GAŠAN-YA pa-ra-a ḫa-an-da-an-da-tar apiya=ya mekki tekkušanut. 42.  Otten 1981: 24, iv 23–24: nu=za ŠA dIŠTAR GAŠAN-YA pa-ra-a ḫa-an-da-an-da-tar apiya=ya mekki uḫḫun. 43.  Otten 1981: 26, iv 39–40: dIŠTAR=ma=mu=kan GAŠAN-YA ilani ilani namma tiškit. 44.  It must be said that Ḫattušili was not always truthful in his account of events on the human level. For instance, we now know that it was not, as he claims on several occasions, at his own initiative that Urḫi-Teššup was placed upon the Hittite throne in succession to his father. Rather, the younger man had already been designated as crown prince in the lifetime of Muwattalli II. See Hawkins 2001.

Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti

45

fences as the breaking of oaths, 45 the misappropriation of temple property, 46 the neglect of cultic duties, 47 and so on. Consider this negative confession by Prince Kantuzzili to the Sun-god: I have acknowledged all the superior power (duddumar) and wisdom of my god. I never swore to my god and then broke the oath afterwards. I never ate food that was sacrosanct to my god and hence not proper for me to eat. I have not brought impurity on my body. I never withheld an ox from (your) stable. I never withheld a sheep from (your) fold. Whenever I came upon food, I never ate it privately. Whenever I came upon water, I never drank it privately. 48

However, there is no indication in the texts that the gods themselves were bound by codes analogous to those of human morality or were conceived of as inherently just. 49 Rather, they were immortal and supremely influential beings whose actions were governed by self-interest. 50 The relationship of the individual man or woman to any deity was analogous to that of slave to master. 51 To the extent that a worshipper’s success reflected positively on his or her tutelary god or goddess, the deity could be expected to support that person, although admittedly we never read of conflict within the pantheon regarding the comparative fortunes of their human protégés. The argument that whatever transpires in the world of human beings corresponds to the will of the gods, which must of course be respected, and that good fortune is a sign of divine favor and furthermore of the virtue of the recipient in the eyes of the gods, boils down to little more than “Might makes right!” One wonders how this crude doctrine might have developed had Hittite civilization survived into the more philosophically rigorous “Axial Age” 52 of the mid-first millennium b.c.e. 45.  On oaths and their enforcement by divine punishment, see Oettinger 1976: 71–76. 46.  On corruption in Hittite administration, see Beckman forthcoming a. 47.  As in this instance: “[I sought (the cause of) the anger] of the gods, [and I found] two old tablets. One tablet [dealt with the ritual of the Euphrates (Mala) River . . .] Earlier kings [had performed] the ritual of the Euphrates [. . .], but since the time of my father (Šuppiluliuma I) [people have been dying] in Ḫatti, [and] we have never performed [the ritual] of the Euphrates,” KUB 14.8 (CTH 378.II.A) obv. 8′–12′. For full translations of the Plague Prayers, see Beckman 1997. 48.  KUB 30.10 (CTH 373) obv. 11–17, translation from Hoffner 2003: 91. 49.  Cf. Hoffner 2003. 50.  For example, in attempting to persuade the gods to bring a halt to the plague, Muršili II appeals not to their compassion or their sense of justice, but to their self-interest: “Meanwhile, the aforementioned plague does not simply take it (Ḫatti) away, but people continue to die. These few bakers of offering bread and libation bearers who [are still here]—if they perish, no one will any longer give you offering bread or libation,” KUB 14.14 + KBo 54.6 + KUB 19.1 (CTH 378.I.A) rev. 37′–40′. 51.  This relationship is expressed in a passage from another of the Plague Prayers: “Listen to me, O Storm-god of Ḫatti, my lord, and save me! [I say] to you [as follows]: The bird takes refuge in the nest, and the nest [saves] it. Or if anything has become troublesome to some servant, and he pleads his case to his lord, his lord will listen to him and correct for him whatever had become troublesome [to him]. Or if a sin (hangs over) some servant, and he confesses the sin before his lord, then his lord may treat him however he wishes. But since he confesses his sin before his lord, the soul of his lord is appeased, and his [lord] does not call that servant to account,” KUB 14.8 (CTH 378.II.A) rev. 20′–28′. 52.  For a Mesopotamianist’s engagement with this concept, see Machinist 1986.

46

Gary Beckman

Bibliography Archi, A. 2013 The Anatolian Fate-Goddesses and their Different Traditions. Pp. 1–26 in Diversity and Standardization: Perspectives on Social and Political Norms in the Ancient Near East, ed. E. Cancik-Kirschbaum, J. Klinger, and G. G. W. Müller. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Barber, E. J. W. 1994 Women’s Work: The First 20,000 Years: Women, Cloth, and Society in Early Times. New York: Norton. Beckman, G. 1983 Hittite Birth Rituals. StBoT 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 1997 Plague Prayers of Muršili II. Pp. 156–60 in The Context of Scripture, vol. 1: Canonical Compositions from the Biblical World, ed. W. W. Hallo and K. L. Younger. Leiden: Brill. 2010 Temple Building among the Hittites. Pp. 71–89 in From the Foundations to the Crenellations: Essays on Temple Building in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible, ed. M. J. Boda and J. Novotny. AOAT 366. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2012 The Horns of a Dilemma, or On the Divine Nature of the Hittite King. Pp. 605–10 in Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg 20–25 July 2008, ed. G. Wilhelm. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. forthcoming a  Corruption in the Hittite Bureaucracy. In the proceedings of the Conference on Administration, Law and Administrative Law, Vienna, November 24–26, 2011. forthcoming b  Hattusili III between Gods and Men. Bittel, K., Boessneck, J., Damm, B., Güterbock, H. G., Hauptmann, H., Naumann, R., and Schirmer, W. 1975 Das hethitische Felsheiligtum Yazılıkaya. Berlin: Gebrüder Mann Verlag. Bossert, H. T. 1957 Die Schicksalsgöttinen der Hethiter. WO 2: 349–59. Carruba, O. 1970 Das Palaische: Texte, Grammatik, Lexikon. StBoT 10. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Edel, E. 1994 Die ägyptisch-hethitische Korrespondenz aus Boghazköi in babylonischer und hethitischer Sprache. Opladen: Westdeutscher Verlag. Fincke, J. C. 2004 Zu den hethitischen Übersetzungen babylonischer Omentexte: Die kalendarischen und astrologischen Omina in KUB VIII 35. SMEA 46: 215–41. Franz-Szabó, G. 1976–1980  Išduštaja und Papaja. Pp. 175–76 in RlA 5. 2003–2005  Papaja. P. 324 in RlA 10. Götze, A. 1933 Die Annalen des Muršiliš. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Haas, V. 1988 Das Ritual gegen Zugriff der Dämonin dDÌM.NUN.ME und die Sammeltafel KUB XLIII 55. OrAnt 27: 85–104. 1994 Geschichte der hethitischen Religion. Leiden: Brill. Hawkins, J. D. 2001 Urhi-Tešub, tuḫkanti. Pp.  167–79 in Akten des IV. Internationalen Kongresses für Hethitologie, Würzburg, 4.–8. Oktober 1999, ed. G. Wilhelm. StBoT 45. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

Man’s Fate: Divine Responsibility for Human Welfare in Ḫatti

47

2004 The Stag-God of the Countryside and Related Problems. Pp. 355–69 in Indo-European Perspectives: Studies in Honour of Anna Morpurgo Davies, ed. J. H. W. Penney. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2006 Tudḫaliya the Hunter. Pp. 49–76 in The Life and Times of Ḫattušili III and Tutḫaliya IV. Proceedings of a Symposium Held in Honour of J. de Roos, 12–13 December 2003, Leiden, ed. Th. van den Hout. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Herbordt, S. 2005 Die Prinzen- und Beamtensiegel der hethitischen Großreichszeit auf Tonbullen aus dem Nişantepe-Archiv in Hattusa. BoHa 10. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Hoffner, H. A. 1968 Birth and Name-Giving in Hittite Texts. JNES 27: 198–203. 2003 Theodicy in Hittite Texts. Pp.  90–107 in Theodicy in the World of the Bible, ed. A. Laato and J. C. de Moor. Leiden: Brill. Hoffner, H. A., and Melchert, H. C. 2008 A Grammar of the Hittite Language. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Kammenhuber, A. 1974 Sporadische Univerbierungen von Adverbien und verba composita. Pp.  151–64 in Anatolian Studies Presented to Hans Gustav Güterbock on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. K. Bittel, Ph. H. J. Houwink ten Cate, and E. Reiner. PIHANS 35. Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut. Klengel, H. 2002 “An der Hand der Gottheit.” Bemerkungen zur “Umarmungszene” in der hethitischen Tradition. Pp. 205–10 in Silva Anatolica: Festschrift für Maciej Popko, ed. P. Taracha. Warsaw: Agade. Lambert, W. G. 2013 Babylonian Creation Myths. MC 16. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Machinist, P. 1986 On Self-Consciousness in Mesopotamia. Pp. 183–202 in The Origins and Diversity of Axial Age Civilizations, ed. S. N. Eisenstadt. Albany: SUNY Press. McMahon, G. 1991 The Hittite State Cult of the Tutelary Deities. AS 25. Chicago: The Oriental Institute. Melchert, H. C. 1993 Cuneiform Luvian Lexicon. Chapel Hill: Selbstverlag. forthcoming  Formal and Semantic Aspects of Hittite gul(aš)ša- ‘Fate’. Oettinger, N. 1976 Die militärischen Eide der Hethiter. StBoT 22. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Otten, H. 1981 Die Apologie Hattusilis III. Das Bild der Überlieferung. StBoT 24. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Otten, H., and Souček, V. 1965 Das Gelübde der Königin Puduḫepa an die Göttin Lelwani. StBoT 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Richter, Th. 2012 Bibliographisches Glossar des Hurritischen. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Schwemer, D. 2009 Schicksal(-stafel, -sbestimmung). Bei den Hethitern. Pp. 155–57 in RlA 12. Singer, I. 2002 Hittite Prayers. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Taracha, P. 2000 Ersetzen und Entsühnen. Das mittelhethitische Ersatzritual für den Großkönig Tutḫalija (CTH *448.4) und verwandte Texte. Leiden: Brill.

48

Gary Beckman

2013 Political Religion and Religious Policy: How the Hittite King Chose His Patron Gods. AoF 40: 373–84. Torri, G. 1999 Lelwani. Il culto di una dea ittita. Rome: Università di Roma “La Sapienza”. van Gessel, B. H. L. 1998 Onomasticon of the Hittite Pantheon. Leiden: Brill. Waal, W. 2014 Changing Fate. Hittite gulš- / GUL-š-, dGulšeš / dGUL-šeš, Cuneiform Luwian gulzā(i)- / GUL-zā(i)-, Hieroglyphic Luwian REL-za- and the Kuwanšeš Deities. Pp. 1016–33 in Proceedings of the Eighth International Congress of Hittitology, Warsaw, 5–9 September 2011, ed. P. Taracha. Warsaw: Agade. West, M. L. 2007 Indo-European Poetry and Myth. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Part 2

Man

Fortune and Misfortune of the Individual Some Observations on the Sufferer’s Plaint in Ludlul bēl nēmeqi II 12–32 1 Tzvi Abusch

Brandeis University, Waltham, MA To address the topic of fortune and misfortune, I choose a text that protests against misfortune on the grounds that it is not deserved. I have in mind the first part of Ludlul bēl nēmeqi Tablet II, where the speaker states that he has been beset with misfortune (line 11) as if he were one who was not observant and pious (lines 12–22), although in fact he is observant (lines 23–28) and even teaches the people to follow this example (lines 29–32). In this paper I am concerned with understanding only this part of his speech and the belief system conveyed by this section. Of course, the point of Ludlul is to convey the notion that everything — misfortune and fortune — comes from Marduk and that all other forces and considerations are secondary. 2 Still, the sufferer’s claim — even if it only represents a conventional position that is rendered obsolete by the end of the work — is of importance and is one that we must grasp if we are to understand the religious position replaced by the all-encompassing Marduk theism. The speaker starts from the premise that private behavior vis-à-vis one’s personal gods (that is, one’s family gods) is the cause of suffering. Our passage, as we shall see, expands this purview to include public behavior in regard to the cult of the city gods (that is, the public cult) and even to the king. The universal gods, generally, and Marduk, specifically, are not part of the purview of this passage. But when the work expands its outlook, focusing on Marduk and treating him as the cause of suffering (in the introductory hymn) and deliverance from suffering (in Tablets III–IV), the place of the personal god does indeed change. But rather than Marduk becoming the personal god of the land (as Albertz has argued) and the personal gods disappearing, the personal gods remain but are seen as subservient to Marduk. The position of the work in this regard is similar to what we find stated in lines 28′–31′ of the Marduk prayer from Ugarit: 28′ [ad]allal adallal š[a b]ēli 29′ [(ša)] dMarduk adallal 30′ [ša i]li šabsi adallal 31′ [ša] dištar zenīti adallal 1.  Text and translation are based upon Lambert (1960: 38–41) and Annus and Lenzi (2010: 19–20, 35), with modification. (This paper was written prior to the appearance of Oshima [2014]. As far as I can see, nothing there affects the observations and argumentation in this paper.) 2.  On the role of Marduk in Ludlul, see, e.g., Moran (2002: 187, 193–95) and Albertz (1988: 34–35).

51

52

Tzvi Abusch 28′ 29′ 30′ 31′

I will praise, I will praise the (deeds) of the lord, [the (deeds) of] Marduk I will praise, [the (deeds) of] the angry (personal) god I will praise, [the (deeds) of] the irate (personal) goddess I will praise. 3

We turn now to the text of Ludlul. The speech referred to earlier, lines 12–32, begins with the speaker’s statement in lines 12–22 that he is being treated as if he were a person who is not observant and pious: 12 kī ša tamqītu ana ili lā uktinnu 13 u ina mākālê dištari lā zakru 14 appi lā enû šukenni lā amru 15 ina pîšu ipparkû suppê u teslīti 16 ibṭilu ūmu ilī išēṭu eššēši 17 iddû aḫšuma mêšunu imēšu 18 palāḫu u itʾudu lā ušalmedu nišīšu 19 ilšu lā izkuru (var. izkur) īkulu (var. ēkul) akalšu 20 īzbu (var. īzib) dištartašu maṣḫatu lā ūbla (var. ūblu) 21 ana ša imḫû bēlšu imšû 22a nīš ilišu kabti qalliš izkuru 22b anāku amšal (or possibly: amrāk) 12 Like one who had not made libations for (his) god, 13 And did not invoke (his) goddess at a meal, 14 Who did not engage in prostration, was not practiced in bowing down, 15 From whose mouth supplication and prayer had ceased, 16 Who abandoned the day of the gods, disregarded the festival, 17 Became negligent and despised their rites, 18 Did not teach his people to reverence and to pay heed, 19 Who did not invoke his god when he ate his food, 20 And abandoned his goddess, did not bring a flour-offering, 21 Like one who raved(?) and forgot his lord, 22a And invoked the solemn oath of his god in vain, 22b (Like such a one) do I appear.

Problems in this portion of text render it difficult to determine the ideational structure of lines 12–22, to determine, that is, the specific ideas conveyed by the ordering of these lines. Lines 12–22 depend on the opening kī of line 12, and we immediately notice that lines 12–13 and 19–20 seem to be saying the same thing. 4 3.  For Nougayrol’s copy of the text, see Ugaritica 5 no. 162 (1968: 435); for his transliteration and translation of lines 28′–31′, see ibid.: 268–69. Nougayrol restores ša in the break at the beginning of line 29′, but if we follow von Soden (1969: 191; for his translation, see p. 192), who assumes that nothing is missing at the beginning of line 29′, we would then translate lines 28′–29′: “I will praise, I will praise, the (deeds) of the lord Marduk I will praise.” 4.  As an aside, I should mention that lines 12–13 and 19–20 are excellent exemplifications of one of the functions of synonymous parallelism. They demonstrate how “synonymous” parallelism may serve not simply to represent the same thing twice or to repeat something and emphasize it, but rather to create a fuller picture by associating different parts of a scene with the different subjects. Libation/offering and invocation of the deity’s name at a meal are the two modes of service for both the male and the female personal gods; the different aspects of service are split between the god and goddess in these two passages as a way of presenting a picture of the whole service, and not because each of the two deities receives only one or another part of the service. This use of parallelism is especially clear here: for while libation is associated with the male deity and invocation with the female deity in lines 12–13, the reverse

Fortune and Misfortune of the Individual

53

12–13 kī ša tamqītu ana ili lā uktinnu / u ina mākālê dištari lā zakru // 19–20 ilšu lā izkuru īkulu akalšu / īzbu dištartašu maṣḫatu lā ūbla 12–13 Like one who had not made libations for (his) god / And did not invoke (his) goddess at a meal // 19–20 Who did not invoke his god when he ate his food / And abandoned his goddess, did not bring a flour-offering

On closer observation, we notice that lines 12–13 and 19–20 form what seems to be a frame around lines 14–18. But we also notice that the frame is unbalanced. For while, as expected, its beginning opens the section of comparisons, its end does not close it, but is itself followed by lines 21–22. Additionally, while both lines in the couplet 12–13 contain a single clause, the immediately following couplet, lines 14–15, begins with a line that contains two clauses. Moreover, and more generally, the poetic and syntactic pattern of lines 14–22a is contradicted by lines 12–13: For while lines 12–13 form a couplet, each line containing a single clause, lines 14–22a represent an expansion of verse types, with a concomitant increase of clause types. 5 Thus, whereas lines 12–13 simply parallel each other, the poetic and syntactic structure of lines 14–22a create a progression of sorts. The imbalance of lines 12–13 // 19–20 and the poetic and syntactic contradiction between lines 12–13 and lines 14–22a suggest that portions of lines 14–22 were added to the text. We must determine which lines were added to the portion 14–22; moreover, the imbalance of the frame requires that we also ask: Why and when was the frame set into our text? Were both couplets of the frame inserts, or was one an insert and the other part of the “original” text? To confirm our original impression and to answer these questions, we must subject our text to a closer examination. A solution is perhaps forthcoming from a comparison of lines 12–22 with lines 23–28 and 29–32. For the segments comprising lines 23–28 and 29–32 are paralleled to a large extent by those in lines 14–18. But before making use of lines 14–18, we should first comment further on their poetic and grammatical form. 6 As noted above, these five lines should probably be divided into two poetic verses: 14–15 and 16–18 — a couplet followed by a triplet. But the expansion is not created simply by the addition of a single line to the second is the case in lines 19–20, where invocation is associated with the male and offering with the female. Note especially the association of the verb zakāru with the goddess in line 13 but with the god in line 19. 5.  Thus, lines 14–15 form a couplet: line 14 contains two clauses, line 15 contains a single clause; Lines 16–18 form a triplet: line 16 contains two clauses, line 17 contains two connected clauses, line 18 contains a single clause; Lines 19–22 seem to form a quatrain: line 19 contains two clauses, line 20 contains two clauses, line 21 contains two clauses (one independent and one subordinate), line 22a contains a single clause. 6.  One of the first times that I taught Ludlul II — probably in the mid-1980s — I noticed and worked out the complex grammatical and poetic structure of the first part of the tablet. Very soon thereafter I discovered E. Reiner’s detailed formalistic analysis of the grammatical form of the text (1985: 106–8). Reiner concludes her study of the first part of Tablet II with the statement: “To sum up, in this strophe each line contains at least one verbal predicate, and some lines contain two, one in each hemistich. It is the placement of the predicate within the line and in relation to the predicates of the other lines that gives variety to the diction. That this variety is not an accident, nor required by the syntactic structure of the language, becomes apparent. . . .” (1985: 107–8). What is missing, of course, is some explanation of the form, beyond an observation about linguistic variety. I would like here to suggest some thoughts about what the form of the text conveys as well as to speculate about how the text took on its present form.

54

Tzvi Abusch

verse. Rather, while each verse starts with a line containing two grammatically short clauses, i.e., two hemistics (14 appi lā enû šukenni lā amru; 16 ibṭilu ūmu ilī išēṭu eššēši), and ends with a line containing one grammatically long clause (15 ina pîšu ipparkû suppê u teslīti; 18 palāḫu u itʾudu lā ušalmedu nišīšu), at the center of the second verse a line is added that contains two clauses that are connected by an enclitic -ma (17 iddû aḫšuma mêšunu imēšu). Thus, line 17 is tighter than line 16, a line like itself that contains two clauses, but looser than line 18, a line with one clause. The pattern seems to represent a buildup of thought. The form of lines 14–18 seems to represent, or to suggest, a movement and buildup from personal gods to city gods to king. We may now turn to the comparison of lines 12–22 with lines 23–28 and 29–32. Lines 23–28 read: 23 24 25 26 27 28

aḫsusma ramāni suppê u teslīti teslītu tašīmat niqû sakkûʾa ūmu palāḫ ilī ṭūb libbiya ūmu ridûti ištar nēmeli tatturru ikribi šarri šī ḫidûti u nigûtašu ana dameqti šumma

23 24 25 26 27 28

But I, for my part, was attentive to supplication and prayer, Prayer was common sense, sacrifice my rule. The day to reverence the gods was a delight to my heart, The day of the goddess’ procession was profit and gain. The king’s prayer: it was a pleasure, And his fanfare was truly a delight.

Lines 29–32 read: 29 30 31 32

ušāri ana mātiya mê ili naṣāri šūmi ištari šūquru nišīya uštāḫiz tanadāti šarri iliš umaššil u puluḫti ekalli ummān ušalmid

29 30 31 32

I taught my land to observe the rites of the god, I instructed my people to esteem the name of the goddess.
 I made my praises of the king like those of a god, And taught the masses reverence for the palace.

While in lines 12–22 the sufferer states that he is treated as one who is not observant and pious, in lines 23–32 he asserts that, to the contrary, he is observant and pious — that is, in lines 23–28 he states that his actions are those of one who is observant and pious and in lines 29–32 he states that he teaches this behavior to his people. The sufferer serves his personal gods, his ‘city’ gods, and his king. Many of the same themes and terms recur in lines 14–18, 23–28, and 29–32. Thus, as regards identical or near identical terms, note suppê teslīti in ll. 15 and 23 (and teslīti in l. 24); tamqītu in l. 12 and niqû in l. 24; ūmu ilī in l. 16 and ūmu palāḫ ilī in l. 25; mêšunu in l. 17 and mê ilī in l. 29; palāḫu in l. 18 and puluḫti in l. 32; ušalmedu in l. 18 and ušalmid in l. 32. A comparison of the three segments yields, in chart form (shown on the top of p.  55), the (tentative) results as regards their relationship. Notice the horizontal and vertical axes on the chart. On the horizontal axis, lines 23–28 deal with the sufferer’s personal actions, lines 29–32 deal with the sufferer’s teaching, and lines

Fortune and Misfortune of the Individual Sufferer’s personal actions (23–28) Service to personal gods/personal piety

23–248

55

Sufferer’s teaching Sufferer’s treatment (29–32) (14–18)7 –––

14–15

Service to city gods

25–26

29–30

16–17

Service to king

27–28

31–32

189

14–18 deal with the sufferer’s treatment. On the vertical axis, each segment treats in order the several themes of service: lines 23–24 // —— // 14–15 treat service to the personal gods/personal piety; lines 25–26 // 29–30 // 16–17 treat service to the city gods; lines 27–28 // 31–32 // 18 treat service to the king. It is reasonable to suppose that some of the problems in our text, especially the imbalance of the two halves of the frame in lines 12ff. and the differences between the syntactic structures of lines 12–13 and 14–22, are indicators of change in the text. The parallel structures of lines 14–18 // 23–28 // 29–32 and, specifically, the pattern (most clear in lines 23–28) of personal god–city god–king suggest that the same pattern existed in lines 12ff. and that the repetition of the personal god theme in lines 19–20 is secondary, for it disrupts this pattern. Accordingly, we may suggest the following stages of development for our passage: Lines 4–5, 10 12–13, and 22b (or 22), treating the issue of the personal gods, were an original part of the text; subsequently, lines 14–18 11 (and possibly also line 21) were introduced into the text on the model of lines 23–28 and 29–32; thereafter, a section dealing with the personal gods (ll. 19–20 [or 19–22a]) was added in order to refocus attention on the personal gods — gods who had already been introduced in lines 4–5 and 12–13 — thereby creating the frame 12–13 // 19–20. 12 Further support for the supposition that the latter part of the frame (ll. 19–20), rather than its first part (ll. 12–13), was secondary is suggested by the way the gods  7 8 9

7.  It appears that the composer here combined in one section (14–18) the themes of the sufferer’s actions and teaching, for while lines 14–17 compare him to one who has not performed the correct actions, line 18 compares him to one who has not taught reverence for the palace (see below). Thus, the speaker emphasizes that he is treated as one who neither acts nor teaches properly. 8.  I take lines 14–15 and 23–24 as referring to the service of the personal god. If, instead, these lines refer to the city cult, then the city cult and the palace are the referents of lines 14–18 and 23–28 // 29–32 (and this would explain why the segment 29–32 makes no mention of the personal god). See below. 9.  That line 18 deals with the palace is indicated by the verbal parallels between lines 18 and 32 (that is to say: line 32 clearly deals with the palace; accordingly, line 18 should probably be understood in the same way). But if line 18 is part of a poetic verse (16–18) dealing with the public cult, perhaps the composer intended to combine the public cult and reverence for the king by combining line 18 with lines 16–17. 10.  Lines 4–5 read: ila alsīma ul iddina pānīšu / usalli ištari ul ušaqqâ rēšīša, I called to (my) god, but he did not turn his face to me / I prayed to (my) goddess, but she did not lift her head to me. 11.  The poetic/syntactic form of lines 14–18 represents the movement and buildup from personal gods to city gods to king. 12.  Our conclusion emerges even stronger if we take lines 14–15 and 23–24 as referring to the city cult. If so, the theme of the personal god in lines 4–5 and 12–13 was extended to include the city god and the king by the addition of lines 23–28 // 29–32 and, then, by the addition of lines 14–18 as a parallel to lines 23–28 // 29–32. After expanding its purview to include the city gods and the king, the text added a section dealing with the personal gods (19–20 or 19–22a) in order to refocus on the personal gods. But note that our conclusion remains valid whether or not lines 14–15 and 23–24 refer to the personal gods or to the city gods.

56

Tzvi Abusch

are mentioned in these lines: Whereas lines 4–5 and 12–13 have in common the usage ilu and ištaru without pronominal suffixes when referring to the personal gods, lines 19–20 add third-person pronominal suffixes to both and have ištartu instead of ištaru, and thus differ from both lines 4–5 and 12–13. It is true that often personal gods are specified by means of pronominal suffixes. But if, as I have argued, lines 4–5 and 12–13 were original to the text, there would have been no need to include suffixes because no other gods were mentioned (and this might be further support for the originality of these lines). The personal gods in lines 19–20, on the other hand, were mentioned only after the introduction of other gods in lines 14–18 and therefore required specification. Furthermore, some of the manuscripts of lines 19–20 do not have the expected subjunctive ending — suggesting that these lines were added and were only later integrated into the text (by the addition of the required subjunctive ending). Line 22a may well have been added together with or after 19–20 — their connection is signaled by the occurrence of izkuru in lines 19 and 22. Line 21 also seems to have been a later addition in view of ana ša; given ki ša in line 12, ana ša is superfluous and makes the line appear as if it derived from a different source. 13 We have analyzed the passage and tried to trace its history. But, by way of conclusion, we may now ask: If the original text dealt with the personal gods, why were the city gods and the king added first in lines 23–28 and 29–32 and then carried over to lines 14–18? Certainly, the addition indicates that it is not sufficient to serve only one’s personal god, but the service of the city god and even of the king does not solve the problem of the sufferer. There is, I think, a further and more important purpose behind this portion of text. The service of Marduk takes precedence over all other forms of service. The text adds the images of city gods and royalty to those of the personal gods in order to add greater nuance and complexity to the character of Marduk. Marduk will now possess the features not only of personal gods but also of city/national gods and kings. As I stated earlier, Marduk was not simply turned into the personal god of the land by our text. Whatever religious and theological developments and changes accompany the elevation of Marduk, the personal god, the city god, and human government remain and do not disappear. Rather, Marduk now subsumes all authorities in his person and rule, and the personal god, the city god, and the human king become embodiments of aspects of Marduk’s nature. 13.  But note that bēlšu in this line could refer either to a personal god or to a king. If I am right that lines 19–20 are secondary, the possible contiguity of lines 21 and 18 at an earlier stage of the text and the reference of line 18 to the palace (of the king) would suggest that bēl in line 21 also refers to a king. At the risk of circular reasoning, I would only add that the inference that both lines 18 and 21 seem to refer to the king suggests that line 21 was part of the text prior to the addition of lines 19–20.

Bibliography Albertz, R. 1988 Ludlul bēl nēmeqi – eine Lehrdichtung zur Ausbreitung und Vertiefung der persönlichen Mardukfrömmigkeit. Pp. 25–53 in Ad bene et fideliter seminandum: Festgabe für Karlheinz Deller zum 21. Februar 1987, ed. G. Mauer and U. Magen. AOAT 220. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener.

Fortune and Misfortune of the Individual

57

Annus, A., and Lenzi, A. 2010 Ludlul bēl nēmeqi: The Standard Babylonian Poem of the Righteous Sufferer. SAACT 7. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Lambert, W. G. 1960 Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Clarendon. Moran, W. L. 2002 The Babylonian Job. Pp. 182–200 in The Most Magic Word: Essays on Babylonian and Biblical Literature, ed. R. S. Hendel. CBQMS 35. Washington, D.C.: Catholic Biblical Association of America. Nougayrol, J., Laroche, E., Virolleaud, C., and Schaeffer, C. F. A., eds. 1968 Ugaritica 5. Paris: Paul Geuthner. Oshima, T. 2014 Babylonian Poems of Pious Sufferers. Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 14. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Reiner, E. 1985 Your Thwarts in Pieces, Your Mooring Rope Cut: Poetry from Babylonia and Assyria. Michigan Studies in the Humanities 5. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan. Soden, W. von 1969 Bemerkungen zu einigen literarischen Texten in akkadischer Sprache aus Ugarit. UF 1: 189–95.

On the Fortune—or Misfortune— of Having Children The Abundance of Children According to the Omen Text K. 6403 Nils P. Heeßel Würzburg

Ancient Near Eastern Interpretations of the Number of Children It was generally considered fortunate in ancient Mesopotamia to have an abundance of children. Such offspring not only meant many helping hands in the household and at work, it also provided an heir, who would care for you in old age and attend to the kišpu-ritual of remembrance after your death. Furthermore, strong family ties and especially children were the social backstop for cases of severe illness and disability. 1 Having numerous children, therefore, was one of the most fervent wishes in the lives of Sumerians and Babylonians. In the absence of effective contraceptive methods (Biggs 2000), we have to assume that on average many children will have been born. However, at the same time the infant mortality rate, attributed to the actions of malevolent demons like Lamaštu (Farber 2014) or sinister mechanisms like the evil eye (Geller 2003: 119–20), must have been quite high, so that large numbers of children were the exception rather than the rule. This usual view on the good fortune of having many children in general, and sons in particular, is perhaps most pointedly expressed in the twelfth tablet of the Gilgameš Epic. As is well known, this tablet represents a translation into Akkadian of the last part of the Sumerian narrative Gilgameš, Enkidu, and the Netherworld, which relates how Enkidu went to the netherworld in order to find the lost playthings of Gilgameš and was detained there. Gilgameš invokes his friend and asks him about the afterlife and the fate of different kinds of persons there, among them those who have sons: 102 [ša mārūšu ištēnma ta-mu-r]u a-ta-mar 103 [sikkatu ina igarīšu re-t]a-at-ma [mar-ṣiš i-na m]uḫ-ḫi i-bak-ki 104 [ša mārūšu šināma ta-mu-ru a]-ta-mar 1.  For children in Mesopotamia in general, see Garroway 2014.

59

60

�������������� 105 [ina 2 libnāti ašibma] ⸢a⸣-ka-lu ik-kal 106 [ša mārūšu 3-ma ta-mu-ru] a-ta-mar 107 [ina nādi ša dakšî] mê(a.meš) i-šat-ti 108 [ša mārūšu 4-ma ta-mu]-⸢ru⸣ a-ta-mar 109 [kī ša imēr ṣi-in-d]a-⸢a⸣-ti lìb-ba-šú ḫa-di 110 [ša mārūšu 5-ma t]a-mu-ru a-ta-mar 111 [kī ṭupsarr]i(dub.sar) dam-qí id-su pe-ta-at 112 [i-ša-riš] a-na ēkalli(é.gal) irrub(ku4-ub) 113 [ša mārūšu 6-ma t]a-mu-ru a-ta-mar 114 [kī errēši libbašu ḫadi] 115 [ša mārūšu 7-ma tāmur ātamar] 116 [kī duppuššê ilī ina kussî ašibma . . . išemme] 102 ‘Did [you see the man with one son?]’ ‘I saw (him). 103 [A peg is] fixed [in his wall] and he weeps over [it bitterly.]’ 104 ‘[Did you see the man with two sons?’ ‘I] saw (him). 105 [He sits on two bricks] eating a bread-loaf.’ 106 ‘[Did you see the man with three sons?]’ ‘I saw (him). 107 He drinks water [from a waterskin slung on the saddle.]’ 108 ‘Did [you see the man with four sons?]’ ‘I saw (him). 109 [Like the owner of a donkey]-team his heart rejoices.’ 110 ‘Did you see [the man with five sons?]’ ‘I saw (him). 111 [Like a] fine [scribe] his hand is deft, 112 he enters the palace [with ease.]’ 113 ‘Did you see [the man with six sons?]’ ‘I saw (him). 114 [Like a ploughman his heart rejoices.]’ 115 ‘[Did you see the man with seven sons?’ ‘I saw (him).] 116 [Among the junior deities he sits on a throne and listens to the proceedings.]’                    Gilgameš Epic 12th tablet, ll. 102–116 2

Even if Enkidu’s answers are not easy to understand (Bauer 1989: 22–23; Radner 2005: 82–84), the general attitude behind it, the moral of this story is clear: the more sons one has, the better one’s afterlife will be.

Children in Divination In the light of the importance of children for the lives of Sumerians, Babylonians, and Assyrians, it is surprising that this topic has not yet been found to play a major role in the vast divinatory literature, which usually concerned itself with almost every aspect of life. When children are mentioned in divinatory and related texts, it is most often in the context of pregnancy and time of birth. The aim is to interpret from certain observations the sex, future social position, or fate of the unborn child, or the number of children to be born. A prime example of this is the 36th tablet of the medical-diagnostic series Sakikkû (sa.gig), the “Babylonian Diagnostic Handbook.” 3 In the entire tablet the sex, number, chances of survival, health and future social position of the unborn 2.  Cited after George 2003: 732–35. For the Sumerian version, see Gadotti 2014. 3.  For editions of Sakikkû 36, see Labat 1951: 200–213, Stol 2000: 194–202, and Scurlock 2014: 245–55. While the diagnostic handbook in itself is not a divinatory treatise (for which see Heeßel 2004), there is little doubt that tablets 1–2 and 36 of the series Sakikkû are divinatory in nature.

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

61

child or children is predicted by observation of changes of the body of the pregnant women. Some typical examples: If red veins lie cross-wise on the top of the breast of a fertile woman: She is pregnant of a female. (sa.gig 36, l. 52) If a fertile woman steps to the right and to the left: She is pregnant with twins. (sa.gig 36, l. 98)

Even the chances of surviving the pregnancy or the circumstances of delivery are mentioned: If a fertile woman throws up light blood from her mouth, time and again: She will die, together with her foetus. (sa.gig 36, l. 83)

In the physiognomic omens, the size of the male member reflects virility and accounts for the number of children (Böck 2010: 202–3): If his penis looks like a fish: He will become powerful and have sons. If his penis is long and thick: He will beget males. If it (= a liptu fleck) is on the right side of his penis: He will have few sons. If it (= a dark spot) is on the left side of his penis: He [will have] sons. If there is a kittabru on the upper side of his penis, be it up or down, be it right and left: He will have sons and daughters, he will make profit.

An interesting apodosis in the second tablet of the physiognomic omen series Alamdimmû states: mārī(dumu.meš) ma-aʾ-du-ti iraššīma(tuk-ši-ma) ilappin(úk[u]) “he will get many sons, but thereby become poor” (Böck 2000: 76–77, l. 62). Abundance of children is also attested in the apodosis of an omen belonging to the sixth tablet of the series Šumma ālu: If the smell of a man’s house is like cucumber: He will have many children.     (Freedman 1998: 118–19, l. 111)

The month in which a child was born could also signal its future fate. Such omens were collected in a passage of the series Iqqur īpuš, §64 of Labat’s 1965 reconstruction, and are currently better known from a Hittite translation of this passage. Here we find omens like: If a child is born in the ninth month: This child will die; if it does not die, its father and mother should have fear. If a child is born in the tenth month: The house into which it is born will fall waste.     (Fincke 2004: 218–21, ll. 6′–8′)

With the advent of the zodiac in the middle of the fifth century b.c.e., such predictions were also related to the position of the planets in the signs of zodiac. One text, LBAT 1593, attributes this to the inherent gender of the zodiacal signs: Nisannu, Abu, and Kislīmu (the first triplicity) are masculine. Ayyāru, Ullūlu, and Ṭebētu (the second triplicity) are fem[inine. Simānu, Tašrītu, and Šabāṭu (the third triplicity) are masculine]. Duʾuzu, Araḫsamna, and Addāru (the fourth triplicity) are feminine. Because Jupiter stands in the region of the feminine signs (of the zodiac) with the moon, she will give birth to a boy. Because Saturn or [Mars] (stands) in the region of feminine signs (of the zodiac) with the moon, she will give birth to a boy. Because Mercury (stands) in the region of masculine

62

�������������� or feminine (signs of the zodiac) with the moon, ⸢she will give birth to a girl⸣. For Venus it is the same. Because Mars (stands) in Gemini with the moon, she will give birth to twins. Because Saturn and Ma[rs (stand) with the moon], she will give birth to two boys. Because Mercury or Saturn (stands) with the moon, a boy and a girl. Because Mercury and Venus (stand) with the moon, two girls. (Scurlock and al-Rawi 2006: 368–69)

All these predictions are more interested in the sex of an unborn child than in the number of children a man has in general; at least the number of children occurs only in the apodosis as part of the prediction, but not in the protasis as an observation. However, a passage in the fragment K. 6401 + K. 6403 (Fig. 1) can now be identified that addresses the topic directly. Still, before detailing the contents of this fragment, its join to another fragment must be discussed.

K. 6401 + K. 6403: Really a Join? According to the information at the British Museum’s Middle Eastern Department, K. 6401 and K. 6403 were joined before 1891. 4 The tablet, albeit copied by Frederick Geers and therefore known to several scholars, 5 was never published, which might be explained by certain problems within the text. The text of the two fragments K. 6401 and K. 6403 is not easily harmonized, as becomes clear from lines 18′–21′ of the left column: 18′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) 1 bi-ir x [    ] x īrub(ku4) eli(ugu) aššatīšu(dam?-šú) ṣibtu(ì.dab5) imaqqut(šub-ut) 19′ dišpu(làl) ḫimētu(ì.nun.na) šamnu(ì) šikaru(ka[š].s[ag)   ] īrub(ku4) mim mu-šú iḫallaq(záḫ) 20′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) šutta(máš.ge6) iṭ-ṭul-ma l[a] x-ti īrub(ku4) murṣu(gig) dan-nu maruṣ(gig) 21′ sebe(7) uṭ-ṭe-e-ti šá giš[x] nir?.meš ú-par-ri-ir ina nissati(sag.pa.lagab) uṣṣi(⸢è⸣) 18′ If a man one ‘mile’ . . . [ . . . . . . ] enters: A holding will fall to his wife. 19′ syrup, ghee, oil, be[er . . . . . . ] he enters: He will lose some of his possessions. 20′ If a man saw a dream and then does n[ot . . . ] he enters . . . : He will suffer from a severe disease. 21′ Seven grains of [ . . . ] . . .-wood he breaks up, he will go about in wailing.

While lines 18′–20′ on the fragment K. 6403 start differently, each continues on K. 6401 after the break with the same verb īrub(ku4) and this is highly problematic in line 19′, as one is hard pressed to get a meaning out of this sentence. Furthermore, line 21′ makes no sense at all and illustrates the interpretive problems of K. 6401 + K. 6403. However, the solution to this problem is quite simple: Actually, K. 6401 and K. 6403 do not join! Even if the two fragments seem to fit perfectly at first glance, the impossibility of the join could have been surmised from the fact that the lines 22′–26′ of the joined text do not fit together well. The lines 22′–26′ on K. 6401 are much more cramped than the corresponding lines on K. 6403. 4.  See J. Fincke: http://fincke-cuneiform.com/nineveh/joins/index.htm. This information probably comes from Bezold’s catalogue, which was published in that very year and where the join of K. 6401 and K. 6403 is already noted. Bezold 1891: 784, lists K. 6401 + K. 6403 as “Omens concerning incidents that may happen to men.” 5.  F. W. Geers, Book Q, p. 30.

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

63

Fig. 1.  K. 6401 + K. 6403.

A strong indication of the non-joinability of the two fragments is given by a parallel to the former lines 20′–21′ of the joined fragments, now lines 6′–7′ of K. 6403. This entry has a parallel in a line of a ritual text on dissolving the ramifications of a bad dream, K. 3333+ iii 4′–6′ (Oppenheim 1956: 340, Butler 1998: pls. 3–4) and KAR 252 iii 18–19 (Butler 1998: 273–74):

64

�������������� K. 3333 iii 4′–6′  4′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) šutta(máš.ge6) iṭ-ṭul la ú-kal lu šutta(máš.ge6) la ina-ṭ[al]  5′ erbe(4) uṭ-ṭe-e-ti šá úà-ta-wi-ši ana pān(igi) išāti(izi) tanaddīma(šub-ma)  6′ ina rēsīšu(sag-šú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5)] KAR 252 iii 18–19: 18 šumma(diš) šutta(máš.ge6) i[ ṭ-ṭul-ma la ú-kal] lu šutta(máš.ge6) l[a ina-ṭal] 19 sebe(7) uṭ-ṭ[e-e-ti šá úà-ta-wi]-ši ana išāti(izi) tanaddīma(šub-ma) ina r[ēsīšu(s[ag-šú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5)]        

On this basis, K. 6403, ll. 6′–7′ can be restored thus: šumma(diš) amēlu(na) šutta(máš.ge6) iṭ-ṭul-ma l[a ú-kal lu šutta(máš.ge6) la ina-ṭal] sebe(7) uṭ-ṭe-e-ti šá giš[x x x ana pān(igi) išāti(izi) tanaddīma(šub-ma) ina rēsīšu(sagšú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5)] 6

The parallel entries in K. 6403 ll. 6′–7′, K. 3333 iii 4′–6′ and KAR 252 iii 18–19 make it entirely clear that the join of K. 6401 to K. 6403 is impossible on textual grounds. These strong doubts about the validity of the join were further strengthened by a big piece of gypsum on the back of K. 6401 + K. 6403, connecting the two pieces – a certain join with a clear and proper break would have made such a piece of gypsum stabilizing the join unnecessary. Given the doubts about this old join, the author contacted Jon Taylor of the British Museum in March 2014 and, presenting the evidence, asked for a removal of the gypsum and a new check of the join. Jon Taylor kindly asked the conservation department of the British Museum to take the two fragments apart, which, unfortunately, has not yet happened. Therefore, this possible “non-join” has not yet been verified. All the problems of reconstructing the text dissolve the moment one takes the two fragments apart. K. 6401 is then a fragment of a two column-tablet containing dream omens, not unlike tablet C of Leo Oppenheim’s (1956: 331–33) reconstruction of the dream omen series Zaqīqu. The dream omens are in most cases arranged according to keywords, most often verbs denoting an activity the dreaming person pursues in his dreams, like naši “he carries”, iddinšu “is handed to him,” etc. The keyword naši “he carries” in the fragmentary lines of the right column also appears in tablet C of the dream omen series (Oppenheim 1956: 331, Fragment No. 1, ll. 1′–30′). The keyword in the left column is īrub “he enters,” always written logographically with the sign ku4. This keyword is not yet attested in the still rather fragmentary reconstruction of the dream omens series. While the fragment K. 6401 clearly contains typical dream omens (see Appendix 1 for an edition), it also exhibits a hitherto unattested new apodosis: isiq lemni(ḫul) immar(igi-mar) “He will experience an evil fate,” literally: “a fate of evil” (i 8′ and 16′). K. 6403, on the contrary, is not easily ascribed to an omen series. It contains several passages, divided by rulings, with quite different omen subjects, for which— with the exception of ll. 6′–7′ mentioned above—no parallels or duplicates are attested. However, taking K. 6403 and K. 6401 apart makes it clear that K. 6403 need not necessarily be a fragment of a two-column tablet and that there could have been much more text after the break than previously assumed when K. 6403 was considered to be a part of K. 6401.

6.  See also the edition of K. 6403 in Appendix 2.

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

65

The Number of Children in the Text of the Fragment K. 6403 The most interesting passage of K. 6403 appears in lines 8′–17′, set apart from the rest of the text by rulings. Here, the number of children—divided into sons and daughters—is interpreted. __________________________________________________________________________  8′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ištēn(1) māra(dumu) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) šinā(2) mārī(dumu.meš) ir-ši damiq(sig5)]  9′    šalāšat(3) mārī(dumu.meš) ir-ši [ul(nu) damiq(sig5) erbet(4) damiq(sig5)   ḫamšat(5) ul(nu) damiq(sig5)] 10′    šeššet(6) damiq(sig5) sebet(7) ul(nu) damiq(⸢sig5⸣) [samānat(8)   damiq(sig5) tišīt(9) ul(nu) damiq(sig5)] 11′    ešeret(10) damiq(sig5) [ (o) ? ] 12′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) mārta(dumu.munus) ištēt(1) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5]) [šittā(2) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 13′    šalāš(3) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq (si[g5) erbe(4) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 14′    ḫamiš(5) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq (si[g5) šidiš(6) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 15′    sebe(7) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) samāne(8) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 16′    tiše(9) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) ešer(10) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 17′    ma-ʾa-du-tu4 ir-š[i      ] __________________________________________________________________________ Translation: __________________________________________________________________________   8′ If a man has one son: It is not go[od. (If) he has two sons: It is good].   9′    (If) he has three sons: [It is not good. Four: It is good. Five: It is not good]. 10′    Six: It is good. Seven: It is not good. [Eight: It is good. Nine: It is not good.] 11′    Ten: It is good. [ (0) ] 12′ If a man has one daughter: It is not goo[d. (If) he has two: It is good]. 13′    He has three: It is not goo[d. (If) he has four: It is good]. 14′    He has five: It is not goo[d. (If) he has six: It is good]. 15′    He has seven: It is not goo[d. (If) he has eight: It is good]. 16′    He has nine: It is not goo[d. (If) he has ten: It is good]. 17′ (If) he has many (children): [ . . . . . . ]. __________________________________________________________________________

This passage interprets the number of a man’s sons or daughters from one to ten. Unfortunately, the right side of the tablet is broken away and we cannot be completely sure about the restorations. However, as it is clear that having one or seven sons is a bad sign, while having six or ten is a good sign and having one, three, five, seven, or nine daughters is considered to be bad, we can assume that the underlying principle is that even numbers of children is seen as a good sign and odd numbers as a bad sign. Apparently, whether it concerns sons or daughters is of no consequence for the interpretation. Furthermore, we can assume that the text records all numbers from one to ten and not only eclectic numbers as is made plausible by the spacing of the signs in lines 8′–10′ and 13′–16′. Therefore, we may consider the restorations as quite secure. The interpretation of lines 11′ and 17′ remains problematic. Of course, one may assume in line 17′ that after the number ten the text continues with more than ten sons or daughters, stating collectively “If he has many (daughters),” many being

66

��������������

here more than ten, and we could restore maʾdūtu irši also in the gap of line 11′. However, this ignores simple Akkadian grammar, as one would of course expect in line 17′ the feminine maʾdātu and not the male maʾdūtu. Therefore, I instead assume that the rest of line 11′ is blank and in line 17′ a collective maʾdūtu for sons and daughters is meant, even if this line is indented and according to the layout belongs to the section on daughters beginning in line 12′.

Even and Odd Numbers in Divination The rule applied in this text of even numbers of sons or daughters interpreted as a positive sign and odd numbers as a negative sign is surprising, especially as this principle is not regularly applied in divination or, indeed, in other texts. It stands in a marked contrast to the rule to be gleaned from the twelfth tablet of the Gilgameš Epic, which states that the more sons one has, the better the life will be in the netherworld, regardless of even or odd numbers. It has not yet been noted that even or odd numbers play a major role in divination. Sure enough, we can assume that numbers did play a role in divinatory interpretation, most notably in extispicy. For example, the number of the coils of the colon of the sacrificial animal are carefully noted and interpreted by the diviners, considering even numbers between 10 and 14 in Old Babylonian times, and 12 to 16 in the first millennium as the normal, positive case, whereas other even and all odd numbers are usually negative. But here the interpretation of the even numbers as positive and the odd numbers as negative has a clear fundamentum in re as the coils of the colon usually appear in even numbers and any clear deviation of the norm was per se seen as negative in Babylonian divination. 7 It has been pointed out that the right-left symbolism of extispicy, where the right side pertains to the client and is therefore good, whereas the left side pertains to the enemy and is considered as bad, might lie at the heart of the interpretation of even and odd numbers (Geller 2004: 56–57). Thereby, the right side would be seen as the number one, and the left side as number two and odd numbers would be seen as good ones, whereas even numbers would be interpreted as bad numbers. Indeed, we can often observe in Mesopotamia that implicitly the numbers three, five and seven are preferred to their even counterparts (Geller 2004: 56). Clearer evidence for a preference of odd numbers over even ones in Mesopotamia comes not from Mesopotamian sources but from the rabbinic literature. Mark Geller refers to the Babylonian Talmud, which clearly states that concerning people “in the west,” meaning Palestine, “they were not particular about ‘pairs’,” meaning even and odd numbers (Geller 2004: 56). By this distinction, it becomes clear how Mesopotamia is seen to be particular about even and odd numbers by the Talmud. However, as other passages in the Babylonian Talmud tell us, even numbers are considered to be inauspicious and odd numbers as auspicious. 7.  Unfortunately, the passage in the second tablet of the chapter Šumma tīrānū, which lists the numbers of the coils of the colon from one to more than twenty is quite fragmentary and too few apodoses are completely preserved to assess these omens for the interpretation of even and odd numbers. See K. 3670 + K. 6204 + K. 8343 + K. 11281 + K. 12387 + K. 12874, partly edited by Boissier 1905: 92–93, obv. 58–rev. 37.

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

67

R[abbi] Papa said, Joseph the demon told me: For two we kill; for four we do not kill, (but) for four we cause harm. For two (we cause harm) whether (something is done) unwittingly or deliberately; for four, only if it is deliberate, but not if it is unwitting. And if a man forgot himself and happened to go out, what is remedy for it? Let him take his right-hand thumb in his left hand and his left-hand thumb in his right hand and say thus: ‘You (the two thumbs) and I, that makes three! But if he hears someone saying, ‘You and I, that makes four!’ let him say to him, ‘You and I, that makes five!’ And if he hears one saying, ‘You and I are six,’ let him say to him, ‘You and I, that makes seven.’ This (once) was done until a hundred and one, and the demon burst. (Geller 2004: 56 n. 246: b. Pesachim 110a)

However, in the passage on the numbers of sons and daughters in K. 6403 it is clear that the even numbers are considered as the good ones and the odd numbers as the bad ones. How is this to be explained? One could assume that the fragment K. 6403 belongs to the corpus of dream omens as does K. 6401; in this case, reversed interpretation is a common phenomenon. The world of dreams represents thus a mirror world, where left is right and right is left and the interpretation of omens is reversed to the one in the real world. To determine whether or not K. 6403 belongs to this dream omens corpus, we have to take a look at the other passages of the text of the fragment K. 6403. A strong hint for an interpretation of the text of K. 6403 is the entry in line 6′–7′, in which bad dreams are discussed:   6′ If a man saw a dream and he does n[ot remember it or he cannot recount it ( . . . ):]   7′ Seven grains of [ . . . you throw on the fire and then you put it on his head and it will improve].

However, the parallels to this line in K. 3333 and KAR 252 appear in ritual texts against bad dreams and not in dream omens. The other omens of K. 6403 deal with very different topics and it is difficult to find a common theme in them. The textual layout of these omens differs considerably from dream omens like the ones collected in the dream omen series Zaqīqu. In those dream omens, the dreaming person is introduced only in the first line of a text section and then he is not explicitly named any more. Furthermore, dream omens—as we have already seen—are usually organized according to a keyword, which reappears in every line. In omens of K. 6403 the acting person or animal is introduced and there are no keywords to be found. What we have in K. 6403 are broken omens on a man traveling some distances, about the death of a slave and his inheritance (that is, if I understand the broken text correctly) and some bird omens. Therefore, we must conclude that these omens are not dream omens but rather represent the kind of omens that were collected in the omen series Šumma ālu ina mēlê šakin “If a City is Situated on a Height.” Šumma ālu omens usually name the acting person or animal or the item on which an omen is observed directly after the initial word šumma, as is the case in K. 6403. But how do we account for the reversal of interpretation of even and odd numbers in K.  6403? The interpretation of ominous observation is difficult and needs profound knowledge — a point Mesopotamian scholars never tire of relating to their pupils. Contrary to the impression given by some often-cited Old-Babylonian omens, with their obvious connection between observed phenomenon and its interpretation,

68

��������������

divinatory interpretation often follows its own logic, which we do not easily understand. This is exactly what constitutes its appeal and makes a professional interpretation necessary. However, there are many cases within the series Šumma ālu where reversal of interpretation can be detected. As Ann Guinan (2014: 119), who discussed this in detail, puts it: Meaning is produced also by referential reversal of cultural categories or reversal of standard symbols throughout šumma ālu.

And further: Reversals occur when a common paradigm becomes a syntagm of: up is down/ bad is good/ front is back. What appears positive on the outside is a negative on the inside. The unknown becomes the reverse of the known. The reversals present divinatory meaning as a negative analogue–the other side of the coin.

This might also be the case for the fragment K. 6403: Perhaps it was part of a tablet in the second, rather fragmentarily preserved half of the series Šumma ālu, which consisted of 120 tablets in total. But no matter to what kind of omens in general and what kind of series in particular this fragment will turn out to belong to in the future, the reversal of the normal interpretative pattern of even and odd numbers remains an interesting phenomenon.

Appendix 1: The Omen Text Fragment K. 6401 K. 6401 is a fragment from the middle part of a tablet containg at least two coloums per side. The left column preserve the ends of 26 lines, the right column the beginnings of 13 lines.

Transcription: Left column (‘i’):  1′ [            ] x [x x x x]  2′ [            g]ab ra x [x x (x)]  3′ [         amēlu(n]a?) šū(bi) giš šá? da/iš x [x (x)]  4′ [           ] x amēlu(na) šū(bi) imarraṣ(⸢gig⸣-a[ṣ?])  5′ [            ] x x irašši/išû(tuk-ši)  6′ [        mu]-⸢ṣa⸣-a ul(nu) išû(tuk) kīlu(ki.šú) dan-nu immar(igi-mar)  7′ [       īrub(k]u4) išātu(izi) ana bīt(é) amēli(na) imaqqut(šub-ut)  8′ [          ] īrub(ku4) i-siq lemni(ḫul) immar(igi-mar)  9′ [        ] ta sa5 īrub(ku4) ilappin(úku) 10′ [        s]a5 īrub(ku4) i-qal-lil 11′ [        s]a5 īrub(ku4) ittanadlaḫ(lù.lù-aḫ) 12′ [       ] ti sa5 īrub(ku4) amēlu(na) šū(bi) idammiq(sig5-iq) 13′ [       ] x nu sa5 īrub(ku4) amēlu(na) šū(bi) ul(nu) idammiq(sig5-iq) 14′ [       ]-de-e īrub(ku4) libbašu(šà-šú) i-lem-mìn ṣulum(ge6) pāni(igi)                                   immar(igi) 15′ [       ] ti īrub(ku4) lapnu(úku) išarru(níg.tuk) šārû(níg.tuk) ilappin(úku) 16′ [       ] īrub(ku4) i-siq lemni(ḫul) immar(igi-mar) 17′ [       ] x īrub(ku4) ta-a-a-rat ili(dingir) ana amēli(lú) 18′ [       ] x īrub(ku4) eli(ugu) aššatīšu(dam?-šú) ṣibtu(ì.dab5) imaqqut(šub-ut)

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children 19′ [       ] īrub(ku4) mim-mu-šú iḫallaq(záḫ) 20′ [       ] x ti īrub(ku4) murṣu(gig) dan-nu maruṣ(gig) 21′ [      ] nir?.meš ú-par-ri-ir ina nissati(sag.pa.lagab) uṣṣi(⸢è⸣) __________________________________________________________________________ 22′ [          ] x irašši(tuk-ši) 23′ [         apilšu(du]mu?.uš-šú) imât(úš) 24′ [              ] x ina-an-zi[q] 25′ [                lapnu(ú]ku) išarru(níg.tu[k]) 26′ [                  ] x x [ ] Column breaks here. Right column (‘ii’):  1′ šumma(di[š) ]  2′ šumma(diš) in[a ]  3′ šumma(diš) ina x [ ]  4′ šumma(diš) ina tar [ ]  5′ šumma(diš) kāsa(gú.zi) x [ ]  6′ šumma(diš) kāsa(gú.zi) ma ši [ ]  7′ šumma(diš) kāsa(gú.zi) rīqta(sù-t[a) na-ši ]  8′ šumma(diš) ṣēra(muš) ina naruqqi(kušá.kár) [na-ši ]  9′ šumma(diš) narkabta(gišgigir) na-ši ⸢ub⸣ [ ] 10′ šumma(diš) eleppa(gišmá) na-ši x [ ] 11′ šumma(diš) qanâ(gi) na-ši x [ ] 12′ šumma(diš) ⸢x x x x x na⸣-ši x [ ] 13′ šumma(di[š) ] x x [ ] Column breaks here.

Translation: left column (‘i’):   1′–3′ too fragmentary for translation   4′ [ . . . . . . ] this [ma]n will fall sick.   5′ [ . . . . . . ] he will get . . . .   6′ [ . . . . . . ] there will be no exit, he will experience a severe prison.   7′ [If he] enters [ . . . . . . ]: Fire will fall on the man’s house.   8′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ]: He will experience an evil fate.   9′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : He will get poor. 10′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : He will become small. 11′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : He will become constantly confused. 12′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : This man will prosper. 13′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : This man will not prosper. 14′ [If] he enters [ .  .  . .  .  . ] .  .  . : He will get angry and experience anger (darkness of demeanor). 15′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : A poor person will get rich, a rich person will get poor. [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : He will experience an evil fate. 16′ 17′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : Attention of the god for the man. [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : A holding will fall to his wife. 18′ 19′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ]: He will lose some of his possessions. 20′ [If] he enters [ . . . . . . ] . . . : He will suffer from a severe disease. 21′ [ . . . . . . ] . . . he breaks up, he will go about in wailing.

69

70

�������������� __________________________________________________________________________ [ . . . . . . ] . . . he will get. 22′ 23′ [ . . . . . . ]: His first-born son will die. [ . . . . . . ] . . . he will have troubles. 24′ 25′ [ . . . . . . a p]oor man will get rich. 26′ too fragmentary for translation Right column (‘ii’):   1′ I[f . . . . . . ].   2′ If i[n . . . . . . ].   3′ If in . . . [ . . . . . . ].   4′ If in . . . [ . . . . . . ].   5′ If [ . . . ] cup . . . [ . . . . . . ].   6′ If [he carries] a . . . cup [ . . . . . . ].   7′ If [he carries] an empty cup [ . . . . . . ].   8′ If [he carries] a snake in a leather-sack [ . . . . . . ].   9′ If he carries a chariot . . . [ . . . . . . ]. If he carries a ship . . . [ . . . . . . ]. 10′ If he carries a reed . . . [ . . . . . . ]. 11′ If he carries . . . [ . . . . . . ]. 12′

Commentary: For the restoration mu]-⸢ṣa⸣-a, see F. Rochberg-Halton 1988: 222, obv. 2. For the translation “darkness of demeanor” for ṣulum(ge6) pāni(igi), see Livingstone 2013: 264. i 18′ ṣibtu(i.dab5) ‘holding’ is not yet to my knowledge attested in divinatory texts. i 35′ The sign sa10 is not written níndaךe-a-an as it is to be expected, but between še and a another vertical wedge is inserted. Therefore, the sign can be described as nínda×kar-an. ii 6′–7′ For l. 7′ cf. diš gú.zi sù-ta sum-šú . . . “If one gives him an empty cup . . .” in K. 12525, obv. 7′ (Oppenheim 1956: 325). In the next line (obv. 10′) appears diš gú.zi sa5-ta sum-šú . . . “If one hands him a full cup . . .” One would assume that a full cup is mentioned here in ii 6′, but the sign after “ma” is not “li,” and the signs cannot be restored to a form of malû “full.” ii 8′ With Abusch and Schwemer 2011: 433 commentary on l. 12 the writing kušá.kár can be taken as a by-form to kuša.gá.lá = naruqqu ‘leather sack’; see there for a list of attestations (reference courtesy D. Schwemer). This reading makes the possible reconstruction of the writing kušá.kár as šikṣu(á.kár [gišgigir]) unlikely. The word šikṣu appears in similar context in the dream omen K. 2018A (Oppenheim 1956: 324) iii 9′: diš á.kár gišgigir sum-šú . . . . šikṣu denotes a not clearly identifyable part of the reins and the following line of K. 2018A (iii 10′) consequently mentions the reins: diš kuša-šá-at sum-šú . . . . However, the determinative mašku(kuš) ‘leather’ present in our text is not usually attested for šikṣu, which again speaks against this reading. ii 9′–10′ These lines are reminiscent of tablet C in Oppenheim’s reconstruction of the dream omen series, see K. 25+, rev. ii 1–8 (Oppenheim 1956: 329) and K. 7248+ (ibid., 331). These omens exhibit the same keyword na-ši “he carries” as the present omens; however, no direct parallels can be demonstrated. i 6′ i 14′

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

71

Appendix 2: The Omen Text Fragment K. 6403 K. 6403 is the lower left edge of the obverse of a tablet. Preserved are 26 fragmentary lines.

Transcription:  1′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ḫarrāna(kaskal) [ ]  2′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ḫarrān(kaskal) šarri(l[ugal) ]  3′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ḫarrāna(kaskal) irkab(u[5) ]  4′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) 1 bi-ir x [ ]  5′ dišpu(làl) ḫimētu(ì.nun.na) šamnu(ì) šikaru(ka[š].s[ag) ]  6′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) šutta(máš.ge6) iṭ-ṭul-ma l[a ú-kal lu šutta(máš.ge6) la ina-ṭal]  7′ sebe(7) uṭ-ṭe-e-ti šá giš[x x x ana pān(igi) išāti(izi) tanaddīma(šub-ma) ina rēsīšu(sag-šú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5)] __________________________________________________________________________  8′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ištēn(1) māra(dumu) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) šinā(2) mārī(dumu.meš) ir-ši damiq(sig5)]  9′ šalāšat(3) mārī(dumu.meš) ir-ši [ul(nu) damiq(sig5) erbet(4) damiq(sig5) ḫamšat(5) ul(nu) damiq(sig5)] 10′ šeššet(6) damiq(sig5) sebet(7) ul(nu) damiq(⸢sig5⸣) [samānat(8) damiq(sig5) tišīt(9) ul(nu) damiq(sig5)] 11′ ešeret(10) damiq(sig5) [ (o) ? ] 12′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) mārta(dumu.munus) ištēt(1) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5]) [šittā(2) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 13′ šalāš(3) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq (si[g5) erbe(4) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 14′ ḫamiš(5) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq (si[g5) šidiš(6) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 15′ sebe(7) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) samāne(8) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 16′ tiše(9) ir-ši ul(nu) damiq(si[g5) ešer(10) ir-ši damiq(sig5)] 17′ ma-ʾa-du-tu4 ir-š[i ] __________________________________________________________________________ 18′ šumma(diš) rēš(sag) amēli(na) i-mu-ut-ma bēlu(en) [ ] 19′ šumma(diš) ri-du-us-su lā(nu) i[r-red-du-ú? ] 20′ šumma(diš) ri-du-us-su ana bīti(é) x [ ] 21′ šumma(diš) ana bītīšu(é-šu) la ú-še-rib-ma [ ] 22′ šumma([d]iš) amēlu(na) šīmu(sa10) 2/3.bi ú kab [ ] 23′ šumma([di]š) amēlu(lú) im me dam te ʾe [ ] __________________________________________________________________________ 24′ šumma(diš) amēlu(na) ana Šamši(dutu) qāssu(šu-su) u4 30-kám [ ] 25′ šumma(diš) iṣṣūr(mušēn) ḫu-ur-ri u4 1-kám li iš x [ ] 26′ šumma([di]š) āribu([š]ir.burmušen) ṣalmu(ge6) x [ ] End of obverse.

Translation:   1′   2′   3′   4′   5′

If a man [ . . . . . . ] the highway [ . . . . . . ]. If a man [ . . . . . . ] the king’s highway [ . . . . . . ]. If a man trave[ls?] the highway [ . . . . . . ]. If a man [ . . . . . . ] one ‘mile’ . . . [ . . . . . . ] syrup, ghee, oil, be[er . . . . . . ].

72

��������������   6′ If a man saw a dream and then does n[ot remember it or he cannot see a dream:]   7′ Seven grains of [ . . . you throw on the fire and then you place them on his head and it will improve]. __________________________________________________________________________   8′ If a man has one son: It is not go[od. (If) he has two sons: It is good].   9′ (If) he has three sons: [It is not good. Four: It is good. Five: It is not good]. 10′ Six: It is good. Seven: It is not good. [Eight: It is good. Nine: It is not good.] 11′ Ten: It is good. [ (0) ] 12′ If a man has one daughter: It is not goo[d. (If) he has two: It is good]. 13′ He has three: It is not goo[d. (If) he has four: It is good]. 14′ He has five: It is not goo[d. (If) he has six: It is good]. 15′ He has seven: It is not goo[d. (If) he has eight: It is good]. 16′ He has nine: It is not goo[d. (If) he has ten: It is good]. 17′ (If) he has many: [ . . . . . . ]. __________________________________________________________________________ 18′ If the slave of a man dies and the master [ . . . . . . ]. 19′ If his inheritance is not t[aken over? . . . . . . ]. 20′ If his inheritance [ . . . ] to the house . . . [ . . . . . . ]. 21′ If he does not bring (it) into his house and then [ . . . . . . ]. 22′ If a man . . . two-thirds of the proceeds [ . . . . . . ]. 23′ [I]f a man . . . . . . [ . . . . . . ]. __________________________________________________________________________ 24′ If a man [ . . . ] his hand to the sun-god, thirty days [ . . . . . . ]. 25′ If a partridge? one day . . . [ . . . . . . ]. 26′ If a black raven . . . [ . . . . . . ]. End of obverse.

Commentary:  5′  6′–7′

4′ 5′ 6′

kaš.sag is rendered here as šikaru and not as šikaru rēštû since kaš and kaš.sag are used interchangeably after the Old Babylonian period; see Borger 2003 (MZL): 321. For these lines, see also above p.  64. This entry is parallel to K. 3333+ (Oppenheim 1956: 340, Butler 1998: pls. 3–4) iii 4′–6′, after which the text has been restored.

šumma(diš) amēlu(na) šutta(máš.ge6) iṭ-ṭul la ú-kal lu šutta(máš.ge6) la ina-ṭ[al] erbe(4) uṭ-ṭe-e-ti šá úà-ta-wi-ši ana pān(igi) išāti(izi) tanaddi(šub)-ma ina rēsīšu(sag-šú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5) Another parallel is KAR 252 iii 18–19 (Butler 1998: 273–74):

18 šumma(diš) šutta(máš.ge6) i[ṭ-ṭul-ma la ú-kal] lu šutta(máš.ge6) l[a ina-ṭal] 19 sebe(7) uṭ-ṭ[e-e-ti šá úà-ta-wi]-ši ana išāti(izi) tanaddi(šub)-ma ina r[ēsīšu(s[ag-šú) tašakkanma(gar-ma) idammiq(sig5)]



Note that in Butler’s (1998: 273) transliteration, the second “la” is erroneously left out. Her translation (ibid., 298) of lā inaṭṭal as “he did not see (a dream)” and interpretation (ibid., 308) that “It seems as if the Mesopotamians expected to be able to recall a dream next morning and, therefore, equated not having a dream with not remembering one” is problematic, as this would have required a preterite iṭṭul in this context. The present tense inaṭṭal rather indicates here the modal aspect “he cannot see (a dream),” for which see Streck 1995: 97. The restoration of the plant used in line 7′ remains problematic. While K. 3333+ and KAR 252 agree on the atāʾišu-plant, K. 6403 breaks after the sign “giš,” which

On the Fortune—or Misfortune—of Having Children

73

has to be taken as a determinative. However, the atāʾišu-plant is usually used with the determinative “ú” for plants and never, to the best of my knowledge, with “giš.” This raises serious doubts about restoring the atāʾišu-plant here. 8′–17′ 21′ 23′

For this passage see the discussion above, pp. 65–66. The protasis seems to lack an object; it remains unclear, who or what is not brought into the house. I have not been able to make sense of this fragmentary omen.

Bibliography Abusch, T. and Schwemer, D. 2011 Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals. Volume One. AMD 8/1. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Bauer, J. 1989 Der “schlimme Tod” in Mesopotamien. Pp. 21–27 in DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A. Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. T. Roth. OPSNKF 11. Philadelphia: Samuel Noah Kramer Fund. Bezold, C. 1891 Catalogue of the Cuneiform Tablets on the Kouyunjik Collection of the British Museum. Vol. 2. London: Longmans. Biggs, R. D. 2000 Conception, Contraception, and Abortion in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 1–13 in Wisdom, Gods and Literature: Studies in Assyriology in Honour of W. G. Lambert, ed. A. R. George and I. L. Finkel. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Böck, B. 2000 Die babylonisch-assyrische Morphoskopie. AfO Beih. 27. Wien: Institut für Orientalistik der Universität Wien. 2010 Physiognomy in Ancient Mesopotamia and Beyond: From Practice to Handbook. Pp.  199–224 in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World, ed. A. Annus. OIS 6. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Boissier, A. 1905 Choix des textes relatifs à la divination assyro-babylonienne. Genève: Henry Kündig. Borger, R. 2003 Mesopotamisches Zeichenlexikon. AOAT 305. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Butler, S. A. L. 1998 Mesopotamian Conceptions of Dreams and Dream Rituals. AOAT 258. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Ebeling, E. 1915–23  Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts. 2 vols. WVDOG 28 and 34. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Farber, W. 2014 Lamaštu: An Edition of the Canonical Series of Lamaštu Incantations and Rituals and Related Texts from the Second and First Millennia B.C. MC 17. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Fincke, J. C. 2004 Zu den hethitischen Übersetzungen babylonischer Omentexte: die kalendarischen und astrologischen Omina in KUB VIII 35. SMEA 46: 215–41. Freedman, S. M. 1998 If a City is Set on a Height: The Akkadian Omen Series Šumma Alu ina Mēlê Šakin, vol. 1: Tablets 1–21. OPSNKF 17. Philadelphia: Samuel Noah Kramer Fund. Gadotti, A. 2014 “Gilgamesh, Enkidu, and the Netherworld” and the Sumerian Gilgamesh Cycle. Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie 10. Boston and Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

74

��������������

Garroway, K. H. 2014 Children in the Ancient Near Eastern Household. Explorations in Ancient Near Eastern Civilizations 3. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Geller, M. J. 2003 Paranoia, the Evil Eye, and the Face of Evil. Pp. 115–34 in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, ed. W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll. OBC 14. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 2004 Akkadian Healing Therapies in the Babylonian Talmud. Max-Plank-Institut für Wissenschaftsgeschichte, Preprint 259. Berlin: Max-Planck-Institut für Wissenschafts­ geschichte. George, A. R. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Guinan, A. K. 2014 Laws and Omens: Obverse and Inverse. Pp. 105–21 in Divination in the Ancient Near East: A Workshop on Divination Conducted during the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Würzburg, 2008, ed. J. C. Fincke. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Heeßel, N. P. 2004 Diagnosis, Divination and Disease: Towards an Understanding of the Rationale behind the Babylonian Diagnostic Handbook. Pp. 97–116 in Magic and Rationality in Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman Medicine, ed. H. F. J. Horstmanshoff and M. Stol. Studies in Ancient Medicine 27. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Labat, R. 1951 Traité akkadien diagnostics et pronostics médicaux. Leiden: Brill. 1965 Un calendrier babylonien des travaux, des signes et des mois (séries iqqur īpuš). Paris: Librairie Honoré Champion. Livingstone, A. 2013 Hemerologies of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars. CUSAS 25. Bethesda: CDL. Oppenheim, A. L. 1956 The Interpretation of Dreams in the Ancient Near East, with a Translation of the Assyrian Dream-Book. Transaction of the American Philosophical Society NS 46/3. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Pinches, T. G., Strassmaier, J. N., Sachs, A. J., and Schaumberger, J. 1955 Late Babylonian Astronomical and Related Texts. Brown University Studies 18. Providence: Brown University Press. Radner, K. 2005 Die Macht des Namens: Altorientalische Strategien zur Selbsterhaltung. SANTAG 8. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Rochberg-Halton, F. 1988 Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination: The Lunar Eclipse Tablets of Enūma Anu Enlil. AfO Beih. 22. Wien: Horn. Scurlock, J.-A. 2014 Sourcebook for Ancient Mesopotamian Medicine. WAW 36. Atlanta: SBL. Scurlock, J.-A., and Al-Rawi, F. 2006 A Weakness for Hellenism. Pp. 357–82 in If a Man Builds a Joyful House: Assyriological Studies in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty, ed. A. K. Guinan et al. CM 31. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Stol, M. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx Publications. Streck, M. 1995 Zahl und Zeit: Grammatik der Numeriala und des Verbalsystems im Spätbabylonischen. CM 5. Groningen: Styx Publications.

Gendering for Fortune and Misfortune Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East Kathleen McCaffrey

Charles Town, West Virginia It has been difficult for scholars who study the cuneiform languages and material evidence of the ancient Near East to think about sex and gender in ways that are unfamiliar to the Western tradition because gender theory remains largely unknown in such circles. To demonstrate how theoretical studies of gender can contribute to these specialties, the present paper draws on comparative studies to identify a type of ritual that is attested in non-Western cultures but that has gone unnoticed in Near Eastern scholarship because it has no counterpart in the West. The inhabitants of Western Asia performed a version of this ritual with a newborn child to ensure the outcome desired by most parents — a son or daughter of normative gender. More elaborate rituals of this class were performed later in life when it was necessary to transition an adult to a different gender. Ancient Near Eastern gender rituals vary in their scope and setting, often presenting as rites within rituals. Even when they appear as subcomponents within incantations, initiations, curses, or potency rituals, gender rituals comprise a distinct category defined by a set procedure and a common function. All gender rituals transfer intangible essences responsible for gendered behavior from one container to another. In addition to the core infancy rite, this paper identifies four rituals that re-gendered adults in the ancient Near East: Hittite treatments for effeminacy, the ritual punishment of male sex offenders, the rite of the Sumerian pilipili, and the exorcism of the Lamaštu demoness. The selected examples are intended to illustrate the potentialities of ancient gender logic and should not be overly construed as representing every type of gender alteration practiced in the societies of the ancient Near East. In the gender logic of the ancient Near East, the switch from one gender to another was a metaphysical change that did not require anatomical alteration. The power to alter gender was attributed to the goddess Inanna/Ištar, and people who exhibited behaviors that were not stereotypical for their sex were regarded as chosen and changed by this deity. Gender status could also be altered more deliberately. Gender alteration rituals were sometimes voluntary and/or beneficial, enabling individuals to adopt more congenial gender identities or to enter professions that required a different gender status. The switch to a new gender was also sometimes punitive, imposed as a punishment for serious sexual misconduct or as the price of defeat on the battlefield. 75

76

Kathleen McCaffrey

Transition from one gender status to another was accomplished either by performing the three-step ritual identified in this study or by using rape or seduction to place an individual in a compromising sexual position. The four adult rituals illustrate the transitions that were conceptually possible in the gender logic of the ancient Near East. Two of the adult gender rituals transition a masculine-gendered person to the feminine gender. The adulterer who is divested of his social masculinity in the Inninšagurra Hymn is anatomically male, while Lamaštu is anatomically female. The adult gender rituals used to treat effeminacy and the rite of the pilipili reverse directionality, each transitioning a feminine-gendered person to the masculine gender. The patients afflicted with womanliness are anatomically male. The pilipili is a woman of normative gender who is forcibly re-gendered into a socially masculine public woman.

Gendering the Infant: The Core Ritual The ancient Near Eastern infant gender rite is attested in art and texts from Mesopotamia, Anatolia, northern Iran, and Syria. 1 Probably deriving from a preliterate tradition, the oldest Sumerian incantation from Fara and Ur III incantations of similar type describe a simple procedure performed by the birth attendant just before the umbilical cord is cut. The newborn boy is handed a weapon: “If it be a boy (nita), let him take in his hand a weapon (ĝištukul) or bronze axe (uruha-zi), the arms of valor (á nam-ur-saĝ)!” The newborn girl is handed a feminine possession: “If it be a girl (munus), let her hold the spindle (ĝišbala) or dress pin (ĝiškirid)!” 2 Little in-depth analysis has been devoted to the infancy rite because its function has appeared completely obvious. The normative Sumerian man wore a weapon at his belt, while Sumerian women wove cloth and fastened their garments using pins that were exclusive to the feminine costume. To the unsuspecting Western eye, the midwife’s action looks like a custom similar to garbing newborns in pink or blue, and as such it fits neatly with expectation that the Middle East has always been conservative in matters of gender, socializing boys and girls into stereotypical gender roles aligned with sex. For example, in dismissing the possibility of multiple 1.  Birth rituals number among the earliest written rituals. They were performed throughout the ancient Near East over a very long period, surviving major upheavals in the incantational tradition (Peterson 2008: 196). Sources include: (1) Sumerian birth (m u n u s ù - t u - d a) incantations (van Dijk 1975; Cohen 1976: 133–40; Krebernik 1984: B.6 c; Stol 2000: 61, 63); (2) Hittite/Hurrian ritual texts (Berman 1972; Beckman 1978; Puhvel 2002); (3) depiction on an heirloom gold bowl from Hasanlu, Iran, 1100–800 b.c.e. (Winter 1989: fig. 6); and (4) presentation of a bow and arrows to the newborn prince, Tale of Aqhat I v 28–39, mid-second-millennium Ugarit (Parker 1997; Wyatt 1999). Infancy rituals have not been studied as a class because the primary sources are scattered across different specialties and equipment updates create superficial differences. Just as Gilgameš fights Humbaba with an ax and the Bull of Heaven with a dagger, Sumerian and Hurrian sons are offered a blade, while the late second-millennium bows of Marduk, Ninurta, and Erra are consistent with choice of weapon in the Tale of Aqhat. 2. Ur III UM 29-15-367: 46–48 (van Dijk 1975: 56–57); see n.1.1 for variants. The translation kirid/kirissu ‘hair clasp’ has been in the Assyriological scholarly apparatus for a long time and is still reflected in dictionary entries. Farber (1987: 98–99) proposes that the kirissu was a straight dress pin with a needle-like eye, used to secure a woman’s garment but also perhaps for other functions such as sewing a hairdo in place. His interpretation is supported by the lack of a hair clasp on Lamaštu amulets and by the abundant referencing of the kirissu in the second millennium in contrast to rare mention in later literary contexts, which parallels the transition in the material record from the straight toggle dress pin to the fibula.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

77

genders and/or public roles for women in the societies of the ancient Near East, C.  Suter asserts that the infancy ritual proves that a public/private division between the sexes “still propagated by twentieth-century dictators” has existed in the Middle East at least since the mid-third millennium b.c.e. 3 Things are not so simple. Even in the case of a seemingly uncomplicated ritual, evidence must be analyzed with care because cultural outsiders are prone to overlook possibilities that do not resonate with their own worldviews. As observed by H. Hoffner, gendered objects did not merely symbolize the male or female sex in the ancient Near East but had an inherent magical power to bestow the very attributes that they represented. 4 Weapons had connotations of sexual virility and royal weapons had extra dimensions of power. 5 Gendered objects also had other properties that have scarcely been considered for they were not only everyday possessions used by one gender but things that were normally in prolonged daily contact with a human owner. The intimate connection between gendered object and owner can be seen in the use of gendered objects as human stand-ins in ritual contexts. The instructions for a Hurrian sacrifice, for instance, allow a female sacrificer who is barred from attending in the flesh to receive the boon of her offering through the medium of her dress pin: “If the sacrificer is a woman, she shall not step behind the herd of Teššup, (instead) someone should hold a copper dress pin behind the herd.” 6 Gendered objects are proxies in medical treatments. For example, a šaziga remedy to aid a nervous groom instructs the ritual practitioner to fashion a charm from an arrow and a dress pin, positioning the objects to mimic copulation: the dress pin is strung with a mouse tendon (creating a bow that simulates an intact hymen) and the groom’s arrow is placed across the tendon. 7 The charm fashioned from the gendered objects was placed next to the couple’s heads, where it not only symbolized the man and woman but functioned as a magical stand-in to ensure successful defloration. The purpose of the infancy rite must have been well-known in its original context since no ancient text mentions why it was performed. Although the conditional clause of the infancy incantation (“if it be a boy/girl”) implies that the newborn was already considered male or female by virtue of its sex, the rush to perform the ritual before the child was severed from its mother and the role of gendered objects in other rituals suggests that the infancy rite was performed to generate a magical outcome. To understand the conceptual basis of this ritual, it is necessary to begin by considering Mesopotamian concepts of human morphology and personhood. Evidence has been accumulating that Near Eastern beliefs about morphology and personhood differed from modern concepts. Myths that describe the creation of people have a consistent gnostic character. Human bodies grow from the ground, are created from fingernail dirt, or are molded from clay by divine potters. In addition to categorizing flesh as a material substance, people in the ancient Near East conceptualized human bodies as vessels of clay that could hold various ethereal substances 3.  Suter 2012: 202. 4.  Hoffner 1966: 327. 5.  Hillers 1973: 74; Waldman 1978: 87–88; Chapman 2004: 53. 6.  KUB 29, 8 i 6–10 (Klein 1983: 272). 7.  Biggs 1967: 38. The ritual instruction reads: “You make a bow from a wooden dress pin, whose bow string is the tendon of a large mouse. You ‘load’ it [with an arrow] and you put it by the heads of the man and the woman who are lying down.”

78

Kathleen McCaffrey

or that could leak or break. 8 Essences such as the Hittite ištanzan- or the Mesopotamian dgidim/eṭemmu and líl/zaqiqu had ghost or soul-like aspects when they were disembodied, but texts refer to other essences of more limited scope, associated with pain and misfortune or with positive attributes such as virility and kingship. For example, as J. Scurlock has demonstrated, healing rites from the ancient Near East are based on the idea of transferring harmful lemuttu essences out of the afflicted individual and into surrogates. 9 Some inner essences appear to have been specifically responsible for sexual function and aggressive or passive behavior. Essences with connotations of gender and sexuality can be spotted in the fragmentary list of 94 radiant forms or essences known as me. Gender me include gendered qualities such as heroism and strength, while the ğiššunir ‘standard’ and mar-uru5 ‘quiver’, paired immediately before the me of intercourse and kissing, are unmistakable metaphors for male and female genitalia. 10 Since me are intangible qualities rather than things that belong to the natural world, the me of the standard and the quiver can be identified as essences responsible for specifically virile or feminine sexual behavior. Gender essences have different names in later sources. Hittite treatments for effeminacy reference the dLAMA innarawant- ‘manly spirit’ and dLAMA lulimi‘womanly spirit’. 11 Akkadian sex omens equate sexual vigor with a personal spirit (‘god’), while gender essence in Babylonian literary texts is a wispy napištu/napīšu ‘essence of life’. 12 The conceptual overlap between breath and life essence in the term napištu is important because it provides explicit indication that gender essences were understood to enter and exit through the mouth. Active and masculine personal spirits and essences (which could be possessed by individuals of either sex, with kings holding an extra measure) imbued a person with hili ‘sex appeal’, corresponding to the Akkadian kuzbu and šamḫu. 13 Texts from different genres indicate that gender essences could be lost or endangered if individuals behaved in ways that were inappropriately active or passive in relation to established gender identities. The process is most evident in descriptions of men dominated by women. A sex omen from the first millennium b.c.e. equates male sexual function with a personal spirit that dissipates when a man assumes a passive role in sex: “If a man, a woman mounts him, that woman will take his vigor; for one month he will not have a personal god.” 14 A similar event takes place in the sexual encounter between Šamḫat and Enkidu. As I have recently argued, the masculine referencing of Šamḫat in most manuscript traditions (obscured by routine normalization of pronouns and other grammatical gender markers) identifies her 8.  Foster 1991, 2010. 9.  Scurlock 2002. 10.  Inana and Enki (ETCSL C.1.3.1) D 2, F 29; Leick (1994: 151) comments that the standard and the quiver are “obvious metaphors for penis and vagina.” The same or similar metaphors are employed in šaziga rituals, a genre attested at Ḫattuša and in Mesopotamian mss from Ur III down to the first millennium BCE (Peterson 2008: 195); for an example, see Biggs 1967: 37, l. 3. 11.  LAMA gods have no role in cult (Peled 2010: 74), supporting the inference that they are inner personal spirits. 12.  CAD K kuzbu and CAD N/1 napištu, napīšu. 13.  The derivation of Šamḫat’s name from šamḫu defines her as a type of hunter, motivated by active masculine gender essence to seduce and dominate a passive partner. Her seduction of a male shows that Mesopotamian gender variance is not defined by same-sex sexual orientation but by active/passive partnering irrespective of sex. 14.  Omen 1 in the first-millennium Šumma ālu compendium, Guinan 1997.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

79

as the active agent who initiates and controls the sexual encounter, with the uncorrected pronouns even indicating that Šamḫat occupies the upper position of control during intercourse. 15 The story is actually the tale of a sexual innocent lured into a compromising encounter, placing Enkidu’s subsequent weakness and revenge in a new light. The twice-repeated statement in Gilgameš (I 182 and 190) that Šamḫat ilteqe napīssu “took his (Enkidu’s) life-essence/breath” can thus be contextualized, indicating that, in the same manner as the passive male in the sex omen, Enkidu is robbed of his manly essence upon being sexually dominated by Šamḫat’s kuzbu (I 181 and 189). Such sources indicate that personality traits and sexual positions were classified as either masculine (active and pure) or feminine (passive and impure) in the Mesopotamian taxonomy of sex and gender, allowing for no third category or mixture of masculine and feminine essence. The binary maps poorly to nuanced theories of embodiment, displaying a framework of public/private and active/passive categorization in which sexual orientation is not a salient consideration. Gender theory has done much to expose the artificiality of gender binaries since human behavior in the real world does not divide so neatly. However, one must always bear in mind that the binaries that need to be rooted out in the study of the past are those that we ourselves bring to the ancient evidence without conscious awareness, which is different from an ideological stance that rejects gender binaries on principle. At the end of the day the task of Assyriology is to understand the ancient Near Eastern worldview, even if it is premised on ideas that strike us as intuitively incorrect. Despite being starkly polarized, the gender logic of the ancient Near East has unexpected nuances. Contrary to the expectation that the infancy ritual proves that only two genders existed in the ancient Near East, the conceptualization of the human body as a material container housing gender essences allows for four hypothetical combinations of flesh and spirit: normative man (a male with masculine essence), normative woman (a female with feminine essence), assinnu (a socially feminine male with feminine essence) and ḫarimtu (a socially masculine female with masculine essence). The fact that binary gender logic does not always restrict a gender taxonomy to two normative genders resolves an apparent and troubling disparity, namely that the ancient Near East seems to present with both highly stereotypical gender roles and strong indications of gender variance. The puzzling assertion that Inanna/Ištar has the power to transform men into women and women into men is an example of the latter. 16 Since Mesopotamians did not have the medical technology to make bodies resemble the opposite sex, Assyriologists have had trouble making sense of this statement. Opinions have differed sharply, with some inferring cross-dressing, others sexual mutilation. Another normalization tactic has been to deny any deviation from the Western understanding of gender; for example, G.  Leick argues that it refers to acceptance of asexuality or intersexuality as divinely decreed rather than to some vague ritual gender swapping. 17 15.  McCaffrey forthcoming. See this source also for a bibliography of anthropological and theoretical studies of gender variance particularly in relation to the Middle East and for arguments as to why the ḫarimtu category constitutes a category of gender. 16.  Inninšagurra Hymn 120: nit a m unus- r a mu n u s n i ta - ra ku4- ku4- d è dI n a n n a z a - k a m “To turn a man into a woman and a woman into a man are yours, Inanna.” 17.  Leick 1994: 159. The debate over whether the switch refers to play-acting, transvestism, samesex orientation, gender identity, or sex-related conditions such as castration or intersexuality is extensive; for summaries, see Selz 2000: 38, 48; Peled 2014: 291–92. Sjöberg’s (1975: 223–26) insight that

80

Kathleen McCaffrey

The Mesopotamian distinction between flesh and inner gender essence, which has points in common with the modern differentiation between sex (body) and gender (role behavior), provides new insights into the mechanics of the infancy ritual. Although the infancy rite acknowledges that children come into the world with male or female material bodies, the fundamental premise is that inner gender essence is acquired after birth. No ancient text mentions the plight of genderless adults, thus the concern does not seem to have been that a child might remain genderless but that an unassisted outcome could result in a child with mismatched gender essence. 18 Since Mesopotamian parents preferred a match between sex and gender and knew that it was not inevitable, the infancy ritual aims to control the outcome rather than allowing a child to be gendered by a random event or by the hand of the goddess. Evidence that the infancy rite functioned to protect the liminal and genderless newborn from a mismatch comes from a thirteenth-century BCE infancy rite from the royal archive at Ḫattuša. 19 The infant Hittite boy is given the “goods of a male child” while the midwife utters a promise that a female child will be born in the following year. The infant girl receives “the goods of a female child” with the reverse promise. Contradicting the preference for sons that one would expect in a patriarchal society, the magical formulae have seemed to express a desire for a balanced distribution of sons and daughters, leading J. Pringle to remark with apparent surprise that “female children were as welcome to the Hittite family as the male.” 20 Alas, no; the more likely intent was to prevent a son from becoming feminized or vice-versa, forestalling a goddess who might wish to reverse a normative identity with an assurance that a more appropriate candidate would soon be born. 21

Changing Adult Gender: The Ritual Process Since the infancy rite tries to ensure the most optimal outcome from the point of view of the parents, averting the misfortune of an effeminate son or a headstrong daughter who might fail to marry and propagate the family line, one can conclude that, although gender variants had an acknowledged role in the societies of the ancient Near East, normative gender status was considered preferable. The gender conferred in infancy would have been an unproblematic identity for most people, but a more elaborate form of the infancy rite could be performed when it was necesthe inversion in question involved the gender identity roles of members of the Inanna cult was the first substantially correct analysis. 18.  The notion is not as odd as might at first appear. In some Native American traditions, acquisition of a formal gender status required a rite of passage performed in childhood or gender was regarded as unformed at birth and only gradually realized as a person matured into normative or gender variant status (for an Aztec example of an infancy rite using gendered objects, see the ritual depicted in the Codex Mendoza, Brumfiel 1991: 344, fig. 8.7; for North American traditions see Valdes 1995: 220). Even societies that conflate gender with physical sex reference infants with gender-neutral terminology, tacitly acknowledging that ‘it’ lacks an internalized gender identity. 19.  Beckman 1978: 8–9. 20.  Pringle 1983: 132. 21.  That said, if it were theoretically possible to confer a normative gender through ritual, it should also have been possible to reverse-gender a child by switching the gendered object. In this manner, the occasional child might have been directed to an alternate gender identity early in life, perhaps in the circumstance of a family without a male heir or a son marked for a religious profession.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

81

sary to reset an individual’s gender identity. Some adult gender alterations were positive, preparing an individual for a profession or enabling a personal preference, but gender alteration could also be a source of misfortune, forced upon individuals against their will. Adult gender rituals differ from the infancy rite in their more elaborate setup and three-step procedure. Whereas gendering a newborn seems to have been a straightforward procedure of filling an empty container, troubled only by the concern that a child might catch the goddess’s eye, adult gender rituals go to lengths to create conditions of metaphysical fluidity. Adult gender rituals are performed at open or transit locations such as gates, plazas, or in the wilds, and the adult subject is brought into contact with things that are inherently transient such as flowing water or a travel bundle. Reflecting the taxonomic principle that gender essences are paired opposites that cannot coexist within the same host, the adult gender ritual adds the initial step of extracting the unwanted gender essence. Rituals from the Mesopotamian heartland often employ the concept of distributed personhood to remove an established gender essence, conceptualizing individual gender essence as mutually coexisting in a person’s body and in its adjacent gendered possession. 22 The gender essence is forced out of the primary host by breaking the gendered object, which causes a violent spillage from the smaller container that mirrors back on the primary host. A second method of extraction, more common in rituals from the SyroHittite sphere, uses gendered objects as substitute vessels. The unwanted gender essence is lured into a proxy, which is then given away. After the existing gender has been extracted using one of these techniques, the adult subject reverts to being an empty vessel, capable of absorbing a new gender essence in the manner of a newborn child. The final step transfers the opposite gender essence into the host using differently gendered objects.

Ritual no. 1: remedies for ‘womanliness’ (m. sex / f. gender → m. sex / m. gender) The rite of Paškuwatti, an elaborate undertaking named after the person who dictated or recorded the ritual instructions, is a thirteenth-century ritual in the Hittite language designed to cure a man who suffers from womanliness. 23 It begins with offerings and a preparatory bath, after which the cleansed initiate and Paškuwatti journey to the open countryside, accompanied by a virgin bearing a bundle of reeds. 24 To help dislodge the unwanted feminine essence from the afflicted man, a symbolic in-between gateway is created from the reeds. The procedure that lies at the core of this ritual is the infancy ritual, enhanced by words of power and by the addition of a first step to remove pre-existing gender essence: 22.  Distributed personhood is the idea that incorporeal identity can be partitioned and housed in containers other than the original body, in the manner that the water of a river remains the water of that river when streamed into separate containers. The mīs pî ritual, the animation of a divine image, partitions a divinity into divine images and other physical containers. It seems likely that intercessionary statues housed part of the personhood of a king or cleric, enabling them to stand before deities in perpetual supplication and praise while going about their lives. 23.  For the text edition of CTH 406, see Hoffner 1987. 24.  The concept behind the use of a virgin would seem to be that normative gender status is only fully established by positionality in sexual intercourse.

82

Kathleen McCaffrey I shall place a spindle and a distaff in the sacrificer’s (hands). He will pass under the gate. When he comes through the gate, I shall take the spindle and the distaff away   from him. I shall give him a bow and while doing so I shall speak as follows: “See! I have taken womanliness away from you and given you manliness. You cast off the behavior of a woman, now (show) the behavior of a man!”

In common with the rite of Paškuwatti, the Anniwiyani ritual from the same cultural milieu uses gendered objects to cure womanliness. The first step of the Anniwiyani ritual is designed to extract the feminine dLAMA from the patient’s body, using colored strings that are tied to the patient on one end and to weapons on the other. The tension created by linking incompatible gender essences unsettles the weaker feminine essence. Forced out of the patient’s body, she hovers nearby, waiting for an opportunity to slip back into her familiar host. The feminine essence is first ejected from the patient’s house by a command uttered by a virgin. The participants then depart to the open countryside, where the feminine essence is lured to the site with a makeshift gate and offerings. The gate is demolished and the participants run away, magically stranding the feminine essence out in the wilderness. The patient is re-gendered in the last step. The metaphysical transformation is accomplished by returning to town, bathing to make the host attractive to pure masculine gender essence, and offering sacrifices that invite the masculine dLAMA to approach and enter the patient. Looking especially at the description of Paškuwatti’s patient in §5 “s/he (a servant) went down to his loins, but this mortal is (just) one of feces, one of urine,” analysts have disagreed as to whether womanliness implies impotence or homosexuality. H. Hoffner cites §5 in arguing that womanliness references the inability to ejaculate and consummate intercourse. 25 Taking issue with this interpretation, J. Miller proposes that §5 refers to passive homosexuality, arguing that urine might logically displace sperm but not feces and that “the inability to sustain an erection is hardly a feminine trait to be taken away from the patient.” 26 In the same vein, I. Peled interprets the Anniwiyani ritual as a punishment for the crime of passive homosexuality, suggesting that the ritual bathing component purified the patient’s community “from the defilement caused by his forbidden behavior as the receptive part of the sexual act.” 27 Interpreting §5 as an allusion to incontinence and rejecting the choice between impotence and homosexuality, Z. Simon proposes that the debate needs to be broadened to take factors such as age into consideration. 28 Turning first to Peled’s argument, the idea of a sex crime seems to be inferred from biblical parallels. No Hittite commentary on sexual vice or law addresses 25.  Hoffner 1987: 287. For a summary of who has sided with whom in the secondary literature, see Miller 2010: 83 with n. 2 and Peled 2010: 71–72. 26.  Miller 2010: 85. 27.  Peled 2010: 76. The main evidence cited by Peled that same-sex relations were forbidden, the accusation of a king in the Siege of Uršu that his generals failed to capture a city because they were doing kuluʾu, tells us that military leaders were expected to be especially virile and that weakness on the battlefield was blamed on damaged virility. While this reference demonstrates that passive sex was inappropriate for a soldier, it does not prove that the sexual penetration of any male body was a sex crime that polluted the entire community. 28.  This summary is based on notes taken at Simon’s pertinent presentation at the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Warsaw on July 25, 2014. Lacking details, I cannot comment further.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

83

same-sex relations between men, and ritual bathing in of itself need not indicate a sex crime. The newborn child in the Hittite version of the infancy rite, for example, is similarly washed in preparation for the conferral of a gendered object. 29 Although they arrive at different conclusions, Hoffner and Miller each try to match womanliness to a Western category, which limits the possibilities entertained because Western gender logic suggests only two likely explanations, impotence or homosexuality, with neither alternative fully accounting for what is missing from the patient’s loins in contrast to both urine and excrement. Applying the proposed distinction between flesh and inner gender essence allows us to glimpse the Hittite ritual from a different perspective. After performing the procedure to alter her patient’s gender, Paškuwatti provides him with the opportunity to deflower a servant girl to test whether the adult gender ritual has been successful. If her patient has acquired inner masculine essence, he will be able to demonstrate a sexual vigor that automatically reverses his public gender identity. If he has not been changed, his only recourse is to appeal to the goddess who has fixed him the way he is. A detail slips from view because it is not salient in Western gender logic. The patient who fails with the servant girl is called a body of flesh (“this mortal one”) that contains nothing but waste in the area of the loins. In the context of a conceptual framework that dichotomizes flesh and spirit, the implied contrast is not urine/feces vs. semen but loins that contain only earthy matter vs. loins that contain inner virile essence. The objection can be raised that ancient evidence can be meaningfully analyzed using our own gender categories because terms such as erectile dysfunction or homosexuality reference real states of being. The problem is that cultures use different conceptual constructs to describe the human experience. Impotence and homosexuality may be ontologically real even if the peoples of Western Asia did not use our terminology, but even if men with womanliness (designating such individuals as they would have been in their original milieu) had characteristics in common with men now considered impotent or homosexual, the ancient and modern categories are not equivalent. The condition of womanliness is a set with different boundaries because it is grounded on a gender logic that blames the malady on misaligned inner essence rather than on organic causes or sexual orientation. The different causal understandings create sets that only partially overlap. Evidence that womanliness does not equate with impotence can be seen in the fact that effeminates were distinguished from victims of witchcraft in the ancient Near East, even if both afflictions left a man similarly unable to perform in the marriage bed. 30 So, too, the condition of womanliness only partially intersects with modern homosexuality because active/passive taxonomies that group by sexual position (which are far more common than the Western system of grouping by sexual preference) do not mark the active penetrator, regardless of the sex of his partner. Even if one specifies that the pro29.  See Berman 1972: 466. The text is a fragmentary Middle Hittite copy of an Old Hittite text. The royal newborn is placed on its father’s lap for the ceremony: “. . . I wash its head . . . The queen . . . dresses it. I take it (child) away from her. . . . I put the child on his (i.e., the father’s) knees.” 30. Westerners care about distinguishing impotence from homosexuality because our system of classification takes inner motivation into account. The man with diabetes who cannot sustain an erection and the homosexual who lacks a desire for women may exhibit similar ineffectiveness, yet it matters to us whether there is a personal volition or desire, that is to say, what the man is like inside. A similar concern would explain why šaziga rituals begin with diagnostics to distinguish the victim of sorcery (who is still manly inside) from the man transformed by Ištar (who is not manly inside).

84

Kathleen McCaffrey

posed overlap only applies to passive homosexuality, the pairing of the warrior goddess Ištar with the effeminate Tammuz or of Cybele with Attis demonstrates that active/passive gender logic has different conceptual underpinnings than categorization by sexual orientation. Careful consideration therefore reveals that ancient and modern categories only partially intersect and that the category of womanly men is likely to have been a mixed bag by modern standards, encompassing men with feminine gender identities, as well as some whom we would label passive homosexuals or physically impotent. One must also bear in mind that this category is likely to have included individuals who are gender normative in the modern world, for example men of very gentle or intellectual disposition, old and/or incontinent men, slaves, war captives, prepubescents, or cripples. The dispute over whether the Hittite patients were impotent or homosexual is thus unanswerable, reflecting a conceptual mismatch akin to the query that one might expect from a Babylonian doctor as to whether Viagra treats ensorcellment or womanliness.

Ritual no. 2: re-gendering a normative man (m. sex / m. gender → m. sex / f. gender) Inanna/Ištar or one of her regional counterparts was always credited with determining an individual’s gender, but there were different ways in which a man could acquire a feminine gender identity. Effeminates are variously described as having received feminine gendered objects from the goddess herself or as men touched by Ištar, but these look like tropes to account for self-expressed tendencies rather than descriptions of actual rituals. Fragmentary allusions to ceremonies associated with professions reserved for male gender variants are similarly inconclusive. 31 The three-step ritual for converting a man into a social female only comes into full view in rituals that punish men for unmanly conduct. A Sumerian ritual that shifts a man from active to passive gender status is described in the Inninšagurra Hymn: 32 86 l ú m u . p à d . a n i n u . m u . n a . k a l . a mu n u s . r a ù . m u . n a . t e ĝiš t u k u l ì . n i . n . k u d ĝiš d ál a (IGI-DÙ) ì . n n a . b . š ú m . e

the man she (Inanna) does not respect since he approached a woman she (Inanna) broke his weapon she gives him a dress pin

Comparison with references such as the Šumma ālu omen: šumma amēlu ana assinni iṭhi “if a man approaches an assinnu . . .” reveals that the verb teĝ/ṭehû (ù-muna-te) was imbued with connotations of penetrative sex. The man who is poorly regarded by Inanna is thus a man of active gender status who has engaged in illicit sex with a woman. Translators have had difficulty understanding what happens after Inanna breaks the man’s weapon because the three sign sequence ĝiš-igi-dù is the ĝiš determinative for wood followed by a two-sign logogram that can stand for more than one sharp wooden object, either a lance/spear (ĝiššukur) or a dress pin or needle (ĝišdála/ṣillû). 33 It has seemed natural to privilege the reading of a weapon since the recipient is a man, but the context of an adult gender rite clarifies that the 31.  Fragmentary allusions include Kramer’s (1981) translation of BM 29616 and the investiture of Enkidu in Gilgameš III (Kilmer 2002). 32.  For the text edition and commentary, see Sjöberg 1975; for history of transmission, Michalowski 1998. The corpus consists of 30 fragmentary mss, mostly from OB Nippur but with one Kassite recension that probably comes from Babylon. 33.  CAD Ṣ: 193 ṣillû 2a–b. The ePSD signs for d á l a (1, 2) and š u k u r (2) are identical.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

85

correct reading is dála ‘dress pin’. Applying the retributive justice that the offender should suffer the same harm as his victim (the cuckolded husband), the adult gender rite forcibly feminizes the offender. A forced change of gender in a literary source raises question as to whether male sex offenders were actually treated in this manner. The rape of a virgin (for which Ur-Namma §6 and Hammurabi §130 decree the death penalty and Sumerian Laws [Exercise Tablet] a forced marriage) differs from the implied seduction of an adult woman in line 86, who in most cases would have been a wife. 34 Hammurabi §129, the only early law collection that addresses a confirmed extra-marital affair, affirms the husband’s right to decide whether his wife lives or dies, with the male offender sharing whatever punishment is given to the wife. Other methods of salvaging the husband’s masculine honor are not mentioned until we come to Middle Assyrian A §15, which states that the husband has the option to turn a man found upon his wife into a ša rēši. Here we would seem to have corroboration that some Mesopotamian men who had illicit relations with other men’s wives were indeed forcibly re-gendered. As has been discussed in many studies, royal inscriptions often contain curses or prayers that appeal to Ištar to break the weapons of the enemy, sometimes petitioning her to give the enemy soldiers feminine possessions or turn them into womanly men. 35 The curse formula confirms widespread cultural familiarity with the concept of manipulating gendered objects to alter gender, but it begs the question as to whether unsuccessful soldiers were actually feminized. Two pieces of evidence suggest a real-life practice. The oath to be loyal sworn by Hittite military recruits was affirmed over a broken arrow and feminine gendered objects. 36 The soldier’s oath was thus an actual performed gender rite, even if the transfers remained in a holding pattern unless the oath was broken. A threat of this kind would not have carried any weight if no cowardly or disloyal soldier was ever turned into the camp woman. A different type of evidence indicates that defeated soldiers were forcibly stripped of their manliness. As C. Chapman has demonstrated, Assyrian reliefs depict captives with damaged or abandoned weapons, falling or kneeling/sitting before the victors. The same reliefs appear to allude to penetration by depicting battering rams and suggestively nocked arrows aimed directly at the exposed buttocks of the defeated soldiers. 37

Ritual no. 3: the rite of the pilipili (f. sex / f. gender → f. sex / m. gender) The rite of the pilipili is an obscure procedure described at length in the Inninšagurra Hymn and more briefly in other Sumerian compositions. Commentary has seldom strayed beyond issues of translation due to confusion over the pilipili’s identity and his or her gender. Lexical sources situate the pilipili in the lamentation profession, although pilipilis were less significant and fewer than associ34.  For laws referenced in this discussion, see Roth 1997, passim. 35.  For collected examples, see George 2003/1: 338, ad i 30′; cf. Hoffner 1966: 332; Bergmann 2007: 664–68 and Old Testament parallels 668–72; Zsolnay 2009: 107–46. Curses are sometimes abbreviated, omitting the first or the last step. 36.  Beal 1995: 63–65. 37.  Chapman 2004: 160–63, pls. 4, 6–8 broken and abandoned weapons; pls. 5–7 kneeling or sitting before victors; pls. 10–11, 13 for suggestively positioned pole-like weapons.

86

Kathleen McCaffrey

ated kurgarra and saĝursaĝ personnel. 38 The etymology (from the Sumerian píl or pi-lá ‘dirty’) suggests a person somehow defiled. 39 Sex or gender irregularity is indicated by the catchphrase that the pilipili has been changed and by the fact that the Sumerian term was sometimes translated into the gendered Akkadian language as a masculine noun (apillû or pilpilû) and other times as a feminine noun (apillutum). 40 We can cut through the confusion by looking closely at the pilipili’s crime and comparing the sequence of events with other adult gender rituals. In common with the ill-regarded man, the pilipili is guilty of sexual misconduct. The pilipili has displayed the háš-gal ‘thigh’ throughout the land and has roamed the streets. 41 The connotations of female sexuality connected with showing a thigh and the transgression of wandering freely in public areas strongly indicate that the pilipili is a wife who has ignored the constraints of private married life: 77 78 79

n í ĝ i n n í ĝ i n k a l a m .a k .a h á š . g a l m u . n a . r u . g ú tí l l a . a š u a l . d a g . d a g . e si l a d a ĝ a l . a ĝ ì r i . a n i [KI x A x] zi n . b u é . a d am d u m u .a n i i g i b a .i .n .d u8

in the whole land she (the pilipili) presents the thigh in the street, she roams in the broad street, her foot [is placed] z inbu in the house her spouse and child observe

The primary noun zinbu in line 79 has been difficult to translate but collected citations share the commonality of implied contexts that are suggestive of loins and penetration, which is consistent with the great crime that the pilipili commits with her body in line 80. 42 In response, Inanna punishes the pilipili with a familiar three-step procedure: 80 š e r7. d a g u . l a . n i s u . a n i . t a ù . mu .e .n i .n .ĝ ar

when she did the greatest crime with her body

38.  In the OB Proto-Lu, a professions list of more than 800 titles, the p i l i p i l i precedes the k u r g a rr a and follows the s a ĝ u r s a ĝ (2.22: 278–80, Civil 1969: 42). In the later bilingual LÚ = ša, the p i l i p i l i is grouped with the k u r g a r r a, s a ĝ u r s a ĝ, and the a m a - é r - r a ‘mother of tears’ (IV 180–84, Civil 1969: 134). Peled (2014: 296–97) proposes that the association with weaponry proves that the k u r g a r r a and s aĝursaĝ are virile men; contra see McCaffrey forthcoming which identifies these individuals as socially masculine women, accounting for lexical juxtaposition with the p i l i p i l i and mother of tears (also socially masculine due to advanced age and lack of a male guardian). All are subcategories of the ḫarimtu classification, a gender variant status defined by masculine social gender and female sex. 39.  Jacobsen’s reconstruction, accepted by van der Toorn (1985: 29) and others, derives p i l i p i l i from píl or pi-lá ‘dirty’. 40.  See Sjöberg (1975: 187) and Peled (2014: 291–92) for Sumerian sources that reference the p i l ipili’s change: Lament for Eridu kirugu 6: pilipili šu - b a l - a k- a - g i n7 “like the changed p i l i p i l i;” Inanna and Ebeh 175: pilipili saĝ šu- bal m u- ni- ak “I (Inanna) have changed the p i l i p i l i’s head;” and Inninšagurra Hymn 88: pilipili bal “the pilipili who has been changed.” Note that the change to the pilipili’s head is consistent with interpreting ša rēši (‘one of the head’) as signifying a transgendered person of either sex rather than a eunuch; cf. the instillation of divine essence into a cult image through the mouth (Walker and Dick 1999: 70–71). 41.  For hal/šapru “upper thigh” as a euphemism for female sexuality, see Paul 2002: 497. 42.  Citations of z i n b u cited by ePSD: (1) the Sumerian proverb 2.85 “the ox z i n b u is continuously lying down”; (2) some type of a semantic overlap with ğišg a z i n b u ‘pole, stick’; and (3) lexical association with the textile item túgn í ĝ - d á r a in Ḫḫ XIX 301. Although the latter was previously thought to be a menstrual cloth due to associations with blood, Garcia-Ventura (2013: 239) identifies the túgn í ĝ - d á ra as an ungendered loincloth or rag since it is allotted to male officials in lists from Umma. What the ox (a metaphor for a man) rendered passive by z i n b u, a pole, and a loincloth have in common is plausible association with penetration, providing a good fit with the p i l i p i l i’s great carnal crime in line 80.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East 81 u g u . b a . a g i r i17 š u ĝ á l . l a m u . n i . n . a k p i l i p i l i m u .n i .n .s a4 82 ğišd á l a ì . n i . k u d n i ta. gi n7 šag4. a .a n i ğiš tukul ì.nna.b.šùm.e

87

because of this she (Inanna) made a gesture she named the pilipili she (Inanna) broke the dress pin 43 she (the pilipili) becomes like a man in her inner body she (Inanna) gives her a weapon!

The sequence of losing a dress pin (ğišdála) and gaining a weapon (ğištukul) confirms a transition from a feminine gender identity. 44 The statement that the pilipili will become nita.gin7 šag4.a.ani “like a man in her heart/inner body” supports this conclusion, since someone who is like a man is not a man. 45 Using the same gendered objects, the rite of the pilipili is the inverse of Inanna’s punishment of the ill-regarded man. While the literary nature of the Inninšagurra Hymn raises the questions as to whether adulteresses were actually treated in this manner, a Sumerian legal case preserved in the scribal curriculum offers independent testimony that female sex offenders were punished in a public setting. The convicted adulteress in the legal case is condemned to walk naked through the city with an arrow bored through her nose. 46 While early law codes do not specify a parade through the streets or an arrow in a wife’s nose, the Sumerian legal case is compatible with Middle Assyrian laws A §15–16, which grant the cuckolded husband the right to cut off his wife’s nose or to impose any other punishment he might wish. No legal source mentions what became of adulteresses after such punishment, but the Inninšagurra Hymn indicates that in the Sumerian era disgraced women had the option of joining the ranks of the pilipili, a subcategory of cross-gendered professional mourners. 47

43.  The multivalence of ğišIGI-DÙ has led Assyriologists astray in translating this passage. Lacking the context of a gender ritual, translators have expected a weapon, translating ğišIGI-DÙ as either š ukur ‘lance’ or ‘tip’ (of a dagger); for example, Civil (1993: 77) proposes that Inanna kills the p i l i p i l i, cutting her with the tip of a dagger before delivering a weapon to her heart. If the death penalty were being described, we would expect Inanna to carry out the same punishment in line 86 since Mesopotamian laws uniformly decree that a male lover and an unfaithful wife must be punished in the same manner. 44.  The evidence from OB legal and magical texts is unambiguous that the ĝišd á l a dress pin was exclusively used by social females to fasten clothing (Klein 1983: 260; Malul 1991/1992). In common with the ePSD’s ‘homosexual lover; transvestite’, Peled (2014: 292) deduces that the p i l i p i l i was an effeminate, but his review overlooks the Inninšagurra Hymn. In disagreement, Sjöberg (1975: 226 n. 82) concludes that line 82 (which he translates “as if she [the p i l i p i l i] were a man in her heart”) indicates that the pilipili was female, a conclusion seconded by Civil (1993: 77), Cunningham (ETCSL C.4.07.3), Assante (2009: 36), and Veldhuis (class notes, Oct. 2005). Inanna’s gesture brings to mind the iconic “hand of Ištar” that rendered a man womanly. 45.  The Sumerian word here is ša g, defined by the ePSD as ‘inner body, heart, inside’. The p i l i pili’s inner manliness dovetails nicely with the thesis that Sumerians attributed gendered traits and active/passive sexual proclivity to ethereal m e within the body. Note that the p i l i p i l i’s social masculinity places her in the more comprehensive ḫarimtu gender category. 46.  IM 28051, Greengus 1969/1970. 47.  Ejection from the female gender would seem to be a peculiar fate for an adulteress, but it is consistent with active/passive gender logic. Men were of course the more privileged gender in the ancient Near East, and a suitably assertive woman who embraced a masculine gender identity stood to gain in personal autonomy and status. For the shamed and disfigured p i l i p i l i, however, gender alteration seems only to have spelled hardship since it prevented her from living in a male-headed household, effectively ending her relationship with a lover and severing her from female relatives and companions.

88

Kathleen McCaffrey

Ritual no. 4: the exorcism of Lamaštu (f. sex / m. gender → f. sex / f. gender) Cuneiform incantation texts and associated amulets preserve a record of exorcisms designed to thwart and banish Lamaštu (Sumerian ddìm.me), a demoness responsible for miscarriage and infant death. 48 Lamaštu’s portraiture and rituals to combat her changed over time as medical practitioners imagined her in different ways and sought to make their remedies more effective, but she is always depicted in art as an upright animal-headed being with a naked vulva and breasts and in texts as a spiteful frustrated mother, coveting other women’s babies because she herself is barren. 49 Telltale references indicate that Lamaštu’s inner gender essence did not match her outer body. The rite of the pilipili contextualizes the statement in Lam. I 142: [šebret d]udittaša peti tulûša “her (Lamaštu’s) dress pin [is broken?], her chest is bare,” conceivably alluding to the first step of a gender transition ritual. 50 Multiple manuscripts that reference Lamaštu’s kakkū rabûti ‘powerful weapons’ would thus indicate a being who has been re-gendered with masculine gender essence. 51 The inner masculinity that makes Lamaštu hyper-aggressive (seen in the string of adjectives in Lam. I 105 “fierce, violent, very strong, raging, overbearing”) is also expressed in virilized secondary attributes. Despite having female genitals, the lion-headed Lamaštu is always depicted with the head of a male lion, and her anthropomorphic torso and legs display the heavy muscular definition and hairiness of a male physique. The irregular grammatical referencing of Lamaštu further supports the inference that she is masculine. Sumerian incantations name Lamaštu dumu an-na ‘child/son of An’, omitting the munus marker to specify a daughter, while W. Farber’s comprehensive edition of canonical Lamaštu texts marks dozens of masculine Akkadian pronouns and verbal forms in varied manuscripts. 52

48. See Farber 2014 for original incantations and bibliography; Wiggermann 2000 and Nougayrol 1969 for Lamaštu amulets from Mesopotamia, Anatolia, Iran, and Syria, also outliers from Etruria (Patzek 1988), Arabian Peninsula (Potts et al. 2013), and Palestine (Frevel and Psychny 2014: 184, fig. 24b). 49.  Lam. = Lamaštu Series. Lamaštu is called ellat ‘pure one’ in an OA ms from Kültepe (OA2 l. 1, Farber 2014: 259, 280–81; see von Soden’s puzzlement [1956: 144]). The mud that Lamaštu smears when she leans on a wall, the murky trail that she creates when she crosses a river, and her filthy hands (Ms RA 7; Lam. I 181, 183) indicate that the Mesopotamian concept of purity did not signify physical cleanliness. Comparison with Enkidu’s (Gilgameš I 199; VII 130–31) and Ereškigal’s (Nergal and Ereškigal 7, 23) loss of purity upon being sexually dominated indicates that purity references active gender status. 50.  For Lamaštu’s dress pin, see Farber 2014: 86, 156–57 (l. 142). The verb that precedes Lamaštu’s dress pin is unfortunately lost, but her exposed chest and her lack of femininity are consistent with the topos of a broken gendered object. 51.  References to Lamaštu’s weapons include Lam. II 159: rabû kakkūšu “his powerful weapons” (the pronoun in this line is masc. in four first millennium mss from Nineveh and Babylon but fem. in a MB copy of unknown provenience); cf. Ms Emar 37–38: kakkaki i m- tu18 “Your (f.) weapon is the venom in your spittle” (Farber 2014: 178–79, 292–93). A few amulets from the periphery depict Lamaštu with a weapon, but her weapons are more often integrated into her body, variously enumerated as agile muscles, donkey or dog teeth, a lion’s roar, talons, paws that act like snares, breasts that produce venomous milk, and venom in her spittle. 52.  See Farber 2014: 70, 197 for d u m u a n - n a; 198 n. 6 for Lam. I 6; passim in general. Grammatical fluctuations within the same line in independent manuscript traditions have been particularly mystifying, for example Lam. I 6 in copies from Nineveh, Babylon, and Sippar: šeššu paqid qāti leqât dIrnina

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

89

Fig. 1.  Lamaštu amulet from Carchemish, ca. 800 b.c. (ME 117759). Courtesy © The Trustees of the British Museum. Lamaštu’s female sex is defined by suckling breasts and the absence of a penis, while her social masculinity is indicated by the mane of a male lion, heavy musculature, upright posture, and a roaring mouth that symbolizes aggression. Gendered gifts to thwart her masculinity include a spindle under her right arm and a comb and a kirissu pin under her left arm.

Using various methods to destabilize and transfer metaphysical essences, Lamaštu incantations incorporate an adult gender ritual to weaken the monster before banishing her to the wilderness. 53 The gender alteration component of the “Entrusted One (masc.), Adopted Daughter of Irnina (a martial aspect of Ištar).” The grammatical disparity differentiates Lamaštu’s masculine gender and female sex. 53.  Since Lamaštu is a supernatural being, the exorcist must partition a portion of her personhood to create a manageable target for his magic. The trap (ša bīt ṣabīt ‘prisoner’) is called a house of clods in one text, but it is more often specified as a figurine modeled on Lamaštu herself, fashioned from canal

90

Kathleen McCaffrey

Lamaštu exorcism is a three-step procedure that extracts masculine essence and replaces it with feminine essence. Since Lamaštu’s body is weaponized, her masculinity can only be damaged by direct assault on her person through the medium of a figurine. Similar to amulets that depict Lamaštu with a weapon aimed at her head or a nail protruding from her skull, the ašipu attacks the Lamaštu figurine with a dagger in Lam. I 95–98 and III 132–34. 54 Working on the premise that fright is incompatible with manliness, Lam. II 75–83 and III 15–28 terrorize Lamaštu using packs of magical dog figurines. The preferred strategy in Lam. I 14, 25 and III 70, 113 is sexual subjugation, based on the active/passive logic that a person who is sexually dominated (either by a female in upper position or by a male penetrator) converts to passive status: “you cause a black dog, her wrathful fiend ( gallû), to marry/seize her.” 55 Sexual or physical domination of Lamaštu dissipates her active masculine essence, rendering her vulnerable to being re-gendered with feminine essence. 56 Using the procedure of the core infancy rite, Lamaštu exorcisms employ gendered objects to transfer feminine essence into the monster. 57 Amulets sometimes depict Lamaštu holding a comb or spindle, but objects containing feminine essence are more often scattered in the field around her body (Fig. 1). Like the varying sets of gifts depicted on amulets, the gendered objects referenced in Lamaštu incantations change over time in tandem with actual feminine apparel. 58 Gendered objects are also more nuclay tempered with ‘in-between’ dust from temple and palace gateways, taverns, and crossroads. The trap rests beside the victim’s head for three days, and Lamaštu is baited to approach with conjurations, libations, and the delectable heart of a piglet in the figurine’s mouth. 54.  The ritual begins with the ašipu sticking a dagger into an ash-filled vessel that is positioned near the patient’s head. The vessel represents the patient’s body, with the dagger striking at the invasive Lamaštu. The unsettled Lamaštu is then captured by a figurine trap. On the third day, the ašipu takes the figurine outside and stabs it with a dagger. 55.  The earlier translation by Farber (2007: 644) hits the mark exactly. Farber’s (2014: 147) more recent translations reverse directionality; for example, Lam. I 14 “I have made you seize a black dog (as) your nemesis” and line 25 “you libate well water for her, you make her hold a black dog.” Either ascription of agency is grammatically possible, but the parallels in other incantations and the fact that the Lamaštu figurine is libated to destabilize its inner essence indicate that she is on the receiving end of a gender reversal. 56.  Farber (2007: 642–44 and 2014: 199 with n. 10; cf. CAD A/1: 175 aḫāzu 1c) has proposed that in Lamaštu incantations the Š-stem aḫāzu means ‘to make someone seize’ rather than ‘to make someone marry’. No incantation mentions dowry gifts or a wedding feast, and the black dog would have to be the groom since he is not a believable wife. Given that the black dog is Lamaštu’s most potent enemy, Farber reasonably deduces that something other than a marriage is implied. I would suggest that marriage in this context is a euphemism for rape, although there is only a shade of difference in whether one imagines the black dog seizing or mating with Lamaštu because the female bitch is literally seized in canine copulation and rape is a form of warfare. 57.  The gifts given to Lamaštu, independently attested in art and texts, require explanation because a monster who is being banished to the wilderness does not need accoutrements for spinning and adornment. It has been variously speculated that the intent is to buy Lamaštu off so that she will abandon her victim or that she must have been pitied as well as feared; however, the uselessness of the objects and the preference given to gifts that are broken and dirty, as specified in some incantations, are inconsistent with an intent to please. Gifts of no practical value (offered as an charming addendum to stabbing, dog attacks, and rape) make better sense as trojan horses, with heavily used and soiled objects posing a greater danger than objects of nicer appearance because they house large stores of feminine gender essence. 58.  Lam. II cites gendered objects in two contexts, in the fate decreed by Enlil (II 99–100) that the prospective bride will ward off Lamaštu by offering her a broken comb and a broken distaff and in Ea’s

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

91

merous and varied in Assyrian manuscripts and in non-canonical texts from other localities. The linkage between gendered objects and performed gender rites is less certain in those regions since underlying concepts may have shifted in cultural settings that did not practice the same range of gender alteration rituals, causing gendered objects to be reinterpreted as literal gifts or as feminine possessions that were more discretionary than had previously been the case. 59 Although one must always expect exceptions due to competing considerations of rank and age, Lamaštu’s gender profile offers markers of normative and nonnormative femininity that may be helpful in distinguishing normative women from ḫarimtu women in art and texts. Lamaštu’s feminizing jewelry is made from carnelian and silver, indicating that these materials were classified as feminine in binary opposition to lapis and gold. Lamaštu’s hair hangs loose or in loops, in contrast to the bound hair and head coverings of normative women. 60 Lamaštu does not have a dress pin, suggesting that in eras when women held their wraps in place with this item, ḫarimtus wore an alternate garb that did not use this type of fastener. Amulets always depict Lamaštu walking or running, consistent with Ms OB3 l. 2 that Lamaštu is muttadrirat ‘constantly on the move’ and Lam. II 159 namšišū širʾānūšu “his (Lamaštu’s) muscles are very agile.” The stress on movement contrasts with the gifts of a rug and a spindle, which suggest that work performed while sitting on the ground, particularly spinning and weaving, was coded as feminine in contrast to being active and upright. 61

Conclusion As the foregoing examples indicate, ancient Near Eastern rituals and stories that hinge on gender alteration have been especially difficult to interpret due to instructions for combating Lamaštu (II 173). MB Lam. II copies from Mesopotamia and Ugarit list a comb, distaff and the kirissu dress pin. The obsolete straight dress pin is replaced by a jug of oil in firstmill. copies (Farber 2014, passim). 59.  Lamaštu’s gifts are more numerous in later texts but continue to be gendered objects. The exorcist in Lam. I 196–97 gives Lamaštu a comb, fibula, distaff, rug, and a kirissu dress pin. The exorcist in Lam. III 120–22 is instructed to cover the figurine’s head and hair, to clothe her in blue wool cloth secured with a ĝišdá l a of palm wood, and to give her a comb, distaff, and a jug of oil. Non-canonical mss from Ḫattuša (Boğazköy = Bo) and Uruk (RA) add carnelian beads and silver jewelry, while a Lamaštu ritual embedded in a Šamaš ritual (K. 888 24–27) conflates multiple traditions, offering a comb, spindle, fibula, flask, rug, kirissu pin, blue wool, and silver jewelry. Vessels depicted on amulets are associated with cosmetics and food, but it is unclear whether the latter are gendered cooking pots, travel provisions, or both. Other gifts such as a mount, shoes, and a waterskin are travel provisions commonly used to banish harmful spirits. 60.  The pronouns that reference Lamaštu’s hair add to the impression that unbound hair is a marker of gender variance: šārassu kippātu “his hair is hanging in loops” in all extant copies of Lam. II 86 (Babylon, Sippar, and one ms without provenience); uššurat peressu “his hair is hanging loose” in two copies of Ms RA l. 5 from Uruk (Farber 2014: 107, 298–99). Note however regional variation in the fem. pronoun in an OA copy (Ms OA2 l. 16 peressa waššarat, Farber 2014: 280–81). See Ford 2008: 588 n. 14 for the similar hair styles of Lamaštu and Lilith. 61.  Compare references to standing in military contexts such as the effeminizing curse aimed at an enemy king in an inscription of Tukultī-Ninurta I: “may (Ištar) change his manliness to womanliness; may she cause his potency to pour out; may she establish a defeat of his land; may he not stand before his enemy” (Zsolnay 2009: 134–35). The same active/sedentary binary is evident in the feminizing conjuration aimed at Lamaštu in MB Lam. II 27; Ms Ug VI 3: “Make every fiber of her body go languid!” (Farber 2014: 180–83).

92

Kathleen McCaffrey

unfamiliarity with non-Western identities and active/passive gender logics. Near Eastern gender concepts are hard to fathom without cross-cultural comparisons due to significant mismatch between ancient and modern taxonomic categories. The male sex of the patients treated with the Paškuwatti and Anniwiyani rituals was evident, but scholars ran into trouble trying to map the malady of womanliness to a Western category. Unfamiliarity with multi-gender systems made it difficult to spot the gender alterations of the man scorned by Inanna and the pilipili, rendering those stories pointless. Similarly, the incorrect gender typing of Lamaštu obscured the rationale for protective ritual procedures. Looking at these examples, it can hardly be denied that the intuitive approach to sex and gender has been unproductive. Many Assyriologists remain avoidant of gender theory, failing to distinguish between literary or philosophical investigations of the Western tradition (which I have seldom found applicable to the ancient past) and ethnographic or psychological studies that offer valuable insights into non-Western cultures and Western observer bias. The way forward is a sensible middle path, preserving the tradition of grounding Near Eastern scholarship on the primary evidence while enriching this enterprise with comparative studies that illuminate non-Western ways of thinking about sex/gender and associated religious concepts.

Bibliography Assante, J. 2009 Bad Girls and Kinky Boys? The Modern Prostituting of Ishtar, Her Clergy and Her Cults. Pp. 23–54 in Tempelprostitution im Altertum: Fakten und Fiktionen, ed. T. S. Scheer and M. Lindner. Berlin: Verlag Antike. Beal, R. H. 1995 Hittite Military Rituals. Pp. 63–76 in Ancient Magic and Ritual Power, ed. P. Mirecki and M. Meyer. Leiden: Brill. Beckman, G. M. 1978 Hittite Birth Rituals: An Introduction. Malibu: Undena. Bergmann, C. D. 2007 We Have Seen the Enemy, and He is only a ‘She’: The Portrayal of Warriors as Women. CBQ 69: 651–72. Berman, H. 1972 A Hittite Ritual for the Newborn. JAOS 92: 466–68. Biggs, R. D. 1967 šà.zi.ga: Ancient Mesopotamian Potency Incantations. TCS 2. Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin. Brumfiel, E. M. 1991 Weaving and Cooking: Women’s Production in Aztec Mexico. Pp. 224–51 in Engendering Archaeology: Women and Prehistory, ed. J. M. Gero and M. W. Conkey. Cambridge: Blackwell. Chapman, C. R. 2004 The Gendered Language of Warfare in the Israelite-Assyrian Encounter. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Civil, M. 1969 The Series lú = ša and Related Texts. MSL 12. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. 1993 On Mesopotamian Jails and Their Lady Warden. Pp. 72–78 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, Maryland: CDL.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

93

Cohen, M. E. 1976 Literary Texts from the Andrews University Archaeological Museum. RA 70: 129–44. Farber, W. 1987 Tamarisken–Fibeln–Skolopender. Zur philologischen Deutung der ‘Reiseszene’ auf neuassyrischen Lamaštu-Amuletten. Pp. 85–105 in Language, Literature, and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner, ed. F. RochbergHalton. AOS 67. New Haven: American Oriental Society. 2007 Lamaštu and the Dogs. Journal for Semitics 16: 635–45. 2014 Lamaštu: An Edition of the Canonical Series of Lamaštu Incantations and Rituals and Related Texts from the Second and First Millennia b.c. MC 17. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Ford, J. N. 2008 Wordplay in the Lamaštu Incantations. Pp. 585–95 in vol. 2 of Birkat Shalom: Studies in the Bible, Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and Postbiblical Judaism Presented to Shalom M. Paul on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday, ed. C. Cohen et al. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Foster, K. P. 1991 Ceramic Imagery in Ancient Near Eastern Literature. Pp. 389–413 in Material Issues in Art and Archaeology II, ed. P. B. Vandiver, J. Druzik, and G. S. Wheeler. Pittsburg: Materials Research Society. 2010 Well-Tempered Words: Ceramic Metaphors in Mesopotamian Literature. Pp. 141– 53 in Opening the Tablet Box: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Benjamin R. Foster, ed. S. C. Melville and A. L. Slotsky. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Frevel, C., and Psychny, K. 2014 Perserzeitliche Räucherkätschen: Zu einer wenig beachteten Fundgattung im Kontext der These Ephraim Sterns. Pp. 111–220 in A ‘Religious Revolution’ in Yehûd: The Material Culture of the Persian Period as a Test Case, ed. C. Frevel, K. Pyschny, and I. Cornelius. OBO 267. Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Garcia-Ventura, A. 2013 Sanitary towels in Ur III administrative texts? AuOr 31: 235–48. George, A. R. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Greengus, S. 1969–70  A Textbook Case of Adultery in Ancient Mesopotamia. HUCA 40/41: 33–44. Guinan, A. K. 1997 Auguries of Hegemony: The Sex Omens of Mesopotamia. Gender & History 9: 462–79. Hillers, D. R. 1973 The Bow of Aqhat: The Meaning of a Mythological Theme. Pp. 71–80 in Orient and Occident: Essays presented to Cyrus H. Gordon on the Occasion of his Sixty-fifth Birthday, ed. H. A. Hoffner Jr. AOAT 22. Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. Hoffner, H. A. 1966 Symbols for Masculinity and Femininity: Their Use in Ancient Near Eastern Sympathetic Magic Rituals. JBL 30: 326–34. 1987 Paškuwatti’s ritual against sexual impotencce (CTH 406). AuOr 5: 271–87. Kilmer, A. D. 2002 The Investiture of Enkidu in The Epic of Gilgamesh Tablet III. Pp. 283–88 in vol. 1 of Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 47th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Helsinki, July 2–6, 2001, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

94

Kathleen McCaffrey

Klein, H. 1983 Tudittum. ZA 73: 255–84. Kramer, S. N. 1981 BM 29616: The Fashioning of the gala. ASJ 3: 1–11. Krebernik, M. 1984 Die Beschwörungen aus Fara und Ebla: Untersuchungen zur ältesten keilschriftlichen Beschwörungsliteratur. Texte und Studien zur Orientalistik 2. Hildesheim, Zürich, and New York: Georg Olms Verlag. Leick, G. 1994 Sex and Eroticism in Mesopotamian Literature. London and New York: Routledge. Malul, M. 1991–92  Ṣillâm patārum ‘To Unfasten the Pin’: Copula Carnalis and the Formation of Marriage in Ancient Mesopotamia. Jaarbericht Ex Oriente Lux 32: 66–86. McCaffrey, K. forthcoming  (Mis)Translating Gender: The Scribes Couldn’t Have Been Competent, They Didn’t Go to Yale. In Law and (Dis)Order in the Ancient Near East (59th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale volume). Michalowski, P. 1998 Literature as a Source of Lexical Inspiration: Some Notes on a Hymn to the Goddess Inana. Pp. 65–73 in Written on Clay and Stone: Ancient Near Eastern Studies Presented to Krystyna Szarzyńska on the Occasion of Her 80th Birthday, ed. J. Braun, K. Łyczkowska, M. Popko, and P. Steinkeller. Warsaw: Agade. Miller, J. L. 2010 Paskuwatti’s Ritual: Remedy for Impotence or Antidote to Homosexuality? JANER 10: 83–89. Nougayrol, J. 1969 La Lamaštu à Ugarit. Pp. 404, 406–7 in Ugaritica 6, ed. C. F. A. Schaeffer. Paris: Paul Geuthner. Parker, S. B. 1997 Aqhat. Pp.  49–80 in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, ed. S. B. Parker. WAW 9. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Patzek, B. 1988 Die Mesopotamische Dämonin Lamaštu in orientalisierenden griechisch-kolonialen Kulturkreis: Ein Amulett aus Poggio Civitate un Ilias 21, 479. OrAnt 27: 221–30. Paul, S. M. 2002 The Shared Legacy of Sexual Metaphors and Euphemisms in Mesopotamian and Biblical Literature. Pp. 489–98 in vol. 2 of Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 47th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Helsinki, 2–6 July 2001, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Peled, I. 2010 Expelling the Demon of Effeminacy: Anniwiyani’s Ritual and the Question of Homosexuality in Hittite Thought. JANER 10: 69–81. 2014 assinnu and kurgarrû Revisited. JNES 73: 283–97. Peterson, J. 2008 An Early ša3- z i - g a Prescription from Nippur. ZA 98: 195–200. Potts, D. T., Martin, D. L., Baustian K., and Osterholtz A. 2013 Neonates, infant mortality and the pre-Islamic Arabian amuletic tradition at Tell Abraq. Liwa 5(9): 3–14. Pringle, J. 1983 Hittite Birth Rituals. Pp. 128–41 in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt. Detroit: Wayne State University Press.

Ritual Gender Assignment in the Ancient Near East

95

Puhvel, J. 2002 Genus and Sexus in Hittite. Pp. 547–50 in vol. 2 of Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 47th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Helsinki, 2–6 July 2001, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Roth, M. T. 1997 Law Collections from Mesopotamia and Asia Minor. WAW 6. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Scurlock, J. 2002 Translating Transfers in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp. 209–23 in Magic and Ritual in the Ancient World, ed. P. Mirecki and M. Meyer. Leiden, Boston, and Köln: Brill. Selz, G. J. 2000 Five Divine Ladies: Thoughts on Inana(k), Ištar, In(n)in(a), Annunītum, and Anat, and the Origin of the Title “Queen of Heaven.” NIN: Journal of Gender Studies in Antiquity 1: 29–62. Simon, Z. 2016 Why did Paskuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed? Pp. 97–103 in Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21st–25th July 2014, ed. O. Drewnowska and M. Sandowicz. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Sjöberg, Å. W. 1975 i n - n i n š à -g u r4- r a: A Hymn to the Goddess Inanna by the en-Priestness Enheduanna. ZA 65: 161–253. Soden, W. von 1956 Eine altassyrische Beschwörung gegen die Dämonin Lamaštum. OrNS 25: 141–48. Stol, M. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx. Suter, C. E. 2012 Kings and Queens: Representation and Reality. Pp. 201–26 in The Sumerian World, ed. H. E. W. Crawford. London and New York: Routledge. Toorn, K. van der 1985 Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study. Assen: Van Gorcum. van Dijk, J. 1975 Incantations accompagnant la naissance de l’homme. OrNS 44: 52–79. Valdes, F. 1995 Chapter Three: Indigenous Culture(s): A Comparative Perspective. California Law Review 83: 209–44. Waldman, N. M. 1978 The Breaking of the Bow. JQR 69: 82–88. Walker, C. and Dick, M. B. 1999 The Induction of the Cult Image in Ancient Mesopotamia: The Mesopotamian mīs pî Ritual. Pp. 55–121 in Born in Heaven, Made on Earth: The Making of the Cult Image in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. B. Dick. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 2000 Lamaštu, Daughter of Anu. A Profile. Pp. 217–52 apud Stol 2000. Winter, I. J. 1989 The “Hasanlu Gold Bowl”: Thirty Years Later. Expedition 31: 87–106. Wyatt, N. 1999 The Story of Aqhat. Pp. 234–58 in Handbook of Ugaritic Studies, ed. W. G. E. Watson and N. Wyatt. Leiden, Boston, and Köln: Brill.

96

Kathleen McCaffrey

Zsolnay, I. 2009 The Function of Ištar in the Assyrian Royal Inscriptions: A Contextual Analysis of the Actions Attributed to Ištar in the Inscriptions of Ititi through Šalmaneser III. PhD dissertation. Brandeis University.

Why Did Paškuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed? Zsolt Simon Munich

The Problem The Hittite ritual CTH 406, also known as Paškuwatti’s ritual (KUB 9.27+, published by Hoffner 1987; for a new edition see Mouton 2007: 129–41 and 2012) is traditionally interpreted as a ritual against impotence (Hoffner 1987: 287, followed by most other scholars). 1 Nevertheless, Miller (2010) argued that it represents a ritual against (passive) homosexuality. 2 Before turning to the critical analyses of the arguments adduced, we must recall the opening lines of the ritual that define its goal. It shows that the interpretations of Hoffner and Miller are only two among several possibilities and thus a thorough understanding of the ritual is a more complex issue than previously assumed: 3 (i 1) UMMA fPaškuwatti MUNUS URUArzawa ešzi=[ma=šš]an (2) INA URUParašša mān LÚ-ni kuedani ḫaš[š]atar (3) NU.GÁL našma=aš MUNUS-ni menaḫḫanda U[L L]Ú-aš Thus (speaks) Paškuwatti, woman of Arzawa, who is, [however], in Parašša: “If a man lacks progeny/fecundity or is not a man vis-à-vis a woman.”

The key concept here is ḫaššātar. Though it is traditionally translated in this context as ‘reproductive power’, 4 Miller (2010: 87–88) rightly pointed out that another meaning of the word, namely ‘progeny, family’ also fits the context. This would concur well with the fact that the prayers of the ritualist explicitly request children for her patient: (ii 8–9) “Let him take his wife and produce for himself sons and daughters!”; and similarly (iii 7′—9′), “Let him take his wife, let him produce for himself children! Let him produce for himself sons and daughters!” (translation of Hoffner [1987: 278, 279]). So the problem is, obviously, that the patient neither has Author’s note: I am very grateful to Charles Steitler for proofreading my essay. 1.  E.g., García Trabazo 2002: 447–49; Hutter 2003: 237–38; Haas 2003: 274, 552–53, 698; Melchert 2003: 283; Peter 2004: 197; Bawanypeck 2005: 12; Mouton 2007: 129, 135; and see already Goetze 1969: 349 and Laroche 1971: 72. 2.  Miller reports (2010: 84, n. 4) the similar views of Simone Lamante; Bellucci and Vigo (2014: 28, n. 43) are skeptical. 3.  The Hittite text of the ritual will be quoted according to Mouton 2012; translations follow that of Miller 2010, unless otherwise noted. 4.  Goetze 1969: 349; Beckman 1983: 18; Hoffner 1987: 277; García Trabazo 2002: 451; HW2: 411; Peter 2004: 199; Mouton 2007: 135; Peled 2010: 628.

97

98

Zsolt Simon

nor could he sire children. The description in the incipit, however, contains, two reasons for the lack of progeny, separated by našma ‘or’, and thus the lack of ḫaššātar, which is one of the reasons for having no offspring, cannot be the lack of progeny itself, it must refer to the lack of fertility. Thus the correct translation is in my view: “If a man lacks fertility or is not a man vis-à-vis a woman.” But what could have been the reasons behind this description? The first description is rather a technical problem that may be called “impotence,” but practically speaking it may mean two different situations: (1) erectile dysfunction, or (2) sterility (note that Moyer 1983: 27 talks about sterility and not impotence). The second description, traditionally understood as having no desire for women (Moyer 1983: 27; cf. Beckman 1983: 18, who even translates it as “no[t de]sirous of a woman”) refers to a kind of behavior that may have at least two reasons: (3) various types of less proactive behavior (ranging from shyness to asexuality) and (4) homosexuality. Nevertheless, one must also take into account that what is considered appropriate behavior of a man vis-à-vis a woman varies from culture to culture, and thus a behavior that was strange for the Hittites may be normal for us or vice versa — in other words, there must not necessarily be a specific reason behind this particular description (though I will argue that there is). In any case, less proactive behavior and homosexuality can of course lead to the lack of children, although they do not necessarily do so, and erectile dysfunction can lead to what might be termed as unmanly behavior towards women. In other words, erectile dysfunction, homosexuality, and less proactive behavior in general can explain the entire incipit. Furthermore, any of these three in combination with sterility could also explain it. With these remarks in mind, we can now turn to the observations made by the commentators. My starting point will be the argumentation of Miller (2010), since this is the most (and in fact, only) elaborated account of the problem.

Argument 1.  The Scene at the Reed-Gate In this well-known scene the ritualist places a spindle and a distaff, the symbols of femininity in the patient’s hand, who then walks through a reed-gate, whereupon the ritualist exchanges the spindle and the distaff with a bow and an arrow, the symbols of masculinity, in his hand and utters the following: (i 26) [k]āša=wa=ta=kkan MUNUS-tar arḫa daḫḫun (27) nu=wa=tta EGIR-pa LÚ-tar peḫḫun 5 nu=wa=[za MUNUS-aš] (28) šaklin arḫa [n]amma pešši[yat] (29) nu=wa=za šarā LÚ-aš š[ak]lin [datta] I have taken femininity away from you and given masculinity back to you. You have cast off the behavior [of a woman] and you [have taken] up the b[eha]vior of a man. 6

5.  pé-eḫ-ḫu-un and not pí-iḫ-ḫu-un with Hoffner 1987: 272 contra Mouton 2007: 130, 2012, cf. pée-eḫ-ḫu-un (KBo 5.13 iv 23) and Kloekhorst 2014: 676. 6.  I cannot follow Rieken 2009 in attributing a speaker/near and hearer/middle deictic value to kāša and kāšma, respectively, instead of temporal function (cf. Hoffner and Melchert 2008: 323–24 ) since it does not make sense in sentences like [k]āšma mMuršiliš DUMU=Y[A] (KUB 1.16 ii 37) “Mursilis is hereby my son.” Miller (2010: 85 with n. 6) accepts her views and translates the phrase as “I myself have taken (. . .).”

Why Did Paškuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed?

99

Miller (2010: 85) rightly points out that this scene cannot refer to erectile dysfunction, since the inability to sustain an erection is clearly not a feminine trait to be taken away and this inability cannot be called šāklāi- ‘behavior, custom’. 7 He rather explains it with the patient’s passive homosexual inclination. While this is entirely possible, there are other equally possible explanations too: first of all, less proactive behavior, and, mutatis mutandis, erectile dysfunction, if the patient was aware of this (which he must have been) and tried to avoid situations which could be unpleasant for him as a man: in other words, he was not a man vis-à-vis women. Thus, this passage is not unambiguous enough to settle the question. Nevertheless, it represents a strong argument against the theoretical possibility of sterility, since it is again not a feminine trait and cannot be called ‘behavior, custom’.

Argument 2.  The Metaphor of the Yoke Here the ritualist invokes the goddess Uliliyašši, who is hoped to help the patient and entreats her as follows: (ii 7) nu=šši GÉME-KA maniyaḫ (8) n=aš=za GIŠyugan kišari Turn your maidservant over to him, and he will become a yoke. (similarly iii 5′–6′).

Hoffner (1987: 286) interpreted this line as follows: “in order to produce children through his wife, the husband has to dominate; she must bear his yoke.” Miller (2010: 86), again, maintains that this metaphor is more fitting if the text is a remedy against passive homosexual behavior, since “of course it is not the case that the husband must dominate his wife in order to impregnate her.” One could deliberate over which position the Hittites preferred for sexual intercourse (interested parties can find one possibility on the İnandık vase), but in my view this metaphor is hardly useful as an argument in this discussion, since the situation is simple: the ritualist tries to arouse the sexual desire of her patient with the help of a maidservant, but this hardly tells us anything about why the patient’s desire was lacking.

Argument 3.  The Incubation Scene (iv 1–10) The patient goes to sleep, and whether he sees the goddess bodily in a dream, (whether) he goes down to/with her and he sleeps with her, throughout the three days during which [I] entr[eat] the goddess, he reports whatever dreams he sees, whether the goddess shows her eyes to him (or) whether the goddess lies down with him.

Miller (2010: 88), who brought this passage into the discussion, argues that “If one assumes that the patient had a tendency to be attracted to and seek out male partners, however, the ritualist might have supposed that his dreaming of a sexual encounter with a woman or a goddess should indicate his reform and thus the success of her ritual practices.” 7.  With this he intends to refute Hoffner’s interpretation of the ritual as aimed at restoring the man’s ability “to sustain an erection and consummate the act of intercourse.” Nevertheless, Hoffner drew this conclusion not from this scene but from the bedchamber-scene, see Hoffner 1987: 287.

100

Zsolt Simon

This assumption may be true, but equally applicable to less proactive behavior as well. Nevertheless, in my view it is again a scene that has no relevance to our problem, as it contains no reference whatsoever to the problem of the patient but represents instead simple technical advice to him.

Argument 4.  The Bedchamber-scene This is the most discussed and the least understood scene in the ritual. Nevertheless, it is the scene that allowed Hoffner to formulate his interpretation and that provided Miller with an important argument. Unfortunately, the beginning of the passage is lost, but it is clear that a virgin girl meets the patient: (i 35) nu=wa=šši=kan andakitti=šši kattanta pait (36) nu=wa kāš tantukešnaš DUMU-aš šaknaš šieḫunaš He/She went down to her/his antakitt(a/i)-, 8 but this mortal (was/is) one of faeces, one of urine.

Goetze’s translation (1969: 349, followed by Haas 2003: 553) was neither precise nor neutral (“but all this fellow could produce was excrement (and) urine”) and thus should best be abandoned. Hoffner (1987: 284, 287, followed by García Trabazo 2002: 448) saw in this passage the evidence for impotence (erectile dysfunction) instead of sterility, since these phrases would show his inability to have sexual intercourse successfully. Miller (2010: 87), however, rightly pointed out that the interpretation “impotent man” does not explain why the patient was called “one of shit” (“one of piss” would then refer to the only activity he could manage with this member of his body). He suggests taking it as a slur against homosexual behavior where “one of shit” would perhaps refer to one who engages in anal intercourse. He admits that this interpretation, however, does not explain the term “the one of piss.” Miller tried to support this idea with some speculations of Melchert (2001: 406– 8; 2003: 283), who believes that the red-white color of the yarns used for binding the aforementioned reed-gate “symbolizes the successful sexual union of male and female,” red symbolizing feminine blood, white signifying semen (Melchert 2001: 406–8, esp. 407 with n. 4, followed by Bawanypeck 2005: 12). Then, faeces and urine would represent a contrast with the symbols of reproductive sexuality, “Melchert’s heterosexually productive red and white vis-à-vis a hypothetical homosexually inert 8.  The wording of Miller (2010: 86–87, cf. below) was replaced with more neutral terms. The word antakitt(a/i)- was left untranslated for the following reasons: The tentative but generally used translation ‘bedchamber vel sim.’ was questioned by Melchert (2003), who suggested ‘loins’ (followed by Mouton 2007: 136; Miller 2010: 86; and Bauer et al. 2015: 152). This suggestion is, however, incompatible with the following mythical scene: “The Sun God went to the Sea, to his antaga/i-” (dUTU-uš aruni antagā=šša pait, KUB 36.44 i 12), where he covered with wax a vessel placed somewhere. Melchert suggests that the vessel was placed on a member of the Sea God (suggested are thigh, hip, and shoulder) and it was covered by the Sun God from the loins of the Sea God, which is not really credible. Moreover, from formal reasons it seems probable that the antakitt(a/i)- of our text should be separated from the antaka/i- of the other texts as the former cannot be derived from the latter (Kloekhorst 2008: 186 also refuses this translation, albeit without arguments), thus we are dealing with two separate words. It must be pointed out, however, that all suggested meanings fit all interpretations of this ritual, thus we can neglect here the problem of the exact meaning of antakitt(a/i)-. For the sake of simplicity (and since it anyway involves a failed sexual intercourse) I will, however, refer to this scene as the bedchamber-scene.

Why Did Paškuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed?

101

brown and yellow” (Miller 2010: 87). Nevertheless, it is not clear, on the one hand, why the yarns of a reed-gate would refer to sexual union and fertility, and on the other hand, red and white yarns are very frequent devices in Hittite rituals, including cases where any reference to sexuality can be surely excluded (e.g., in the scapegoat ritual of Ašḫella). Thus, contra Melchert 2001: 407, it is irrelevant that only red and white yarns are used here, especially because in the thematically similar ritual of Anniwiyani, blue and red yarns are used. 9 Thus Melchert’s imagined symbolism does not exist, which excludes the putative contrast as well, and even if this symbolism existed, it would not prove the assumed contrast between blood/semen and urine/faeces. In other words, none of the suggested possibilities can fully explain this bizarre event. 10 Neither is there any hint that one should take this event symbolically. What can we do then? I suggest taking the text literally and looking for a reason behind this unfortunate situation of the patient. If he is indeed of faeces and urine, he must have suffered from some illness or illnesses with such symptoms. These do indeed exist, namely, incontinence, but more precisely, its two types: fecal and urinary incontinence. While they are distinct, they can occur together, and double incontinence is not uncommon (for a recent overview with statistics see Lacima and Pera 2003). Both symptoms can have multiple reasons and both symptoms have multiple risk factors. The Hittite text clearly does not provide any clue to a diagnosis. However, there is one remarkable, common risk factor for both types of incontinence: age. We do not know how old Paškuwatti’s patient was. But a (very) old patient (perhaps with a young wife) may explain not only this unfortunate situation but also the lack of children, i.e., the reason for this ritual, since increased age is associated with decline of male fertility (due to decline in sperm count, volume and motility). This interpretation is further supported if ḫaššātar indeed means here ‘fertility’. The reed scene, i.e., taking away the femininity and the unmanly behavior, still needs an explanation. As pointed out above, erectile dysfunction may lead to unmanly behavior which could have been perceived by the Hittites as feminine traits. Again, old age is one risk factor of erectile dysfunction. Thus the assumption of a (very) old patient explains both the incipit and the adduced arguments.

Conclusions The traditional interpretation of the ritual as a remedy for impotency explains neither the act of taking away the feminine behavior nor the bedchamber-scene. Miller’s interpretation of passive homosexuality does not explain the bedchamberscene and his other supporting arguments do not hold water. The Hittite text is clearly not detailed enough for a precise diagnosis, but if the bedchamber-scene is taken literally, one can identify the patient as a (very) old man suffering from double incontinence due to (an) unknown illness(es). Due to his advanced age, he is 9.  He believes to find a parallel in a hardly understood ritual (KUB 11.25 iii 20) that he considers to be ritually performed sexual intercourse of the Hittite royal couple to the accompaniment of music and clapping — a highly implausible interpretation. This interpretation was followed by Haas (2003: 687–88), for whom this particular ritual is the only evidence for a sexual connotation of this colour combination is, since all of his other examples (including Paškuwatti’s ritual) are cathartic rituals (Haas 2003: 643). 10.  Haas (2003: 553, n. 43) calls attention to the attestation of excrement and urine in an Akkadian incantation for potency, unfortunately in broken context (Biggs 1967: 22 no. 6: 8–9).

102

Zsolt Simon

probably not able to sire children anymore and may also have suffered from erectile dysfunction that led to a less proactive behavior vis-à-vis women. The corollary of the implicit conclusion that the Hittites were not entirely aware of the decline of fertility with age has a good parallel in the bitter story of Maššanauzzi, sister of Ḫattušili III, who was unable to bear children due to her advanced age, a fact which was not understood (or disbelieved) by the Hittites and led to the sarcastic remarks of Ramesses II.

Bibliography Bauer, A., Görke, S., Lorenz, J., and Rieken, E. 2015 Mythologische Texte in hethitischer Sprache. Pp. 145–76 in Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen, ed. B. Janowski and D. Schwemer. TUAT NF 8. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Bawanypeck, D. 2005 Arzawäische Ritualpraktiken — Informationen aus Hattuša. Pp.  1–18 in Motivation und Mechanismen des Kulturkontaktes in der späten Bronzezeit, ed. D. Prechel. Eothen 13. Firenze: LoGisma. Beckman, G. M. 1983 Hittite Birth Rituals. 2nd ed. StBoT 29. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Bellucci, B., and Vigo, M. 2014 Note sulla concezione del post mortem presso gli Ittiti. Pp.  21–36 in Sulle Rive dell’Acheronte: Costruzione e Percezione della Sfera del Post Mortem nel Mediterraneo Antico 1, ed. I. Baglioni. Roma: Edizioni Quasar. Biggs, R. D. 1967 šà.zi.ga: Ancient Mesopotamian Potency Incantations. TCS 2. Locust Valley: J.  J. Augustin. García Trabazo, J. V. 2002 Textos religiosos hititas: Mitos, plegarias y rituales. Madrid: Trotta. Goetze, A. 1969 Hittite Rituals, Incantations, and Description of Festival. Pp.  346–61 in Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament, ed. J. B. Pritchard. 3rd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Haas, V. 2003 Materia Magica et Medica Hethitica: Ein Beitrag zur Heilkunde im Alten Orient. 2 vols. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Hoffner, H. A. 1987 Paskuwatti’s ritual against sexual impotence (CTH 406). AuOr 5: 271–87. Hoffner, H. A., and Melchert, H. C. 2008 A Grammar of the Hittite Language. 2 vols. LANE 1. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Hutter, M. 2003 Aspects of Luwian Religion. Pp. 211–80 in The Luwians, ed. H. C. Melchert. HdO 68. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Kloekhorst, A. 2008 Etymological Dictionary of the Hittite Inherited Lexicon. Leiden: Brill. 2014 Accent in Hittite: A Study in Plene Spelling, Consonant Gradation, Clitics, and Metrics. StBoT 56. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Lacima, G., and Pera, M. 2003 Combined Fecal and Urinary Incontinence: An Update. Current Opinion in Obstetrics and Gynecology 15: 405–10.

Why Did Paškuwatti’s Patient Fail in the Matrimonial Bed?

103

Laroche, E. 1971 Catalogue des textes hittites. Paris: Klincksieck. Melchert, H. C. 2001 A Hittite Fertility Rite? Pp. 404–9 in Akten des IV. Internationalen Kongresses für Hethitologie, Würzburg, 4.–8. Oktober 1999, ed. G. Wilhelm. StBoT 45. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 2003 Hittite antaka- “loins” and an Overlooked Myth about Fire. Pp.  281–87 in Hittite Studies in Honor of Harry A. Hoffner Jr. on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. G. Beckman, R. Beal, and G. McMahon. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Miller, J. L. 2010 Paskuwatti’s Ritual: Remedy for Impotence or Antidote to Homosexuality? JANER 10: 83–89. Mouton, A. 2007 Rêves hittites: Contribution à une histoire et une anthropologie du rêve en Anatolie ancienne. CHANE 28. Leiden and Boston: Brill. 2012 Rituel de Paškuwatti d’Arzawa. (CTH 406). hethiter.net/: CTH 406. (last accessed: 02.03.2015) Moyer, J. C. 1983 Hittite and Israelite Cultic Practices: A Selected Comparison. Pp. 19–38 in Scripture in Context, vol 2: More Essays on the Comparative Method, ed. W. W. Hallo, J. C. Moyer, and L. G. Perdue. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Peled, I. 2010 The Use of Pleasure, Constraints of Desire: Anniwiyani’s Ritual and Sexuality in Hittite Magical Ceremonies. Pp.  623–36 in VII. Uluslararası Hititoloji Kongresi Bildirileri, Çorum 25–21 Ağustos 2008. Acts of the VIIth International Congress of Hittitology, Çorum, August 25–31, 2008, ed. A. Süel. Ankara: ANIT. Peter, H. 2004 Götter auf Erden: Hethitische Rituale aus Sicht historischer Religionsanthropologie. Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. Rieken, E. 2009 Hethitisch kāša, kāšma, kāšat(t)a: drei verkannte deiktische Partikeln. Pp. 265–73 in Pragmatische Kategorien: Form, Funktion und Diachronie. Akten der Arbeits­ tagung der Indogermanischen Gesellschaft vom 24. bis 26. September 2007 in Marburg, ed. E. Rieken and P. Widmer. Wiesbaden: Reichert.

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie Magalie Parys Lille

Pour les Mésopotamiens, l’être humain était une créature composite. Dans le Poème d’Atra-hasīs (Foster 2005 : 227–53), les dieux créent le premier homme avec un mélange composé d’argile, de sang (damu) et de chair (šīru) d’un dieu sacrifié et d’un esprit (eṭemmu) 1. Le Poème précise que le dieu sacrifié était doté d’un ṭēmu, terme difficile à traduire mais qui caractérise probablement la capacité à raisonner 2, que l’homme reçoit également lors de sa création. Cette anthropogonie pose les fondements de la conception du corps humain et force est de constater que quatre éléments constitutifs sont mis en avant, dont un immatériel, l’eṭemmu 3. Celui-ci ferait le lien entre l’homme et l’élément divin qui avait servi à le créer et peut survivre au corps matériel après sa mort. L’eṭemmu est la cause de nombreuses affections car il a le pouvoir de se saisir des vivants 4. Son intervention peut provoquer toutes sortes de symptômes, affectant le corps tout entier et le fonctionnement normal de l’être humain 5. Le ṭēmu est d’ailleurs une fonction qui était régulièrement touchée. Les textes médicaux le mentionnent en tant qu’altéré 6 ou changeant 7. Ces symptômes étaient souvent associés à d’autres, évoquant un dérèglement de l’humeur impliquant une souffrance psychique, marquant ainsi le fait que les Mésopotamiens étaient sensibles aux tourments que l’humain pouvait ressentir à l’intérieur 8. Cet intérieur est La note d’auteur:  Doctorante à l’Université de Lille 3 SHS et membre du laboratoire HALMA – UMR 8164 ; travaille sur la maladie mentale au Proche-Orient ancien, sous la direction de Brigitte Lion. Mes remerciements vont à Brigitte Lion, Denis Lacambre et Gilles Buisson pour leur soutien et leurs corrections, ainsi qu’à Daniel Bonneterre et à Moudhy al-Rashid pour leurs bons conseils. Toute erreur ou omission incombe à l’auteur. 1.  Ulrike Steinert considère que : « Der Körper des lebenden Menschen aus Fleisch und Blut enthält die assoziierten Elemente „Verstand“ und „(Toten)geist“ » (Steinert 2012 : 330), en accord avec ce qu’en dit Claus Wilcke (1999 : 81). Ainsi quatre éléments constitueraient l’homme : la chair, le sang, le ṭēmu et l’eṭemmu. 2.  Voir le chapitre consacré à ce terme d’Ulrike Steinert (2012 : 386–404). À la page 395, elle parle du ṭēmu comme similaire à notre idée de « conscience », mais aurait également une connotation de « bon sens ». 3.  AHw : 263b « Totengeist ». 4.  Par exemple, AMD 8/1 8.6 : 23 : ana eṭem ridâti paqdū, « on l’a confié à l’esprit persécuteur ». 5.  Un ouvrage est consacré à cette question (Scurlock 2006). 6.  AMD 8/1 10.3 : 81′′ : ṭēmšu ittanakker, « sa raison est sans cesse alterée ». 7.  AMD 8/1 8.6 : 10 : ṭēnšu iltanann[īšu], « sa raison est sans cesse changeante ». 8. De nombreuses prescriptions médicales énumèrent les symptômes mentaux parmi d’autres symptômes physiques. L’ouvrage d’Abusch et Schwemer (2011) en compte un bon nombre. Quelques

105

106

Magalie Parys

nommé libbu 9 et tient une place importante dans les textes médicaux, notamment dans ceux qui traitent du ṭēmu. Bien que l’on ne puisse pas vraiment parler de médecine mentale, il est intéressant de se pencher sur cet aspect de la thérapeutique mésopotamienne. Le mal-être mental était relevé et traité, qu’il s’agisse d’une souffrance psychique ou d’un dérèglement comportemental 10. Il reste toutefois difficile à dire si les Mésopotamiens avaient conscience de la maladie mentale stricto sensu, c’est pourquoi il est préférable de garder une approche symptomatologique en parlant de symptômes psychiques ou mentaux. Les sources qui traitent des symptômes psychiques sont essentiellement les prescriptions médicales ainsi que le recueil des diagnostics et pronostics SA.GIG (Labat 1951; Heeßel 2000; Scurlock 2014). D’autres séries telles que Maqlû (Meier 1967) et Šurpu (Reiner 1958) contiennent également des attestations de symptômes mentaux. La plupart du temps, ces derniers n’apparaissent pas isolés et sont accompagnés de symptômes non-mentaux, néanmoins notre analyse s’occupera essentiellement des symptômes mentaux. Parmi les auteurs qui se sont intéressés au sujet, nous pouvons citer J. Kinnier Wilson qui entreprit, à travers plusieurs articles, une étude comparative entre symptômes anciens et maladies actuelles (Kinnier Wilson 1965; Ritter et Kinnier Wilson 1980; Reynolds et Kinnier Wilson 2008, 2011, 2013 et 2014). M. Stol analysa certains symptômes mentaux ainsi que les termes employés dans les prescriptions médicales (Stol 1993, 2002 et 2009). M. Geller s’intéressa lui aussi au sujet (Geller 2002 et 2003). Enfin, T. Abusch et D. Schwemer firent une édition de nombreux textes comprenant des symptômes mentaux, en mettant l’appui sur l’aspect magique de ces textes (Schwemer 2007; Abusch et Schwemer 2011). Ce qui suit est un aperçu d’une prescription médicale qui comporte un grand nombre de symptômes mentaux dans sa partie clinique. AMD 8/1 8.6 est une prescription d’une extrême richesse concernant les symptômes physiques et mentaux et présente un schéma représentatif des prescriptions similaires 11 : § 1. l. 1–25 : description des symptômes, diagnostic (l. 21–24) et but thérapeutique (l. 24–25) ; § 2. l. 26–40′ : rituel (dù.dù.bi) ; § 3. l. 41′–98′ : incantation (én) ; § 4. l. 99′ : instructions pour la récitation de l’incantation ; § 5. l. 100′–103′ : finalisation du rituel ; § 6. l. 104′ : référence à une autre incantation. exemples sont : AMD 8/1 1.8, AMD 8/1 2.3, AMD 8/1 8.1, AMD 8/1 8.6 (analysé ici), AMD 8/1 7.2, AMD 8/1 8.7. 9.  Possédant incontestablement la notion de « milieu », il semblerait que ce fut un terme au champ sémantique large pour les Mésopotamiens qui situaient les émotions dans la région du tronc. Voir également Steinert 2012 : 133. Le libbu pourrait également être le siège de l’intellect (donc du ṭēmu). Il était régulièrement touché par des symptômes, par exemple dans AMD 8/1 8.6 : 10 : libbašu nullâti ītammu, son libbu profère de la folie. 10.  Dérèglement en tant que déviant de la norme. Il est plus ou moins évident de déterminer cette norme pour la Mésopotamie ancienne car autant un symptôme comme « (son désir) de manger et de boire diminue » ([akala u] šikara muṭṭu, AMD 8/1 8.6 : 19) montre clairement un problème par rapport à un besoin primaire (se nourrir) ; autant il existe des symptômes sujets à interprétation, comme par exemple « il dit ‘ayez pitié de moi !’ » (aḫulapya iqabbi AMD 8/1 8.6 : 20). 11.  La liste qui suit présente les parties telles qu’elles sont délimitées par l’auteur de la prescription (séparées par des lignes horizontales).

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

107

Cette prescription est éditée et traduite dans l’ouvrage de T. Abusch et de D. Schwemer Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals (Abusch et Schwemer 2011: 318–35). D’abord connue en tant que AMT 21/2, éditée par R. Campbell Thompson, provenant de la bibliothèque d’Assurbanipal à Ninive, elle est complétée par T.  Abusch et D. Schwemer par des joints ainsi que par des parallèles provenant d’Assur et de Sultantepe 12.

Symptomatologie 13 1 Si un homme, sa tête le fait constamment souffrir d’une douleur dévorante (1), sa langue le fait souffrir avec une sensation de picotement (2), 2son visage est constamment secoué de spasmes (3), ses oreilles bourdonnent (4), 3son cou [. . .] (5), le tendon de son cou le fait constamment souffrir d’une douleur dévorante (6), 4 sa poitrine et son dos le font souffrir d’une douleur dévorante (7), 5sa cuisse se tord (8), ses bras retiennent de la paralysie (9), 6ses doigts et ses mains s’immobilisent constamment (10), son ventre est sans cesse ballonné (11), ses intestins ont des contractions (12), 7ses jambes et ses pieds le font souffrir d’une douleur coupante (13), sa chair retient de la paralysie (14), 8il a des difficultés à se lever, à rester debout, à parler (15), 9il devient tantôt rouge, tantôt pâle (16), il se parle constamment à lui-même (à son libbu) (17) 10son libbu profère de la folie (18), sa raison (son ṭēmu) est sans cesse changeante (19), 11il oublie constamment ses paroles (lit. les mots de sa bouche) (20), 12il développe 11de la fièvre, de la rigidité, une infection-li’bu, 12et de la tristesse 14 (21), ses rêves sont confus et nombreux (22), 13il voit constamment des morts (23), il parle constamment avec les morts (24), il est déprimé (son libbu est bas) (25), il est irritable (son tempérament est court) (26) 14les rêves qu’il voit, il ne les retient pas (27), il (son libbu) est nauséeux (et) il (son libbu) vomit (28), 15 dans son lit, il est sans cesse effrayé (29), sa sueur s’écoule constamment (30), 16il a constamment des frissons (31), il se lève et s’agenouille (32), [. . .] est douloureux (33) 17il a constamment « l’oppression intérieure » (du libbu) (34), il subit des querelles à la maison et des disputes dans la rue (35), 18ses suffocations se rapprochent (lit. ses nipqū sont proches) (36), il dit « oh » et crie « hélas ! » (37), 19(son désir) de manger et de boire diminue (38), (son désir) d’aller vers une femme diminue (39), son libbu ne le conduit plus vers une femme (40), il ouvre la bouche constamment (pour parler (?)) (41), 20il est constamment tendu (42), il est constamment inquiet (43), il est constamment submergé (?) (44), il dit « ayez pitié de moi ! » (45), 21sa bouche est sans cesse perturbée (46).

12.  Voir la liste dans Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 318–19. Des copies sont fournies par les auteurs (planches 68 à 74, 84 à 96). 13.  AMD 8/1 8.6  : 1 à 21. La traduction est celle de l’auteur. Une transcription akkadienne normalisée se trouve dans le Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals (Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 318–35) et ne sera pas reprise ici. Les crochets ont été enlevés pour une lecture plus aisée. Ils peuvent être retrouvés dans l’ouvrage. Les symptômes sont numérotés un à un pour plus de commodité dans le renvoi lors de l’analyse ci-dessous. Les numéros de lignes sont préservés pour plus de commodité lors d’une lecture en parallèle avec l’akkadien. 14.  Ces quatre éléments sont considérés comme un seul symptôme étant donné qu’ils apparaissent toujours en groupe. Cependant, les trois premiers (fièvre, rigidité et li’bu) semblent former une entité en tant que symptôme physique et le dernier se démarque car axé sur le psychique. Li’bu n’est pas traduit mais d’après l’usage du verbe la’ābu (CAD L : 6a et AHw : 521b) il semble qu’il s’agisse d’une infection.

108

Magalie Parys

La partie clinique surprend par le nombre de symptômes  : il y en a 46. Les symptômes ne concernent pas uniquement l’état mental du patient, mais traitent également de sa condition physique. Un classement est difficile à établir, bien que nous puissions distinguer deux groupes 15 : •  Le premier (1–14 16), centré sur l’aspect physique, utilise la même forme grammaticale pour lister les symptômes : partie du corps-šu + verbe. •  Le second groupe (15–46) n’a pas de parties anatomiques concrètes comme sujet. En revanche, il présente des parties du corps métaphoriques (libbu 17 : 18, 25, 28, 40 ; ṭēmu : 19 ; la bouche, pû : 46), des concepts abstraits (le rêve, šuttu : 22 ; le tempérament, ikku : 26 ; la suffocation, nipqū : 36) et un fluide corporel (la sueur, zuʾtu : 30). Mais dans la majorité des cas, le sujet est le patient lui-même (15 18, 16 19, 17, 20, 21, 23, 24, 27, 29, 31, 32, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45).

Le fait qu’il y ait deux groupes plutôt séparés ainsi que le fait que les symptômes suivent, surtout en ce qui concerne les symptômes physiques, un classement a capite ad calcem 20 donnent l’impression d’un début de structure. Il semblerait que certains textes médico-magiques ont subi une évolution durant des siècles : les ajouts progressifs ont pu aboutir à des textes moins harmonieux 21. Peut-être est-ce le cas de cette tablette : contenant quelques symptômes au départ, la prescription profita de l’expérience des guérisseurs et vit sa partie clinique s’accroître, devenant une juxtaposition de maux moins ordonnée à nos yeux. Du point de vue clinique, cette prescription ressemble, sans être toutefois parallèle, à AMD 8/1 8.7 22, qui présente des symptômes tout à fait comparables, mais en nombre plus restreint, laissant supposer qu’elles partagèrent peut-être le même original et évoluèrent différemment au fil du temps 23 (Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 17a). Cela irait dans le sens d’une hypothèse selon laquelle la symptomatologie décrite ne se réfère pas à un seul patient, mais à une série de patients examinés au fil du temps. Quant à savoir s’il fallait être touché par l’intégralité des symptômes pour être soigné par le remède décrit, cela reste peu probable bien que cette question est difficile à résoudre étant donné le peu de documents de la pratique. Somme toute, l’organisation des symptômes en physiques d’une part, et physiques et mentaux d’autre part reste un élément intéressant qu’il convient de garder en mémoire. 15.  Mes remerciements vont à Gilles Buisson pour ses conseils concernant cette partie. 16.  Il serait possible d’étendre cette partie jusqu’au numéro 16 car 15 et 16 décrivent des symptômes physiques. Néanmoins, leur forme grammaticale ne correspond plus à ce qui précède et une possibilité est qu’il s’agit ici d’introduire la partie suivante avec d’une part un symptôme impliquant la parole (dabābi muq, 15) et d’autre part des variations d’aspect (zamar sām, zamar aruq, 16). 17.  Il est intéressant de noter que le libbu, qui peut également désigner une partie du corps concrète, à savoir le ventre (voir par exemple BAM 159 ii 43 šumma amīlu libbašu urbatu qūqānu u pelû, « Si un homme, son ventre est pris par les vers-urbatu, filaments et larves ») est bien différencié dans cette prescription : il n’est pas présent dans la première partie, qui préfère parler de qerbu (10) et de errū (11) pour signifier cette région anatomique. 18.  15 et 35 sont au permansif de la troisième personne du singulier. 19.  Zamar sām, zamar aruq est une proposition nominale, dont le sujet implicite est le patient. 20.  S’agirait-il du cheminement de l’élément pathogène qui entre par les orifices de la tête et qui traverse le corps jusqu’en bas ? 21.  C’est la thèse de T. Abusch (1987 : 45) qui suggère cela par exemple pour une partie de la série Maqlû. 22.  Prescription composée à partir de tablettes de Ninive et d’Assur. 23. Cela reste très hypothétique, étant donné qu’il existe également une différence au niveau étiologique dans les deux prescriptions.

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

109

Le texte décrit le patient affecté par toutes sortes de douleurs qui commencent par la tête et atteignent pratiquement tout le reste du corps. Au total, il est touché par sept douleurs (1, 2, 5 ?, 6, 7, 12 24, 13, 33). Ces douleurs sont bien souvent accompagnées de paralysie qui touche également toutes les parties du corps (9, 10, 14, 21). Le texte mentionne aussi son apparence : un visage agité de spasmes (3), des difficultés pour marcher (8 25, 15, 32) et le teint tantôt rouge, tantôt pâle (16). Son état semble fébrile (21, 30, 31) avec des problèmes gastro-intestinaux (11, 12, 28). Cette description de la souffrance physique du patient s’accompagne d’un aperçu de son état émotionnel. Le patient présente des signes d’anxiété. Le texte le décrit comme probablement irritable 26 (ikkašu kurri, 26) et tendu (imtanaggag, 42). Il est constamment effrayé (iptanarrud, 29) et constamment inquiet (uštannaḫ, 43) 27. Il souffre également du ḫuṣ ḫīpi libbi (34). Ce symptôme a été compris de différentes manières. Il est traduit comme « mélancolie » par M. Stol (1993 : 27–32), qui l’analyse en le mettant en rapport avec la bile noire, selon la terminologie grecque. Cette traduction reste néanmoins difficile à appliquer en dehors du contexte grec. En effet, la mélancolie est dérivée directement de la théorie des humeurs, et se présente chez le patient qui a un excès de bile noire, par rapport aux trois autres humeurs. Or, les Mésopotamiens ne pensaient pas le corps comme un équilibre entre quatre humeurs. On pourrait argumenter sur le fait que la signification de mélancolie peut être prise en un sens plus général, à savoir « état dépressif » mais là encore, il s’agirait d’une transposition du sens moderne de ce mot qui par ailleurs s’est chargé d’un grand nombre de connotations au fil des siècles : la mélancolie possède de multiples définitions, chacune correspondant à une époque donnée ; il semble donc ambigu de traduire ḫūṣ ḫīpi libbi par mélancolie. Le verbe ḫepû dénote la notion de détruire, briser 28 ce qui a conduit certains auteurs à parler de « brisement de cœur » 29, expression plus proche du texte, bien que le libbu ne représente pas uniquement le cœur. Enfin, M. Geller 30 (2010 : 151) y voit un symptôme physique, tel qu’une crampe d’estomac, une colique, en accord avec R. Labat (1951 : 126, tablette n°13 iii 43). Le fait que l’on soigne ce symptôme de manière isolée 31, sans autre description, peut laisser penser qu’il s’agit d’un symptôme fréquemment rencontré. Par ailleurs, le terme ḫūṣ qui le précède régulièrement (mais pas systématiquement) est quelque peu obscur 32. Le CAD (Ḫ : 260b) traduit « physical pain » ou « emotional hurt », laissant le choix en fonction du contexte. AHw (361a) propose « Leibschmerzen ». Indéniablement, le sens paraît appartenir au champ lexical de la douleur. Ainsi, d’une manière assez neutre, la traduction littérale serait « douleur de brisement de l’intérieur ». Il est difficile de ne pas penser à un mal-être psychique. Être brisé de l’intérieur dénote une sensation, voire une émotion. Est-ce une sensation d’anxiété, de « stress » que l’on peut ressentir au niveau de la cage thoracique ou du ventre ? Ou est-ce plutôt un 24.  En considérant qu’une contraction intestinale est ici douloureuse. 25.  En considérant qu’une cuisse qui se tord provoque des difficultés pour marcher. 26.  ikkašu kurri signifie littéralement que son tempérament est court, ce qui laisse penser à son irritabilité. (CAD I : 59a ; AHw : 369b : « aufgeregt »). 27.  Le symptôme 44, irteneḫḫi pourrait également être listé ici, mais sa traduction reste incertaine. 28.  CAD Ḫ : 170b ; AhW : 340a « zerbrochen » ; ce verbe est également utilisé dans les textes culinaires, que Jean Bottéro traduit par « ouvrir, fendre une pièce culinaire » (Bottéro 1995 : 202) que l’on pourrait considérer comme la traduction au sens propre. 29.  Stol (1993 : 27–31) considère qu’il s’agit d’un sens figuré. 30.  Mais aussi Joann Scurlock (Scurlock et Andersen 2005, chap. 16). 31.  Par exemple BAM 445 obv. 1. 1–9 ; BAM 388 1. 3–6, 7, 8–11. 32.  Pour une analyse plus précise, voir la note consacrée à ce terme par M. Al-Rashid (2014).

110

Magalie Parys

sentiment de brisement au sens de dépression, également ressentie dans cette région du tronc ? Il semble douteux, particulièrement dans ce contexte, de considérer ce symptôme comme gastro-intestinal. Le libbu est ici distinct de qerbū et errū, et toutes ses occurrences sont synonymes avec le patient lui-même (17, 18, 25, 28, 40). Cette sensation d’oppression pourrait être retrouvée dans un autre symptôme de la prescription, le nipqūšu qerbū (36). Il s’agit également d’une expression difficile à traduire : le CAD (N/2 : 247a) ne donne pas de traduction, mais commente qu’il s’agit d’un terme cité aux côtés de napištu (gorge) dans le TDP, et dans des séquences impliquant à la fois le physique et le mental dans BAM. Abusch et Schwemer (2011 : 333) tentent d’expliquer nipqū par un groupe de parties du corps (il est toujours au pluriel) dans la région de la gorge ; leur proximité provoquerait chez le patient un souffle court. Cependant, bien qu’il soit au plurale tantum, nipqū est un masculin, tandis que les parties du corps existant par paires sont en règle générale au féminin (Heeßel 2000 : 161, n. l. 8′). J. Scurlock (Scurlock et Andersen 2005 : 39, 3.57) choisit un sens dérivé de la racine NPQ, dont le sens serait en rapport avec l’obstruction ou le durcissement 33, et traduit nipqū qitrubū par « his chockings come close together  ». Pour notre texte, et selon notre logique de délimitation des parties 34, une partie du corps ne serait ici pas appropriée. Notre proposition de traduction suivrait donc celle de J. Scurlock, avec des suffocations qui se rapprocheraient de plus en plus. Le symptôme qui suit « il dit ‘oh’ et crie ‘hélas’ » pourrait même nous mettre sur la piste de soupirs, tout comme le symptôme énigmatique « il ouvre la bouche constamment » (41) ; on peut imaginer qu’il fait cela pour soupirer. Ainsi, on pourrait supposer que ces suffocations ou soupirs seraient la conséquence de l’oppression intérieure mentionnée plus tôt 35. Le patient semble également avoir une modification de l’humeur. La prescription le décrit comme triste (tādirta irašši, 21) avec un libbu bas 36 (šapil, 25). Cette dernière expression est sujette à interprétation car il s’agit là d’une métaphore. Si le libbu est le siège des émotions, il est intéressant de confronter cette expression avec « avoir le moral au plus bas ». Aujourd’hui, lorsque l’on parle de tristesse de l’humeur : les mots « dépression », « déprime », « abattu » possèdent encore étymologiquement cette notion de bas. Cette hypothèse est également appuyée par le fait que le patient semble se plaindre 37 (37, 45) et qu’il ne ressent plus la volonté de satisfaire des besoins primaires (38, 39, 40). Se dessine ainsi l’image d’un patient 38 mal en point physiquement, anxieux et dépressif. Semble s’ajouter à cela une vision altérée de la réalité. Le champ lexical de la parole (15, 17, 18, 20, 24, 27, 41 39, 45, 46) est très présent. Cette parole apparaît comme troublée : il se parle constamment à lui-même (itti libbīšu iddanabbub, 17), il profère de la folie (libbašu nullâti ītammu, 18), et il parle constamment avec les morts (itti mītūti iddanabbub, 24). Le verbe dabābu sous cette forme peut avoir une connotation d’incohérence, comme le suggère le CAD (N/1 : 169a) « he constantly talks incoherently  » 40. Cela ressort également du terme nullâtu que le CAD (N/2 33.  AHw : 734a : « sich verstopfen, verhärten ». 34.  Cf. p. 106. 35.  Ce paragraphe a bénéficié des précieux commentaires de Gilles Buisson. 36.  Stol (2002 : 66) traduit « his heart is low (=he is depressed) ». 37.  Il faut toutefois garder en mémoire qu’il peut également se plaindre de son état physique. 38.  Rappelons le, il s’agit ici d’un patient « type », on ne sait pas si un seul homme (ou une seule femme) a déjà été touché(e) par l’intégralité de ces symptômes. 39.  Ce symptôme n’est pas forcément en rapport avec la parole. 40.  Voir aussi Chalendar (2013 : 24).

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

111

: 333b) traduit « improper matters, malicious, treacherous talk, foolish talk, foolishness ». Sa bouche apparaît comme constamment perturbée (ittanadlaḫ, 46) 41. Le verbe dalāḫu a une connotation de confusion, d’obscurcissement 42. À ces propos perturbés s’ajoutent des difficultés d’expression : il ouvre constamment la bouche (pâšu iptenette, 41) peut-être pour parler, mais n’y arrive pas 43 ; les mots de sa bouche, il les oublie constamment (qibīt pîšu imdanašši, 20). Le texte parle également du ṭēmu en tant que changeant (iltanannīšu, 19). La racine ŠN’ dénote le changement, l’aliénation, le dérangement (CAD Š/1 : 403a) mais sert avant tout à qualifier le chiffre 2. Le ṭēmu devient « second » ou « autre » et cela n’est pas sans rappeler l’étymologie latine du terme « aliénation ». Cela évoque également un autre verbe, régulièrement utilisé pour qualifier un trouble du ṭēmu, nakāru 44. Sa racine NKR marque également la notion d’étrangeté, d’ennemi (CAD N/1 : 159a) et donne l’impression d’une raison devenue indomptable pour le patient. Ces symptômes marquent l’importance de la parole comme expression de l’état mental. Une parole maîtrisée représente un psychisme en bonne santé, ce qui n’est manifestement pas le cas chez ce patient. La parole est un intermédiaire du ṭēmu. Elle permet aux Mésopotamiens de classer des discours altérés afin de pouvoir en soigner la cause. La parole permet également au médecin de connaître les phénomènes oniriques du patient : ici, ses rêves sont confus et nombreux (šunātūšu ešâ maʾdā, 22) et il éprouve des difficultés à les restituer (šunāt immaru lā ukāl, 27). On sait également qu’il voit des morts (mītūti ītanammar, 23), bien que l’on ne précise pas s’il s’agit de rêves ou non 45.

Étiologie Si la cause de la maladie n’est pas toujours présente dans les prescriptions, on la connaît pour celle-ci. On lit après la liste des symptômes : «  21Cet homme dans le pain qu’on lui a fait manger, dans la bière qu’on lui a fait boire, 22dans l’huile avec laquelle on l’a enduit (il a absorbé un élément pathogène). Des figurines de lui ont été couchées avec un mort. 23On les a confiées à un esprit persécuteur. »

Le patient a été victime d’un agent extérieur, d’une sorcière ou d’un sorcier, ayant pratiqué de la magie contre lui. Le mauvais sort a pu entrer en lui à travers les aliments et huiles absorbées et du fait de l’enterrement de sa figurine avec un mort. En parallèle, on précise que Marduk est en colère contre lui et que l’esprit persécuteur s’en est pris à lui : «  23À la colère de Marduk on l’a remis et l’esprit persécuteur le persécute sans cesse. »

41.  G. Buisson (communication personnelle) suggère qu’il pourrait s’agir d’un élément de conclusion des symptômes qui le précèdent, à la manière d’un bilan. 42.  Ce verbe est également utilisé pour qualifier un symptôme oculaire qui semble donner une vision trouble, cf. BAM 159 iv 23′ : šumma amīlu īnāšu dīmta birrata ašâ dalḫā[ti], « Si un homme, ses yeux produisent continuellement des larmes, des assombrissements, des troubles et des obscurcissements » (Parys 2014 : 33). 43.  Cette interprétation peut être discutée étant donné le caractère vague de sa description. 44.  Par exemple dans BAM 449 iii 25′, ṭēmšu ittanakker. 45.  S’il ne s’agit pas de rêve, il est possible de penser à des hallucinations ; couplées avec le bourdonnement d’oreilles (4), il pourrait s’agir d’hallucinations acoustico-verbales.

112

Magalie Parys

Pour une seule maladie, on compte donc plusieurs causes : la première du domaine de l’humain, la deuxième de celui de l’esprit et la troisième de celui du divin 46. Ces causes ne sont pas pour autant contradictoires 47: la sorcière ou le sorcier a pu envoyer l’esprit persécuteur contre ce patient du fait même que celui-ci a été abandonné par son dieu pour une raison que l’on ne connaît pas 48. Cette raison constitue une quatrième cause. Il semble que l’identité de la personne ayant pratiqué la sorcellerie n’est pas connue et on ne sait pas s’il s’agit d’une femme ou d’un homme. Cela ne semble pas important pour le rituel : si le mal doit être transféré à cette personne, cela se fera forcément. Pour ce qui est du type de magie, la toute fin du rituel précise que « la sorcellerie-kišpū, la sorcellerie-ruḫû, la sorcellerie-rusû et la sorcellerie-upšāšû ne se s’approcheront pas de lui 49 » (103′).

Traitement Le mauvais sort est considéré comme quelque chose qui imprègne le patient, mais qui peut se laver et se transférer (Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 2b–3a). Ici, le traitement se compose d’un rituel et de deux incantations 50. Le traitement est annoncé à la fin de la partie clinique : «  24pour le guérir et pour son bien-être, 25et pour le délivrer de toute maladie ». Le rituel se structure en deux parties. La première (l. 26–40) consiste à composer une offrande faite de viande rôtie et de friandise-mirsu 51 ; puis à installer des encensoirs aux quatre points cardinaux et enfin à dissoudre quelque chose dans le fleuve 52. Cette partie est malheureusement très fragmentaire (il manque les l. 31 à 38) et il est difficile de savoir exactement ce qui a été dissous. La partie cassée comporte probablement des instructions pour la fabrication de figurines du sorcier et de la sorcière car il en est question plus tard dans le texte (l. 102′). Une incantation à Marduk est ensuite récitée trois fois (l. 41′–98′ + souscrit l. 99′). La deuxième partie (l. 100′–103′) fait participer le patient lui-même : il récite trois fois à son tour 53 une incantation dont l’incipit est ašḫuṭ ašḫuṭ « j’ai retiré, j’ai retiré ». Il retire alors son manteau, probablement représentant la maladie qui le quitte 54 et le médecin verse sur lui de l’eau sacrée destinée à le purifier. Le médecin emprisonne ou enterre alors les figurines du sorcier et de la sorcière dans un trou en face du soleil couchant 55. 46.  Un article de T. Abusch est consacré à ce sujet (Abusch 2002). L’auteur avance que la colère divine touche l’homme car soit elle est provoquée par la sorcellerie, soit l’homme a commis une faute (p. 92). 47.  T. Abusch (2002 : 105) évoque également cette hypothèse. 48. Il s’agit probablement d’une faute qu’il aurait commise. S. Maul dit que le patient perd son « système immunitaire » (Maul 2012). 49.  Ces termes sont synonymes et il est difficile d’y déterminer une nuance. 50.  Voir le synopsis pour plus de détails sur les manuscrits (Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 319). 51.  D’après le CAD M/2 : 108b, il s’agit d’une friandise à base de beurre ou d’huile, de dattes ou de miel. Plus de détails dans Sasson 2004 : 190–91. 52.  Il ne s’agit probablement pas des figurines du sorcier et de la sorcière car leur sort est décrit à la fin de la tablette. 53.  Le texte précise tušadbabšu, « tu lui feras réciter », mais cela est toutefois la reconstitution d’une cassure l. 101′ d’Abusch et Schwemer (2011 : 331). 54.  La tablette V–VI de la série Šurpu dit aux lignes 15–16 : « la mutité (et) l’étourdissement l’ont couvert tel un manteau et l’accablent constamment » (Reiner 1958 : 30). 55.  Le soleil couchant est important dans la mesure où cela facilite le passage du mal dans le monde des morts.

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

113

Il s’agit ici d’un cas classique de rituel de transfert. Le guérisseur fabrique un réceptacle capable d’accueillir le Mal présent dans le patient. Cet élément pathogène est chassé du corps malade avec des rituels plus ou moins complexes utilisant par exemple des plantes qui peuvent être émétiques, pour évacuer le mal par la bouche 56 ; ou à travers d’autres procédés thérapeutiques, comme frictionner le corps du malade avec de la pâte pour prélever le mal, pâte avec laquelle on forme une figurine où l’on insère une partie du corps du malade (ongles, cheveux, peau) pour ensuite l’éloigner 57. La matière des figurines a souvent un rapport avec la manière dont elle est éliminée  : l’argile est dissoute, la cire, le bois ou la graisse  : brûlés. Mais l’élément pathogène est-il vraiment détruit ? L’objectif principal est de l’éloigner du corps du patient mais le médecin 58 paraît quelquefois diligent à son égard : il existe des rituels par lesquels le médecin évacue l’élément pathogène du patient en le mariant à une autre entité 59, pour qu’il accepte de quitter le corps du patient. Le médecin pratique parfois une offrande directement à cet élément pathogène afin qu’il puisse prendre des provisions pour son voyage dans l’Apsû 60. Il semblerait que le médecin n’ait pas le pouvoir de détruire, à proprement parler, l’élément surnaturel. Il l’évacue, l’enferme, le chasse et veille également ce qu’il soit satisfait, mais il est difficile de dire qu’il est détruit. Peut-être que cette générosité avec l’élément pathogène implique-t-elle qu’il sera plus attentif aux demandes du médecin ? Rappelons-nous le mythe de la création : l’homme, à l’inverse des Igigis, est volontairement créé inférieur aux dieux, afin qu’il ne puisse pas se révolter. Son ṭēmu, toutefois, lui permet d’imiter la création divine, d’autant plus que le matériau le plus utilisé pour fabriquer les figurines est l’argile, dont l’homme est lui-même créé. Le médecin, ne pouvant qu’imiter les dieux de manière imparfaite, façonne un réceptacle de vie à partir de l’argile, et y insuffle la maladie à l’aide de mots au pouvoir surnaturel : le rituel est accompagné d’incantations destinées à calmer le dieu en colère, et à lui demander de l’aide afin que l’élément pathogène possédant le malade quitte celui-ci. Ici, l’incantation est adressée à Marduk : Incantation : roi sage, qui établit la des[tinée] ; 42′qui aime l’Esagil, le soutien de Babylone  ; 43′[ga]rdien de la vie, le roi des dieux, seigneur du ciel [et de la terre] ; 44′[qu]i épargne le faible, qui fait disparaître le crimi[nel] ; 45′le pourvoyeur d’abondance et de richesse du peuple nombreux  ; 46′qui saisit l’ennemi, qui terrasse le malveillan[t] ; 47′le pourvoyeur de la part et des offrandes alimentaires des dieux des villes ; 48′le seigneur des pays, le bien aimé du cœur d’Enlil, le protecteur du faible ; 49′celui qui détient le sceptre et la suprématie, qui défait le dieu malveillant ; 50′le pourvoyeur de conseils et de verdicts aux dieux, ses frères. 41′

Marduk miséricordieux, accorde (moi) la santé, 52′offre moi la santé, la faveur des grands dieux  ; 53′la maladie, qui a été placée sur moi, me persécute sans cesse, 54′je suis craintif, triste et constamment affligé ; 55′que ton vent favorable puisse souffler sur moi, et que la maladie se détache, 56′favorise-moi seigneur, accorde-(moi de) la miséricorde. 57′Je suis untel, fils d’untel, ton serviteur affligé, je 51′

56.  BAM 388 i 12–20 dans par ex. (Scurlock 2014 : 463–64). 57.  AMD 8/1 7.7 : 1–75 (Abusch et Schwemer 2011: 150–58). 58.  Le mot « médecin » est utilisé au sens large, il désigne la personne qui soigne le patient. 59.  Par exemple BAM 202 obv. 25 – rev. 0′. 60.  C’est le cas dans la Plaque de Enfers (Louvre, AO 22205), où Lamaštu est représentée sur une barque à côté d’offrandes diverses qu’elle est censée emporter avec elle. BAM 202 décrit également cette pratique dans le rituel aux l. obv. 17 – rev. 4′.

114

Magalie Parys m’agenouille devant toi ; 58′juge mon cas, détermine mon verdict. 59′Je fais appel à toi, seigneur, entends-moi promptement, épargne ma vie.60 À cause de mon sorcier malveillant, vers toi je me tourne. 61′Je suis untel, fils d’un tel, dont le dieu de la ville est Marduk, dont la déesse de la ville est Zarpanītu. 62′À la maison des querelles, et dans la rue des disputes me sont infligées, elles me persécutent constamment, 63′[sa]ns joie du libbu, sans joie de la chair [. . .] 64′[l]a perte, le déclin [. . .] 65′ [t]u es celui qui juge, seigneur, [juge mon cas]. [T]u es le miséricordieux, seigneur, la miséricorde [. . .] 67′[. . .] . . . 68′[. . .] . . . la misé[ricorde?] 70′[puisse le ciel] se réjouir de toi, puisse le ciel obtenir ta protection, 71′puissent les grands dieux (?) contenter ton libbu, 72′[. . .] . . . puissent-ils prier ton nom, 73′[. . .] . . . puissent les dieux faire croître ton pouvoir, 74′[p]uis­ sent l’Esagil et Babylone prier sur toi. 75′Je t’ai cherché, seigneur, accorde-moi la vie, 76′enlève et emmène le mal qui cause la maladie de mon corps ; 77′enlève (le) à 3600 miles de mon corps ; 78′comme de la fumée, fais (le) monter au ciel ; 79′ co[mme du tamaris-bīnu arr]aché, ne (le) laisse pas revenir à sa place. 80′Chasse la sorcellerie-ipšû et la sorcellerie-ruḫû (faites contre moi) ; 81′ta parole (qui accorde) la sant[é, plac]e la sur m[oi] ; 82′(de) la mal[ad]ie qui m’est arrivée, prend connaissance promptement, 83′le ma[l . . .] le ma[l] 84′à l’esprit persécuteur [. . .] 85′ partout où l’homme arrive, [ta divi[nité . . .] 86′à l’esprit persécuteur [. . .]. 87′Enlève la maladie de mon corp[s. . .] Marduk ; 88′qu’un šēdu favorable et un lamassu favorable soient toujours [à] mes côtés  ; 89′la joie du libbu et la joie de la chair [. . .] 90′[Marduk] miséricordieux, [acc]orde moi ta faveur ; 91′puissé-je ne pas mourir, puissé-je ne pas être [estropi]é, puissé-je ne pas être compté comme de la « chair » à démon-asakku 61; 92′enlève la mala[die] de mon corps, chasse le M[al] ((de)) mes bras ; 93′prends le 62 de mon corps, de ma bouche, et que ta gloire soit proclamée. 94′J’ai fabriqué deux figurines d’un sorc[ier et] d’une sorcière, (([devant))] toi, je me suis mis debout sur elles ; 95′puisse le tamaris-bīnu me purifier, puisse le cèdre-erēnu me nettoyer ; 96′puissent la plante-maštakal ((et)) le jeune palmier-dattier-suḫuššu me délivrer de la sorcellerie (faite contre) moi ; 97′le Mal que mon ennemi a lancé ((contre moi)), puisses-tu (le) renverser et le renvoyer dans sa tête et dans son corps. 66′ 69′

98′ (Et moi, ton serviteur exténué 63), puissé-je glorifier au peuple entier la gloire et la grandeur de ta divinité.

Bien que les verbes soient à la première personne du singulier, l’incantation est probablement récitée par le médecin et non par le patient qui, étant donné son état, n’est peut-être pas capable de faire une si longue récitation (Abusch et Schwemer 2011 : 22b). C’est une incantation à la structure classique, divisée en quatre parties : introduction hymnique (l. 41′–50′), complainte (l. 51′–65′), supplication (l. 66–97′) et remerciements (98′) (Oshima 2011 : 14). Marduk en est le destinataire, probablement en sa qualité de divinité babylonienne haut placée du savoir médico-magique, protectrice des faibles. L’origine géographique est difficile à identifier car malgré les références à Marduk et Zarpanītu, divinités fondamentalement babyloniennes, on retrouve des formulations purement néo-assyriennes (Oshima 2011 : 120–23). 61.  Pour d’autres traductions, voir note 70 dans Mayer 1976 : 269. 62.  Le verbe maḫāru est ici dans la cassure, dont la forme est difficile à comprendre : Abusch et Schwemer (2011 : 331) reconstruisent [. . .mu?-ḫur-m]a et traduisent avec peu de certitude « take it away from my body, my mouth ». 63.  Le verbe anāḫu a une connotation de lassitude. Au système voix III, il peut avoir le sens « d’être inquiet » (CAD A/2 : 101b). Il serait possible de traduire ici « ton serviteur qui en a assez ».

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

115

L’incantation demande la miséricorde de Marduk  : qu’il apaise le mal, qu’il l’éloigne et qu’il protège à nouveau l’homme malade. Le texte dit l. 93′ « approche-toi de mon corps » car son dieu protecteur l’a quitté 64. L’appui est mis sur l’aspect protecteur de Marduk : l. 44′ « qui épargne le faible », mais aussi sur sa qualité de juge : l. 44′ « qui fait disparaître le criminel » ; l. 46′ « qui saisit l’ennemi, qui terrasse le malveillant » etc. Le malade est en position de victime et il s’agit ici de plaider sa cause au juge tout-puissant. Cela apparaît particulièrement de manière évidente aux l. 57′–65′. On retrouve de manière générale l’essence de la symptomatologie décrite dans la partie clinique : l. 54′ « je suis craintif (palḫāku), triste (adrāku) et constamment affligé (šutaddurāku) » correspond à peu de choses près aux symptômes 21 (tādirtu) pour la tristesse, et 29 (iptanarrud) pour la peur ; l. 62′ « À la maison des querelles, et dans la rue des disputes me sont infligées, elles me poursuivent constamment » correspond au symptôme 35 ; et l. 63′ « [sa]ns joie du libbu, sans joie de la chair » rappelle les symptômes 17, 18, 25, 28, 34, 40 pour ce qui concerne le libbu, et d’autre part, toute la première partie (1–14) pour ce qui concerne le mal-être ressenti au niveau physique (šīru). Les symptômes ne sont toutefois que résumés et ils ne figurent pas tous dans l’incantation. La partie « supplication » contient le mot « corps » (zumru) cinq fois. Cela peut apporter des éléments de réponse à la question de la dualité corps-esprit. En effet, nous avons vu que la partie clinique de notre description était divisée en deux groupes de symptômes : le premier, listant les parties du corps, s’occupait des maux physiques, et le deuxième, se concentrant davantage sur ce qui ne faisait pas partie du « tissu biologique », s’occupait du mal-être psychique. Cette partie n’a pas utilisé le mot zumru. L’incantation, qui possède la caractéristique d’être plus générale dans la description des symptômes, mentionne surtout les problèmes psychiques. Le mot zumru apparaît ici comme une entité globale, contenant à la fois mal-être psychique et symptômes physiques (ceux-ci sont rendus uniquement par l’expression ṭūb šīri). Ainsi, au lieu de voir une dichotomie, il semble que les Mésopotamiens voyaient d’abord un corps qui formait un tout, et qui pouvait être atteint de plusieurs types de maux, dont les mentaux et les physiques. Somme toute, un symptôme mental n’exclut pas un symptôme physique au sein de la même affection.

Une psychiatrie mésopotamienne ? Il est indéniable que les Mésopotamiens d’une part soignaient leurs malades, et que d’autre part ils étaient touchés par les maladies mentales. La question est de savoir comment ils considéraient ces maladies. Malheureusement très peu de sources, mis à part les textes médicaux, nous informent sur la conception du malade mental en Mésopotamie. Il ne semble pas que les maladies mentales y étaient distinguées des autres maladies. Une même cause pouvait provoquer à la fois douleurs physiques et mal-être psychique, mêlées à tour de rôle dans les prescriptions médicales. Cependant, la souffrance psychique était distinguée de la souffrance physique. Cela ne signifie pas qu’il y ait eu une dichotomie entre corps et raison : le ṭēmu se trouvait 64.  Il semble qu’un corps en bonne santé est un corps qui contient le dieu protecteur ; la tablette V–VI de la série Šurpu précise à la ligne 11/12 « son dieu a quitté son corps » (Reiner 1958 : 30). La demande est adressée à Marduk, bien que ce soit le dieu personnel du patient qui l’a abandonné. Voir note correspondante dans Abusch et Schwemer 2011: 334.

116

Magalie Parys

dans le corps (zumru) et pouvait être affecté par de Mal, autant que le šīru (la chair) pouvait l’être. Il est toutefois nécessaire de chercher dans d’autres textes pour savoir s’il existait une sensibilité bien distincte entre le physique et le psychique.

Bibliographie Abusch, T. 1987 Babylonian Witchcraft Literature: Case Studies. BJS 132. Atlanta : Scholars Press. 2002 Witchcraft and the Anger of the Personal God. P. 83–121 dans Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretative Perspectives, éd. T. Abusch et K. van der Toorn. AMD 1. Groningen : Styx. Abusch, R., et Schwemer, D. 2011 Corpus of Mesopotamian Anti-Witchcraft Rituals. AMD 8/1. Leiden et Boston : Brill. Al-Rashid, M. 2014 A Note on the Meaning of ḫūṣu and ḫuṣṣu. CDLN 7. Bottéro, J. 1995 Textes culinaires mésopotamiens / Mesopotamian Culinary Texts. MC 6. Winona Lake : Eisenbrauns. Chalendar, V. 2013 Un aperçu de la neuropsychiatrie assyrienne: une édition du texte BAM III-202. JMC 21 : 1–60. Foster, B. R. 2005 Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. 3 éd. Bethesda : CDL. Geller, M. 2002 Freud and Mesopotamian Magic. P. 49–55 dans Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretative Perspectives, éd. T. Abusch et K. van der Toorn. AMD 1. Groningen : Styx. 2003 Paranoia, the Evil Eye, and the Face of Evil. P. 115–34 dans Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, éd. W. Sallaberger, K. Volk et A. Zgoll. OBC 14. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz. 2010 Ancient Babylonian Medicine: Theory and Practice. Ancient Cultures 7. Chichester : Wiley-Blackwell. Heeßel, N. 2000 Babylonisch-assyrische Diagnostik. AOAT 43. Münster : Ugarit Verlag. Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 1965 An Introduction to Babylonian Psychiatry. P. 289–98 dans Studies in Honor of Benno Landsberger on His Seventy-Fifth Birthday, April 21, 1965, éd. H. G. Güterbock et Th. Jacobsen. AS 16. Chicago : University of Chicago Press. Labat, R. 1951 Traité akkadien de diagnostics et pronostics médicaux. 2 vol. Paris : Académie internationale d’histoire des sciences. Maul, S. 2012 Expulser le mal. Conceptions de la maladie et de l’art médical dans le Proche-Orient ancien. Conférence du 5 octobre 2012 au Collège de France. http://www.college-defrance.fr/site/thomas-romer/guestlecturer-2012–10–05–14h30.htm. Mayer, W. 1976 Untersuchungen zur Formensprache der babylonischen „Gebetsbeschwörungen”. StPohl SM 5. Roma : Pontifico Instituto Biblico. Meier, G. 1967 Die assyrische Beschwörungssammlung Maqlû. 2 éd. AfO Beih. 2. Osnabrück : Biblio-Verlag.

Introduction aux symptômes mentaux en Mésopotamie

117

Oshima, T. 2011 Babylonian Prayers to Marduk. Orientalische Religionen in der Antike 7. Tübingen : Mohr Siebeck. Parys, M. 2014 Édition d’un texte médical thérapeutique retrouvé à Assur (BAM 159). JMC 23 : 1–88. Reiner, E. 1958 Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations. AfO Beih. 11. Graz : im Selbstverlage des Herausgebers. Reynolds, E. H., et Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 2008 Psychoses of epilepsy in Babylon: The oldest account of the disorder. Epilepsia 49 : 1488–90. 2011 Obsessive compulsive disorder and psychopathic behaviour in Babylon. Journal of Neurology, Neurosurgery & Psychiatry 83 : 199–201. 2013 Depression and anxiety in Babylon. Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine 106 : 478–81. 2014 Neurology and psychiatry in Babylon. Brain: A Journal of Neurology 137 : 2611–19. Ritter, E. K., et Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 1980 Prescription for an Anxiety State: A Study of BAM 234. AnSt 30 : 23–30. Sasson, J. 2004 The King’s Table: Food and Fealty in Old Babylonian Mari. P. 179–215 dans Food and Identity in the Ancient World, éd. C. Grottanelli et L. Milano. HANES 9. Padua : Sargon Editrice e Liberia. Schwemer, D. 2007 Abwehrzauber und Behexung; Studien zum Schadenzauberglauben im alten Mesopotamien. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz Verlag. Scurlock, J. 2006 Magico-Medical Means of Treating Ghost-Induced Illnesses in Ancient Mesopotamia. AMD 3. Leiden et Boston : Brill. 2014 Sourcebook for Ancient Mesopotamian Medicine. WAW 36. Atlanta : Society of Biblical Literature. Scurlock, J., et Andersen, B. R. 2005 Diagnoses in Assyrian and Babylonian Medicine: Ancient Sources, Translations, and Modern Medical Analyses. Urbana et Chicago : University of Illinois Press. Steinert, U. 2012 Aspekte des Menschseins im Alten Mesopotamien: Eine Studie zu Person und Identitat im 2. und 1. Jt. v. Chr. CM 44. Leiden et Boston : Brill. Stol, M. 1993 Epilepsy in Babylonia. CM 2. Groningen : Styx. 2002 Psychosomatic Suffering in Ancient Mesopotamia. P. 57–68 dans Mesopotamian Magic: Textual, Historical, and Interpretative Perspectives, éd. T. Abusch et K. van der Toorn. AMD 1. Groningen : Styx. 2009 Insanity in Babylonian Sources. JMC 13 : 1–12. Wilcke, C. 1999 Weltuntergang als Anfang. Theologische, anthropologische, politisch-historische und ästhetische Ebenen der Interpretation der Sintflutgeschichte im babylonischen Atram-hasīs-Epos. P. 63–112 dans Weltende: Beiträge zur Kultur- und Religionswissenschaft, éd. A. Jones. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz Verlag.

Legal Remedies against Misfortune: Evasion, Legal Fiction, and Sham Transactions in Late Bronze Age Emar Lena Fijałkowska Łódź

Sources from the Late Bronze Age Syrian city of Emar are full of mentions of misfortune, both personal and, more general, affecting the whole land. The latter is reflected mostly in the well-known “year of duress” formula, an allusion to situations of war, famine, and high inflation, forcing free people to sell off their real estate, and sometimes even their children and themselves. 1 As for the former, a whole range of disasters, misfortunes and lesser troubles plaguing the Emarites may be observed, from overwhelming debts impossible to pay and sudden poverty due to personal circumstances, to ungrateful children refusing to care for their parents, to childlessness and, as a result, a lonely and miserable old age, to lack of sons able to continue the family cult. Of course, the citizens of Emar did not passively bear their lot; the texts show varied strategies of dealing with blows of fate, as well as a panoply of legal remedies to be used in order to at least diminish their impact. In cases involving a conflict, one possibility was a trial. Yet, it is not surprising that more often than not, Bronze Age Syrians preferred to settle their disputes privately, within the family if possible, or before collective bodies such as the “brothers,” probably a group of most prominent and richest landowners. 2 Only having run out of possibilities, they would go to court. They were, however, remarkably ingenious in inventing legal constructions aimed at avoiding further negative consequences of their bad luck. What is more, also the local customary law seems to have favoured such invention, leaving the citizens a lot of freedom in shaping their legal relations, but at the same time striving to safeguard the interests of all interested parties. This principle of balance is shared with Mesopotamian law, where it is very clearly mirrored in the law collections. 3 Family law is one area where this legal creativity found its outlet to sometimes truly spectacular effects. 4 The main legal tool used to solve problems such Author’s note: Following abbreviations are used for Emar texts: AO = Arnaud 1987; ASJ = Tsukimoto 1991; Emar = Arnaud 1986; PdA = Fales 1988; RA = Huehnergard 1983; RE = Beckman 1996b; Semitica 46 = Arnaud 1996; TBR = Arnaud 1991. 1.  See Zaccagnini 1994 and 1995; Adamthwaite 2001: 133–78; Fijałkowska 2014a. 2.  On the “brothers” and their judicial authority in Late Bronze Age Syria, see D’Alfonso 2005 and Démare-Lafont 2012. 3.  Fijałkowska 2014c. 4.  For a general outline of family law in Emar, see Beckman 1996a and Westbrook 2003.

119

120

Lena Fijałkowska

as childlessness or conflicts between heirs anticipated by the patriarch living out his days was legal fiction. In modern legal scholarship, it is defined as an assumption ordered by statute or by court, 5 that something occurred or someone or something exists that in fact did/does not. 6 Its aim is usually to alter the way legal rules operate, 7 but it may also be used to achieve results unforeseen by law or even contrary to it. The latter apparently took place in Emar, where legal fiction seems to have been applied in order to circumvent the law, among other things. 8 A case in point is its application by men lacking a son, and thus facing the grim perspective of termination of the familial cult; a true and dreadful misfortune. This cult seems to have been an exclusively male privilege and duty at the same time, falling to the eldest male descendant. If there was no son, however, two solutions were possible. One was the adoption of a son-in-law, 9 the other — legally turning a daughter into a daughter-and-son by officially declaring her “male and female,” 10 which apparently was enough to enable her to perform cultic duties; a testamentary provision binding her thereto usually follows the “male and female” formula. 11 Extending a daughter’s gender had also other goals, such as the continuation of family line, expressed in the sentence “her children are my (the testator’s) children.” 12 Sometimes the testator went even further, providing for the case of his daughter’s childless death by accepting as his own the children born by the future second wife of his widowed son-in-law. 13 Although it has been often assumed that turning a woman into male and female was not primarily connected with her right to inherit, 14 it seems to me that at least in some cases it might have been. The normal order of inheritance was the same as 5.  The latter mostly in the common law systems. 6.  For example, if a person renounces a legacy, that person will be deemed to have predeceased the deceased for the purpose of distributing the estate. An example of an institution entirely based on legal fiction is adoption, whereby strangers are treated as biological parents of a child and its biological parents as strangers. 7.  Garner 2009: 976–77. On legal fiction in Emar, see Fijałkowska, in press. 8.  As explained already by the ancient Roman jurist Paulus: contra legem facit, qui id facit, quod lex prohibet, in fraudem vero, qui salvis verbis legis sententiam eius circumvenit (D. 1, 3, 29) — “acts against the law, who does what law forbids, (acts) in fraud (of law) verily, who circumvents its provision”. In other words, circumventing law means acting with apparent conformity with its letter, but with the intention of evading its effects. 9.  Emar 213, TBR 72. In the few other cases of adoption of the son-in-law, such as TBR 43, 46, 73 and RE 25, the testator/adopter has other sons, which means that there was another reason behind the contract than the lack of heirs. In Emar 213 there is also question of debts incurred by the adoptress and paid off by her adopted son-in-law. On this text and the story of Hudi, the wife of Abiu, see Fijałkowska 2012: 387–88. On adoptions in Emar in general, see Bellotto 2009. 10.  RE 15, 23, 28, 85; AO 13; PdA 66, ASJ 25, 26, Semitica 46 2; perhaps also Emar VI 184, although the text is badly damaged. In TBR 72, the daughter is installed only as “male” (DUMU. NÍTA). Another way to make a daughter male was to adopt her as son. 11.  The exceptions are PdA 66 and RE 15. 12.  This phrase is used with reference to the “male and female” daughter in AO 13 and ASJ 25. On the “male and female” status of a woman in Emar and Nuzi, see Grosz 1987; Ben-Barak 1988; Kämmerer 1994; Westbrook 2001; Lion 2009; Yamada 2014. 13.  RA 2. The daughter is declared male and female and is supposed to perform cultic duties. If she dies childlessly, her husband should remarry, and his children from the second wife are the children of the testator. A similar provision is contained in RE 28, although in this case, the testator already has a son, but adopts another man, Bubiu. If Bubiu’s wife dies, he is supposed to remarry; his children from the second marriage are to be deemed progeny of his adoptive father. 14.  See especially Westbrook 2001: 40–43.

Legal Remedies against Misfortune

121

elsewhere in the ancient Near East — sons first, daughters second, or even third, after the testator’s brothers. 15 In all the testaments where a daughter inherits together with the sons, she is either a person of special status (a priestess in RE 57 and ASJ 23; in ASJ 23, after her death her share is to be given to the brother she chooses) or simply made son. The latter is the case of a daughter in Emar 181, inheriting between her two brothers as a second son, although in fact she is the eldest child, as well as in TBR 72, where the testator adopts his son-in-law, simultaneously declaring his daughter male. Possibly, in the latter instance the adopted son would inherit before the biological daughter, if she was not made male. Finally, in TBR 74, a woman says that her father “took her for a son, because her brothers died, and so she inherited the house.” Therefore it seems probable that the right of succession of women was somehow limited, and making a daughter male was also a way to circumvent these limitations. 16 A closer look at the aforementioned examples from a legal point of view, brings to light two very interesting points concerning the Emarite legal system. The first one is an apparently positive attitude to what we would call evading or circumventing the law, a term with unambiguously negative connotations today. In contemporary law, a legal action aiming at circumventing law is void and would be declared such by court. 17 Obviously, this was not the case in Emar, otherwise the aforementioned provisions would occur only rarely, the testator hoping for a strike of good luck in form of lack of contestation, or not at all. Actually, the practice of female inheritance seems to be quite widespread in Late Bronze Age Emar, and in several testaments women clearly dispose freely of their estate, using a wording identical to that of a patriarch. 18 Therefore, the question arises why such indirect and rather complicated measures were still resorted to, instead of installing a daughter as heir and cult perpetrator in a straightforward way. In my opinion, the answer is twofold. First of all, this is how a system based on customary law works; since there are no statutes to state that from a particular moment something is allowed, no one is willing to risk problems trying to ignore a long established prohibition. It is deemed better and safer to do things as they were always done, though with modifications, than to change them completely. At the same time, old customary rules die very slowly, usually through desuetudo — going out of use; rarely, they are abolished by statute. A parallel may be found even today in the common law system, especially the British one, where many traces of medieval law still remain. One spectacular 15.  For a general overview of Emar testaments, see Undheim 2001. 16.  Or at least, as pointed out by Yamada (2014), to protect her against claims from relatives, especially from paternal uncles, whose position in the inheritance order seems to be similar to that of a daughter. In RE 85 their claims are expressly excluded. 17.  As stated by art. 58 § 1 of the Polish Civil Code, “any legal action carried out in order to circumvent a statute is null and void” (Dz. U. 16 1964, poz. 93, with later changes). The notion exists also, among others, in French, German, Austrian and Swiss law, although different conditions must be fulfilled in order for a “fraude à la loi” or “Gesetzumgehung” to be recognized in each of those legal systems. No Emarite statute is known, and it is generally assumed that its law was prevalently customary; however, also customary rules and prohibitions can be circumvented. See Buell 2011; Cornu 2003: 414; Medicus 2010: 169–71. For a modern example of circumventing customary law, see Prill-Brett 2007: 30. For a general analysis of legal fiction and of the ways of circumventing law in antiquity, see Pfeiffer 2013. 18.  Emar 32, 128, 213. A particularly interesting example may be found in Emar 30, where a woman says that she took a man, Gula, as her husband, and gave him her son as his, exactly as a patriarch would do, only the other way round: 1. iš-tu u4-mi an-ni-i ᵐᶠx[... a-kán-]na iq-bi ma-a a-nu-ma 2. ᵐGu-l[a] a-na LÚ.mu-ti-ia al-[ta-kán-šu] ù ᵐBi-’-ša DUMU-‹i›a 3. a-na DUMU-ut-[ti-š]u e-te-pu-uš-šu.

122

Lena Fijałkowska

case was a request by a defendant (reluctant to pay a 25-pound fine) to prove facts in court by means of a duel (medieval trial by combat), submitted in 2002. It was given serious consideration by the judge before being denied. 19 But there is also another facet of this problem; the fiction is used to circumvent, among others, a religious prohibition, which could not be so easily revoked. This brings us to the next point of interest — the way how legal fiction worked in this case. At first sight, it seems to be a very modern-like application thereof, similar to the one cited at the beginning of the article, of an heir presumed dead for the purpose of dividing the estate. This “death” applies only to this concrete inheritance case; in all other aspects of his life the concerned person is not only biologically, but also legally alive. The same seems to be true for the legally hermaphroditical, or simply male daughter; she is male for the purposes of cult and inheritance, but otherwise, she stays female, since she can marry and have children, hers not only biologically, but by law as well. However, a closer look brings to light one interesting nuance. The cult is too serious a thing to be treated lightly, thus risking offending gods. Here is when law and religion meet, the prohibition in question being, as mentioned above, not only legal but also religious. It follows that the way Emarites perceived at least this particular fiction was different from our perception of this institution; the legal formulae bore some kind of reality, unlike today, when it is obvious for everyone that someone presumed dead for the purpose of an inheritance case is not “generally” dead in any kind of reality. A legal tool used widely and willingly to solve various kinds of problems brought by bad luck or other disasters was adoption, often applied ingeniously and also, from the contemporary point of view, in a very surprising and sometimes even shocking way, although with parallels all over the ancient Near East. Obviously, it was used first and foremost to remedy childlessness and find someone who would care for the adopter in his old age. But it could also serve as a means of installing a daughter as heir 20 or of a very thorough familial reorganisation (as in case of a step-mother and step-son adopting a slave together, or adopting one’s step-mother as one’s mother 19.  Sapsted 2002. The defendant, an unemployed, 60-year-old mechanic, is supposed to have said: “I am willing to fight a champion put up by the DVLA (Driver and Vehicle Licensing Agency) if they want to accept my challenge. The victor speaks in the name of God and justice so it is a reasonable enough way of sorting the matter out. I know I am in the right so I do not have anything to worry about. I am reasonably fit for my age and I am not afraid of taking anyone on if they want to fight.” In fact, the right to trial by combat was abolished in 1818, as a result of the case Ashford vs. Thornton. After Abraham Thornton was found not guilty of the murder of Mary Ashford due to insufficient evidence, the brother of the victim, William Ashford, brought a private appeal against Thornton, who pleaded not guilty and declared to be ready to “defend the same with his life,” throwing down a gauntlet (literally) before the Court of King’s Bench. Ashford did not pick it up, but the judges recognized that trial by combat was a legal right, valid if the next-of-kin of the deceased brought a private appeal, which was precisely the case. Although the previous duel took place in 1638 (or rather was supposed to, since the combat was prevented at the last minute), the judges ruled in favour of the defendant’s request. Ashford’s only chance to avoid the fight was to withdraw the appeal, which he did. Following this case, that generated a lot of publicity, trial by combat was abolished by a statute passed in the same year. Still, as late as 1985 a defendant charged with armed robbery tried to “wage battle against the lord advocate,” arguing that the statute did not apply in Scotland. Another example concerns compurgation, an ancient procedure used in trials for debts. The defendant was to take an oath that he did not owe money, together with 11 compurgators testifying to his credibility. At the beginning, they were his neighbours, but after the centralization of royal justice, it was no longer possible, and professional compurgators offering their services for money appeared. The procedure, although partly fictional, lasted till the 17th century. See Baker 1990: 86–87. 20.  Adoption to “sonship” mentioned above. The result is the same as declaring the daughter “male and female,” but technically, another legal device is used — adoption instead of fictional gender extension.

Legal Remedies against Misfortune

123

and one’s brothers as sons shared with said mother in order to correct the inheritance order 21) without bearing consequences other than wished for by the patriarch and even without the need of writing them down. Everyone seems to have known in what aspects of life such adoptions were to be taken into consideration and in which — ignored. Given that in contemporary law adoption has legal effects in every single aspect of life of both the adopter and the adoptee, from the modern point of view this looks like one huge mess, but the Emarites appear to have found it absolutely unproblematic. It is also remarkable how much freedom the citizens had in shaping the scope of application and the consequences of a particular legal action, a freedom which would never be granted today. Unfortunately, many elements of this and other legal institutions were obviously regulated by customary law and no need was felt to put them into writing; therefore they elude us completely. Another problem solved with help of adoption was a need for money to support oneself and to secure one’s children’s future. An unlucky, moneyless person, who still, however, owned real estate, would adopt his/her creditor, or find a rich patron to pay their debts. The next step would consist in adopting the creditor or patron and of bequeathing him the debtor’s estate under the condition he honour the adopter and take care of his/her children in a way described in the adoption contract. 22 The questions arises immediately if it was not a way to disguise a sale of the estate, especially of real property, as in Nuzi, in order to circumvent a legal prohibition, for instance on the sale of hereditary familial estate or on giving it away for debts. 23 The answer must be negative; there was no such prohibition in Emar, since there exist several sale contracts concerning a bīt abi (‘house of the father’) or an inheritance share of the seller, as well as a few texts where a piece of real property changes the owner due to debts. 24 Moreover, the Emar adoptions, unlike sale-adoptions from Nuzi, do contain clauses concerning familial duties of the adoptee, such as “honouring” the adopter. Therefore, the reason for using adoption instead of resorting to an outright sale which would also bring some money to the debtor, must have been another one. On the one hand, money from the sale would not last forever, and once it was spent, the debtor would be in an even more precarious situation; besides, selling under duress could mean a lower price, and no security for the children’s future. Adoption, on the other hand, would not only guarantee the adopter means of sustenance from the adoptee, but it would also provide for his/her children. That the “honouring” duty was not illusory is proven by the texts RE 10 and 13; in RE 10 one Hemia adopts Ba’al-qarrad, and in RE 13 he dissolves the adoption, justifying it with the fact that Ba’al-qarrad did not honour him as promised. The money advanced by the latter had to be paid back (by the brother of the adopter), but in any case, a dissolution was possible if the adoptee did not fulfil his obligations. From the legal point of view, this is in fact a creation of a new type of contract based on available legal tools. A closer look at the substantive content of the clauses of this kind of adoption reveals a striking similarity to the modern annuity contract, whereby 21.  TBR 41 and 42. 22.  On protection of family ties in Emar in difficult times, see Fijałkowska 2014a. 23.  For an analysis of Nuzi adoptions from the legal point of view, see most recently Pfeiffer 2013: 21–62. 24.  Sale of bīt abi: Emar 113, 156, TBR 53, 56, 65; sale of an inheritance share: e.g., Emar 120, TBR 56, RE 35, 77; acquisition by creditors: Emar 116, 123, TBR 36, 82, ASJ 39. On the law of sale in Emar, see Fijałkowska 2014b.

124

Lena Fijałkowska

one person transfers to another the ownership of real estate, though keeping the right of life usufruct, or only oblige themselves to do so, and in exchange acquire the right to lifelong help and care from the transferee; those duties can be turned into a life rent. 25 The contract can be dissolved by court on demand of the beneficiary of annuity if the transferee does not fulfil his obligations. This is exactly what happens in those two adoption contracts, which apparently met the same social needs as annuity does. The reason for the dissolution is the same as well — lack of palāḫu, that is to say of help and care. This case is a good illustration of how legal innovation came into existence in the Syrian customary legal system — its authors worked with the legal institutions at hand, using their main traits and slightly modifying their usual consequences in order to finally obtain what they needed. Again, the question arises why not make the next step — in this instance free oneself from the ramifications of adoption and simply formulate a new contract type. The answer is again twofold. First, there was no need for such a move, since the modified adoption worked well enough. Second, the inbred conservatism of the scribes probably also played a role, as they were shaped by conservative, sometimes even anachronistic school curricula promoting traditional values; therefore, an effective re-making of a traditional contract type so that it serve a new purpose was already innovation enough. 26 Finally, let us take a look at a legal device known in the ancient Near East, but never used in Emar — sham transactions, that is to say transactions attempting to hide the true nature of a legal act in order to deceive third parties or courts and other authorities. One of best known examples thereof are sale-adoptions from Nuzi — sales disguised as adoptions probably to circumvent a prohibition on real estate sale. A similar case is known from the Neo-Babylonian times, when from the times of Nabonidus on, the prebend sales in Borsippa were often disguised as donations with a counter gift, probably in order to avoid taxes. 27 Today, the “surface” transaction (donation) can be declared void by court, and the contract would be treated as a sale contract, taxes included. Apparently, this was not the case in the ancient Near East, otherwise such transactions would be much less numerous or non-existent. However, there is no trace of similar contracts in Emar; perhaps no need for it arose or other means were sufficient to fulfil the legal needs of the Emarites. A modern lawyer simply has to marvel at the ingenuity, creativity and versatility displayed in the legal documents from Emar in reaction to various misfortunes of its inhabitants. Accordingly, one final question would be who was so creative, ingenious and versatile? Who came up with all these new ideas? Is it the exclusive work of scribes or did ordinary citizens come to a scribe with the main traits of their contracts ready? Of course, there is no direct evidence to answer such a query, but it is noteworthy that today, this kind of complicated legal constructions answering new or unusual needs of the clients would be nearly always the work of highly specialized and generously remunerated lawyers; they are much too tangled and require too much knowledge to be the work of laypeople. Although it is better to be careful with modern parallels, this particular one does give an indication that all, or at least most of those novelties were created by the scribes, who had to be very 25.  Garner 2009: 105–6. 26.  On schools and school curricula in Emar and vicinity, see Cohen 2009: 46–59. 27.  Jursa 2008: 604–8; see also Waerzeggers 2010: 98–101.

Legal Remedies against Misfortune

125

specialized and well-schooled indeed; at least some of them would probably have no problem finding a very well paid job in a modern, high profile legal firm. 28 28.  As pointed out by Baker and Wunsch (2001), at least in Neo-Babylonian times a group of highly specialized scribes existed, dealing mainly with real estate sales; the same was probably true for other periods as well.

Bibliography Adamthwaite, M. R. 2001 Late Hittite Emar: The Chronology, Synchronisms, and Socio-Political Aspects of a Late Bronze Age Fortress Town. Ancient Near Eastern Studies Suppl. 8. Louvain, Paris, and Sterling: Peeters. Arnaud, D. 1986 Recherches au pays d’Aštata, Emar VI, vol. 3: Textes sumériens et accadiens. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. 1987 La Syrie du moyen-Euphrate sous le protectorat hittite: contrats de droit privé. AuOr 5: 211–41. 1991 Textes syriens de l’âge du bronze récent. AuOr Suppl. 1. Barcelona: Editorial Ausa. 1996 Mariage et remariage des femmes chez les syriens du Moyen-Euphrate, à l’âge du Bronze récent d’après deux nouveaux documents. Semitica 46: 7–16. Baker, H. D., and Wunsch, C. 2001 Neo-Babylonian Notaries and Their Use of Seals. Pp. 197–213 in: Proceedings of the XLVe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Part II: Seals and Seal Impressions, ed. W. W. Hallo and I. J. Winter. Bethesda: CDL. Baker, J. H. 1990 An Introduction to English Legal History. Worcester: Butterworths. Beckman, G. 1996a Family Values on the Middle Euphrates in the Thirteenth Century b.c.e. Pp. 57–79 in Emar: The History, Religion, and Culture of a Syrian Town in the Late Bronze Age, ed. M. W. Chavalas. Bethesda: CDL. 1996b Texts from the Vicinity of Emar in the Collection of Jonathan Rosen. HANEM 2. Padova: Sargon srl. Bellotto, N. 2009 Le adozioni a Emar. HANEM 9. Padova: S.A.R.G.O.N. Editrice e Libreria. Ben-Barak, Z. 1988 The Legal Status of the Daughter as Heir in Nuzi and Emar. Pp. 87–97 in Society and Economy in the Eastern Mediterranean (c. 1500 — 1000 B. C.). Proceedings of the International Symposium held at the University of Haifa from the 28th of April to the 2nd of May 1985, ed. M. Heltzer and E. Lipiński. OLA 23. Leuven: Peeters. Buell, S. W. 2011 Good Faith and Law Evasion. UCLA Law Review 58: 611–66. Cohen, Y. 2009 The Scribes and Scholars of the City of Emar in the Late Bronze Age. HSS 59. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Cornu, G. 2003 Vocabulaire juridique. Paris: Puf. Démare-Lafont S. 2012 Les «Frères» en Syrie à l’époque du Bronze récent: Réflexion et hypothèses. Pp.129– 42 in Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008, ed. G. Wilhelm. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

126

Lena Fijałkowska

D’Alfonso, L. 2005 Le procedure giudiziarie ittite in Siria. Pavia: Italia University Press. Fales, M. F. 1988 Prima dell’alfabeto: La storia della scrittura attraverso testi cuneiform inediti. Studi e Documenti 6. Venice: Erizzo. Fijałkowska, L. 2012 Power Transition and Law: the Case of Emar. Pp. 543–50 in Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008, ed. G. Wilhelm. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2014a Family in Crisis in Late Bronze Age Syria: Protection of Family Ties in the Legal Texts from Emar. Pp. 383–97 in La famille dans le Proche-Orient ancien: réalités, symbolismes et images. Proceedings of the 55th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Paris, 6–9 July 2009, ed. L. Marti. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2014b Le droit de la vente à Emar. Philippika 64. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 2014c Protegitur et altera pars. Protection of the Innocent, Balance and Pragmatism in Ancient Near Eastern Law. ZABR 20: 33–40. in press Legal Fiction in Emar, in Proceedings of RAI 61. Garner, B. A., ed. 2009 Black’s Law Dictionary. 9th ed. St. Paul: West. Grosz, K. 1987 Daughters Adopted as Sons at Nuzi and Emar. Pp.  81–86 in La femme dans le Proche-Orient antique. Compte rendu de la XXXIIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (Paris, 7–10 juillet 1986), ed. J.-M. Durand. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Huehnergard, J. 1983 Five Tablets from the Vicinity of Emar. RA 77: 11–43. Jursa, M. 2008 Economic Change and Legal Innovation. On Aspects of Commercial Interaction and Land Tenure in Babylonia in the First Millenium BC. Pp.  601–28 in I diritti del mondo cuneiforme (Mesopotamia e regioni adiacenti, ca. 2500–500 a.C.), ed. M. Liverani and C. Mora. Pavia: Iuss Press. Kämmerer, Th. 1994 Zur sozialen Stellung der Frau in Emār und Ekalte als Witwe und Weise. UF 26: 169–208. Lion, B. 2009 Sexe et genre (1):
Des filles devenant fils dans les contrats de Nuzi et d’Emar. Pp.  9–25 in Femmes, cultures et sociétés
dans les civilisations méditerranéennes et proche-orientales de l’Antiquité, ed. F. Briquel-Chatonnet, S. Fares Drappeau, B. Lion, and C. Michel. Topoi Suppl. 10. Lyon: Editions De Boccard. Medicus, D. 2010 Algemeiner Teil des BGB. 10th ed. Heidelberg: C. F. Müller. Pfeiffer, G. 2013 Fortschritt auf Umwegen: Umgehung und Fiktion in Rechtsurkunden des Altertums. München: Beck. Prill-Brett, J. 2007 Contested Domains: The Indigenous Peoples Rights Act (IPRA) and Legal Pluralism in the Northern Philippines. Journal of Legal Pluralism 55: 11–36. Sapsted, D. 2002 Court refuses trial by combat. The Telegraph,16.12.2002, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/ news/uknews/1416262/Court-refuses-trial-by-combat.html, accessed 29.11.2015.

Legal Remedies against Misfortune

127

Tsukimoto, A. 1991 Akkadian Tablets in the Hirayama Collection (II). ASJ 13: 275–33. Undheim, T. L. 2001 Late Bronze Age Middle Euphrates Wills in the Context of their Ancient Mesopotamian Analogues: A Window on Emar Society. Ph.D dissertation. Hebrew Union College. Waerzeggers, C. 2010 The Ezida Temple of Borsippa: Priesthood, Cult, Archives. AchHist 15. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Westbrook, R. 2001 Social Justice and Creative Jurisprudence in Late Bronze Age Syria. JESHO 44: 22–43. 2003 Emar and Vicinity. Pp. 657–91 in vol. 1 of A History of Ancient Near Eastern Law, ed. R. Westbrook. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Yamada, M. 2014 The Women Designated ‘Man and Woman’ in Emar and Ekalte. Paper given at the 4th workshop of REFEMA, June 26–27, 2014, Tokyo. http://refema.hypotheses.org/ category/chronology/emar-nuzi-medio-bab, accessed on 29.11.2015. Zaccagnini, C. 1994 Feet of Clay at Emar and Elsewhere. OrNS 63: 1–4. 1995 War and Famine at Emar. OrNS 64: 92–109.

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court Tayfun Bilgin

Ypsilanti, Michigan Given the extensive number of titles, the size of the government and the longevity of the state, it is reasonable to assume that the Hittite state operated under a hierarchy of definite complexity. However, beyond the obvious indicators such as determinatives of superiority like GAL (‘great, chief, head’) or UGULA (‘overseer, supervisor’), the few past studies on the topic indicate that there is no clear evidence to determine the level of complexity and governing rules of the hierarchical relationships. In his analysis of the structure of Hittite provincial administration in Tapikka and Emar, Beckman (1995: 22) points out the difficulties arising from the limitations and uncooperative nature of the ancient documents, and that creating a chart of administrative hierarchy relies on clues of various sorts, such as priority of names in greeting formulas, salutations, witness lists, and the language of letters that may suggest who gives orders to whom. In a detailed study of the Hittite military organization, Beal (1992) surveys a variety of sources and in his chart of military officials (1992: 527) he groups most of the top officials at two or three levels below the king, where several question marks testify to the associated uncertainties. Starke (1996) particularly pays attention to the high officials, and pointing to various documents including the witness lists, concludes that there was no hierarchy among the high officials, and that in terms of their offices they were on an equal footing (1996: 151). It will be argued here that Starke is partially right about the irrelevancy of the offices held for the hierarchy of the high officials, but contrary to him it will be demonstrated that the witness lists indicate the existence of a certain hierarchy. In this analysis the term “witness lists” refers to the groups of Hittite high officials who are listed by their names and titles as witnesses in official state documents. From the earliest Hittite history there are no known documents that contain such lists. For the late Old Kingdom to the early Empire period, all witness lists come from a group of documents referred to as land donation texts (CTH 222), which are grants of land and other property issued by Hittite kings to various employees of the state. The recent publication of the Hittite land donation texts by Rüster and Wilhelm (2012) includes several previously unpublished land donation texts, bringing the total number of this type of documents in the Hittite corpus to ninety-one. Although many of the land donation texts (LhK) 1 are quite fragmentary, there are 1.  To prevent any confusion, I avoid the commonly used abbreviation LSU—which is usually associated with the numbers assigned by Riemschneider (1958) —and instead use the abbreviation LhK with the numbers given in Landschenkungsurkunden hethitischer Könige (Rüster and Wilhelm 2012). For a

129

130

Tayfun Bilgin

Table 1.  Witness Lists of Land Donation Texts (CTH 222) LhK 1 (İK 174–66) Tabarna

LhK 2 (235/p)

[Tabarna]

Pu-ul-li GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠ[TIN] m A-aš-ka-li-ya DUMU.LUGAL m LÚ Ti-wa-zi-di u-ri-an-ni m Ša-an-da-me-i UGULA 1 LI LÚKUŠ7M[EŠ] m A-aš-ka-li-ya DUB.SAR

[ [         ] [mŠa-an-da-me]-i [

GA]L DUMU.MEŠ É.[GAL] u-ri-an-ni UGULA 1 LI [LÚKUŠ7MEŠ] DUB.SA]R

m

LÚ

LhK 3 (Bo 90/722) Tabarna

LhK 4 (1312/u)

[ GAL DUMU.MEŠ].É.GAL LÚ [ u-ri-an-]ni [ GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠ]TIN [ GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-D]I [ DUB.SAR]

[mHa-p]u-wa-a-aš-šu ⸢GAL⸣ DUM[U.MEŠ.É.GAL] LÚ [      ]x u-r[i-an-ni] [      ]x [GA]L LÚ.MEŠM[E-ŠE-DI] [      ]x x [D]UB.SAR

LhK 5 (VAT 7463) Tabarna

LhK 6 (162/k+38/l) [Tabarna]

[mHa-pu-wa-aš-š]u GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL [        ] LÚu-ri-an-ni [        ] DUB.SAR

[mHa-pu-w]a-aš-šu [GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É].GAL [      ]x-ma GAL LÚ.MEŠ GIŠGIDRU [      ]x DUB.SAR

LhK 11 (Bo 90/729)

Tabarna

Ha-pu-wa-šu GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL LÚ Ma-a-ra-ku-i u-ri-an-ni m Zi-da-a-an-ni GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m Ha-aš-šu-wa-aš-I-na-ar GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI m Hu-tar-li DUB.SAR

LhK 12 (Bo 90/750) Tabarna Ha-pu-wa-a-aš-šu GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL LÚ Ma-a-ra-ku-i u-ri-an-ni m Zi-da-an-ni GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m Hu-tar-li DUB.SAR

m

m

m

m

LhK 13 (680/f)

[Tabarna]

Tabarna

LhK 14 (Bo 91/1791) Tabarna

Ha-pu-wa-a-aš-šu G[AL DUMU.MEŠ.É. GAL] H[a-pu-wa-(a-aš-)šu] GAL DUMU.MEŠ.⸢É⸣.[GAL] LÚ [mMa-a-r]a-ku-i u-r[i-an-ni [GAL] m [mZi-da]-a-an-ni G[AL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN] Ma-a-ra-ku-i [LÚu-ri-an-ni] m Zi-da-a-a[n-ni] GAL LÚ.MEŠ[GEŠTIN] m Zu-ú-wa DUB.SAR m

LhK 17 (140/f)

m

[Tabarna]

LhK 18 (518/z)

[Tabarna]

Ha-pu-wa-aš-š[u GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] H[a]-pu-wa-aš-šu GAL ⸢DUMU⟨.MEŠ⟩.É⸣.[GAL] LÚ Ma-a-ra-ku-i u-r[i-an-ni] [mMa-a-r]a-a[k-k]u-[i L]Úu-⸢ri⸣-[an-ni] m Zi-da-a-an-ni G[AL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN] -brokenm Ha-aš-šu-wa-aš-[I-na-ar G]AL LÚ.MEŠM[E-ŠE-DI] [m]Hu-tar-l[i DUB.SAR] m

m

m

at least partially preserved witness lists in thirty-eight of them (Table 1), 2 which contain an average of four to five witnesses per text. 3 From the Empire period, such witness lists are attested in only four documents, although with a higher number of witnesses: Muwatalli’s Aleppo Treaty (CTH 75) lists eleven officials as witnesses (Table 3), and the three documents of the Hattušili III-Tudhaliya IV era—the Ulmi-Tešup Treaty (CTH 106.B), the Šahurunuwa Text table of concordance, see ibid., 25–27. The texts are numbered in chronological order as determined by the editors, although the fragmentary pieces (LhKs 50–88, 90) remain undated. 2.  For ease of view, the witnesses of these and other texts discussed here are displayed in the form of a list with one person per line. On the actual tablets, they are not given as a list, but rather written in sequence in one or more paragraphs. 3.  Scribes are not included in the count.

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

131

Table 1.  Witness Lists of Land Donation Texts (CTH 222) LhK 19 (301/z)

[Tabarna]

⸢mHa⸣-pu-wa-aš-šu GA[L DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] [      ]x x LÚu-r[i-an-ni] [ DUB.SA]R

LhK 23 (Bo 6964 = KUB 48.102) [mTu-ut-ha-li-y]a [ m Zi-da-a-an-ni [ [

[Tabarna]

u-ri-⸢an⸣-ni GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GA]L GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN GA]L LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI DUB.SAR] LÚ

Tu-ut-ha-li-ya ⸢Da⸣-[. . . m Z[i-d]a-⸢a⸣-an-⸢ni⸣ [ m Iš-pu-un-nu-u-m[a m m

u-ri-an-ni GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL]? GAL LÚ.MEŠKAŠ.GEŠTIN GAL LÚ.MEŠ]⸢ME-ŠE-DI⸣ DUB.SAR] LÚ

LhK 26 (Bo 82/162 = KBo 32.136)

LhK 28 (Bo 90/728) Hantili II

LhK 29 (Bo 90/568+) Hantili II

Ša-a-ar-pa GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL m Ha-aš-šu-i-li GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI m LÚ I-la-a-li-u-ma u-ri-an-ni m Mu-u-uš-šu GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m Ha-ni-ku-i-li DUB.SAR

m

m

Alluwamna

[       ] m Uš-ha-[       ] m Ha-aš-šu-[i-li GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-Dl] m ⸢Iš⸣-pu-un-n[u-u-ma DUB.SAR]

Š[a-a-ar-pa GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] Ha-aš-šu-i-l[i GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI] m I-la-a-li-u-ma LÚ.MEŠ ⸢mZi⸣-x-x u-ri-an-ni m Mu-u-uš-šu GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m Ha-ni-ik-ku-i-li DUB.SAR m

LhK 30 (Bo 90/758) Hantili II

LhK 31 (Bo 91/1625) Hantili II

m

Ša-a-ar-pa GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL m Iš-ku-na-a-aš-šu UGULA LÚ.MEŠNIMGIR.  ÉRINMEŠ m Ha-ni-ik-ku-i-li DUB.SAR

[mŠa-a-ar-pa GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] [mHa-aš-šu-i-l]i GAL LÚ.MEŠME-⸢ŠE⸣-D[I] [       ]x x[          ] -broken-

LhK 34 (Bo 91/1635) Hantili II

LhK 36 (389/f)

[        ] GA[L DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] [             ] [ GAL] L[Ú.MEŠGEŠTIN] [mHa-ni-ik-ku-i-l]i [DUB.SAR]

[ Ša-a-a]r-pa GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL [ [m]I-la-a-li-u-ma [LÚ.MEŠu-ri-an]-ni [mMu-u-uš-šu GAL] LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN [mHa-ni-ik-ku-i-li]? DUB.SAR

LhK 37 (Bo 9131 = KUB 48.103)

[Hantili II] LhK 38 (Bo 91/2067) [Hantili II?]

Ša-a-ar-pa GA[L DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] [ Ka?-a]k-ka m Tàš-k[u-i-li]? [LÚ.MEŠ]⸢u⸣-ri-an-[ni] m [ Mu]-⸢u⸣-uš-šu GA[L LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN] [mHa-ni-k]u-i-li [DUB.SAR] m

m

[Hantili II]

m

[mHa-aš-šu-i-l]i [GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI] LÚ [          ] ⸢u⸣-[ri-an-ni] [    ]-ka-[    ] GA[L LÚ.MEŠ      ] [    ]-na-ah-šu GAL L[Ú.MEŠ      ] [mHa-ni-ik-k]u-i-li DUB.SAR

(CTH 225), and the Bronze Tablet (CTH 106.A) —provide an average of twentythree witnesses each (Table 4). The last three documents are particularly valuable for my purposes since they all originate from a relatively short period, share multiple names, and thus enable a comparative analysis. The land donation texts represent a period of roughly around a century and half, approximately from the end of the 16th century until the early 14th century b.c.e., during which about nine or ten different kings ruled Hatti. 4 It can be assumed 4.  For the dating of the land donation texts issued with the generic Tabarna title to the reign of Telipinu, see Wilhelm 2005 and Rüster and Wilhelm 2012: 49–57.

132

Tayfun Bilgin

Table 1.  Witness Lists of Land Donation Texts (CTH 222) LhK 40 (Bo 90/751) Huzziya II

LhK 41 (VAT 7436) Huzziya II

La-a-ri-ya GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI m A-ri-in-né-el GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL m Uš-ha-an-da GAL LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7 [m]Zi-⸢da-an⸣-an-za GAL LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7.KÙ.GI LÚ [m          ] u-ri-an-ni m [ P]a-az-zu-ú GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN [     ]x x DUB.SAR

m

LhK 42 (231/m = KBo 8.26) Huzziya II

LhK 43 (357/n = KBo 9.72) [Huzziya II]

m

La-a-ri-⸢ya⸣ GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI A-ri-i[n]-né-el GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL m Zu-u-u[z]-zu m LÚ.MEŠ Ma-ra-aš-ša-a u-ri-an-ni m Pa-zu-[ú] GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m ⸢Zu⸣-u-uz-zu DUB.SAR m

m [mLa-a-ri-ya GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE]-⸢DI⸣ ⸢La-a⸣-a-r[i-ya [GA]L LÚ.MEŠME-Š[E-DI] [mA-ri-in-né-el GA]L DUMU.MEŠ.É.GA[L] [mA-ri-i]n-⸢né⸣-[el] [GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] LÚ [ ]⸢u⸣-ri-an-ni -broken[ UGULA L]Ú.MEŠNIMGIR.ÉRINMEŠ [ D]UB.SAR

LhK 44 (Bo 84/462b = KBo 32.186)    [Huzziya II?] LhK 45 (Bo 84/479 = KBo 32.187) [Huzziya II?] Ha-[ GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI]? A-ri-in-n[é-el GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] m Mu-u-[            ] [ DUB.SAR]

Mu-w[a-ta-al-lia GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI]? A-ri-in-né-e[l GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] m Ma-ra-aš-⸢ša⸣-a [LÚu-ri-an-ni]? m LÚ Zu-u-uz-[zu u-ri-an-ni]? [mW]a-ar-š[i-ya DUB.SAR]

m

m

m

m

LhK 46 (Bo 90/671)

Muwatalli I

LhK 47 (Bo 84/465 = KBo 32.185) Muwatalli I

m

A-ri-in-né-el GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL Mu-wa-a GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI m Hi-mu-i-li GAL LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN m A-tu-pa-la-an-za LÚu-ri-ya-an-ni m Gul-lu-ut-ti GAL LÚ.KUŠ7 ku-un-na-az m Wa-ar-ši-ya DUB.SAR

m

m

m

LhK 48 (549/c)

LhK 59 (Bo 91/1290) [? ]

[Muwatalli I?]

Mu-wa-a [GAL LÚ.MEŠME-ŠE-DI] Hi-mu-i-li GAL DUMU.MEŠ.⸢É⸣.GAL m Kán-tu-u-zi-⸢li⸣ UGULA LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7.KÙ.GI m LÚ Hu-u-tu-pal-la u-ri-an-ni m ⸢Zu⸣-wa-a GAL [L]Ú.MEŠ⸢SIPA ZAG-az⸣ m Wa-[a]r-ši-ya DUB.⸢SAR⸣

H[i-mu-]ú-i-[li GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL] [m]Ul-ga-a-nu GA[L LÚ.MEŠGEŠTIN]? m Wa-ar-ši-ya [DUB.SAR]

m

LhK 60 (806/b)

LhK 61 (Bo 91/1837) [? ]

m

[? ]

[ x x x]-⸢ú⸣ GAL ŠA GEŠTIN [ GAL DUMU].MEŠ.É.GAL [ LÚu-ri-a]n-ni [ DUB.SAR] m

[      ] Za-⸢hu⸣-[      ] Ti-[      ] m Be-l[i- DUB.SAR] [ GAL DUM]U.MEŠ.É.GAL [        ] m LÚ.MEŠ ⸢Ki⸣-iš-n[a-pí?-li? u-ri-an-ni]? [ GAL LÚ.MEŠGE]ŠTIN [        ] [ DUB.SAR]

that the officials who witness these land grants form the top tier of the Hittite administration at least for this period of Hittite history. Table 2 gives the total number of attestations of each office, which indicates a clear distinction for four offices: GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL, LÚuriyanni, GAL GEŠTIN, and GAL MEŠEDI. However, the order of these officials in the lists does not reveal a discernible pattern. In general the GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL official tops the witness lists, but there are several exceptions, where he is listed after one of the other three officials.

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

133

Table 1.  Witness Lists of Land Donation Texts (CTH 222) LhK 62 (Bo 84/71 = KBo 32.189)

[? ]

[ GAL L]Ú.MEŠGEŠTIN [ DUB.SAR]

LhK 91 (Bo 2004 = KBo 5.7) Arnuwanda I Du-wa-a GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL Hal-pa-zi-ti GAL GEŠTIN m Ka-ri-ya-zi-ti an-tu-u-wa-šal-li-iš m Hu-ul!-la GAL LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7 ZAG-az m Tar-hu-mi-ma GAL LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7 ⸢GÙB⸣-la-[az] m [ . . . š/t]a-zi-ti GAL LÚ.MEŠSIPA ZAG-az m LUGAL-DLAMMA GAL LÚ.MEŠSIPA GÙB-la-az m Ne-ri-i[k-ka-i-li] LÚSUKKAL m Nu-un-zi-ti UGULA 70 ⸢ŠA⸣ DUMU.MEŠ. É.   GALTIM LUGAL m LÚ I-na-ar DUB.SAR m m

a.  This name can be restored both as Muwā or Muwatalli. However, the argument presented in here favors the restoration of Muwatalli. For a bibliography of differing opinions, see Rüster and Wilhelm 2012: 195.

Table 2.  Number of Attestations of Offices as Witnesses in Land Donation Texts Office GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL

Number of attestations

Land donation texts (LhK) a

34

2–6, 11–14, 17–19, 22?–23, 28, [29], 30, [31], [34], 36, 37, 40–42, [43–45], 46–47, [48], 60–62, 91

LÚ

27

1–5, 11–13, [14], 17–19, 22–23, 28, 29*, 36*, 37*, 38, 40, 41*, 42, [45]*, 46–47, 60, [61]?*b

GAL GEŠTIN

21

1, 3, 11–14, 17, 22–23, 28–29, [34], 36–37, 40–41, 46, [48?], 60, 61, 91

GAL MEŠEDI

20

3, 4, 11–12, 17, 22–23, [26], 28, [29], 31, 38, 40–43, [44–45]?, 46, [47]

GAL KUŠ7

4

40, 46, 91 (Right and Left)

GAL SIPA

3

47, 91 (Right and Left)

UGULA 1 LI LÚKUŠ7

2

1, 2

UGULA

uriyanni

2

30, 42

GAL KUŠ7.KÙ.GI

ÉRIN.MEŠ

2

40, 47

DUMU.LUGAL

1

1

LÚ.MEŠ

1

6

antuwašalli

1

91

SUKKAL

1

91

UGULA 70 ŠA DUMU.MEŠ.É.GALTIM 1

91

GAL LÚ.MEŠ LÚ

GIDRU

GIŠ

a.  Restored titles, which are marked with [ ], are after Rüster and Wilhelm 2012. b.  The LhKs marked with an asterisk (*) list double uriyanni officials. Because, unlike the GAL KUŠ7 and GAL SIPA officials of LhK 91, they are not distinguished with Right/Left designations and for the most part jointly referred to with a plural LÚ.MEŠuriyanni title (excluding LhK 45), they are counted as single attestations of the uriyanni office.

134

Tayfun Bilgin

Moving one step further, if the lists are inspected in groups that represent shorter time periods, it is possible to notice some patterns. The documents can be assigned to three groups based on the issuing kings and shared names of officials: 5 Group 1: Tabarna (Telipinu) – LhKs 3–6, 11–14, 17–19, 22–23 6 Group 2: Alluwamna and Hantili II – LhKs 26, 28–31, 34, 36–38 Group 3: Huzziya II and Muwatalli I – LhKs 40–48

It is noticeable that in each group, when present, the officials are for the most part listed in the following order: 7 Group 1

Group 2

Group 3

GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL LÚ uriyanni GAL GEŠTIN UGULA 1 LI KUŠ7 GAL MEŠEDI

GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL GAL MEŠEDI LÚ(.MEŠ) uriyanni GAL GEŠTIN

GAL MEŠEDI GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL GAL/UGULA KUŠ7(.KÙ.GI) LÚ(.MEŠ) uriyanni GAL GEŠTIN

In Group 1, 11 of the 13 lists, in Group 2, all 9 lists, and in Group 3, 7 of the 9 lists conform to the given orders. Departures from these rankings are observed in Group 1, where LÚuriyanni of LhKs 22–23 is listed before GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL, and in Group 3, where the GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL of LhK 46 is listed before GAL MEŠEDI, and in the same list the uriyanni official is listed before the GAL KUŠ7 official. Despite these exceptions, it may appear as if there is a certain hierarchy among these offices during the periods defined by each group, perhaps with an increasing importance of the GAL MEŠEDI office across the entire period. However, it is also noticeable that each of the exceptions mentioned here occurs when the particular offices are occupied by an official distinct from the previous holder of the same office. In LhKs 22 and 23, the uriyanni official who is listed before the GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL is named Tudhaliya, rather than Mārakui, who is the only uriyanni official named on the other LhKs of Group 1. Likewise in LhK 46, the GAL MEŠEDI named Muwā and the GAL KUŠ7 named Gullutti are new officials in their offices, different from their previous holders. The fact that a new name in a certain office is able to alter the order in which officials are listed suggests that the office itself has nothing to do with the way they are listed. If so, can it be still claimed that the witness lists actually reflect a certain hierarchy? To examine this, the analysis should be taken one further step, eliminating all of the titles and looking at only the names. In quite a few of these witness lists, the same officials appear multiple times. In almost none of these cases does the relative position of an individual in comparison to a certain other individual change from one list to another. For example, Hapuwaššu is always listed before Mārakui, and Mārakui is always listed before Zidānni, etc. In other words, a person who is listed before a second person in one document is almost never listed after that second per5.  My grouping esentially follows that of Rüster and Wilhelm 2012: 49–55. Since the issuers of LhKs 59–62 are not known, and LhK 91 is the only example from the reign of Arnuwanda I, I have left them out of the groups. 6.  LhKs 1 and 2 are excluded since they do not share witnesses with the others and their attribution to Telipinu remains uncertain (see ibid., 51). 7.  Offices attested only once are not mentioned since they would not affect the order.

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

135

Table 3.  Witness List of the Aleppo Treaty of Muwatalli IIa [mUR]U⸢Hal-pa-aš-šu⸣-lu!-pí Ša-hu-ru-nu-wa ⸢mTù-ut-ha-li⸣?-ya m Ga-aš-šu-ú m Du/Uš-⸢ša/ta⸣-[...] [m. . .]-li m A-ra-an-ha-pí-li-iz-zi [m. . .] m Lu-pa-ak-ki m Mi-it-ta-an-na-mu-u-wa mD LAMMA-SUM m LÚ m

GAL LÚKUŠ7 LUGAL KUR UR[U Karkamiš] GAL LÚKUŠ7 GAL ⸢SANGA⸣ [...] LÚ u-ri-ya-an-ni GAL [U]KU.[U]Š [ša ZAG] ⸢GAL⸣ UKU.UŠ ša GÙB GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL GAL DUB.SAR.MEŠ LÚ an-tu-wa-šal-li DUB.SAR ⸢DUMU mNU.GIŠKIRI6⸣

a.  CTH 75.A rev. 17′–22′ (see Devecchi 2010: 13).

son in another document. 8 This therefore suggests that there is a certain rationale behind the way officials are listed in the witness lists and that this seems to have been determined by qualities of a person other than his title. The irrelevancy of the office in this hierarchy is best observed from a comparison of the witness lists of LhK 46 and 47, where there is a rare occasion of an official switching from one office to another. Himuili, who was a GAL GEŠTIN in LhK 46, is “promoted” to GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL office in LhK 47. He apparently took over this position from Arinnel after the latter’s death or retirement. In LhK 46, Arinnel as a GAL DUMU. MEŠ.É.GAL is the first witness, followed by Muwā the GAL MEŠEDI and Himuili the GAL GEŠTIN. In LhK 47, Himuili, despite becoming GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL, is still ranked below Muwā. In other words, the order of names remains the same, but the order of offices changes. In summary, this analysis of the witness lists of land donation texts of the late Old Kingdom indicates the existence of a certain ranking among officials, which is irrelevant to the office they occupy. As listed in Table 2, certain offices seem to be more prominent, but that is probably only because they are the offices preferred by the higher ranking officials. The analysis of the Empire period witness lists presented below further confirms these findings and also produces new suggestions regarding the nature of rules that determine their hierarchy. As mentioned above, for the purposes of my analysis I will disregard the chronologically isolated Aleppo Treaty and use only the three witness lists from the two Tarhuntašša treaties (CTH 106.B and CTH 106.A) and the Šahurunuwa Text (CTH 225), all of which originate from a relatively short period that lasts approximately from the second half of Hattušili III’s reign to first half of the reign of Tudhaliya IV. 9 A brief survey of the titles of these officials once again indicates that the offices 8.  A partial exception is the pair Zūzzu and Maraššā, who appear in this order in LhK 41 and but as Maraššā and Zūzzu in LhK 45. However, this may be a reasonable exception considering the fact that they are listed next to each other in each text, they are both uriyanni officials, and that in LhK 41 they are jointly referred to as LÚ.MEŠuriyanni, which may suggest that they are more or less of equal status. 9.  With the identification of Tašmi-Šarruma as Tudhaliya IV, it has now become certain that the Ulmi-Tešup Treaty dates to the reign of Hattušili III (first proposed by Alp 1998; for the convincing seal

Nerikkaili DUMU.LUGAL tuhukanti [Kurunta] LUGAL KUR URUTarhuntašša Ini-Tešub LUGAL KUR URUKarkamiš Angurli [     ] Upparamuwa DUMU.LUGAL, UGULA   LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7 KÙ.GI Haššuwaš-DLAMMA GAL UKU.UŠ GÙB-la Gaššu GAL KUŠ7 Mizramuwa GAL NA.GAD GÙB-laš GAL-DU [      ] Tuttu EN É ABUSSI EN-tarwa DUB.SAR, UGULA É.GAL,   LÚSAG [Palla] EN URUHurme, LÚDUB.SAR,   LÚSAG Walwaziti GAL DUB.SARMEŠ Kammaliya DUB.SAR, GAL   LÚMUHALDIM Mahhuzzi DUB.SAR, GAL MUBARRI Šipaziti DUB.SAR Anuwanza DUB.SAR, EN URUNerik,   LÚSAG Akiya? -

tuhukanti Nerikkaili Tašmi-Šarruma DUMU.LUGAL Hanutti DUMU.LUGAL Huzziya DUMU.LUGAL Ini-Tešup LUGAL KUR URUKarkamiš Ari-Šarruma LUGAL KUR URUIšuwa LÚ AMAR.MUŠEN uriyanni Halpaziti GAL LÚ.MEŠUKU.UŠ ZAG-naš Hešni DUMU.LUGAL Tattamaru DUMU.LUGAL Upparamuwa DUMU.LUGAL, ⟨UGULA⟩   LÚ.MEŠKUŠ7.KÙ.GI Uhhaziti DUMU.LUGAL Šahurunuwa GAL LÚ.MEŠDUB.SAR.GIŠ Hattuša- DLAMMA GAL GEŠTIN Tarhuntapiya DUMU.LUGAL Haššuwaš-DLAMMA GAL UKU.UŠ GÙB-aš Aliziti GAL DUMU.MEŠ.É.GAL Tuttu EN ABUSSI Palla EN URUHurmi Walwaziti GAL DUB.SAR Alalimi GAL LÚSAGI.A Kammaliya GAL LÚMUHALDIM Mahhuzzi GAL LÚMUBARRI LÚ

Šahurunuwa Text (CTH 225)      Tudhaliya IV

LÚ

Ulmi-Tešup Treaty (CTH 106.B)     Hattušili III

DUMU LUGAL Nerikkaili Huzziya GAL MEŠEDI DUMU LUGAL Kurakura Ini-Tešub LUGAL KUR URUKarkamiš Mašturi LUGAL KUR URU ÍDŠeha LÚ Šauškamuwa HADĀN LUGAL LÚ Upparamuwa anduwašalli Tattamaru GAL UKU.UŠ GÙB-laš Ehli-Šarruma DUMU LUGAL Abamuwa GAL KARTAPPI Hešmi-Šarruma DUMU LUGAL Taki-Šarruma DUMU LUGAL Ewri-Šarruma DUMU LUGAL Alalimi GAL UGULA LĪM.MEŠ Alantalli LUGAL KUR URUMira Bentešina LUGAL KUR URUAmurri Šahurunuwa GAL DUB.SAR.GIŠ Hattuša-DLAMMA GAL GEŠTIN GAL-DU GAL KARTAPPI Huršaniya GAL GEŠTIN Zuzuhha GAL KUŠ7 Šaliqqa GAL UKU.UŠ ZAG-naš Tapaziti LÚ LÚUGULA 10 Tuttu EN É ABUSSI Walwaziti GAL DUB.SAR.MEŠ LÚ Kammaliya DUB.SAR, GAL   LÚ.MEŠMUHALDIM LÚ Nanizi DUB.SAR.MEŠ, UGULA   MUBARRI

Bronze Tablet (CTH 106.A)    Tudhaliya IV

Table 4.  Witness lists of the late Empire period documents CTH 106.B, CTH 225, and CTH 106.A

136 Tayfun Bilgin

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

137

Table 5.  Shared witnesses of CTH 106.B, CTH 225, and CTH 106.A. Ulmi-Tešup Treaty Nerikkaili Huzziya Ini-Tešup Tattamaru Upparamuwa Šahurunuwa Hattuša- DLAMMA Haššuwaš-DLAMMA Tuttu Palla Walwaziti Alalimi Kammaliya Mahhuzzi

Šahurunuwa Text Nerikkaili Ini-Tešub Upparamuwa

Haššuwaš-DLAMMA Ura-Tarhunta Tuttu Palla Walwaziti Kammaliya Mahhuzzi

Bronze Tablet Nerikkaili Huzziya Ini-Tešub Upparamuwa Tattamaru Alalimi Šahurunuwa Hattuša-DLAMMA Ura-Tarhunta Tuttu Walwaziti Kammaliya

they occupy do not have anything to do with the order in which they are listed. The irrelevance of the offices to the presumed hierarchy is particularly evident from the attestations of pairs of GAL UKU.UŠ, GAL KARTAPPI, and GAL GEŠTIN officials, who are listed multiple names separately from each other. Even the “of the Right” or “of the Left” designations of the GAL UKU.UŠ officials do not make a difference, since the holders of these offices appear in reverse order in the Ulmi-Tešup Treaty and the Bronze Tablet. However, as seen in the analysis of the land donation texts, if the titles are completely ignored, it becomes visible that the presumed hierarchy is actually a reality. Table 5 leaves out witnesses who appear only once, and shows only the names that appear in two or all three of the witness lists without changing their order. It can be seen that the relative position of the names remains the same. That is to say, the names that appear in multiple texts seem to follow the same order in all three texts with one small and one seemingly major exception. The small exception is that Tattamaru and Upparamuwa have swapped places from the Ulmi-Tešup Treaty to the Bronze Tablet. This may not be significant since in both texts there is no one else between them. It is likely that the two officials are more or less of equal status, whatever may have determined this. The major exception concerns Alalimi. However, I will argue that the two Alalimis of the Ulmi-Tešup treaty and the Bronze Tablet are different individuals. 10 Besides the fact that it grossly violates the perfectly good order shown in Table 5, there are other reasons to suggest this disassociation. The Alalimi of the Ulmi-Tešup Treaty is identified as a GAL SAGI ‘Chief Cupbearer’, which is a domestic title that has no association with the military domain. An Alalimi is also known from other evidence, see Hawkins 2011: 98–100). The Šahurunuwa Text and the Bronze Tablet were both issued by Tudhaliya IV, the former probably during the very beginning of his reign. 10. Thus also Beal 1992: 408 n. 1538. For a detailed study of Alalimi, see van den Hout 1995: 138–42, who prefers to identify them as the same person.

138

Tayfun Bilgin

sources with the titles SAGI and UGULA SAGI, as well as with their hieroglyphic equivalent URCEUS. 11 If all of these attestations refer to the same individual, it would seem to be a career path. On the other hand, the Alalimi of the Bronze Tablet bears the title GAL UGULA LĪM.MEŠ ‘Chief of the Overseer of Clans’, which is a military title, 12 and possibly the same individual is attested in another source with the UGULA LI[-IM] title. 13 Due to differences in the areas of their responsibilities, the Alalimis of the Ulmi-Tešup treaty and the Bronze Tablet are more likely to be two different individuals than the same person with a career change. Furthermore, Alalimi is a very commonly encountered name, which is attested as a scribe, an augur, an administrator in Kaneš, a merchant from Ura, a courtier, a priest, a chief charioteer, a PITHOS.VIR.DOMINUS, as well as on about a dozen other occasions without a title. 14 It is therefore quite possible that the two Alalimis are different individuals and that they should not have a place in Table 5. Leaving aside the reasonable exception of Tattamaru and Upparamuwa, all of the other shared names appear in the exact same order in all three lists. It should also be noted that in all three texts there are multiple names that appear between these shared names of Table 5. Therefore, this is not simply a result of a scribe copying the names from an earlier text. If the number of these witnesses were only four or five as in the land donation texts of the earlier period, perhaps it would be possible to speculate on a coincidence. But without the existence of a certain hierarchy, it would be an incredible coincidence for the dozen names to end up in the same order. Clearly there was an intentional effort by the scribes of these documents to list the witnesses in a particular order. A question that comes to mind is how did the scribes possess the knowledge to list the officials in the same order? It can be speculated that they first wrote drafts and later reorganized the names after obtaining whatever information was needed to set the order, but a more convenient explanation would be that the scribes simply wrote down the names of officials according to the court protocol, that is to say, according to their physical locations in whatever format they lined up in the presence of the king. There are no documents that describe the court protocol in Hatti, but a few documents hint at the existence of such a practice. In one of the earliest texts, Anitta indicates that the king of Purušhanda will be seated to his right, apparently as a gesture of honor. 15 In a similar gesture, Tudhaliya I states in his treaty with Šunaššura that when this king of Kizzuwatna visits him, all of his high officials will stand up and no one will remain seated above Šunaššura. 16 Such statements suggest that there was a certain protocol that paid attention to seating positions at the court in terms of both the location of the officials to the right or left of the king, as 11.  mA-la-li-mi LÚSAGI!.A in KUB 13.34+ rev. 3 (CTH 295.2) and mA-la-li-mi-iš UGULA LÚSAGI.A in KUB 21.38 obv. 32′ (CTH 176). For a couple of seal impressions with the URCEUS title, see Poetto 2002: 274–75 and BoHa 19 no. 7. 12.  For GAL UGULA LĪM title, see Beal 1992: 407–9. 13.  KUB 60.102:8 (CTH 237). He is also likely to be identified with the Alalimi of KUB 31.68:41′ (CTH 297.8); see Tani 2001: 162 with n. 50. 14. For most of these attestations, see van den Hout 1995: 138–39. For others, in cuneiform: KBo 49.39:3′, and in seals/sealings: BoHa 19 no. 3 (PITHOS.VIR.DOMINUS), BoHa 19 nos. 4–5 (EUNUCHUS2), no. 10 (SACERDOS2) in Dinçol 1983 (= no. 3 in Gelb 1965), nos. 1–2 (REX.FILIUS, MAGNUS AURIGA2) in Poetto 1992, and with no identifiable title, BoHa 22 no. 227, and nos. 2 and 4 in Gelb 1965. 15.  KBo 3.22 rev. 78–79 (CTH 1). 16.  KBo 1.5 i 41–43 (CTH 41.I).

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

139

Table 6.  Witnesses Attested with Princely Designations Ulmi-Tešup Treaty Nerikkaili Tašmi-Šarruma Hanutti Huzziya Ini-Tešub Ari-Šarruma AMAR.MUŠEN Halpaziti Hešni Tattamaru Upparamuwa Uhhaziti Šahurunuwa Hattuša-DLAMMA Tarhuntapiya Haššuwaš-DLAMMA Aliziti Tuttu Palla Walwaziti Alalimi Kammaliya Mahhuzzi

Prince Prince Prince Prince (Prince) In-law Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince

Prince

Šahurunuwa Text Nerikkaili [Kurunta] Ini-Tešub Angurli Upparamuwa Haššuwaš-DLAMMA Kaššu Mizramuwa GAL-DU Tuttu EN-tarwa [Palla] Walwaziti Kammaliya Mahhuzzi Šipaziti Anuwanza Akiya

Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince? Prince?

Prince

Bronze Tablet Nerikkaili Huzziya Kurakura Ini-Tešub Mašturi Šauškamuwa Upparamuwa Tattamaru Ehli-Šarruma Abamuwa Hešmi-Šarruma Taki-Šarruma Ewri-Šarruma Alalimi Alantalli Bentešina Šahurunuwa Hattuša-DLAMMA GAL-DU Huršaniya Zuzuhha Šaliqqa Tapaziti Tuttu Walwaziti Kammaliya Nanizi

Prince Prince Prince (Prince) In-law (Prince) Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince Prince In-law Prince

well as the height of their seats. Furthermore, the existence of documents like the “Protocol for the Royal Bodyguard” (CTH 262), which describes minute details such as how the bodyguard lines up in the courtyard or around the carriage of the king, how they align themselves, and how much space they leave in between, 17 also supports the opinion that a detailed court protocol must have been observed during the gathering of officials in the presence of the king. If that is the case, it would have made the job of scribes relatively easy in listing the officials in the order that they were seated. However, even if the witness lists were written in accordance with the court protocol, that still does not explain the hierarchical rules behind the protocol. One of the obvious factors to be considered is the relationship of the officials with the royal family. After all, the top names in each list are sons of Hattušili III and several other witnesses are identified with the prince (DUMU.LUGAL) designation with no additional title. It is now generally accepted that the DUMU.LUGAL and its hieroglyphic equivalent REX.FILIUS are designations used by not only the sons of Hittite kings but also by the male extended family members who were descendants of earlier kings, as well as those who entered the family through marriage. 18 Most 17.  See for example §§2–3, 21 in Miller 2013: 102–5, 110–11. 18.  See Imparati 1975: 87, Beal 1992: 413 n. 1550, Starke 1996: 144–45, Singer 1997: 418–19.

140

Tayfun Bilgin

of the witnesses of the three documents in question are attested in numerous other sources. 19 Based on a survey of these cuneiform and glyptic sources, the witnesses who are ever attested with princely titles are marked as such in Table 6. 20 It is evident from this display that the upper halves of the witness lists are almost entirely filled with princes, while with the exception of Mahhuzi there are no princes in the bottom halves. This may suggest that relationship to the royal family was an important factor in determining the order of officials in the witness lists. Unlike Starke (1996: 145), I do not think all of these officials were members of the extended royal family. Although I do not have a good explanation for the presence of Mahhuzi in the bottom half of the lists, the general absence of princely designations in the lower ranks cannot be a coincidence. Several of these officials are attested numerous times in other sources. Walwaziti and Anuwanza are probably the best documented officials outside the immediate royal family, with dozens of attestations each, yet in neither one of these instances are they identified with a princely designation. Anuwanza, EN-tarwa, and Palla are each identified as LÚSAG, which is a designation never encountered in combination with princely titles, nor is its hieroglyphic equivalent EUNUCHUS2 in a multitude of attestations in glyptic sources. 21 In other words, the witness lists present a dichotomy between royalty and nonroyalty, with royal members dominating the upper halves of the hierarchy. Beyond this, however, there are further difficulties in determining the specific rules that establish the order within each group. The age of the witness does not seem to be a determinant in this order, since both Šauškamuwa and Tattamaru are listed well before their fathers Bentešina and Šahurunuwa, respectively. It could be argued that Tattamaru’s marriage to a relative of queen Puduhepa may have helped him to move higher, 22 and in the case of Šauškamuwa and Bentešina, while both were married to daughters of Hattušili III and were technically both brothers-in-law of Tudhaliya IV, Šauškamuwa was half Hittite through his mother (Bentešina’s wife Gaššulawiya). 23 Also noteworthy here is the high position of the vassal king Mašturi in the Bronze Tablet, listed several names earlier than the other vassal kings Alantalli and Bentešina. He was married to a sister of Hattušili III, and known to have been a supporter of his during the conflict with Urhi-Tešup.  Therefore, beyond family ties, perhaps certain other elements of favoritism also had an effect on this hierarchy. Overall, this brief study of the witness lists of the official state documents of Hittite administration indicates the existence of a certain hierarchy, which may have been based on the court protocol. The offices of individuals did not have any 19.  For a detailed prosopographic study of these officials, see van den Hout 1995. 20. Attestations with either DUMU.LUGAL or REX.FILIUS are marked as “Prince.” Although never attested with a princely designation, Ini-Tešup was a great-grandson of Šuppiluliuma I, and Šauškamuwa was a grandson of Hattušili III, and thus marked as “(Prince).” Mašturi, Bentešina, and Ari-Šarruma were all married to Hittite princesses. A question mark indicates uncertainty about identifying the said individual with princely attestation(s). 21.  On the incompatibility of LÚSAG/EUNUCHUS2 with DUMU.LUGAL/REX.FILIUS, see Hawkins 2005: 287. For a suspicious case, see BoHa 22 no. 300. 22.  As implied in the letter KUB 23.85 (Hoffner 2009: 364–65). 23.  One may recall the words of Muwatalli II in the Alaksandu Treaty (CTH 76 §14) placing emphasis on the Hittite descent of Kupanta-Kurunta of Mira through his mother, who was a daughter of Šuppiluliuma I and was married to king Mašhuiluwa of Mira. The fact that Kupanta-Kurunta was actually only an adopted son and had no Hittite blood (CTH 68 §4) underlines the importance attached to family relationships even further.

Hierarchy at the Hittite Court

141

relevance for this hierarchy, but family ties with the king seem to have played a major role. It should also to be stressed that the hierarchy of the witness lists, particularly if based on the court protocol, is not necessarily a reflection of the hierarchy that was behind the chain of command. It would be perfectly normal to see among the top ranks of the protocol a young son of the king, who would not necessarily have had any authority in state matters.

Bibliography Alp, S. 1998 Zur Datierung des Ulmitešup-Vertrags. AoF 25: 54–60. Beal, R. 1992 The Organisation of the Hittite Military. THeth 20. Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitätsverlag. Beckman, G. 1995 Hittite Provincial Administration in Anatolia and Syria: the View from Maşat and Emar. Pp. 19–37 in Atti del II Congreso internazionale di Hittitologia, ed. O. Carruba, M. Giorgieri, and C. Mora. StMed 9. Pavia: Gianni Iuculano Editore. Devecchi, E. 2010 “We are all descendants of Šuppiluliuma, Great King” – The Aleppo Treaty Reconsidered. WO 40: 1–27. Dinçol, A. M. 1983 Adana, Hatay ve İstanbul Müzelerinde Bulunan Hitit Hiyeroglif Mühürleri / Hethitische Hieroglyphensigel in den Museen zu Adana, Hatay und Istanbul. Anadolu Araştırmaları / JKF 9: 173–212 / 213–49 and Pls. 1–35. Dinçol, A., and Dinçol, B. 2008 Die Prinzen- und Beamtensiegel aus der Oberstadt von Boğazköy-Ḫattuša vom 16. Jahrhundert bis zum Ende der Grossreichszeit. BoHa 22. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Gelb, I. J. 1965 On Some Old and New Hieroglyphic Hittite Seals. Anadolu Araştırmaları / JKF 2: 223–26. Hawkins, J.D. 2005 Commentaries on the Readings and on the Sign List. Pp. 248–313, 426–436 in Die Prinzen- und Beamtensiegel der hethitischen Großreichszeit auf Tonbullen aus dem Nişantepe-Archiv in Hattusa, ed. S. Herbordt. BoHa 19. Mainz am Rhein: Philipp von Zabern. 2011 The Seals and the Dynasty. Pp. 85–102 in Die Siegel der Grosskönige und Grossköniginnen auf Tonbullen aus dem Nişantepe-Archiv in Hattusa, ed. S. Herbordt, D. Bawanypeck, and J. D. Hawkins. BoHa 23. Mainz am Rhein: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Hoffner, H. A. 2009 Letters from the Hittite Kingdom. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Imparati, F. 1975 “Signori” e “figli” del re. OrNS 44: 80–95. Miller, J. 2013 Royal Hittite Instructions and Related Administrative Texts. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Poetto, M. 1992 Nuovi sigilli in luvio geroglifico IV. Pp. 431–43 in Sedat Alp’a Armağan / Festschrift für Sedat Alp: Hittite and Other Anatolian and Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Sedat Alp, ed. H. Otten, E. Akurgal, H. Ertem, and A. Süel. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi.

142

Tayfun Bilgin

2002 Nuovi sigilli in luvio geroglifico V. Pp. 273–76 in Silva Anatolica: Anatolian Studies Presented to Maciej Popko on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. P. Taracha. Warsaw: Agade. Riemschneider, K. K. 1958 Die hethitischen Landschenkungsurkunden. MIO 6: 321–81. Rüster, C., and Wilhelm, G. 2012 Landschenkungsurkunden hethitischer Könige. StBoT Beih. 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Singer, I. 1997 Review of Der Ulmitešup Vertrag: eine prosopographische Untersuchung by Theo van den Hout. BiOr 54: 416–23. Starke, F. 1996 Zur ‘Regierung’ des hethitischen Staates. ZABR 2: 140–82. Tani, N. 2001 More about the “Ḫešni Conspiracy.” AoF 28: 154–64. van den Hout, T. P. J. 1995 Der Ulmitešup Vertrag: eine prosopographische Untersuchung. StBoT 38. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Wilhelm, G. 2005 Zur Datierung der älteren hethitischen Landschenkungsurkunden. AoF 32: 272–79.

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants in the Amarna Letters Graciela Gestoso Singer Holon and Buenos Aires

1. Introduction During the Amarna period, political contacts and transactions became more pronounced, as exemplified by an increase in marriage alliances and by the large volume of exchanged royal gifts. The complex political and economic contacts included alliances and the exchange of gifts between the Great Kings through an intricate chain of messenger-merchants who traveled between the various courts. Great Kings proclaimed their self-sufficiency, but in fact depended on each other for the supply of gold, copper, silver, horses, garments, and grain. They obtained these goods by a dense network of reciprocal ties and by the regular exchange of messengers. Negotiations were essential mechanisms for managing these ties and transactions. The Amarna Archive is considered a privileged source of information for the study of the role of messengers and merchants in the Eastern Mediterranean during the Late Bronze Age (1550–1200 b.c.e.). Egyptian interests as reflected in the Amarna Letters are related to geopolitical and commercial concerns principally in the Syro-Canaanite corridor. Egyptian residents in the Levant, principally merchants, messengers, agents, officials, and soldiers, seem to have enjoyed some claim to protection. Egypt would be concerned, as the other Great Kings, for the welfare of its people living abroad. Without order in this region, people would be at risk, free passage in jeopardy, and the payment of tribute and performance of other ruler duties in question (Cohen 2000: 88–89). Inter-regional politics was focused on the struggle to maintain the Levantine corridor, a complex buffer zone. The great powers had similar interests, such as the control of trade routes and ports and the maintenance of a fluid exchange system and security. Most of the inter-regional contacts was concerned with exchange and its complications. Nevertheless, the study of the inter-regional contacts would remain biased without considering the impact of unofficial mechanisms, which are very difficult to recognize in the official sources. Several factors, such as conflicts, competence, prestige, autonomous interests, and informal networks of power, increased the difficulty for ancient states in exerting Author’s note: I am particularly grateful to Dr. Yitzhaq Feder (University of Haifa) for reading this paper and making significant comments. Translations of Amarna letters follow Moran 1992, with minor changes.

143

144

Graciela Gestoso Singer

thorough control over their territories, resources, and subjects (Moreno García 2013: 1064). The sources reflect that sometimes messengers and merchants had to put into practice their own decision-making processes to accomplish a royal mission or a private enterprise.

2.  Fortunes of Messengers Messengers and interpreters had to travel extensively to deliver messages, requests and gifts, and to prepare the route for merchants in peaceful circumstances or troops in times of hostility. Regarding the letters between Great Kings, relations between royal houses became formalized through a rule of “brotherhood.” This was an intrinsic aspect of the kin-based structure of Amorite society and was further cemented through inter-dynastic marriages. Gift-exchange followed the traditional rules of reciprocity and generosity. Similarly, hospitality was a typical aspect of the way negotiations were established (Liverani 2014: 229). Great Kings during the Amarna period are known to have maintained a communication network which allowed the rapid flow of information vital to the welfare of the palaces. In general, messengers found hospitality and rest in official-posts and private taverns. According to the status of his employer, a messenger was provided with a means of transportation, such as a donkey, horse, chariot or boat. Often, he traveled with a caravan or was provided with an escort or messenger.

Selection of a Messenger The Amarna Letters make reference to messengers, though the term mār šiprim (‘messenger’) has a wide variety of meanings, ranging from mere couriers or deliverymen to distinguished envoys, high officials, and even chief ministers (Greene 1989). The expression mār šipri (‘messengers’) is sometimes used interchangeably with the Akkadian word tamkāru for ‘merchants’ (EA 7; 8; 11; 39–40; Bachhuber 2003: 90). Merchants in the Levant seem to have conducted both official and private transactions (Jones 2007: 18; Liverani 2000: 20). There is certainly evidence of well-qualified messengers at work in the Amarna system. Most negotiations take place through messengers, agents, and envoys, who are authorized to represent their kings or rulers in the Levant. In general, the messengers were high officials from the palace administration and sometimes even members of the royal family (Oller 1995: 1466). Some of them were of noble position, including the sons of Great Kings and even small rulers or kinglets themselves. In EA 29, three members of the same family are mentioned as messengers of the king of Mitanni: Keliya, his brother (?), and his uncle Masibadli. Most of the letters where the messengers are named come from Great Kings, but we know of envoys from Levantine kinglets, such as Puḫeya from Byblos and Ili-Milku from Tyre (Holmes 1975: 376). A significant number of messengers (around 28) are mentioned by name in 23 letters from the Amarna archive. Some of them are mentioned several times, such as the Egyptian messenger, Mane, and the Mitannian envoy, Keliya; but most appear only once. 1 1.  EA 3: 16 (Kasi from Egypt); EA 119: 51; EA 120: 31, 35 (ʿAbdi-Hadda from Egypt); EA 142: 7; EA 161: 11, 17, 27, 31; EA 162: 56, 63; EA 227: 16; EA 367: 7 (Ḫani/Ḫanni from Egypt); EA 19: 17, 21; EA 20; EA 21: 24; EA 24, IV: 21–29; EA 27: 7, 70, 83, 96–97; EA 28: 17, 37; EA 29: 70, 78, 89–90, 151, 167, 174, 176 (Mane from Egypt); EA 31: 29 (Iršappa from Egypt); EA 7: 73, 80; EA 11: rev. 8 (Salmu from

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

145

Some of them were professionals, such as Mane and Keliya, who were trained as scribes and linguists. These were skilled in negotiation and bearers of letters of credence (Berridge 2000: 217). These envoys assumed a symbolic significance. For example, Tušratta of Mitanni made clear in his letters with Amenhotep III that the selection of a messenger was of importance (Jönsson 2000: 202). For the negotiations related to the renewed alliance with Egypt, Tušratta sent Keliya, his chief minister, as his main messenger: “I send Keliya, my chief minister, and Tunip-ibri. May my brother let them go promptly so they can report back to me promptly” (EA 17: 46–50). He made clear that the selection of the Egyptian messengers mattered to him as well: “May he send only Mane!” an important Egyptian messenger (EA 24 IV, § 31: 54). Burnaburiyaš II requested that Akhenaten make available his magnate Ḫaya to head the escort of the Babylonian princess to Egypt: “Send many chariots and soldiers so that Ḫaya will be the one to take the princess to you” (EA 11 rev. 14–15). Nevertheless, the Pharaoh complains that instead of sending “dignitaries,” the King of Babylon dispatched a delegation of “nobodies”: “Did you ever send here a dignitary of yours (. . .). The men whom you sent here are nobodies” (EA 1: 15–21). Nevertheless, other officials are attested in the role of messengers, such as members of the Egyptian military stationed in the Levant (EA 367: 6–13; Mynářová 2014: 29).

Functions of the Messenger The messengers were responsible for carrying the tablet, reading it, and interpreting and defending the state policy (Holmes 1975: 377; Gestoso Singer 1992: 63–69), as reflected in the letter of Zimredda from Lachish to the Pharaoh: “As to the messenger of the king (. . .), I have listened to his orders very carefully, and I am indeed making preparations in accordance with his order” (EA 329: 13–20). When ready for dispatch, the letters were enclosed in clay envelopes 2 secured by the sender’s seal and entrusted to messengers who conveyed them to their destination, on foot or by wagon, occasionally on horseback and by boat (Bryce 2003: 57). The messengers have important duties, such as: (1) to re-establish political relations before the accession of a new king (EA 27; 41); (2) to attend royal funerals and festivals (EA 27); (3) to escort royal brides (EA 5; 11); (4) to collect information or spy for their kings (EA 31; 58; 75; 174; Cohen 2000: 85–98); (5) to collect the payment for special transactions (EA 35); (6) to bring greetings-gifts between courts (EA 4; 24; 27); (7) to exchange goods, as a merchant (EA 7; 11; 39); (8) to serve as witnesses at a legal process or transaction (EA 3; 8; 313), and (9) to collect taxes in special circumstances (EA 160). Sometimes, the messengers and interpreters were involved in ceremonies related to the anointing (Stewart 2010: 15) and farewell of royal brides before their departures to the Egyptian court. Burnaburiyaš II of Babylon informs Akhenaten: Babylon); EA 8: 14, 16 (Aḫutabu from Babylon); EA 10: 37, 48 (Šindi-Šugab from Babylon); EA 17: 46; EA 19: 25, 39, 71; EA 20: 18, 23; EA 24, I: 83, 92, 114; EA 24, II: 7; EA 24, IV: 20–21, 26–27, 36–37; EA 26: 15, 19; EA 27: 59, 70; EA 29: 34, 156, 162 (Keliya from Mitanni); EA 24, IV: 36; EA 29: 173 (Ar-Teššup and Asali from Mitanni); EA 27: 89, 93, 100; EA 28: 12 (Pirissi from Mitanni); EA 30: 3 (Akiya from Mitanni); EA 151: 45 (Ili-Milku from Tyre). 2.  EA 101; EA 113; EA 245; EA 251 (Mynářová 2014: 22). See van den Hout and Karasu 2010 (for Hatti).

146

Graciela Gestoso Singer

“[When] I presented my daughter to Ḫaamašši, your messenger, and to Miḫuni, the interpreter, they poured oil on the head [of my] daughter (. . .). They have transported the daughter of a Great King [t]o Egypt” (EA 11: 16–22). In these anointing ceremonies, messengers were involved with special duties, such as presenting the terḫatu (‘dowry’), tāmarātu (‘wedding-gifts’), and šulmānu (‘greeting-gifts’) sent between Great Kings. Tušratta of Mitanni reported to Akhenaten about previous marriages: “[When] your messenger came the second [time], oil was poured [on] her head (the daughter of Tušratta), and when I received her bride-price, I ga[ve her. And the] bride-price (. . .) was beyond measure (. . .). He (Amenhotep III) sent [along] four sacks full [of] gold, [not to] mention the jewelry [. . .], which he se[nt] separately.” (EA 29: 22–27). Also, Iršappa, an Egyptian messenger, “(. . .) will pour oil on her head (the daughter of the King of Arzawa). Behold, I have sent to you a sack of gold; it is (of) excellent (quality)” (EA 31: 11–16).

Safe Journey Westbrook (2000: 31) affirms that it is impossible to understand the Amarna world without emphasizing the very real presence of the gods. The will of the gods must be favorable in order to undertake the journey of a messenger or merchant. Divine sanction rather than state consent gave ancient law its obligatory quality, and it was in some respects more feared and binding than modern international law. Rituals and prayers were used to guarantee a safe trip. In Mari, to guard against the dangers of the road, omens were consulted before departure: “I had the omens consulted concerning the welfare of the messengers and they were unfavorable. I will have them consulted again. If the omens are favorable, I will send them” (ARM 2 97: 5–11; Munn-Rankin 1956: 106). In Mesopotamia, Nergal was the patron deity to whom the messenger would turn for protection on the road, as reflected in one of his epithets “valiant messenger, quick of knees” (Nougayrol 1947: 41). The NeoAssyrian texts record omens, oracles and an “incantation for seeing a sign when [starting on a journey]” (Reiner 1960: 27, 33). In EA 35, the ruler of Alašiya requests an Egyptian “expert in eagle-omens.” In ancient Egypt, amulets were carried by travelers and used in necklaces, bracelets, and rings, and placed in bags. Protective amulets of Sekhmet, Wepwawet as the “opener of ways,” and Thoth, the “Messenger of the gods” were used by messengers. Some travelers—as Wenamun—carried with them a statue of Amun (“Amun of the roads”) as a magical protector (Lichtheim 1976: 225, 228). Amun was the god of the “less fortunate,” upholding the rights of justice for the travelers and poor in Deir el-Medina (1976: 105–7). According to Papyrus Lansing I, 3 merchants take their gods with them when they travel. In Ein Besor (Israel) was found a little faience figurine of Thoth, as baboon, perhaps used as protector of messengers on their roads. As for the Amarna Letters, Keliya, a high rank messenger from Mitanni, was sent several times as a special ambassador to Egypt. He was involved in the negotiation of inter-dynastic marriages, accompanying two royal brides and the delivery of greeting-gifts. On one occasion, Tušratta said to Keliya that he had a revelation of the goddess Šauška (Ištar) while traveling to Egypt (may be to heal the Pharaoh or 3.  “The merchants are busy, carrying goods from one town to another. They may depart from Egypt to Djahy. Each man’s god (statue) is with him. Not one of them dares to say: ‘We shall see Egypt again’ (. . .)” (Papyrus Lansing I, 4.8–5.1, in Caminos 1954: 384). I am grateful to Dr. Deborah Sweeney (University of Tel Aviv) for the references.

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

147

to bless the new Mitannian bride), ensuring that the journey will be safe and guided by the goddess Šauška and the god Amun: “I (Tušratta) will lead her (the bride) in safety to my brother’s country (Egypt). May Šauška and Amun make her the image of my brother’s desire!” (EA 19: 17–24; Podany 2010: 4–5). In EA 23: 13–17 is reported that the goddess will travel to Egypt and then return: “Šauška of Nineveh, Mistress of all lands, said: ‘I wish to go to Egypt, a country that I love, and then return’ (. . .).” The goddess Šauška, who travels in the form of a gold statue, guided the messengers and brides on their way to Egypt, and then blessed the royal couple for an everlasting love: “May Šimige and Šauška go before her (the bride). May they make the image of my brother’s desire (. . .), and grant my brother a great blessing and exquisite joy” (EA 21: 13–23). Accordingly, she would guarantee a long friendship for both countries: “May Šauška, Mistress of Heaven, protect us, my brother and me, 100,000 years (. . .), and let us act as friends” (EA 23: 26–30).

Rations and Means of Transportation There is little data specifically relating to rations received by a messenger before his departure. Typically, the food ration was enough just for one day’s march until the messenger arrived at a courier station or border-post for a night and a meal, where presumably he received food for the next day on the road (Meier 1988: 64, 94–95). There is more information about provisioning and transportation issues on the road. A Neo-Babylonian messenger is provided with 50 shekels toward the purchase of a donkey for the road and flour for his trip to Tema (Meier 1988: 64). Provision lists are preserved from the courts of several palaces (Ugarit, Rimah, and Mari), some of which assigned to messengers large quantities of wine and honey (Ugaritica 5: 193, Schaeffer 1968). In Egypt, a list of “provisions for the messengers of Djahy” and from Megiddo, Taanach, Sharon, Ashqelon, and Hazor, specified that each messenger received “1 jar of beer and 1 ½ sacks of grain,” but the messenger from Lachish received for 15 days: “10 sacks; making (a total of) 20 sacks of grain” (Valloggia 1976: 100–101). According to three Amarna letters, a messenger was provided with means of transportation, such as horses and donkeys: “I gave him horses and donkeys for his journey” (EA 161: 23–24); “The messenger of the king of Akko is honored more than my messenger since a horse is put under him” (EA 88: 46–48); “I sent a man (a messenger) of mine to my lord, and both his horses were taken” (EA 83: 10–12). In special cases, chariots were used for speed: “When my messenger reaches you, let him take chariots so that he can reach me quickly” (EA 10: 37–39).

Free-Passes After selecting the messenger and entrusting the message, the court should insure a safe passage. In order to ensure safe passage the messenger would carry documents which identified him as a messenger of a king and allow him to bypass any administrative delays and extra charges on his road. Lafont (2001: 46) affirms that “diplomats seem to have a kind of ‘diplomatic passport’ (. . .) in tablet form that gives successively in five lines the name of the holder, his title as ambassador of a given king, his starting point, the description of his delegation and escort, and his destination.” The Great Kings were able to reaffirm their authority by granting the messengers safe-conducts and letters of warning for preventing problems with the local

148

Graciela Gestoso Singer

rulers. The Great Kings made clear to the rulers of Canaan that the minor borders between the small kingdoms were irrelevant from an inter-regional point of view. In EA 30, the King of Mitanni provided his messengers with a free-pass (a passport) through Canaan: “To all the kings of Canaan, servants of my brother, thus (says) the king: I am sending herewith my messenger Akiya to the king of Egypt, my brother, in a hurry (. . .). Let him go on immediately, and as far as his presents are concerned, he is to owe nothing.” The passport of the messenger was valid only for this messenger, and it could not have been reused, so it was left in the Amarna archive. The archive of Ugarit contains a passport left behind by a messenger of Beirut, sent to Ugarit (PRU 3: 12–13). The rulers of Canaan answer to the king of Egypt: “The king, my lord, sent me Ḫaya in order to say: ‘This caravan (to) Ḫanigalbat, they sent it: let it pass!’ Who am I, not to let pass the caravans of the king, my Lord!? (. . .). Let the king, my Lord, send a caravan even to Karaduniyaš” (EA 255: 8–25). In EA 15: 7–21, the messenger’s credentials are included in the Assyrian king’s message of introduction: “I send my messenger to you to visit you and to visit your country (. . .). Do [no]t delay the messenger whom I send to you for a visit. He should visit and then leave for here.” Although these letters fulfilled an essential diplomatic function, as “free passes” (Liverani 1990: 89), there is no evidence that they were legally required in every case to establish an envoy’s credentials (Westbrook 2000: 33).

Tax Exemptions The letters carried by messengers and merchants allowed them to bypass any unnecessary economical charges. The Amarna letters and the Ugarit archive document several cases of custom exemptions for messengers and merchants. A Mitannian messenger carries a passport on his way to Egypt, which gives him exemption from taxes: “To the kings of Canaan (. . .): Let him go on immediately and as far as his presents are concerned, he is to owe nothing” (EA 30). The ruler of Alašiya requests safe passage and exemption from taxes for his merchants: “These men are my merchants (. . .). No one making a claim in your name is to approach my merchants or my ship” (EA 39: 14–20); “These men are servants of the king, [my] lord, and no one making a claim in your name is to approach them (. . .)” (EA 40: 24–28). The avoidance of any taxes is mentioned in Ugaritic texts as well: “I sent my man to my son. Everything that he needs on his trip he is to receive. Let no one stop him. Let no tax-collector collect any tax from him” (PRU 4: 196–97). In Ugarit, Sinaranu seems to have had a franchise to trade with Crete and had his private cargo exempted from taxes: “Ammistamru, the son of Niqmepa, king of Ugarit, declares Sinaranu, the son of Siginu, exempt from duty. His grain, his beer, (nor) his oil shall not enter the palace (. . .). His ship is exempt from duty, when it arrives from Caphtor (Crete) (. . .)” (PRU 3: 107–8). He was even exempt from serving as a messenger to the king of Ugarit, a service which was apparently usual for foreign traders (Bachhuber 2006: 351; Jones 2007: 49).

Travel Expenses and Small Change The Assyrian and Alašian letters are much more focused on economic aspects of the partnership, such as travel expenses and prices. Aššur-uballiṭ of Assyria mentions to the Egyptian king the high travel expenses invested in his messengers.

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

149

The economic value of the exchanged gifts was not always worth the trip, as the Assyrian king realized: “(What you sent me) is not even enough to cover my messengers’ expenses for their trips to and from! (. . .). We are distant lands: should our messengers keep running to and from like this?” (EA 16: 29–36). The ruler of Alašiya emphasizes the lack of payment for an important delivery of timber and the delay of his messengers/merchants in the Egyptian court: “The people of my land (Alašiya) protest because of the timber that the king of Egypt took from me: (therefore) my brother, give me its price!” (EA 35: 27–29); “My brother, let my messengers go promptly and safely. These men are my merchants (. . .)” (EA 39: 10–14). Small amounts of scrap were carried with merchants almost certainly to be used as a means of exchange to pay travel expenses and supplies (Dercksen 1996: 45–47; Gestoso Singer 2010: 271). For example, one Alalakh tablet (AT 403) records: “Receipt for 20 talents of copper from the palace received by Birriaššuwa for the journey to the Hittite country” (Wiseman 1953: 14, 105). Also, the captain of the Cape Gelidonya ship had in his cabin small ingots and scrap metal probably to use in his own transactions. The diversity of types of pan balance weights recovered from the Cape Gelidonya shipwreck and their wide distribution across the eastern Mediterranean allowed a merchant to trade with his counterparts in Egypt, Syria, Canaan, Alašiya, the Hittite empire, and the Aegean. The ship represents an itinerant merchant, buying and selling material wherever possible (Bass 1967: 142; 163).

Escorts and Interpreters During the Amarna period, the custom of providing an escort appears in full vigor. Foreign delegations were generally provided with a military escort. The size of the escort was increased when the caravans included a large consignment of goods, and mainly if the delegation accompanied a royal bride (Bryce 2003: 66). Nevertheless, the Akkadian term ālik adi used for messenger ‘escorts’ is never used in the Amarna letters. Messengers returning to their homeland often travel with messengers from a host country: “Send my messenger with your messenger to Egypt” (EA 35: 8–9); “When my messenger comes here with your messenger” (EA 10: 41–42). In a few contexts, the Amarna letters mention targumannu (‘interpreters’), who translate messages for the kings. Burnaburiyaš sent his messenger with an interpreter to the Egyptian court and Amenhotep III did the same (EA 11: 5–10). Miḫuni (EA 11) and Ḫane (EA 21) were two Egyptian interpreters, who went to Babylon and Mitanni. Probably, the rise of the Akkadian as lingua franca may have diminished the need for interpreters. Nevertheless, Tutu, a high official, had an important role before foreign delegations in the Egyptian court at Amarna (EA 158: 10–31), and he was depicted as an interpreter of foreign rulers (Davies 1908, Pl. 19–20). Huy, the Viceroy of Kush during the reign of Tutankhamun, was a skilled intermediary between the king and the foreign chiefs and was depicted twice in the same scene looking to the king and to the chiefs, revealing his role of interpreter (Davies 1926, Pl. 19–20, 23–33; Galán 2011: 306–7).

Audience The reception of envoys, which took place in a special room of the king’s palace, followed a strict protocol. After the usual greetings, the messenger would offer the gifts he brought to the king, and then he would reveal the contents of the message

150

Graciela Gestoso Singer

he carried by reading the tablet, the envelope having been first broken in the presence of the king (Lafont 2001: 47). The significant role of the written clay tablet is shown in a letter found at Ugarit. The text portrays the audience given by an Assyrian king, who relates: “The Hittite king sent me a messenger carrying two tablets [declaring] war and one tablet [proposing] peace. He presented me [first] the two tablets of war. When my soldiers heard these messages of war, they burned to go fight. And the Hittite messenger took note of this. Then, three days later, the messenger of the Hittite king produced for me the tablet of peace” (RS 34.165: 21– 37). Evidently, the messengers played an important role in the discussions, which lasted—at least—“three days.” According to Singer (1985: 101, 108), the letter reveals the unfolding of a peace negotiation.

Hospitality In general, the messenger was received with due signs of respect and hospitality. The satisfactory treatment of messengers on their missions abroad was an important component of the Amarna political system. Messengers were to a reasonable extent protected by the laws of hospitality, especially at their final destination (Liverani 2000: 22). After the royal audience, the envoys were invited to festivals and banquets. The ritual related to these festivals included the delivery of ceremonial garments and scented oils to the messengers, the distribution of gifts, and the sharing of meals. The Egyptian messengers received wine and food from the Babylonian king: “I am going to have a festival. Come to eat and drink with me” (EA 3: 23–28). Also, envoys received gifts in the form of garments, weapons, horses, metal objects and silver, distributed according to their rank. For example, the messengers would receive gifts from Great Kings and small rulers in Canaan, such as horses and donkeys: “I (Aziru of Amurru) gave him horses and donkeys for his journey” (EA 161: 23–24). The gifts give them honor and prestige: “The messenger of the king of Akko is praised more than my messenger, since he received a horse as a gift” (EA 88: 46–48); “Let (the king) give a gift to his servants (messengers), so that our enemies will see it and eat dust!” (EA 100: 33–36). Aziru of Amurru insists that the Egyptian messenger was well taken care of and received provisions, food and drinks: “They gave him oxen, sheep, goats, birds (fowl), his food, and his strong drink (bread and beer)” (EA 161: 15–22). The treatment of messengers served as an indicator of inter-regional relations, and as a concrete expression of the good will between the parties. When Great Kings were on amicable terms, delegations sent by one to the other were hospitably received by the host court, often with much pomp and ceremony, particularly if a rich array of gifts came with them (Bryce 2003: 57). In one letter, the Babylonian king apologizes for not receiving the Egyptian messenger due to his illness: “From the time the messenger of my brother ar[rived here], I have not been well, and so on no occa[sion] has his messenger eaten food and [drunk] spirits [in my com]pany” (EA 7: 8–10). Tušratta of Mitanni honored a messenger and an interpreter from the Egyptian court with gifts: “Mane, [my brother’s] messenger, and Ḫane, my brother’s interpreter, I have exalted like gods. I have given [them] many gifts” (EA 21: 24–29). In another text, he invites another messenger to a festival in Mitanni: “When my brother’s messenger [arrives] along with Pirissi, [I shall invite] them to cele[brate] a great feast, the kimru-feast (. . .)” (EA 27: 99–103).

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

151

The Assyrian king expresses joy upon the arrival of the Egyptian messengers: “When I saw your messengers, I rejoiced greatly. Your messengers shall reside with me as objects of great solicitude” (EA 16: 6–12). Often, the arrival of emissaries was celebrated by the king and his court with festivities: “Mane, my brother’s messenger, came again (. . .) and I (Tušratta of Mitanni) read the tablet which he brought and heard his message. And my brother’s message was very pleasing. So (. . .) that day and night I celebrated” (EA 20: 8–13); “The day that I heard my brother’s greeting, that very day I made a festive occasion” (EA 27: 35–36). All the population of Amurru experienced the same joy upon the arrival of the Egyptian messenger and interpreter: “Ḫatip has come and brought the gracious and sweet words of the king (. . .). My land and my brothers, the servants of the king, my lord, and the servants of Tutu, my lord, are overjoyed when the breath of the king, my lord, comes” (EA 164: 4–14). Finally, the reception of a foreign delegation was tantamount to the recognition of a king as a member of the “brotherhood”: “I have sent my messenger to visit you and [your country]. Until now, my predecessors have not sent word. Today, I have personally sent word to you (. . .). As for the messenger, whom I sent to visit you (. . .), let him see your hospitality and the hospitality of your country (. . .)” (EA 15: 7–22). In brief, festivals were religious and sociopolitical events, in which messengers and high-ranking foreign emissaries were received. Some feasts marked special events such as the king’s investiture, military victories, alliances, or the inauguration of a temple or a palace. The feast reinforced the king and queen’s prestige and authority (Schmandt-Besserat 2001: 397–401).

Temporary Residence In particular during a period of regular contacts between courts, it was probably quite common for messengers to reside in a foreign court for a short or long period of time, in order to fulfill several assignments for their kings. On their arrival, foreign envoys would be first given a particular residence, a “guest house” outside the palace (EA 29: 28–54; Lafont 2001: 46). The Amarna letters reflect the existence of resident embassies, in which foreign messengers frequented the dwellings of princesses of their own courts married to Pharaoh (Cohen 1996: 258). The households of these princesses constituted a kind of permanent embassy, with the princess herself playing a role equivalent to the head of the delegation. The Mitannian messengers were “in residence in the quarters that [were established] for Tadu-Ḫepa” in the Egyptian court. A “large delegation” of messengers was promised by the King of Mitanni to Egypt: “I will send Keliya to my [brothe]r, [I will] provide a large expedition (. . .), and I will send a large delegation to my [bro]ther” (EA 29: 32–37, 166–172). Tušratta of Mitanni uses the expression “all the nobles [and] all the envoys” (EA 24 III: 25, 31) for an assembly at court, which Cohen (1996: 258) considers as a reference for the existence of a “collective diplomatic corps.” 4 Na’aman (2005: 475–76) affirms that Tušratta urges the Pharaoh to display his daughter and her rich dowry before the Egyptian nobles 4.  See also EA 20: 73–74 (“The men of my country and all my foreign envoys/delegation (ubārūtu)”); EA 29: 32–37 (“My messengers, as my nobles, and the residing foreign envoys”), 85–90 (“the people of my land and [. . .] with the residing foreign envoys”). Contra “resident ambassadors” and “diplomatic corps,” see Berridge 2000: 215–16.

152

Graciela Gestoso Singer

and the foreign envoys (ubārūtu): “May my brother assemble, and may all other lands and the nobles (and) all envoys be present. And they may show his dowry to my brother (. . .). And may my brother take all the nobles and all the envoys and all other lands (. . .)” (EA 24 III: 21–34). The ruler of Tunip informs about the temporal residence of foreign envoys at the Egyptian court: “For 20 years, we have gone on writing to the king, our lord, but our messengers have stayed on with the king, our lord. And now, our lord, we ask for the son of Aki-Teššup (the last king of Tunip) from the king, our lord. May our lord give him” (EA 59: 13–17). Ugaritic texts (RS 17.130; PRU 4: 103) refer to foreigners residing within the territory of Ugarit, particularly around its harbor. Some of these merchants had special privileges appropriate for envoys, including gifts of food and access to a ship (Jones 2007: 51–52). The Ugarit tablets (Yon 2003: 48) include lists of merchandise, commercial contracts, bills of lading, and lists of residents, sailors and merchants of diverse origins (from Ashqelon, Ashdod, Akko, Tyre, Byblos, and Alašiya) (Vidal 2006b: 274–76; Hesse 2008: 54). According to Beckman (1999: 177; 2013: 207), a Hittite edict (CTH 93) was intended to prevent the Anatolian tradesmen (“the men of Ura”) from acquiring total economic domination over Ugarit: “The men of Ura shall carry on their mercantile activities in the land of Ugarit during the summer, but they will be forced to leave the land of Ugarit for their own land in the winter. The men of Ura shall not live in the land of Ugarit during the winter. They shall not acquire houses or fields (in Ugarit) with their silver.” The edict intended to avoid the permanent residence of foreign messengers and merchants, who could not buy houses or fields, in the land of Ugarit. In summary, the Amarna archive reveals that some messengers and merchants were well-received en route and upon arrival, and were granted due hospitality.

3.  Misfortunes of the Messengers The life of a messenger in transit was not easy. It was made harsh by the presence of thieves, murderers, bureaucratic delays, and rigors of the road. Even when the messenger would arrive at his destination abroad, he may not necessarily be feted, but rather deliberately insulted, thrown into prison, beaten or killed, or simply kept under house arrest and detained for years.

Rigors of the Road In general, the roads were dangerous and difficult, and the journeys very long. The ideal messenger would never rest, even during the nights. The presence of hostile elements required that the messengers should leave under the cover of darkness: “By night, because of the dog, the messengers of the king bring (news) and by night they return (news)” (EA 108: 52–56). Harsh environmental conditions, fierce heat, and failure of water supplies were amongst the natural hazards the envoys faced. The hard conditions on the roads are described by the Babylonian king, when he explained why communications seem to be faltering: “It is said that the way is difficult, the water in short supply, and the weather hot, therefore I have not sent many gifts (. . .) When the weather improves, then I will have my future messenger who will go and bring many gifts” (EA 7: 53–60).

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

153

Other obstacles to overland travel were the distance one messenger could make per day, factors of dissimilar terrain, different purposes of travel, and variation of season, which could dictate the actual distance covered in a day (Beitzel 1992: 646). Great distances were the basis of fantastic descriptions. The messengers would report that the journey is longer than anyone can imagine: “Why did not he send his messenger to me when I was sick? My brother’s messenger said, ‘This is not a place close by so that your brother can hear (you are sick) and send greetings. The country is far; who can tell your brother so that he can write quickly?’ (. . .). I said to him, ‘Is there such a thing as a near or far land to my brother the Great King?’ He said, ‘Ask your own messenger if the way is far!’ (. . .) I asked my messenger and he said the way is far, so I kept quiet” (EA 7: 16–32). The emissaries had to avoid the season of winter rains. Covering the distance between Amarna (or Thebes) and the capital cities in the Levant or beyond would take at least a month (to Washukanni) or a month and a half (to Ḫattuša or Babylon) for a fast courier, and around twice that (two to three months) for a caravan of loaded donkeys. It has been estimated that on average the distance covered in a day ranged from about 27 to 37 km (Bryce 2003: 66). From one of Tušratta’s letters to Akhenaten (EA 29: 26), we learn that a period of three months was considered a commendably short time for a return journey between the Mitannian capital and Amarna of a caravan with a large consignment of valuable goods and a royal bride. A round-trip, including time for negotiating and for preparing the return caravan, took an entire year, unless there was a particular time-pressure (Liverani 2000: 21–22; Zaccagnini 2000: 148). A letter from Alašiya confirm this hypothesis: “And year by year let my messenger go [into your presence] and, on your part, year by year let your messenger come from [your country] into my presence” (EA 33: 27–32). The messengers needed several weeks to travel from Egypt to Babylon, even doing 40 to 60 kilometers per day, without delays. An Old Babylonian text (AbB 7 144: 4–7) confirms this fact: “You have sent no one. The way is far and no one wants to travel to me” (Meier 1988: 73).

Robbery, Murder, and Compensation The Great King was responsible for the safety of merchants and messengers crossing his territories on behalf of his peers. Each small king was accountable to his Great King for everything that happened in his kingdom. Customary tools, such as safe-conducts and letters of warning from the Great Kings, were not always enough for preventing problems during the journey. In such circumstances, messengers were in danger of being robbed and murdered on the roads before reaching their destination (Liverani 2000: 23; 2014: 289). During the Late Bronze Age, the practice of compensation was a well-known procedure applied to cases of robbery and murder of messengers and merchants (Srzednicki 1969: 255–58; Liverani 1990: 95). The king of Babylon urges the Pharaoh to intervene regarding crimes that occurred to his messenger in Canaan, whose caravan was robbed twice: “My messenger Salmu, whom I sent to you, twice has his caravan been robbed. First, Biryawaza robbed him, and second, Pamaḫu (. . .) your own governor robbed him. My brother should take up this case. As my messenger spoke before my brother, (so) now may Salmu speak before my brother! One should give him back his objects and one should compensate him for the losses he suffered” (EA 7: 73–82). Also, he informed the Egyptian court about the robbery of his merchants and asked for compensation: “My

154

Graciela Gestoso Singer

merchants who traveled with Aḫu-tabu, they remained in Canaan for their businesses, after Aḫu-tabu went on to my brother. In the city of Ḫinnatuna in Canaan, Šum-Adda son of Balume and Šutatna son of Šaratum, of Akko, sent their men to kill the merchants and take their silver. I send you Azzu: ask him and he will tell you. Canaan is your land, and its kings are your servants. I was robbed in your land. Summon them, and the silver they took, let them repay and the people who killed my servants, kill them or compensate their blood!” (EA 8: 13–29). Evidently, the responsible persons were the local authorities, but the Babylonian king from his remote location could only complain about the lack of justice and order in Canaan to the Egyptian authorities: “If you do not kill these men, they will go back and kill again either a caravan of mine or a messenger of yours, and the (traffic of) messengers between us will be interrupted” (EA 8: 30–33). Na’aman (2005) affirms that an important ‘foreign resident’ (ubāru), may be a diplomatic delegate, was murdered by a commissioner and his men (EA 162: 74–75). According to Westbrook (2000: 35), in EA 313: 1–11 are documented “two payments for two separate matters: compensation in lieu of ransom and compensation for goods stolen, in that order”: “13 merchants from Egypt, who were struck down in the attack of the Ḫabiru. I have given 400 shekels of silver, plus 1000, to the Commissioner of the king who is over me.” Most of these letters reflect a standard pattern: a description of the incident, an underscoring of the addressee’s higher responsibility, the confirmation of the official task of their messengers/merchants and a request for compensation or punishment (Liverani 1990: 98). The answers are standardized as well, but the letters contain some amount of contradictions, based on state prestige and economical interest. The responsible king has to demonstrate not only that the country is under control, but also to keep the fluid political and economic contacts. But the prestige of his country could be damaged by taking responsibility for a crime. However, the accountable king might claim ignorance of the incident, beside the fact that he has just received a long letter relating the situation and asking for justice: “My brother, you told me: ‘People of your land were together with them (the pirates)’. But I do not know, my brother, if they were with them. If people of my land are (with them), write to me and I will act as I want.” (EA 38: 13–18). “How am I to know whether they actually executed merchants?” (KBo 1 10: 24, letter from Ḫattušili III to Kadašman-Enlil II). Alternatively, the king might offer a complete denial that these kinds of incidents are taking place in his country: “You do not know the people of my land. They do not do such things!” (EA 38: 19–20). The Hittite king refuses to carry out the blood-revenge demanded by the Babylonian king, offering compensation instead: “As to these words that you wrote to me: ‘My merchants have been killed in Amurru and in Ugarit’, I answer: ‘In the Hittite lands nobody is killed!’ If the king hears about such a thing, they seize the killer of such a person and hand him over to the brothers of the murderer man. His brothers take the monetary compensation for the murdered man and they perform the expiatory ritual of the murderer, through whose acts a life was taken.” After the prestige problems are solved, the king begins the normal juridical procedures: “So, send me the brothers of the killed merchant, in order that I can examine the case” (KBo 1 10: 15–25; Vita 2011: 304; Naʾaman 1998: 61–67). The security of their persons and merchandise was of special concern to rulers (Beckman 2013: 205). For example, the Hittite Laws stipulate: “If anyone kills

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

155

a merchant, he shall pay 100 minas of silver, and he shall hold his household responsible for the fine. If it is in the lands of Luwiya or Pala, he shall pay the 100 minas and also replace his goods. If it is in the land of Hatti, he himself shall also bring that merchant to burial” (Hittite Laws §5, cf. Hoffner 1997: 19). Several Ugaritic texts (PRU 4: 153–154, 158) registered similar agreements and the compensation in silver (such as “two minas of silver”) for the murder of a merchant (Vidal 2006a: 130).

Nomadic Elements Concerning areas inhabited by nomadic elements, a king had to show that the territories were under his control: “It is the Suteans who have detained your messengers. Their followers are dead. As soon as I gave orders, the followers of the Suteans were taken” (EA 16: 37–40). Otherwise, he had the risk of his territory being considered a small kingdom: “In regard to what my brother wrote: ‘As to the fact that I stopped my messengers, I stopped my messengers because the Aḫlamu are hostile’. How it is that you stopped your messengers because of the Aḫlamu?! My brother, is perhaps your kingdom a small one? (. . .) In my brother’s country the horses are more numerous than straw: should I grant to your messengers 1000 chariots in order to escort them until Tuttul (the boundary), and keep the Aḫlamu away?!” (KBo 1 10: 36–43, from Ḫattušili III to Kadašman-Enlil II). The principle is clear: a king must allow free passage of foreign messengers and merchants going to third countries. For example Assyria was expected to allow Babylonian messengers pass toward Hatti, just as Hatti would let Babylonian messengers pass headed for Egypt (Liverani 1990: 102). Everywhere in Syria and Canaan were the Ḫabiru, a socially restive group of people who spread throughout the Near East during the second millennium b.c.e. The Ḫabiru encompassed groups of differing ethnic composition, expatriate fugitives from various city-states and tribal communities. According to a frequently used phrase in the Amarna letters (EA 67: 17; EA 116: 38; EA 179: 22), one could “become a Ḫabiru,” implying a lack of kinship or political ties. They are best defined as a social group, not an ethno-linguistic one (Knapp 1988: 187). They served as mercenaries, or formed independent communal or semi-tribal organizations on the borders of settled areas, often in the hill and forests of Syria and Canaan (Vidal 2006a: 127–33). They were not subject to any state’s legal authority. EA 313: 1–8 reports the murder of messengers and merchants by Ḫabiru in Canaan: “Your [messengers] and 13 merchants from Egypt, who were struck down in the attack of the Ḫabiru.”

Discredit In inter-regional gift-exchange, newcomers were not welcome. Much antagonism was directed at the Assyrians, whose king did not always respect the formal rules of brotherhood. The common reaction would be to discredit the king and his messengers. The Babylonian king accused the king of Assyria of acting like a merchant, pursuing only the material aspects of the partnership, without any reference to a prestige game: “I did not send to you the Assyrians, servants of mine: why did they travel to your country by their own decision? If you care for me, they must not do any buying there, send them away empty-handed!” (EA 9: 31–35). The messenger should be faithful and truthful, but sometimes the messengers did not convey the exact message, seeking to please one of the parties involved in

156

Graciela Gestoso Singer

the political contact, whether out of compassion or fear of punishment. The Pharaoh informs the Babylonian king about the breakdown in communication between the courts due to falsehood: “I (Amenhotep III) have quarreled because of your messengers since they report to you saying: ‘Nothing is given to us who go to Egypt’. Those who come to me: does one of the two (messengers) go (away) [without] taking silver, gold, oil, cloaks, every sort of finery, [more than i]n any other country? Your messengers don’t speak truly to you. Don’t listen to your messengers whose mouths are false” (EA 1: 66–71, 81–88). Messengers often had strong motives for distorting their messages, and the tablet was the insurance that the messenger spoke truly. Rib-Hadda of Byblos reports to the Egyptian court a distinction between the reading of the tablet and the words of the messenger: “I sent my tablet and my m[essenger] to the king, my lord, but the k[ing] did not listen to the words of my tablet or [my messen]ger” (EA 92: 12–15). Particularly at the highest levels of negotiations, between Great Kings, a messenger’s misrepresentation to a foreign king of what his own king had actually said, whether through malice or incompetence, could have the most serious consequences. Tarḫundaradu of Arzawa wrote to Amenhotep III expressing his concern about a discrepancy between a messenger’s verbal report and the contents of a letter: “As for the words Kalbaya has spoken to me: ‘Let a blood-relationship be established between us’, I do not trust what Kalbaya has reported on this matter, for the tablet contains no confirmation of it” (EA 32: 1–6).

Lack of Hospitality Head (2011: 80–81) challenges the view that oriental hospitality ruled the treatment of messengers in the Amarna world, and maintains that “the Amarna messengers, and in particular the public feasts which did (or conspicuously did not) herald their arrival at court were used as tools in the games played by the kings to increase their own prestige.” Thus, the preparation, presentation, and consumption of food in a banquet or festival could be egalitarian or profoundly hierarchical, fostering either social cohesion or competition. Head (2011: 84) concludes that “the public feeding and care of messengers was part of an ideological system intended to strengthen both the host’s political base and international political prestige via a program of conspicuous consumption.” Also, Feldman (2006) affirms the existence of an elite style of object in the Amarna Age used to mark the Great Powers as superior, and which was copied in emulation by small rulers. According to Warburton (2001: 73), envoys were treated much like Levantine kinglets. The kings of Babylon and Assyria found that their emissaries were detained for long periods; scorched by the sun during hours at festivals for Aten, the sun-god, and complained of their ill-treatment at the Egyptian court. The deceit in the message of the Babylonian messengers is the cause of their poor treatment in the Egyptian court: “They (the messengers) report to you saying: ‘Nothing is given to us who go to Egypt’ (. . .). So I (Amenhotep III) say (to myself), whether I give or don’t give anything to them, they are going to speak thus falsely! So I laid down a rule: I didn’t give!” (EA 1: 66–77). Amenhotep III also faulted the Babylonian king’s messengers for failing to verify that his sister enjoys comfortable living arrangements and is being treated well: “You wrote (. . .) my envoys did not recognize her. That was my sister who was with you (. . .). Who can identify her? Why will you not send a dignitary who will speak the truth to you about the

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

157

welfare of your sister who is here?” (EA 1: 26–35). The Babylonian king responded to Pharaoh, complaining not only about the delay of his envoys, but also about the lack of hospitality to his messengers, who were not invited to the isinnu festival in Egypt: 5 “When you arranged a great isinnu festival, your messenger did not send the word ‘to come, eat, and drink’. Nor did you send my greeting-gift for the festival. You have sent me only 30 minas of gold. My gift is not equivalent to what I [have given] you every year. Look what I have done in my palace. I have made a large [festival house]. Your messengers have seen it and are happy. Now, I have arranged the opening of the house (in the palace). Come with me to eat and drink. I did not do what you did” (EA 3: 19–29). According to the rules of hospitality, the Egyptian messengers would be “wined and dined” upon their arrival to the Babylonian court. However, Burnaburiyaš of Babylon was not interested in the rules of hospitality, since the shipment of gold from Egypt had been minuscule (“only 30 minas of gold”). Indeed, from his point of view there was nothing to celebrate: “From the time the messenger of my brother ar[rived here], I have not been well, and so on no occa[sion] has his messenger eaten food and [drunk] spirits [in my com]pany” (EA 7: 8–10). The alleged sickness of the king was only an excuse. The Assyrian king complains about the lack of hospitality of Akhenaten during a very long religious ceremony of Aten, the solar god, keeping all the foreign messengers in the “open sun” for hours and making them “die of sunstroke”: “Why should messengers be made to stay constantly out in the open sun and so die of sunstroke? If staying out in the sun means profit for the king, then let him (a messenger) stay out and let him die right there of sunstroke, (but) for the king himself there must be a profit” (EA 16: 43–49). For Liverani (2004: 119), the expression “in the open sun” means literally “stay in exit,” and practically “await before leaving” or “await for a departure permit” (Vita 2007: 309); perhaps reflecting a long delay of the Assyrian messengers in the Egyptian court. Aššur-uballiṭ was concerned not only for the well-being of his messengers, but also for preserving the political relationship between Assyria and Egypt. According to Head (2011: 87), in the Amarna letters, “feasting is a symbol of power and a tool by which power is maintained, with the messengers serving as pawns in this political game and not simply recipients (or not) of altruistic ‘hospitality’.” Schmandt-Besserat (2001: 401) notes that “festivals were the time when fame and shame were created,” so ideological coercion was used to cause people to bring the most sumptuous gifts in the greatest quantity. Failing to contribute was considered a profound insult to the gods and king. However, sometimes, the messengers never received an audience. The kings of Canaan report that the Pharaoh simply ignores their messengers and fails to meet them, even when the messenger is a son of the sender: “I sent my son to the palace; after four months he has not seen the face of the king!” (EA 138: 77–78). The reception of messengers was regulated by the palace, and to deliberately avoid a messenger was an insult. Often, military and palace bureaucracies would keep messengers away from the king without the Pharaoh’s knowledge. Aziru of Amurru informs 5. The isinnu festival was a Mesopotamian cultic celebration in honor of a deity, as well as a communal festival displaying the beauty of the temple (von Dassow and Greenwood 2006: 193). But, in this letter, isinnu is mentioned to denote the Egyptian sed-festival, related to the New Year festival, which has been linked to an annual day of diplomatic gift-exchange.

158

Graciela Gestoso Singer

Tutu: “You are in the personal service [of the king], my [lord]. Heaven forbid that treacherous men have spoken maliciously [again]st me in the presence of the king, my lord. And you should not permit them (. . .). You should not permit malicious talk against me” (EA 158: 20–31). The tomb of Tutu preserves a record of the procedure by which he would interact with messengers to the Pharaoh: “I would report their words to the palace, since I was daily in [. . .] and I would exit again to them as a royal messenger with all of his Majesty’s instructions” (Valloggia 1976: 108). In a word, the messengers were screened by court functionaries.

Death Penalty The host king could demand that the offending messenger be tried and punished by his own country. Tušratta of Mitanni responds to the Pharaoh’s demand for the death penalty of two of his messengers, who committed crimes in Egypt: “Artašuba and Asali (. . .), they broke the law in your brother’s country. They were brought in (. . .) and they were convicted in [m]y presen[ce. Ma]ne spoke of their [reputation] (. . .). I put [them] in chains and (. . .) I transported to a town of mine on the border. But my brother [had said nothing] more, and for this reason I did not execute them (. . .). Now, my brother establish the nature of [their crime], and I will treat [them] just as my brother wants them treated” (EA 29: 173–81). However, Tušratta did not impose the death penalty, at least until the Pharaoh provided him with more information about the nature of their crime. Burnaburiyaš II of Babylon informed the Pharaoh about the robbery of his caravans and the murder of his merchants in Canaan (which was under Egyptian influence), asking for compensation and the death penalty for the murderers: “Canaan is your land (. . .). I was robbed in your land. Summon them, and the silver they took, let them repay and the people who killed my servants, kill them or compensate their blood!” (EA 8: 22–29). Also, Kadašman-Enlil II of Babylon requested the death penalty for a similar crime, continuing with the policy of his predecessor (Vita 2011: 303–4). But, in this case, the punishment required was not permitted by Ḫattušili III of Hatti, who granted only compensation for the killing of Babylonian merchants in Amurru and Ugarit (which were under Hittite influence) (KBo 1 10: 15–25). Apparently, there were cases of killing messengers who delivered bad news. In the tomb of Paheri, at el-Kab, there is evidence of someone who took pride in his not killing messengers for bearing bad news: “I (Paheri) did not confuse the message with the messenger (. . .). I was a model of kindliness” (Lichtheim 1976: 19; Miller 2009: 15–16).

Pace of Journeys The length of stay was entirely at the discretion of the host king, whose permission was necessary before the envoy could depart. The rules of hospitality prevented the envoy from leaving without the consent: “What are messengers? Unless they are birds, are they going to fly and go away?” (EA 28: 21–22). Sometimes emissaries were detained for economic reasons, such as the payment of debts. Wenamun was detained in Byblos for a month for this reason: the prince of Byblos would not grant the Egyptian request for lumber until he saw the payment on the table (Lichtheim 1976: 226–28). A similar motive, such as the lack of greeting-gifts usually sent during a royal ascension, could provoke the detention of

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

159

an Assyrian messenger in Hatti: “Now, I have detained here my ambassador whom I sent to you and Bel-qarrad. And for the following reason I have detained him: All the wishes you wrote me about, I [. . .] sent to you. That’s why I have detained him” (CTH 173: rev. 11–14). The delay of a messenger was not always intentional. A plague raging in Alašiya caused the delay of a messenger from Egypt for three years: “My brother, do not be concerned that your messenger has stayed three years in my country, for the hand of Nergal is in my country and in my own house” (EA 35: 35–39). In many instances, detention probably had no hostile intentions, but stemmed from incompetence or bureaucratic delays due to the preparation of a large consignment of gifts or the dispatch of a royal bride. For example, the large amount of goods delivered from Mitanni to the Egyptian court caused the involuntary delay of Mane, the Egyptian messenger, and Keliya, the Mitannian messenger, for six months in the Mitannian court: “Within six months, I (Tušratta) will send Keliya, my messenger, and Mane my brother’s messenger. I will deliver my brother’s wife (Tadu-Ḫepa) and they will bring her to my brother” (EA 20: 23–25). Also, Tušratta explained to Amenhotep III that Mane had been kept in Mitanni because of the time taken to prepare the princess for her journey to Egypt. He assured the Pharaoh that he should not have concern about his envoy’s welfare: “I have honored Mane, my brother’s messenger, and all my brother’s troops who accompanied him, and I have treated them with great distinction (. . .). Mane is not dying, he is just the same, and he is not ill” (EA 20: 64–70). The messengers and merchants were sometimes retained for years just to prove who was more powerful (Liverani 1990: 217). Detaining a messenger was a sign of a tense relationship between correspondents, for such detention was often used as a means of coercion. Sometimes messengers visiting a foreign court found themselves detained in reprisal for similar action taken by their own king, or simply because of the ruler’s whim: “Earlier, I had said this to my brother: ‘I am going to detain Mane, [my brother’s] messenger, until [my] brother lets my messengers go free and they come to me.’ And now my brother has absolutely refused to let them go, and he has put them under very strict detention” (EA 28: 16–22; EA 29: 148–50). Sometimes detention was explicitly intended as a punitive measure (Bryce 2003: 62). Akhenaten detained a messenger from Alašiya as a protest against his fellow countrymen’s alleged participation in pirate activities on the Egyptian coast: “Why, my brother, do you say such a thing to me? (. . .) I have done nothing of the sort. Indeed, men from Lukka, year by year, seize villages in my own country” (EA 38: 7–12). Messengers were afraid to remain abroad for a long period of time. The Assyrian king inquired of the Pharaoh: “Do not delay the messenger whom I sent to you for a visit. He should visit and then leave for here. He should see what you are like and what your country is like, and then leave from there” (EA 15: 16–22). An Assyrian messenger was held for three years in the land of Hatti: “[The messenger] of the land of Assyria who went to Hatti and was detained for three years, they have [rel]eased him and he has returned to Ashur [and the messen]ger of Hatti with him” (Gurney 1949: 139). Another messenger from Assyria was taken out of circulation by the king of Hatti for an undetermined period of time (CTH 173), long enough to have fathered a scribe with a Hittite name (Beckman 1983: 111).

160

Graciela Gestoso Singer

A messenger from Alašiya was held in Egypt for two years (EA 36: 18), and an Egyptian messenger was detained in Alašiya for three years (EA 35: 35–36). In the Egyptian court, a Babylonian messenger was held for six years: “Previously, my father (Kadašman-Enlil I) would send you a messenger and you wouldn’t detain him many years. Quickly you sent him off, and you sent fine gifts. Now when I (Burnaburiyaš) sent you my messenger and you held him for 6 years, (and) you sent (only) 30 minas of gold that was worked with silver (. . .)” (EA 3: 9–20). This letter is mainly a complaint to Pharaoh regarding inequitable treatment of envoys. He complains about the length his envoys are detained, and the amount of his goodwill gift. Another extreme case is mentioned by the ruler of Tunip, which emissaries were detained during 20 years (EA 59: 13–14), violating any immunity attained during previous years. The messengers were afraid not to be allowed to return home or even to die far away in a foreign land: “Truly, I (the ruler of Byblos) have not done to you (Wenamun) what was done to the messengers of Khaemwase after they spent 17 years in this land. They died on the spot. And he said to his servant: ‘Take him to see the tomb where they lie’ (. . .)” (Tale of Wenamun II: 51–53, Lichtheim 1976: 228). In short, sometimes messengers were protected in their journeys through letters of safe-conduct and by the norms of hospitality in foreign courts. However, as soon as a problem arose, emissaries were the first to suffer the consequences. Being an emissary was therefore both a prestigious and dangerous role (Liverani 2014: 284). Some of the messengers were unwelcome, and their ways were blocked by robbery, bureaucracy, taxes, detentions, abuse, and even murder.

4. Conclusions The most important expectations in the choice of a messenger were his truthfulness and speed. In addition, his social status could play an important role in his selection. High ranking officials, royal family members, and merchants were selected as royal emissaries. Experience, tact, reputation, age, decisiveness, and connections were a few prerequisites needed to get a royal commission. The ability to read and write, a good memory and the knowledge of foreign languages were not necessary, but they were desirable. Before departing, the king—with the help of the main gods—sought a propitious day to send his messengers, and he would have rituals, omens, and prayers performed in order to guarantee a safe journey. Then, the messenger would receive rations and a means of transportation in order to begin his long journey. The journey was not easy, the roads were dangerous, and the general conditions were not enviable. Beyond the hazards of water shortage, foul weather, and nearly impassable roads, messengers and merchants also had to contend with bandits, infiltrators, and wild beasts along roads. Traveling in groups or in the company of an escort minimized danger. Some messengers were welcome and granted hospitality, but some of them were unwelcome, and their ways were blocked by bureaucracy, robbery, and detentions. The messengers are documented in a wide spectrum of activities, as bearers of messages, mediators of communication, bearers of goods, merchants, witnesses to legal transactions, and informants. There were messengers in the service of the palaces and independent entrepreneurs. Sometimes they were active in both official and private levels of activities.

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

161

The most remarkable feature of the Amarna network of political and economic relations was its survival for more than two hundred years. Several factors contributed to this stability. Mutually recognized spheres of influence and buffer states worked to reduce friction. In this manner, the parties succeeded in obtaining the needed goods and prestige, while facilitating trade and cultural contacts. In addition, “brotherhood” status, religion, language, and messengers were important reasons why the system remains relatively intact for so long. The brotherhood contributed to a kind of sense of solidarity. The system was multipolar and, to some extent, interdependent. As for religion, gods were recognized to be worshipped under different names in different places, and statues of gods and goddesses traveled between courts. Furthermore, the shared use of the Akkadian language contributed to integrate the system. Finally, messengers and merchants created the conditions for inter-polities relations to flourish.

Bibliography Bachhuber, Ch. 2003 Aspects of Late Helladic Sea Trade. MA dissertation. Texas University. 2006 Aegean Interest on the Uluburun Ship. AJA 110: 345–63. Bass, G. F. 1967 Cape Gelidonya: A Bronze Age Shipwreck. Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society. Beckman, G. 1983 Mesopotamians and Mesopotamian Learning at Ḫattuša. JCS 35: 97–114. 1999 Hittite Diplomatic Texts. WAW 7. Atlanta: Scholars Press. 2013 Foreigners in the Ancient Near East. JAOS 133: 203–15. Beitzel, B. 1992 Travel and Communication. Pp. 644–48 in vol. 6 of The Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman. 6 vols. New York: Doubleday. Berridge, G. 2000 Amarna Diplomacy: A Full-fledged Diplomatic System? Pp.  212–24 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000. Bryce, T. 2003 Letters of the Great Kings of the Ancient Near East: The Royal Correspondence of the Late Bronze Age. London and New York: Routledge. Caminos, R. 1954 Late-Egyptian Miscellanies. London: Oxford University Press. Cohen, R. 1996 On Diplomacy in the Ancient Near East: The Amarna Letters. Diplomacy & Statecraft 7: 245–70. 2000 Intelligence in the Amarna Letters. Pp. 85–98 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000. Cohen, R., and Westbrook, R., eds. 2000 Amarna Diplomacy: The Beginnings of International Relations. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Davies, N. de G. 1908 The Rock Tombs of El Amarna, vol. 6: Tombs of Parennefer, Tutu and Aÿ. 6 vols. London: Egypt Exploration Fund. 1926 The Tomb of Huy, Viceroy of Nubia in the Reign of Tutankhamun. London: Egypt Exploration Society.

162

Graciela Gestoso Singer

Dercksen, J. G. 1996 The Old Assyrian Copper Trade in Anatolia. PIHANS 75. Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut. Feldman, M. 2006 Diplomacy by Design: Luxury Arts and an “International Style” in the Ancient Near East, 1400–1200 b.c.e. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Figulla, H. H., and Weidner, E. F. 1916 Keilschrifttexte aus Boghazköi I. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Galán, J. M. 2011 Intérpretes y traducciones en el Egipto Imperial. Sémata 23: 295–313. Gestoso Singer, G. 1992 Los mensajeros en la época de El Amarna. REE 3: 63–69. 2010 Forms of payment in the Amarna Age and in the Uluburun and Cape Gelidonya shipwrecks. UF 42: 261–78. Greene, J. T. 1989 The Role of the Messenger and Message in the Ancient Near East. Oral and Written Communication in the Ancient Near East and in the Hebrew Scriptures: Communicators and Communiqués in Context. BJS 169. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Gurney, O. R. 1949 Texts from Dūr-Kurigalzu. Iraq 11: 131–49. Head, R. 2011 Amarna Messengers and the Politics of Feasting. Maarav 18: 79–87. Hesse, K. J. 2008 Late Bronze Age Maritime Trade in Eastern Mediterranean: An Inland Levantine Perspective. MA dissertation. Uppsala University. Hoffner, H. 1997 The Laws of the Hittites. DMOA 23. Leiden, New York, and Köln: Brill. Holmes, Y. 1975 The Messengers of the Amarna Letters. JAOS 95: 376–81. Jean, Ch.-F. 1950 Lettres. ARM 2, TCL 23. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale. Jones, M. R. 2007 Oxhide Ingots, Copper Production, and the Mediterranean Trade in Copper and Other Metals in the Bronze Age. MA dissertation. Texas University. Jönsson, Ch. 2000 Diplomatic Signaling in the Amarna Letters. Pp. 191–204 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000. Knapp, A. B. 1988 The History and Culture of Ancient Western Asia and Egypt. New York: Dorsey. Lafont, B. 2001 International Relations in the Ancient Near East: The Birth of a Complete Diplomatic System. Diplomacy & Statecraft 12: 39–60. Lichtheim, M. 1976 Ancient Egyptian Literature, vol. 2: The New Kingdom. 3 vols. Berkeley: University of California Press. Liverani, M. 1990 Prestige and Interest: International Relations in the Near East ca. 1600–1100 B.C. Padova: Sargon. 2000 The Great Powers’ Club. Pp. 15–27 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000.

Fortunes and Misfortunes of Messengers and Merchants

163

2004 The Fate of Ashur-uballit’s Messengers in EA 16. Pp.  117–20 in Von Sumer nach Ebla und zurück: Giovanni Pettinato zum 27. September 1999 gewidmet von Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern, ed. H. Waetzoldt. HSAO 9. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. 2014 The Ancient Near East: History, Society and Economy. London and New York: Routledge. Meier, S. A. 1988 The Messenger in the Ancient Semitic World. HSM 45. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Miller, W. I. 2009 Messengers and Intermediaries: Insights from Ancient Law. Pp. 2–26 in Institute for International Law and Justice, International Legal Theory Colloquium, 2009: Virtues, Vices, Human Behavior and Democracy in International Law, ed. B. Kingsbury and J. Weiler. New York University Law School. Moran, W. L. 1992 The Amarna Letters. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. Moreno García, J. C. 2013 The ‘Other’ Administration: Patronage, Factions, and Informal Networks of Power in Ancient Egypt. Pp. 1029-–65 in Ancient Egyptian Administration, ed. J. C. Moreno García. HdO 104/1. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Munn-Rankin, J. M. 1956 Diplomacy in Western Asia in the Early Second Millennium B.C. Iraq 18: 68–110. Mynářová, J. 2014 Egyptian State Correspondence of the New Kingdom: The Letters of the Levantine Client Kings in the Amarna Correspondence and Contemporary Evidence. Pp. 10–31 in State Correspondence in the Ancient World: From the New Kingdom Egypt to the Roman Empire, ed. K. Radner. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Na’aman, N. 1998 The Closing Paragraphs of Letter KBo I 10. AoF 25: 61–67. 2005 Resident-Alien or Residing Foreign Delegate? On the ubāru in Some Late Bronze Age Texts. UF 37: 475–78. Nougayrol, J. 1947 Textes et documents figurés. RA 41: 23–53. 1955 Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit, vol. 3: Textes accadiens et hourrites des archives est, ouest et centrales. MRS 6 . Paris: Libraire C. Kincksieck. 1956 Le Palais Royal d’Ugarit, vol. 4: Textes accadiens des archives sud. MRS 9. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale. Oller, G. 1995 Messenger and Ambassadors in Ancient Western Asia. Pp. 1465–73 in vol. 3 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. J. M. Sasson. 4 vols. New York: Scribners. Podany, A. H. 2010 Brotherhood of Kings: How International Relations Shaped the Ancient Near East. New York: Oxford University Press. Reiner, E. 1960 Fortune-Telling in Mesopotamia. JNES 19: 23–35. Schaeffer, C. F. A., Nougayrol, J., Laroche, E. Virolleaud, Ch., eds. 1968 Ugaritica, vol. 5: Nouveaux textes accadiens, hourrites et ugaritiques. Paris: Paul Geuthner. Schmandt-Besserat, D. 2001 Feasting in the Ancient Near East. Pp. 391–403 in Feasts: Archaeological and Ethnographic Perspectives on Food, Politics, and Power, ed. M. Dietler and B. Hayden. Washington: Smithsonian Institute Press.

164

Graciela Gestoso Singer

Singer, I. 1985 The Battle of Niḫriya and the End of the Hittite Empire. ZA 75: 100–123. Srzednicki, C. 1969 Early International Law Documents Concerning the Protection of Merchants. Folia Orientalia 11: 255–58. Stewart, A. C. 2010 The Lord’s Anointed. Covenantal Kingship in Psalm 2 and Acts 4. Ph.D. dissertation. Liberty University. Valloggia, M. 1976 Recherche sur les “messagers” (wpwtyw) dans les sources égyptiennes profanes. Paris: Librairie Droz. van den Hout, T., and Karasu, C. 2010 A Note on Hittite Envelopes and HKM 86. Pp. 372–77 in Pax Hethitica: Studies on the Hittites and their Neighbours in Honour of Itamar Singer, ed. Y. Cohen, A. Gilan, and J. L. Miller. StBoT 51. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Vidal, J. 2006a La participación de tribus nómadas en el comercio internacional del Levante mediterráneo durante el Bronce Reciente. AuOr 24: 127–33. 2006b Ugarit and the Southern Levantine Sea-ports. JESHO 49: 269–79. Vita, J.-P. 2007 Messengers who must live or die: A Note on EA 16 and ARM XXVIII 14 [A.2114]. Pp. 309–11 in “He unfurrowed his brow and laughed”: Essays in Honour of Professor Nicolas Wyatt, ed. W. G. E. Watson. AOAT 299. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2011 La pena de muerte en la Siria-Palestina del Bronce Final. Pp. 301–13 in Esta Toledo, aquella Babilonia. Convivencia e interacción en las sociedades del Oriente y del Mediterráneo Antiguos, ed. J. A. Belmonte and J. Oliva. Cuenca: Universidad de CastillaLa Mancha. Von Dassow, E., and Greenwood, K. 2006 Correspondence from El-Amarna in Egypt. Pp. 182–214 in The Ancient Near East: Historical Sources in Translation, ed. M. Chavalas. Oxford: Blackwell. Warburton, D. 2001 Egypt and the Near East: Politics in the Bronze Age. Civilisations du Proche Orient 4/1. Neuchâtel: Recherches et Publications. Westbrook, R. 2000 International Law in the Amarna Age. Pp. 28–41 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000. Wiseman, D. J. 1953 The Alalakh Tablets. OPBIAA 2. Liverpool: Tinling. Yon, M. 2003 The Foreign Relations of Ugarit. Pp. 41–51 in ΠΛΟΕΣ. Sea Routes: Interconnections in the Mediterranean 16th – 6th c. BC. Proceedings of the International Symposium held at Rethymnon, Crete, September 29th–October 2nd 2002, ed. N. Chr. Stampolidis and V. Karageorghis. Athens: A. G. Levantis Foundation. Zaccagnini, C. 2000 The Interdependence of the Great Powers. Pp.  141–53 in Cohen and Westbrook 2000.

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis Benjamin Dromard Paris

The private and temple archives of first-millenium b.c.e. Babylonia display a large variation of legal and economic dependency statuses, not yet entirely understood. The rich Egibi family archives, 1 a family of entrepreneurs and urban notables of Babylon living in the seventh and sixth centuries b.c.e., is very useful on this subject. Indeed, the Egibis possessed a large number of slaves, serving several tasks in their household. Some of them had a privileged relationship with their masters, acting as their delegates in some economic and legal affairs. This function allowed them to develop their own business and private wealth. The existence of rich slaves during the first millennium b.c.e., serving as agents in the affairs of their masters is nothing new in the history of slavery for this period. Muhammad Dandamaev, in Slavery in Babylonia, devoted two chapters of his book to the lives of Madānu-bēl-uṣur and Nergal-rēṣūa, slaves of the Egibi family with this function. 2 Their careers are well documented through a good number of texts: about 50 for Madānu-bēl-uṣur and about 30 for Nergal-rēṣūa are known, both exceptional numbers as most slaves in Babylonian society are seldom documented by more than one text, when we are lucky. These texts are also quite diverse in their nature, from promissory notes for silver or agricultural products, commercial partnerships and tax payments records to letters. This shows the diversity of the activities of the slaves in question and offers different perspectives on those activities. Promissory notes show the concrete economical relationships between individuals, mainly between a creditor and his debtor. The reconstruction of the interests of the people involved in such texts is left to the historian. On the other hand, we can use letters to determine the nature of the relationship between an agent and his superior: the problems faced by the person responsible for a determined work are more perceivable in this type of sources. Madānu-bēl-uṣur and Nergal-rēṣūa may be the best-documented slaves in the private sector of the Babylonian economy of the first millennium b.c.e., which is not surprising as their function for the Egibis served an important purpose for the management of their domains and for most of their economic activities. They appear in the management of rural domains possessed by the Egibis, and also in the 1.  On the Iddin-Marduk and Egibi archives, see Wunsch 1993 and Abraham 2004. 2. Dandamaev 2009: 345–71. Nergal-rēṣūa is documented from the second year of Nabonidus (Nbn. 71, 554 b.c.e.) to the fifth year of Cambyses (Camb. 285, 525 b.c.e.), Madānu-bēl-uṣur from the eleventh year of Nabonidus (Nbn. 570, 545 b.c.e.) to the seventeenth year of Darius I (Dar. 459, 505 b.c.e.).

165

166

Benjamin Dromard

collection of taxes due by the Egibis to the royal power, or of silver and other products due by individuals to the Egibis. The members of the Egibi family, of course, could not manage all the tasks that needed to be done in the vast array of economic activities they were involved with. They needed an intermediary class of workers, legally representing the family in this kind of affairs in specific places of the Babylon countryside. Their relationship was therefore one of mutual interest, even if it is not on an equal level and if it may not have been understood as such by the individuals involved. Indeed, those slaves answered for the Egibis’ need for delegates in economic affairs. Using the slaves they had at their disposition seems logical: they were directly available and had a legal and “familial” proximity with their master that could not easily be found elsewhere. Indeed, this relationship was already in existence. The legal link of dependency between a slave and his master maintains this proximity between the two individuals. They know each other for most of their lives. If the master dies, the slave is still the property of his family, and continues to serve it with the same attribution. This relationship exists therefore on a long period and is not subject to a contractual link that could be broken depending on circumstances or conditions established in such a contract. For the slaves themselves, these tasks gave them opportunities to develop their own wealth and social importance in the Babylonian urban society, a kind of social elevation that was not available for anybody else. Serving as an agent of the Egibis allowed them to have the legal legitimacy to act in the same way as a “free” individual could. They are identified as the delegates of a powerful family, and are theoretically respected as such. On the side of the activities they had to accomplish for their master, they could act on their own and emulate the economical behaviour of their master: we know them as moneylenders, owners of agricultural products, as having their own economic autonomy. Therefore, what I will try to show is what function these slaves had and their situation of material wealth and relative socio-economic power, and how the Egibis attended to the interests of their slaves. It is an interesting case of dissymmetry between the legal status of an individual, namely a status of dependency and her or his socio-economic position in a society. I will attempt to show this by first a description of the careers of those two slaves, focusing on the diversity of their economic activities and on how they attained their high socio-economic situation. Then I will focus on their function as agents for the Egibis and on how their masters needed them as slaves to occupy this function. Finally, I will talk about two legal procedures in which those two slaves were involved, and how their masters, with their social power, could serve the interests of their slaves.

The Careers of Madānu-bēl-uṣur and Nergal-rēṣūa Both those slaves followed a similar path in their lives. They first appear in our documentation as slaves of Iddin-Marduk, and then of the Egibi family, after the marriage of Nuptaya, daughter of Iddin-Marduk, with Itti-Marduk-balāṭu. Both the Nūr-Sîn and the Egibi families shared common economic interests in the region of Babylon after this marriage, and these two slaves serve as agents of these interests. The first attestation of Nergal-rēṣūa is in Nbn. 71 during the second year of Nabonidus:

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis

167

Nabû-dīnu-epuš, son of Kinena, owes 11 kur of dates to Nergal-rēṣūa, the slave of Iddin-Marduk, son of Iqīša, descendant of Nūr-Sîn. He must pay the dates in full in (the month) araḫsamnu at the house of Iddin-Marduk by the Borsippa canal. (In addition), he must pay three sût of wheat with (the dates). (This is) in addition to the (other) debts (which) Nabû-dīnu-epuš owes Iddin-Marduk and Nergal-rēṣūa.

Madānu-bēl-uṣur is also seen as a creditor of different products in Camb. 218 (third year of Cambyses, Šaḫrînu): 40 kur of barley, one mina of silver and 3300 strings of onions belonging to Madānu-bēl-uṣur, slave of Iddin-Marduk, descendant of Nūr-Sîn, are owed (to him) by Bariki-Adad, son of Yaḫâlu. He will give this one mina of silver and those 3300 strings of onions in the month of nisannu. He will give the totality of the 40 kur of barley in one delivery, according to the measure of Iddin-Marduk, in the house of Iddin-Marduk at the month of ayyaru. From this mina of silver, Bariki-Adad will give the equivalent of half a mina of silver in onions from his garden to Madānu-bēl-uṣur.

Those texts are but only two examples of many promissory notes involving these two slaves managing and loaning agricultural products, sometimes along with silver. I will not quote the entire documentation of this nature available to us, but I will say that they show that these two slaves are capable of dealing with large numbers of products. The places mentioned in these two texts are also interesting: we know of Šaḫrînu as an important agricultural setting where Iddin-Marduk and the Egibis were involved, and many texts show Madānu-bēl-uṣur and Nergal-rēṣūa present there for their activities. The Canal of Borsippa and other hydrological places are also quite frequent, marking the importance of the transportation of the products in question to Babylon in the activities of the two slaves. Those two texts also show their function as intermediaries for their master Iddin-Marduk, as they have to be paid in the house of Iddin-Marduk, and therefore become his property. Wunsch 1993 no. 299 (fifth year of Cambyses) shows a more direct management of agricultural products by Madānu-bēl-uṣur: (. . .) 5000 strings of onions from Nergal-ēṭir, in total 42000 strings of onions of the fifth year of Cambyses, king of Babylon, king of lands, which Madānu-bēluṣur has received from the representative of Nergal-aḫa-iddin. Nergal-aḫa-iddin received the silver for the payment of those 42000 strings of onions from Iddin-Marduk.

In this text, we can see the actual transaction of onions in large quantity against a payment of silver. We do not know much about the Nergal-aḫa-iddin present in this text, but this kind of transaction may make of him a manager of a domain producing onions, a retailer of sorts maintaining an economic relationship with IddinMarduk. Madānu-bēl-uṣur, here, receives the actual shipment of onions, confirming his function as intermediary in agricultural affairs for Iddin-Marduk. Madānu-bēl-uṣur conserved this function of receiver of agricultural products after having become a slave of the Egibis. Dar. 400 and Dar. 405 (15th year of Darius I, Šaḫrînu) are prime examples of this: 16 kur of dates, for the 13th year of Darius I, king of Babylon and of lands; 18.2.3 kur of dates, for the 14th year (of Darius I, king of Babylon and of lands) from

168

Benjamin Dromard the date-orchard of Bēl-iddin, son of Nabû-zēr-ušabši. In total, 34.2.3 kur of dates due to Madānu-bel-uṣur, slave of Marduk-nāṣir-apli, descendant of Egibi, with principal and interests, which he received from the hands of Qunnabi, daughter of Aḫḫe-iddin, wife of Bēl-iddin. (Dar. 400) 5.2.3. kur of dates, the produce of the field in Ḫarru-Urukaya belonging to Aplaya, son of Nergal-iddin, is the pledge of Madānu-bēl-uṣur, slave of Marduk-nāṣirapli, descendant of Egibi, owed to him by Aplaya, son of Gimillu. In the month of araḫsamnu, these 5.2.3 kur of dates will be given in their totality, in one delivery, according to the measure of 1 pān at the Borsippa Canal to Madānu-bēl-uṣur. (Dar. 405)

As before, Madānu-bēl-uṣur has the responsibility of receiving agricultural products from the hands of farmers in the region of Šaḫrînu, which shifted from Iddin-Marduk’s interests to those of the Egibi family, certainly a consequence of the marriage between the two families. Even if his master changed, Madānu-bēl-uṣur conserved among his activities this concrete function of having to manage large quantities of products. However, this time, the master’s name is present only as a mean to identify the slave in question. Dar. 405 in particular, presenting the pledge for a debt settled between Madānu-bēl-uṣur and Aplaya, may be one example for the economic autonomy of this slave, being free to have business of his own, separated from the business he has to accomplish for his master. Nergal-rēṣūa seemed to have had the same kind of economic autonomy during his career. One similar example is Camb. 54 (first year of Cambyses, Šaḫrînu): 12 kur of dates is the estimated production of the field belonging to Nergal-nāṣir, son of Nadin, (located) along the bank of the Borsippa canal in front of (. . .), which Bēl-iddin, son of Nabû-balāssu-iqbi, descendant of Egibi, mortgaged to Nergal-rēṣūa, slave of Iddin-Marduk, descendant of Nūr-Sîn. In the month of araḫsamnu, he will pay the 12 kur of dates in their totality, in one delivery, according to the measure of Nergal-rēṣūa at the Borsippa canal.

Nergal-rēṣūa, thanks to his management of loans, received a field of dates as antichretic pledge, meaning that even if this field is not his property, he will receive its products. He possessed his own measure, which may confirm the fact that in this situation, what Nergal-rēṣūa received did not benefit his master but himself only. Like Madānu-bēl-uṣur, he had the possibility to develop his own wealth and profit from his economic autonomy. Leaving the world of agricultural affairs, Nergal-rēṣūa had interests in other fields of the economy. Nbn. 466 (tenth year of Nabonidus) allows us to perceive this. 3 Five minas and two and a quarter shekels of silver belonging to Nergal-rēṣūa, the slave of Ina-Esagil-ramât, 4 are at the disposal of Ea-nāṣir and Rīmūt. Nergalrēṣūa will have the use of all that Ea-nāṣir and Rīmūt make on the five minas and two and a quarter shekels of silver apart from the share of Ea-nāṣir and Rīmūt. Ea-nāṣir and Rīmūt are responsible for the silver. 3.  Wunsch 1993: no. 180. 4.  Being a text for the internal use of Iddin-Marduk and Ina-Esagil-ramât, Nergal-rēṣūa is identified as Ina-Esagil-ramât’s slave the same way he could have been identified as Iddin-Marduk’s slave. In documents that were not private deeds of Iddin-Marduk and Ina-Esagil-ramât’s family, Nergal-rēṣūa is exclusively identified as Iddin-Marduk’s slave.

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis

169

This text deals with a ḫarrānu-investment concluded between Nergal-rēṣūa and two individuals, a commercial partnership in which Nergal-rēṣūa is the main investor. The details of this partnership are unknown to me, but those two individuals were known to have the same kind of deals with Iddin-Marduk in the first place, and there are other texts with the same kind of relationships between those persons. Nergal-rēṣūa had the possibility to loan a considerable sum of silver to other free individuals, in order to receive a large interest on this investment. He had the same economic autonomy as his master or as any member of the economic elites of Babylonian society at the time, as the present state of the documentation seems to show. In the presentation of these texts, I tried to show the diversity of the activities of those two slaves during their careers. They followed pretty much the same path: they first appear as slaves of Iddin-Marduk of the Nūr-Sîn family, before becoming slaves of the Egibi family. They served as intermediaries in the management of the domains of their masters, and they had the possibilities to develop their own affairs and to have the same economic behaviour as their masters.

The Need for Agents: The Relationship between the Slaves and Their Masters The autonomy those two slaves had is symbolic of other cases known in the archives of other families from the first millennium b.c.e. However, this autonomy did not develop unknown to the eyes of the slave’s masters. The fact that we have access to these texts and that they are part of the archives of the Egibi family tells us that Iddin-Marduk, Itti-Marduk-balāṭu and Marduk-nāṣir-apli were well aware of this autonomy. The relationship between the slave agents and their masters was one of mutual interest. It is impossible to say if this interest was conscious for both parties, as our sources are almost mute on such psychological considerations, but we have the realities of the economic activities of both the slaves and the masters to speak for it. What needs an answer is this: what use did the Egibis have for slaves in such places? I am afraid that an answer to such a question must remain hypothetical, but we can still study, thanks to the diversity of sources available to us, the relationship between the agent slave and his master. The letters of Madānu-bēl-uṣur to his masters may be of some use for this. CT 22 78, from Madānu-bēl-uṣur to Iddin-Marduk, is one of them: 5 Letter from Madānu-bēl-uṣur to Iddin-Marduk, my lord. I pray every day to Bēl and Nabû for the well-being of my lord. See, I have sent to my lord 180 kur of dates. Inside this lot, 23 (kur) were from Nadin – when he brought to me theses dates, some (of them) were cut and others had been heaped up. Bēl and Nabû know that for one kur of dates 0.1.4 kur were cut and missing. See, I have sent four (kur) of dates to the house of my lord. The lord should receive the tithe of Nergal’s mountain from the governor, and like last year, the lord should collect the sharecropping delivery from the fields’ owner. 5.  These translations are based on the edition in Hackl, Jursa, and Schmidl 2014 no. 8.

170

Benjamin Dromard See, nine shekels of silver have been given to the temple, Nergal’s tithe for the sheep. My lord should not be negligent about this. Quick, may I receive my lord’s orders from Šellibi! Did the lord not see my messenger or my message? Why did the lord give 13 shekels of silver to Ḫabaṣīru? Quick, (send) the message concerning who should be responsible for this to (PN), son of Niqūdu! (Send) the tithe to the owner!

This letter, even if some elements remain obscure to us as the affairs discussed in it are not documented to my knowledge by other texts, shows the proximity between the slave and his master. It also perfectly shows the function of Madānu-bēl-uṣur as agent, dealing with the concrete management of crops and the payment of taxes, as well as with what seems to be some problem with the owner of a field under the supervision of Madānu-bēl-uṣur. Even before the transmission of Madānu-bēl-uṣur to the Egibi family, this slave served the function of an agent for Iddin-Marduk’s interests in agriculture. Here, dates is the first concern: he has sent a lot expected by his master in Babylon, and some of the dates, whose producer is identified, seem to have suffered some alteration. Madānu-bēl-uṣur explains why these dates are missing. 6 Then, the agent slave talks about some taxes due to Iddin-Marduk, maybe from a “governor” of the rural domain where Iddin-Marduk’s interests are located, and about products due to him that have to be collected. He has also sent the tithe for the Esagil. Madānu-bēl-uṣur reminds his master of upcoming tasks he has to do. This seems to be a usual way of doing things, as the “sharecropping delivery” his master has to take care of was already to be collected the previous year. The agent slave has concrete tasks to accomplish, but also a function of counsellor and/or secretary, useful for his master who could not be practically in charge of the whole of his rural domains and of the collection of taxes under his responsibility. This shows the concrete functionality of the slave for his master, and the proximity between the slave and the latter, or at least with his interests. Madānu-bēluṣur knows his master’s responsibilities, reminds him of them whereas at the same time he manages the reception and deliveries of the agricultural products and silver. Another letter is of some interest to show this kind of day-to-day relationship between the agent slave and his master. CT 22 83 7 was sent by Madānu-bēl-uṣur to Marduk-nāṣir-apli of the Egibi family, therefore much later than the previous letter: Letter from Madānu-bēl-uṣur to Marduk-nāṣir-apli, my lord. I pray every day to Bēl and Nabû for the well-being of my lord. May the lord know that, since the fifth day of Nisannu, I have stayed in bed, (sick). I have not been outside the house. Quick, do not wait any longer, send five workers for me [. . . and] a canal [. . .] ten years [. . .]. Quick, send Nabû-[. . .] and workers, do not waste any time. Today, the garlic has not been harvested. There is a lot of work to do. About the silver I have asked you: why have you not sent me the silver?

The tone of this letter seems a little more aggressive than the previous one. It is hard to deduce this kind of psychological consideration with such few elements, 6.  Whether to make known who is to blame or to make clear that they were not stolen? 7.  Hackl, Jursa, and Schmidl 2014 no. 39.

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis

171

but the context may allow me to say this. Madānu-bēl-uṣur writes to his master to say that he has been sick and could not accomplish the work he had to do. He asks of his master to send workers in order to do different tasks, among them the harvest of garlic. He also reminds his master of a previous request for silver, and Marduk-nāṣir-apli has not replied to it. It is interesting to note this relationship of dependency comprises this form of communication, the slave pressing his master for workforce and silver. Putting aside psychological considerations, the proximity between the master and his agent slave also serves a purpose here: harvests have been delayed due to the supervisor’s sickness and rural workers have to quickly harvest the garlic in question. The agent serves as an intermediary between the owner of the fields and the workforce – if this link is temporarily broken in the usual routine of agricultural work, the work needed remains undone. The distance between Marduk-nāṣir-apli and the Egibi family’s rural domains make of Madānu-bēl-uṣur an indispensable agent for the Egibi’s business. When this agent is unavailable for some reason, the business suffers from it. Here, the status of Madānu-bēl-uṣur as slave is irrelevant; he has the same function of any other free agent or supervisor for any other Babylonian family. Another text, which is quite broken, can also be of some interest to see the proximity between the agent slaves and their master when dealing with economic affairs. Wunsch 1993 no. 376, dating from the time during which they were apparently the slaves of Iddin-Marduk, is a list of different sums of silver, some of them apparently received, others given to these agent slaves for different tasks : A third of a mina of silver from Gūzānu. 13 shekels and a fourth of silver from Arad-Bēl. One third of mina and five shekels from [x]. 10 shekels and an eighth of silver (. . .) 19 shekels and a half of silver from Gūzānu. 15 shekels of silver, which he can take from the quay, at the disposition of Ina-Esagil-ramât (. . .) One third of a mina given for the miksu of the ships full of onions. From the silver of the dates given to Nabû-ayyalu, three minas of silver given to Madānubēl-uṣur for the ship full of dates of Nabû-ayyalu. From (those three minas), two minas and three shekels of silver for (. . .) dates of the month of addaru of the fifth year of (. . .) from Nergal-rēṣūa (. . .)

The many ellipses make this text difficult to use, but the presence of different slaves of Iddin-Marduk and of his wife, Ina-Esagil-ramât, allow me to think of it as some sort of accounting document, maybe used by Iddin-Marduk himself. Iddin-Marduk distributed silver among his agents and close members of his family, who had business of their own. This internal accounting for Iddin-Marduk shows his business in action, and with whom he has direct contact with on a rather brief period. 8 The agency of Madānu-bēl-uṣur for Iddin-Marduk is clear: he received a large sum of silver in order to settle a date business conducted with Nabû-ayyalu. This Nabû-ayyalu may be the same Nabû-ayyalu who was a slave of Iddin-Marduk, and here had the responsibility for a ship full of dates. I may perceive here a business transaction conducted between Iddin-Marduk and two of his slaves, charged with the actual delivery and sale of dates – he then transmitted the money earned to 8.  Indeed, the tablet being quite short, I can presume that it deals with some transactions with which Iddin-Marduk was immediately concerned, on a few days period.

172

Benjamin Dromard

Madānu-bēl-uṣur, having the responsibility of the management of some of IddinMarduk’s silver. It shows once again the concrete organisation of his economic affairs, and the amount of trust given to his agent slaves with silver and tasks, which were necessary for the good operation of the transportation of products, probably produced in fields owned by Iddin-Marduk, or the Egibis. Therefore, a real proximity is perceivable in the sources between a slave agent and his master, which in theory is not different from the one existing between socalled free individuals in other economic contexts in Babylonian society. 9 This relationship being no different apparently from other economic relationships, it was normal for those slaves to take interest in economic activities of their own. Still in theory, a slave remained the dependent of his master, and that remains the advantage for the Egibis to use slaves as agents. They could have a proximity and a control over them that could not exist with “free” individuals from a legal point of view. In exchange for this control, slaves received de facto a certain autonomy. 10

The Support of the Masters for Their Slaves Nevertheless, a few texts show some conflict in this economic system. Those are of a legal nature, trials recording a conflict between an agent slave and a free individual with whom he had to work. Rachel Magdalene and Cornelia Wunsch studied one of them, Camb. 321, recording the trial procedure between Madānu-bēl-uṣur and one Nabû-ēṭir. 11 The mâr-banî ⟨in whose presence⟩:    Nergal-šum-ibni, son of Rīmūt from the Arad-Nergal family,    Lâbāši, son of Nabû-bān-aḫi from the Kidin-Sîn family,    Šamaš-aḫ-iddin, son of Ṭāb-šâr-Bēl, the one in charge of the fodder,    Bēl-iddin, son of Bûnânu,    Nergal-ina-têšê-ēṭir, son of Nabû-zēr-lišir,    Bēl-apla-iddin, son of Nabû-ēṭir-napšāti,    Rīmūt, the canal inspector of (the) Nabû (temple),    Bēl-iddin, son of Mušêzib-Marduk from the Nappāḫu family, in whose presence (Madānu-bēl-uṣur reported) that Nabû-ēṭir, son of Nergalšum-ibni from the Ēṭiru family, on the sixth day of the seventh month in the afternoon, in an outright and unlawful manner, has beaten Madānu-bēl-uṣur, the slave of Itti-Marduk-balāṭu from the Egibi family; and with his door-opener he pierced his ṣibtu garment, (speaking) thus : “This is a word of the king: ‘A slave does not wear a loin cloth of first-class wool round his waist.’ ” Scribe: Nidinti-Bēl, son of Iddinaya from the Sagilaya family. Šaḫrînu, on the sixth day of the seventh month, sixth year of Cambyses, King of Babylon and the lands.

9.  See the agents in the Murašu’s firm, for example. Some may have been of servile status. See Stolper 1985 for an example outside of the Egibi archives, especially pp. 20–23 and 82–103. 10.  What I would like to see in my future work in the sources is the times when this relationship was not working, when there was a conflict between the agent and his master. Most of the sources conserved show the system in actual operation, not in disorder. 11.  Magdalene and Wunsch 2012.

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis

173

Rachel F. Magdalene and Cornelia Wunsch established that Nabû-ēṭir from the Ēṭiru family associated in business matters with Iddin-Marduk and the Egibi family. According to the documents from Šaḫrînu and Babylon of the Egibi archives, he was indebted to Iddin-Marduk and the Egibis 12. He worked in the Šaḫrînu area, and, developing his business, borrowed silver, dates and ploughing animals from Iddin-Marduk and Madānu-bēl-uṣur. He bought a slave on credit, as he needed the workforce for his fields, but was incapable of buying it directly. From the years of Nabonidus onwards, Nabû-ēṭir increased his debts towards the Egibis and Madānubēl-uṣur; the latter is also known in legal documents as capable of demanding before witnesses the payments of rents owed to him. In one such case, 13 the debtor said he delivered the rental fee to Nabû-ēṭir instead of Madānu-bēl-uṣur. Therefore, the relationship between the two individuals was strained on different levels, and the situation must have become unbearable for Nabû-ēṭir. It resulted on the physical aggression of Madānu-bēl-uṣur, which Camb. 321 documents. Put into context as Magdalene and Wunsch did with other economic sources, it shows the social resentment that a free man, representing the “traditional” elites of Babylonian society, may have felt against what represented to him the cause of his economic difficulties. Madānu-bēl-uṣur, a rich slave of the new elites in town for whom he had to work and to whom he is indebted, is the incarnation of this. It may be symbolic of a social and economic change in Babylonian society at the time, and of the originality that may have represented the case of such slaves. Moreover, it may be important to ask what would have happened if Madānu-bēl-uṣur had not been a slave of the Egibis: his aggression could have remained unknown to us. We do not have the final decisions by the judges on this case, but Madānu-bēluṣur continued to do business after this, whereas Nabû-ēṭir is not attested in other texts after this one. The situation was already favourable for Madānu-bēl-uṣur, as Nabû-ēṭir owed large sums of silver and other commodities to him and to IddinMarduk. Nabû-ēṭir grew dependent on the Egibis and their delegate in Šaḫrînu, and was left with very few opportunities to resolve this situation. Faced with the concurrence of his creditors, he used violence against Madānubēl-uṣur under false pretences, the wearing of a supposedly forbidden garment for slaves, according to “the word of the king.” It is interesting to note that Nabû-ēṭir chose to express hostility towards a slave by putting the accent on the status of Madānu-bēl-uṣur, on the social and legal inferiority of this slave. 14 Another legal procedure concerns Nergal-rēṣūa. It is the text YOS 19 101 (tenth year of Nabonidus, Babylon): Nergal-rēṣūa, slave of Iddin-Marduk, spoke to the judges of Nabonidus, king of Babylon, in the following manner: “Iddin-Marduk, my master, commissioned a lot of 480 kur of dates to be transported from the country on ships belonging to Amurru-natan, boatman, son of Ammaya. He made him responsible for the surveillance of those dates. He brought the ships to Babylon and gave me Iddin-Marduk’s message. Inside it, he had written: ‘480 kur of dates’. I examined the dates and saw that 47 kur and 1 12.  For the documents linking Nabû-ēṭir with the Egibi family’s business in Šaḫrînu, see Wunsch and Magdalene 2012: 105–6. 13.  Camb. 329. 14.  This analysis holds on the hypothesis that Madānu-bêl-uṣur’s deposition is believable; unfortunately, I cannot confront this with any other source available to us for the moment.

174

Benjamin Dromard pān were missing. I brought the case to Amurru-natan and he lied to me in the following manner: ‘I did not take your dates’. After that, an informer (came and accused him of having taken) 4 kur and 1 pān of dates (in secret), and behind my ship [broken] these dates in [broken]. . . We established a contract saying this: ‘Amurru-natan took in an unlawful manner 7 kur and 1 pān of dates’. After that, Amurru-natan fled, (he had not been seen) until today. Now, I have brought him before you. Pronounce a decision about (our case)!” The judges heard their arguments. They read before the judges this contract and Iddin-Marduk’s message on which was written ‘480 kur of dates’, brought by Nergal-rēṣūa. They interrogated Amurru-natan. Concerning the disappearance of the dates, he said that he stole them. The judges decided that he has to pay 40 kur of dates, the missing amount of dates, and that they have to be given to Nergal-rēṣūa, slave of Iddin-Marduk. (These men) were present for this decision : Nergal-ušallim, judge, descendant of Šigûa; Nabû-aḫḫê-iddin, judge, descendant of Egibi; Nabû-šum-ukîn, judge, descendant of Ir’anni; Bēl-aḫḫê-iddin, judge, descendant of Nūr-Sîn; Bēl-ēṭir, judge, descendant of Sîn-tabni. Scribes: Nabû-šum-iškun, descendant of Râb-bânê, Bēliqiša, son of Sîn-tabni. (Written) in Babylon, the fourth day of the month of addaru, the tenth year of Nabonidus, king of Babylon.

This text is interesting in many aspects. We know of Nergal-rēṣūa for having to deal with the transportation by ship of products for Iddin-Marduk. This is a case where we can see how the supervision of this transportation was made, and how the agent and his master shared information concerning the products in question. Unfortunately, I could not find any other text where Amurru-natan is present, and therefore I cannot say if the Nūr-Sîn or the Egibi families had a long-time work relationship with him. Anyway, if I can trust the text in question and Nergal-rēṣūa’s deposition, this Amurru-natan stole the dates. The quantity of the dates missing is inconsistent in the text, but it was not a small quantity for one individual, if he was the only one involved. Indeed, the presence of an apparent and unnamed informer who told Nergal-rēṣūa of the stealing may argue for two hypothesis: the first one that this informer witnessed the actual stealing and reported it to Nergal-rēṣūa, the other, that he was a partner in crime with Amurru-natan that saw a better interest to inform Nergal-rēṣūa of the theft. There is also the possibility that this informer is a liar, willing to do harm for some reason to Amurru-natan or to be seen in a good light by Nergal-rēṣūa and the families he is associated with. I do not prefer any of those propositions, and none of them can be proven by any other document that I know of. However, they all have in common the fact that this informer acted alone, and we should not put aside the importance of the Nūr-Sîn family in the region of Babylon for the understanding of his action. An individual living there could probably benefit of the Nūr-Sîn or the Egibi’s good disposition towards him or her for any economic affair. 15 15.  Nabû-eṭir of the previous text is the opposite of this: being in a bad disposition towards IddinMarduk and the Egibis, his situation got worse and business became difficult for him in the Šaḫrinu region.

Made Men: Rich Slaves of the Nūr-Sîns and the Egibis

175

Anyway, the fact that Amurru-natan fled does not make a good case for his innocence for what we can judge of this procedure. Nergal-rēṣūa managed to find him and to bring him in a court of law in order for him to answer for his actions. After a confrontation of both their arguments, and a consultation of the pieces of evidence, Amurru-natan is found guilty and has to pay the missing amount of dates. What is intriguing is the presence of Nabû-aḫḫê-iddin as a judge in the process. He is a well-known member of the Egibi family, which at the time shared common economic interests and a matrimonial alliance with the Nūr-Sîn. That a judge had to settle a case concerning an important agent slave from his in-laws has to be put into question, but this may be counter-balanced by the presence of other supposedly neutral judges in the affair. The social and economic importance of the Nūr-Sîn and Egibi families can be put into play here, as a more indirect influence on the resolution of the affair. What it could mean is the power that such a family could use to benefit their affairs and those of its agents. However, the importance of the Nūr-Sîn and the Egibi families in the region, the presence of Nabû-aḫḫe-iddin as a judge in the decision, the presence of an informer helping Nergal-rēṣūa and the positive decision for him resulting from this procedure, all of this may show such a power in action. Likewise, Madānu-bēl-uṣur, Iddin-Marduk and the Egibis had the same kind of importance in Šaḫrînu and in Camb. 321. I think it is necessary to place these legal procedures, these trials in the social and economic context of the period, and that it is necessary to look at the position of every individual and their relationships with the other people involved to fill in the gaps in this kind of documentation. Therefore, the settlements of both these affairs need to be understood with such details in mind. Iddin-Marduk and the Egibis needed their agent slaves to continue their business. Indeed, YOS 19 101 concerns the protection of Iddin-Marduk’s economic interests, under the responsibility of Nergal-rēṣūa. The later acted in order to defend the business of his master, which may use his and his in-laws’ social influence in order to do this. In Camb. 321, it is more or less the other way around: the Egibis’ influence and Madānu-bēl-uṣur’s importance in the local context of Šaḫrinu are crucial to the understanding of this affair.

Conclusion I have tried to show briefly the known cases of Nergal-rēṣūa and Madānu-bēluṣur, focusing on their economic careers and their relationship with their masters. They shared very similar paths of life, and the sources available to us tend to present them as slaves in an exceptional situation, both economically and socially. They seemed to have the same economic reasoning as their masters and served as efficient agents for the management of their affairs, in the same time developing their own wealth. This autonomy was beneficial for both the slaves and their masters, representing the same family in the eyes of other members of the Babylonian society, and the Nūr-Sîn and the Egibi families attended to the needs of their agent slaves, well aware of the particular and fruitful relationship they had with them.

176

Benjamin Dromard

Bibliography Abraham, K. 2004 Business and Politics under the Persian Empire: The Financial Dealings of Marduknāṣir-apli of the House of Egibi (521– 487 B.C.E.). Bethesda: CDL. Beaulieu, P.-A. 2000 Legal and Administrative Texts from the Reign of Nabonidus. YOS 19. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Campbell-Thompson, R. 1906 Cuneiform Texts from Babylonian Tablets in the British Museum, vol. 22. London: Harrison and Sons. Dandamaev, M. A. 2009 Slavery in Babylonia from Nabopolassar to Alexander the Great (626–331 BC). 2nd ed. DeKalb, Illinois: Northern Illinois University Press. Hackl, J., Jursa, M., and Schmidl, M. 2014 Spätbabylonische Privatebriefe. AOAT 414/1. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Stolper, M. W. 1985 Entrepreneurs and Empire: the Murašû Archive, the Murašû Firm, and Persian Rule in Babylonia. PIHANS 54. Leiden: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul. Strassmaier, J. N. 1889 Inschriften von Nabonidus, König von Babylon. BT 1–4. Leipzig: Verlag von Eduard Pfeiffer. 1890 Inschriften von Cambyses, König von Babylon. BT 8–9. Leipzig: Verlag von Eduard Pfeiffer. 1892 Inschriften von Darius, König von Babylon. BT 10–12. Leipzig: Verlag von Eduard Pfeiffer. Wunsch, C. 1993 Die Urkunden des babylonischen Geschäftsmannes Iddin-Marduk: Zum Handel mit Naturalien im 6. Jahrhundert v. Chr. CM 3. Groningen: Styx Publications. Wunsch, C., and Magdalene, F. R. 2012 A Slave Is Not Supposed to Wear Such a Garment! Kaskal 9: 99–120.

Betting on the Right Horse Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire Yuval Levavi Vienna

The transition from the Neo-Assyrian to the Neo-Babylonian period in the last third of the seventh century b.c.e. was, from a Babylonian perspective, neither peaceful nor was it secured for quite some time. A contemporary well-educated Babylonian was probably well acquainted both with the glory tales of ancient past (viz. the Old and Middle Babylonian Periods), as well as the quite recent Babylonian uprisings of Merodach-Baladan II and Šamaš-šumu-ukīn against the Assyrian Empire, and the toll it took on Babylonia. During the uncertainty which followed the death of Assurbanipal, the question of loyalty to the latest Babylonian insurgent, Nabopolassar, posed itself for most members of the Babylonian elite; especially in the southern parts of Babylonia, birthplace of the Chaldean uprising. 1 This contribution examines aspects of loyalty, or lack thereof, during the early years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire (ca. 626–610), 2 and the relations between the Babylonian urban elite and the royal family. I will focus on four letters which were sent from, and to, Eanna of Uruk; three of them (YOS 3 7, BIN 1 70, TCL 9 99) are part of the Eanna archive, 3 while the fourth, ABL 469, comes from the state archive of Assyria. 4 Author’s note:  This contribution was written under the auspices of a project entitled The Language of Power I: Official Epistolography in Babylonia in the First Millennium BC funded by the Fonds zur Förderung der Wissenschaftlichen Forschung (Austria) and directed by M. Jursa at the University of Vienna. Royal names will be abbreviated as follows: Anš = Aššur-nādin-šumi, Abp = Assurbanipal, Esarh = Esarhaddon, Kan = Kandalanu, Sši = Sîn-šar-iškun, Ššu = Šamaš-šum-ukīn, Mbi = Marduk-aplu-iddin (Merodach-Baladan), Nbk = Nebuchadnezzar, Nbn = Nabonidus, Nbp = Nabopolassar, Sar = Sargon. 1.  The term “Chaldean” is used here to designate the supporters of Nabopolassar, the “political party” advocating an independent Babylonia, free from Assyrian domination. Regardless of the historical question of the Chaldean origin of Nabopolassar, the term is adopted here simply to distinguish between those Babylonians who were “pro-Chaldean” and the so called “pro-Assyrians.” For a survey of the different theories regarding the origin of Nabopolassar and his family, see Fuchs 2014: 58–64. 2.  All dates in this paper are b.c.e.. In 626 Nabopolassar rebelled against the Assyrian Empire and proclaimed himself king of Babylon. During the summer of 623, however, Sîn-šarru-iškun and the Assyrian army captured Uruk, forcing Nabopolassar to retreat his forces and reconvene around Babylon. Nabopolassar recaptured Uruk in 620, secured the south, and slowly drove the Assyrians farther to the north. Nineveh fall in 612, and the remaining Assyrian forces were finally defeated in 609 at Harran. 3.  New editions of these letters are currently prepared by the author. 4.  See Jursa 2007: 125–27.

177

178

Yuval Levavi

1.  A New Hope YOS 3 7 is the earliest dateable letter from the Eanna archive. 5 It was written by the three highest temple officials—the royal resident (qīpu), temple administrator (šatammu), and the temple scribe (ṭupšar bīti) of Eanna—and addressed to Nabopolassar himself. The rather mundane message of the letter, reporting the start of the shearing season in the temple, is contrasted by the vivid and passionate rhetoric of the writers. Indeed, this was not just any shearing season; it was the first shearing held during Nabopolassar’s reign: To the king of the lands, our lord, (thus say) your servants Amurru-udammiq, Kudurru and Marduk-šākin-šumi; may Uruk and the Eanna bless the king of the lands, our lord! Daily, at the opening of gate and at the closing of the gate, we are praying to the Lady-of-Uruk and Nanāya for the prosperity, long life, happiness, health, the enduring of the royal throne and the suppressing of the enemies of the king of the lands. All is well with the service of the Eanna, the temple of your gods. We have begun the shearing in the temple of your gods. We are praying to the Lady-of-Uruk and Nanāya for the king of the lands, our lord, (saying), “may this be the first of 1000 shearing during the (reign of the) king of the lands, our lord!” 6

A precise dating of this letter can be established by comparing Nabopolassar’s ascent to throne in Babylon and the beginning of the shearing season. Nabopolassar’s accession year officially started upon his coronation in Babylon at the 26th day of Araḫsamnu (November 626), while the shearing of sheep takes place during Ayyaru or Simānu (April/May/June). Hence, the aforementioned shearing either preceded or succeeded Nabopolassar’s coronation within around six months, i.e., ca. May of either 627 or 626; but which is it? Prima vista, it may be argued that the letter celebrates a victorious king, king of the land, a king who vanquishes his enemies, thus it was written after Nabopolassar took over Babylon and was officially crowned as king. A closer examination, however, seems to point in fact to the contrary. First, note that the letter does not address past events; the writers wish the king would vanquish his enemies, they wish his throne would be stable. Moreover, they do not mention the city of Babylon itself. Nabopolassar is addressed as “king of the land,” which is a rarely used royal epithet in the Neo-Babylonian period. 7 The omission of Babylon—the capture of which was the king’s prime (and quite recent) achievement—is especially noteworthy in light of the praising rhetoric in the letter. Thus, an earlier date within Nabopolassar’s 5.  YOS 3 147 is the only letter in the Eanna archive which predates YOS 3 7. However, YOS 3 147 can only roughly be dated to the late eighth – mid-seventh century b.c.e. (based on palaeography and the salutation formula). 6.  1)ana luga l k ur k ur e nini / ìr meška Idk ur. g a l ka l / In í g . d u u Ida ma r. u tu - g a r- mu / u n u g ki u é.a n.na a-na l ug al k ur k ur 5)e n-i-ni lik-ru-bu u4-mu-us-su / ina b a d k á [ù] tur-ru k á / dg a š a n šá unug ki u dna-na-⟨a⟩ / a-na t in zimeš g íd. da udmeš / ṭu-ub lìb-bi ṭu-ub u z u 10)d u s u h u š gišg u . z a l u g a l-útu / ù sa-kap lúkúr / šá lug al k urmeš en-ni nu-ṣal-lu / šu-lum a-na en.nun-ti / šá é . a n . n a é d i n g i rmeš-ka 15) gi-iz-zu ina é ding ir meš-ka / nu-ul-tir-ra ina pa-ni / dg a š a n šá u n u g ki u dna-na-a / a-na l u g a l ku r kur en-ni ník-ta-rab / um-[ma a-g]a-a lu-ú ig i-ú 20)šá 1 ⸢l i m gi-iz⸣-za-nu / a-na tar-ṣi ⸢pa-ni⸣ šá l u g a l kur kur / en-⸢i⸣-ni. 7.  Although it can still be found in two other letters in the Eanna archive: BIN 1 93 and GCCI 2 395. For a discussion of the Neo-Babylonian titulature, see Vanderhooft 1999: 16–23, and see Da Riva 2008: 98–107 for the titles and epithets of the Neo-Babylonian kings in their royal inscriptions.

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire

179

accession year, prior to his coronation, seems to fit the context of the letter better. This early dating of YOS 3 7 means that the Urukeans recognised Nabopolassar’s kingship even though he could not yet establish his rule in Babylon itself. Further support for the early Urukean acceptance of Nabopolassar comes from NCBT 557, which is dated to the second month of Nabopolassar’s accession year, prior to his official coronation in Babylon as well. 8 The early Urukean support of Nabopolassar is not surprising giving our current understanding of his personal and family background. It is by now well accepted that Nabopolassar’s family (regardless to the question of their Chaldean origin) came from Uruk. 9 Furthermore, though perhaps not yet as widely accepted, Nabopolassar appointed his eldest son, Nebuchadnezzar, to the office of temple administrator of Eanna; this is in fact the above mentioned Kudurru (short for Nabûkudurrī-uṣur), one of the writers of YOS 3 7. 10 Uruk, then, was Nabopolassar’s power base, the first place to acknowledge his rule, and the place in which he chose to leave his son and heir. This is a period of a still ongoing raging war against the Neo-Assyrian Empire, a war which was far from being over even within Babylonia proper. Uruk was perceived by Nabopolassar as the safest place to entrust his son and future king, Nebuchadnezzar. Although the Urukeans, or should I say Uruk, acknowledged Nabopolassar as their king, 11 the fight for the endorsement of the general population of Babylonia, was not over yet. 12 The people of Nippur, for example, who traditionally supported Assyria, joined the Assyrian army and chased the Chaldean forces down to Uruk (Glassner 2004: 216, no. 21: 8); the Nippureans at this point were still loyal to Sînšarru-iškun and the Assyrians. 13 This somewhat anecdotal data might tempt us to try and assign each city and/or tribal entity to one of two categories: pro-Assyria or pro-Chaldeans. The political situation and balance of power, however, was not as simple as that. As will be seen in §2.1 below, a mixture of pro-Assyrian and proChaldean “parties” were active within the same cities.

2.  The Assyrian Empire Strikes Back As noted, Nabopolassar trusted the Urukeans and felt comfortable leaving his eldest, though still quite young, son in their hands. 14 Being a generally pro-Chaldean 8.  And note also PTS 2208: 1, which, retrospectively refers to the tenth day of the forth month as within Nabopolassar’s accession year. 9. See, e.g., Beaulieu 1997: 391–93, Kleber 2008: 8, Jursa 2007, Da Riva 2008: 2, Fuchs 2014: 58–61. 10.  Jursa 2007: 131. 11.  As will be shown in §2, not all of Urukeans were “pro-Nabopolassar.” It was the majority, or the more powerful parts of the city of Uruk who legitimatised Nabopolassar rule; not necessarily each and every individual in Uruk. 12. The people of Babylon, according the Nabopolassar Chronicle (Glassner 2004: 216, no. 21: 11–12), marched out to fight the Assyrian army when Sîn-šarru-iškun advanced upon the city, thus, Nabopolassar had the general support of the city of Babylon as well. 13.  Nielsen (2011: 157–62) gives a useful survey of Nippur’s relations with the Assyrians (and the Babylonians). 14.  Although we do not know the year of Nebuchadnezzar’s birth, he would certainly have been a boy when he took the office of temple administrator. His young age, as Jursa (2007: 131, n. 34) points out, also explains the fact that he is almost always accompanied by others in the documents (usually the royal resident, the king’s own man in the temple), clearly contra to all future temple administrators.

180

Yuval Levavi

city, as well as its southern possession away from the Assyrians in the north, Uruk was a relatively safe place to leave the young crown prince; or so it seemed. In the summer of 623 Sîn-šarru-iškun was able to recapture Uruk and to more or less hold it until 620. 15 As a result, Nabopolassar’s supporters had to withdraw to the south and regroup their forces around Babylon, 16 while pro-Assyrian officials were re-installed in Uruk in place of Nabopolassar’s. 17 The situation, however, remained unstable, and the Assyrian supporters had to take security measures to protect the people in the city; they sealed the gates of Uruk. This is in fact documented in the phrase (ina) edēl bābi “(during the) closing of the gate,” which was added to date formula of texts from this period. 18 In light of this, it is not surprising that the people of Uruk designated this period as nukurtu ina māti “the hostility in the land,” as is documented in the date formula of NBC 4904 19 (mu.4.kam nu-kúr-ti ina kur), similarly to the edēl bābi formulae mentioned above; see also the use of this phrase in BIN 1 70 in §5 below.

2.1.  ABL 469 – A Letter from Uruk to Nineveh The beginning and the end of ABL 469 are lost, but we know that the letter was sent from Uruk to the Assyrian king, Sîn-šarru-iškun, during this problematic period.  20 . . . the king, our lord, appointed Nabû-udammiq as the governor [of Uruk]. We (were as good as) dead, [but now], grace was bestowed upon our “offices.” 21 He entrusted Nabû-udammiq over us [to look] after the royal service. Our lord, in As regards to his actual age, the following suppositions can be made: considering his death in 562, and a respected, though reasonable, age of around 70 (as mentioned by Jursa, ibid.), his birth date in the mid-30th of the seventh century is a reasonable postulation. One more issue that should be taken into account is his involvement in military affairs. Nebuchadnezzar contributed to the Babylonian war effort as early as 610 (TCL 9 99, see §3 below), and took over the command of the army in 607 (Glassner 2004: 224, no. 23: 5–12). These dates seem to work best with the mid-30s birth-year (be the exact date as it may, an under 20 general leading the Babylon forces against an Assyrian/Egyptian coalition, seems to be too young). 15.  According to the Nabopolassar Chronicle, the Assyrians went down to Babylon on the 15th of Tašrītu, 10.10.623 (Glassner 2004: 216, no. 21: 29–31). Only two and a half weeks later (29.10.623), a text written in Uruk was dated to “the fifth year of Sîn-šarru-iškun, during the closing of the gate” (SBTU 2 57), i.e., 19 days after the Assyrian set out to capture Uruk, the city was under Sîn-šarru-iškun control. On the chronological aspects of the Assyrian recapture of Uruk, see Beaulieu 1997. 16.  Nabopolassar’s supporters did not accept the Assyrian occupation. Kudurru (Nebuchadnezzar) is still referred to as the temple administrator of Eanna in 5 Nbp (AnOr 9 5). In reality, however, he was near Babylon in Cutha, not in Uruk. The pro-Assyrian Gimillu son of Nadnāya was the temple administrator of Eanna at the time (e.g., Hunger 1970 no. 5: 7–10, referred to in Beaulieu 1997 as NU 7–10). See Da Riva’s (2001: 41, 58) for historical reconstruction regarding officials of the Ebabbar temple in Sippar who found refuge in Babylon during Sîn-šarru-iškun’s occupation of Sippar (626). 17.  See Kleber 2008: 7–8. 18.  For the list of texts, see table 3 in Beaulieu 1997: 376. 19.  Published in Beaulieu 1997: 388–89 (Appendix 1). 20.  ABL 469 was edited by M. Jursa (2007: 125–27). It has been argued on the basis of this latter that the Chaldean royal family had collaborated with the Assyrians authorities for many years prior to Nabopolassar’s revolt (Jursa 2007). By the time this letter was written, however, they had become the Assyrians’ arch enemy; Nabopolassar and his brother are driven out of the city and their father’s corpse is desecrated. 21.  “Our offices” stands here for bīt bēlīni (l. 8′). Jursa (2007: 127) translates this phrase as “Dienst­ stelle,” and refers to Postgate’s (2007: 354–358) discussion on the Neo-Assyrian bēt bēlē, which is translated by Postgate as “my government department.”

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire

181

his benevolence, appointed him as governor. [The king, our lord], should ask the [serv]ants before him, they [will say, “Nabû-aplu-u]ṣur [served] Uruk and the Eanna, by the [order] of Ashurbanipal, your father. He, however, seized property of Uruk and the Eanna.” [We . . .] and dragged Kudurru’s body in the streets and drove his sons out of Uruk. We had a legal dispute with them before Assurbanipal, your father, who ruled in our favour. He took back our houses, our prebends and our gardens, which were wrongfully taken, and gave them to us. He gave their gardens to the Lady-of-Uruk and Nanāya on account of the property which was taken from the Eanna. He did not let them back in Uruk. [Now, PN] and Tabnēa, the Nippureans, who are in Uruk, are telling us, “[Nabopolassar and] Nabû-šumu-iškun, sons of Kudurru [. . .] were sent to Uruk” . . . 22

ABL 469 makes it clear that the pro-Assyrian officials, in this case the letter-writers themselves, were local Urukeans, and not newcomers introduced by the Assyrians. This conclusion is also supported by a pre-Nabopolassar attestation of Gimillu son of Nadnāya in Uruk; YBC 4047 (14 Kan, 635/4). This is the same Gimillu son of Nadnāya who would later become the pro-Assyrian temple administrator of Eanna during “the hostility in the land.” 23 ABL 469 also testifies to the direct royal involvement and acquaintance with the situation in Uruk. It was the king himself who appointed Nabû-udammiq as governor of Uruk, a position he held during the three years Assyrian control. 24 Unfortunately, there is currently no information concerning Nabû-udammiq prior to this appointment, and it is therefore impossible to examine the circumstances (personal/family background, prior public activity, etc.) in which he came to office. We might, nonetheless, have some information regarding his personal business activity of later years, after he was no longer serving as the governor of Uruk; I will return to this point at §4.3 below. Apart from the local origin of the pro-Assyrian Urukean officials, ABL 469 also reveals what was occupying (at least some of) the Urukeans’ minds during these troubled times. The writers’ main concern is the allotment of houses, gardens and prebends, which were distributed by the new (/old) Assyrian administration. In fact, the writers do not even mention the war, which was certainly affecting the inhabitants of the sealed city. The rebels’ unacceptable transgression, as far as the writers are concerned, is embezzlement; their misappropriation of Eanna’s property (which lead to a legal dispute between the two parties). Following the same line of administrative and political thinking, the admirable royal act and great favour towards the writers, was the appointment of Nabû-udammiq as the new governor of Uruk (as well as, of course, reassigning their prebendary and property rights). Soon 22.  5′´)[. . .] x na un-qu šá lug al en-ni / [. . .] Ida g - s i g5-iq a-na lúg a r*- k u-u-tu / [šá u n u g ki ip-t]e*qid mi-tu-tu a-ni-ni / [x x x x] ⸢m u n*⸣.ḫ i . a-ni ina é en-i-ni / [šak]-⸢na-at* ù* Id+a g ⸣ - s i g5-i[q pab-r]u šá en.nun-ti 10′)šá l ug al e n-n[i] [x (x)] ⸢ina⸣* m[u]ḫ*-ḫi-ni [a-na lú]g a r. k u-u-tu / ip-qi-d[u* šu-ú l u g a l en-ni i]r*meš [sa ina i g i]-⸢šú*⸣ liš-ʾa-al-ma / li-[iq-bu-u um-ma Ix (x)]⸢x⸣-p a b a-na [ka(?)] Ia n . š a r- d ù - a / ad-k[a* en.nun-ti šá] unug ki u é . an. na / it-[ta-ṣar u n í g . ka9 šá u n u g k]i u é . a n . n a it-ta-šú [ø] 15′)ki-⸢i⸣ [ni-x x x] ⸢lú⸣*.bad šá Iníg.du ina su-ú-qu / ni-⸢il-ta⸣-[ad-da u] ⸢dumu⸣*meš-šú ul-tu unugki / ni-ik-ta-at-mu ina igi* Ia n.š ar-d ù- a ad-ka / di*-i-nu it-ti-šú-nu ki-i nid-bu-ub / di-na-nu it-ti-šú-nu i-te-pu-uš 20′)émeš-ni giš.s ub .bameš-ni gišk ir i6meš-n[i] / šá a-ki-i piš-ki iš-šu-ú ki-i ú-ter-[ru] / it-tan-na-an-na-šú ù giški ri6meš-šúnu / [a-na] ⸢d⸣[gaša n] šá unug ki u dna-na-a a-ki-i níg. ka9 / [šá ul-tu] ⸢é⸣. a n . n a iš-šu-ú it-ta-din 25′)[a-na unu]g*ki ul u-ter-šú-nu-tu / [en-na PN] u Itab-né-e-a lún i b ruki.meš / [šá ina u n u]g*ki iš-šu-nu iq-ta-bu-na-ašú / [um-ma PN u I]d+ag - m u- du dum umeš šá In í g . d u / [. . .] a-na u n u gki šap-ru-ni. The transliteration and collations are based on Jursa 2007: 125–27. 23.  See n. 16. 24.  See Beaulieu 1997: 380–81.

182

Yuval Levavi

thereafter, however, the wheel of fortune turned once again in favour Nabopolassar and his men.

3.  Return of Nabopolassar Nabopolassar was able to regain control over Uruk in 620. While this event is missing from the chronicles, 25 the echoes of Nabopolassar’s recapture of Uruk are nonetheless vivid in BIN 1 70, a letter from the Eanna archive. Two (unidentified) Urukeans named Marduk and Innin-šumu-uṣur are writing this letter to Mardukšākin-šumi, the temple scribe of Eanna. 26 Letter of Marduk and Innin-šumu-uṣur to Marduk-šākin-šumi, their father (. . .). We were here (well) before the rebellion (nukurtu) in Uruk. (So) how come the lord counts us among the enemies? [. . .] you were assigned with the [. . .], prebends and the gardens of Babylon by the king. Whoever has his prebend and/or his garden at his disposal is paying from it the nidintu-gift to the king and enjoys the rest (him-self). Now, I am sending to my lord his slave-girl and her son. Assign our income to a brother of mine, of whom she will tell you. Should the royal resident have the votive-offering (ikribu) while we are eating the leftovers in the gate of our prison? (. . .) You are (our) patron. 27

Although the Chaldeans were able to turn the wheel once more, the writers of BIN 1 70 were apparently left out of the ride. They are in prison, or at least confined to their whereabouts, unable to come to the temple scribe themselves. They allude to their long-lasting loyalty, stressing that they were in Uruk long before the period of hostility. Thus, they expect to be rewarded like everyone else in Uruk (everyone who counts, that is). Their phrasing seems to suggest that they have actually spent the period of hostility in Uruk, which means that they did not leave the city with the Nabopolassar’s supporters. Perhaps this is the reason for which they were considered as pro-Assyrians by Nabopolassar’s long-time loyal followers, and are now compelled to try and regain the Chaldeans’ trust. An examination of the writers’ “main interest” in writing their letter portrays a quite similar picture to the one we have seen in ABL 469 above. Despite their grim physical state of affairs, the writers are focusing on their share in the reorganisation of lands and rights, which was part of the aftermath of the 620 events in Uruk. They are not even asking the temple scribe for permission to appear before him and plead their case (a request one might expect from individuals who felt mistreated). 28 25.  The early Nabopolassar Chronicle breaks off after 622, while the Fall of Nineveh Chronicle picks up only at 615. 26.  At 616/15 (10 Nbp), Marduk-šākin-šumi was promoted to the office of temple administrator. Given the context of BIN 1 70, it should be dated not too long after Nabopolassar regained control over Uruk, i.e., ca. 620. 27.  1)⸢im⸣ Imar-duk ù / Idin-nin-m u- ùr u / a-na da ma r. u tu - g a r- mu / ad-šú-nu (...) 8)ina pa-na-at nu-kúr-tu4 / šá unu g ki a-kan-na a-ni-ni 10)am-me-ni it-ti / e nmeš ḫi-⸢ṭu an-ni⸣-⟨ni⟩ / ⸢e n i-ma⸣-[an-ni (x x)] / [x x émeš giš] .šub.⸢ba⸣meš / ⸢u⸣ gišk ir i6meš šá t in. t ir ki 15)⸢ina⸣ š[uII] šá l u g a l ta-at-taš-kan / man-nu ⟨šá⟩ ina lìb-bi giššub.ba-šú / u giš⸢k ir i6⸣-šú ú-šu!-uz-zu / ni-di-it-tu4 a-na l u g a l / i-⸢nam⸣-din u ú-tur ⸢ik⸣-kal 20 en-na gém e šá en-ia / u dum u-šú a-na e n-ia / al-ta-⸢par⸣ šeš-ú-a / šá ta-qab-bak-ka / ina ⸢u g u⸣ š u k. ḫ i . a-ni 25) šu-⸢uz⸣-ziz-ma / [ù?] lúqí-⸢i⸣-pi ik-rib!(T. pur) / li-kul u šit-tu4 / [mim-m]a ina ká é kil-li-ni ni-kul / [li-sa] d-dir-⸢ma⸣ li-mur-šú m un. ḫi. a-nu-tú 30)at-ta. 28.  See also BIN 1 94, TCL 9 113, YOS 3 132, where subordinates are requesting from their superiors to come before them.

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire

183

Their main concern is not their freedom, rather their present, and perhaps more importantly, future income rights. Marduk-šākin-šumi’s response to BIN 1 70 is lost, and thus the fate of Marduk and Innin-šumu-uṣur is unknown. Their letter, in any case, as well as ABL 469, raises the question of administrative continuity and/ or change between the Neo-Assyrian and the Neo-Babylonian periods.

4.  To What Extent Did Nabopolassar “Reset” Administrative Systems? As has been shown in recent years, the Neo-Babylonian administration, especially within Babylonia proper, was to a large degree modelled after its Neo-Assyrian predecessor. 29 I will now examine the degree of continuity, or lack thereof, from the point of view of the officials themselves. How did the new Chaldean administration treat the old (high-level) temple functionaries who until recently were working with the Assyrian regime? Two opposing factors should be taken into consideration in this discussion. First, the high-level temple offices were traditionally occupied by the Babylonian elite of the alluvial cities. The upper urban strata held considerable political (as well as economical) power, and their support was vital if one wished to enforce stability in Babylonia. As is illustrated by ABL 469 and BIN 1 70 above, this could be achieved by ensuring the property rights of the local elite. On the other hand, it must also be noted that successful revolutions, as well as failed rebellions, often result in a widespread replacing of high-level administrators. The aftermath of the Babylonian revolt against Xerxes in 484 can serve as a good example for the latter. Simply put, the Persian reaction to the Babylonian uprising was the removal of the old strong Babylonian families (especially in the northern cities) from their prominent political and administrative positions, thus stripping them of power. 30

4.1. Individuals On the level of individual officials, it seems that Nabopolassar’s policy was a more-or-less sweeping replacement of local high-ranking officials. Admittedly, the prosopography of the very late Assyrian and early Neo-Babylonian periods is not as rich as that of the later stages of the sixth century, but the available information seems to be consistent enough to draw this conclusion. The clearest example comes from Uruk. All top three temple offices, as well as the office of the governor of Uruk, are filled by pro-Chaldean officials as soon as Nabopolassar takes over. These officials are then removed by the Assyrians during the temporary Assyrian domination in Uruk (623–620), only to be reinstalled when Nabopolassar finally gets permanent control over the south. 31 29. This is especially true regarding the Assyrian origin of some of the highest Babylon offices; see Da Riva 2013: 202–3, Jursa 2010: 80–88. From the point of view of the political structure, however, though our knowledge regarding the Neo-Babylonian imperial rule is certainly imperfect, we do know that several key aspects in the Neo-Assyrian Empire (e.g., the provincial system) were not embraced (at least initially) by the Neo-Babylonian kings; see Jursa 2014b: 138–39, Levavi, forthcoming. 30.  Plenty of literature in recent years has dealt with the aftermath of the 484 events from varies aspects (e.g., political, economic, and administrative); to name just a few: Waerzeggers 2003/4, Kessler 2004, Baker 2008, and Pirngruber, forthcoming. 31.  Although positive evidence exists for the replacement of just two of these officials (the temple administrator Kudurru by Gimillu son of Nadnāya and the governor of Uruk Anu-aḫu-iddin by Nabû-

184

Yuval Levavi

There is less information regarding other Babylonian cities, even such as Sippar and Borsippa (for which our prosopographical knowledge is relatively sound). However, despite the sometimes significant prosopographical gaps in the Assyrian/ Babylonian transition phase, and apart for one exception, there is no known case in which one official is attested both under the Assyrian and Babylonian regime. 32 The one exception is that of Bulluṭ son of Bunene-ibni, high priest (šangû) of the Ebabbar in Sippar. He is first attested in BM 114719, 33 dated to Sîn-šumu-līšir’s accession year (626), and the last known year in office is in 8 Nbp (BM 49930 = Jursa 1995 no. 34). 34 Sîn-šumu-līšir was a third contender for the Babylonian throne (alongside Nabopolassar and Sîn-šarru-iškun), who briefly established his domination in Sippar. 35 And so, if Bulluṭ was indeed appointed by Sîn-šumu-līšir, while he was not one of “Nabopolassar’s men,” he was certainly not affiliated with Sîn-šarru-iškun (both Nabopolassar and Sîn-šumu-līšir’s main rival).

4.2. Families Individuals, however, are not the whole story in the context of Babylonian society. Families played an important role in the political power games of the major cities. 36 Furthermore, individuals tend to stay within the social and professional boundaries of their families, especially with regards to the priestly families; these are the above mentioned Babylonian urban elites. 37 And so, a similar question should be asked: what happened to the families who served and flourished under the Assyrian kings? The table on p. 185 shows the known years of the governors of Borsippa and of the temple administrators of Ezida in Borsippa. 38 The line marks the end of the Neo-Assyrian period and the beginning of the Neo-Babylonian. We can see then that officials of both offices are replaced by the new Chaldean regime. However, when we examine the families from which these officials came, the picture becomes slightly more complex. Let us take for example the Arkāt-ilāni-damqā family, several members of which served as governors of Borsippa under the Neo-Assyrian kings. We can see that Nabû-zēru-līšir of the Arkāt-ilāni-damqā family was removed by Nabopolassar, and replaced by Šamaš-ku-[. . .], and that no member of the Arkātilāni-damqā clan served as governor in the reign of Nabopolassar thereafter. The family thus lost its hold on one of the most powerful positions in a major Babylonian udammiq), it is clear that both the royal resident (qīpu) Amurru-udammiq, and the temple scribe Marduk-šākin-šumi, were also replaced by pro-Assyrian officials during 623–620. The royal resident is a royal confidential position by definition, thus it would be inconceivable for the Assyrian king to leave him at his post. Regarding the temple scribe Marduk-šākin-šumi, the fact that he is the one who will be promoted to temple administrator in place of Kudurru (i.e., the future king Nebuchadnezzar), testifies to his close and personal relations with the Babylonian royal family. 32.  For the prosopography of “early Ebabbar archive,” see Da Riva 2002. For the prosopography of the Ezida temple in Borsippa, see Waerzeggers 2010. 33.  See Da Riva 2001: 52–53. 34.  Bulluṭ son of Bunene-ibni was the first high priest of Ebabbar, and his term marks an important administrative reform in the temple, the switching from a “temple administrator/royal resident management” to a “royal resident/high priest management.” 35.  For Sîn-šumu-līšir’s rule, and especially in the context of Sippar, see Da Riva 2001. 36.  See Jursa 2015, for the significance of families in the Neo-Babylonian society, and to some of the different patterns we find in Uruk compared to other cities (e.g., Borsippa and Babylon). 37.  See Jursa 2015 and Waerzeggers 2010 passim. 38.  Based on Waerzeggers 2010: 66–73.

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire Governor of Borsippa Nabû-lē’i//Arkāt-ilāni-damqā

185

Temple administrator of Ezida

7 Mbi II–Sar Zākiru//Nūr-Papsukkal

Anš

Nabû-nādin-šumi// Nūr-Papsukkal

5 Esarh–15 Sši

Šamaš-zēru-iqīša// Arkāt-ilāni-damqā

5–? Esarh

Nabû-bēl-šumāti//Ilia

7–15 Ššua

Nabû-šumu-uṣur//Ilia

8 Ššu–7 Kan

Marduk-nāṣir//Nūr-Papsukkal

25? Abp–7 Kan

Nabû-zēru-līšir// Arkāt-ilāni-damqā

12–13 Kan

Nabû-zēr-Bābili-ukīn// Nūr-Papsukkal

12–13 Kan

Šamaš-ku-[. . .]

(early) Nbp?

Nabû-šumu-iškun//Ilia

3–7 Nbp

Nabû-aḫḫē-bulliṭ//Basia

3–7 Nbp

Nabû-šumu-līšir//Ilia

9 Nbp

Nabû-balāssu-iqbi/Ilia

18 Nbp–11 Nbk

Marduk-zēru-ibni//Kidin-Nanāya 9–18 Nbp Nabû-šumu-līšir// Arkāt-ilāni-damqā

Nabû-aplu-iddin//Nūr-Papsukkal 5–7 Kan

1 –? Nbk ?

a.  The last years of Nabû-bēl-šumāti in office overlapped with his successor’s Nabû-šumu-uṣur; see Waerzeggers 2010: 66.

centre. Then, however, already in his first year after taking his father’s throne, Nebuchadnezzar appoints Nabû-šumu-līšir of the Arkāt-ilāni-damqā family to this very office. In fact, Nabû-šumu-līšir was one of three Arkāt-ilāni-damqā members who were appointed by Nebuchadnezzar. 39 We can see then that the family was able to restore its influential place in the city of Borsippa; at least for the time being. 40 Another, and perhaps an even more interesting case, is that of the Ilia family, two members of which served consecutively as governors of Borsippa in the middle of the seventh century. 41 Although no member of the Ilia family served as governor of Borsippa throughout the entire Neo-Babylonian period, the family name did not seem to suffer any serious harm. In fact, the first three temple administrators of Ezida during the Neo-Babylonian period bear the Ilia name. Thus, Nabopolassar considered them as loyal Borsippeans, worthy of this influential position. They, in return, seem to have justified his trust, convincing the king to keep the office within the Ilia family for three consecutive terms. 39.  The other two are Nabû-šumu-ibni (BM 26487, 22 Nbk) and Širikti-Marduk (Nbk. 374, 40? Nbk). 40. The episode involving Širikti-Marduk’s son, Nabû-šumu-ukīn (see Waerzeggers 2010: 72), though relevant for our issue, falls beyond the chronological scope of this paper, and will thus only be mentioned briefly. Nabû-šumu-ukīn was appointed to the office of temple administrator of Ezida, and was even married to king Neriglissar’s owns daughter. A few months later, however, he was removed from office (for an unknown reason) and was replaced by a member of the Ilia family. Eventually, probably at 0 Nbn, Nabû-šumu-ukīn was forced to sale his property. Whatever the exact details of this interesting story may be, it is clear the Arkāt-ilāni-damqā family, or at least one branch of it, lost its royal patronage and protection. I would like thank Bastian Still for pointing my attention to the affairs concerning Nabû-šumu-ukīn’s career. 41.  The two, Nabû-bēl-šumāti and Nabû-šumu-uṣur, are the only two governors who had overlapping terms, 8–15 Ššu; Waerzeggers 2010: 66, Frame 1984: 70–71.

186

Yuval Levavi

The political history of both the Arkāt-ilāni-damqā and the Ilia family suggest that there was no major power shifts within the urban centres. 42 At the micro-level, individual officials, who were understandably affiliated with the Assyrian regime, had been replaced. Zooming-out, however, we see that some of the traditional aristocratic families were able to keep their influential positions, or at least regain them after a relatively short while. Cooperation with the Assyrian administration was not an irremovable black stain in the family record. 43 We do not have sufficient documentation to make a more precise observation regarding any specific case, but it is reasonable to assume that both of the factors mentioned above in §4 played a role in determining fates, from the level of the individual to that of the major households.

4.3.  Back to Nabû-udammiq Son of Zēr-Bābili Coming back to Nabû-udammiq son of Zēr-Bābili, the pro-Assyrian governor of Uruk (see §2.1): what happened to him after Nabopolassar repositioned Anu-aḫuiddin in his place? Admittedly, it is hard to say. He is, however, attested in one or two texts postdating his gubernatorial days; texts that shed some light on Nabûudammiq’s personal fate. In the first case, YBC 6910 (9 Nbk), he is mentioned as the owner of a house adjacent to a certain Iddin-aḫu son of Bēl-iddin; the latter was selling his house to Marduk-šākin-šumi son of Tāqiš-Gula of the Nūr-Sîn family. 44 This document was written some 25 years after Nabû-udammiq had to step down as governor of Uruk, and we cannot be sure whether or not he was actually alive at the time. Be that as it may, we can see that despite his pro-Assyrian history, Nabû-udammiq was able to hold on to his house. This should not be treated lightly. As we have seen in ABL 469, personal property of high-level officials could have been confiscated and redistributed, and officials could be forced into selling their property (as was the case of the Borsippean Nabû-šumu-ukīn, see note 41). NCBT 899 was written ten years later (18 Nbk), and might relate to the same two houses. Marduk-šākin-šumi son of Tāqiš-Gula, of the Nūr-Sîn family, who bought a house from Nabû-udammiq’s neighbour in YBC 6910, is said to have been renting a house from a certain f Ḫaninītu daughter of Nabû-udammiq for five years. Although it cannot be confirmed with certainty that fḪaninītu was the daughter of the same Nabû-udammiq (son of Zēr-Bābili), the fact that the same Marduk-šākinšumi was his neighbour, points in favour of the identification of fḪaninītu as his daughter. If so, Nabû-udammiq was not only able to keep his property, but also to pass it on to the next generation. He somehow overcame his “troublesome past,” and found a way to live in Chaldean Uruk despite his pro-Assyrian record. 45

42.  On both families and their powerful position at Borsippa, see Frame 1984. 43.  It was perhaps the background of the royal family in general, and of Nabopolassar and Nebuchadnezzar in particular, as city and temple officials, that gave them a better insight and understanding of the local institutions. Thus, allowing them to fill the ranks with loyal new officials while maintaining the relative stability of the system. 44.  The Nūr-Sîn family was one of Uruk’s esteemed households, and Marduk-šākin-šumi was the nephew of the temple administrator at the time, Nabû-aḫḫē-iddin. 45.  On the other hand, one might also wonder whether the omitting of the Zēr-Bābili family name was somehow related to Nabû-udammiq’s post Assyrian status within the city.

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire

187

5.  The Interaction between the Royal Family and the Urukean Families Finally, I will take a brief look at the discourse between the royal family and Eanna. In 610 (16 Nbp), Nabopolassar’s army, reinforced with Medes battalions, was about to face the remains of the Assyrian forces at Harran. By this time, Nebuchadnezzar had left his position in Eanna to join his father at the battle field. 46 This is the context in which the crown prince wrote TCL 9 99 to his former colleagues in Uruk. 47 Letter of Nabû-kudurrī-uṣur to Ninurta-šarru-uṣur, Nabû-nādin-šumi and Marduk-ēṭer; may you be well! (. . .) The king has arrived in Ḫarran; he is accompanied by a great force of Medes. No one who loves the king and/or loves me personally, father or son, shall hold someone (else) back. 48 [Lev]y all the (. . .) They should co[me until] the end of month [. . .]. Is my . . . safe? I will inspect the guards. (collated) 49

Although Uruk, which was generally pro-Chaldean to begin with and was secured for ten years at the sending of this letter, Nebuchadnezzar still speaks of men who are not supporting the Urukeans war effort. Moreover, there are apparently even individuals who are actively preventing others to do so. Admittedly, these words should perhaps not be taken at face value. It might have been Nebuchadnezzar’s way of stressing that each and every Urukean, young or old, must show their enthusiasm and not discourage others from joining themselves (or sending their sons for that matter). Even then, Nebuchadnezzar’s phrasing testifies to the fact that the royal family was still trying to get everyone onto “their side.” Thus, there are others, who according to Nebuchadnezzar, were on the “other side.” What is more, the use of terms such as “love,” moreover “personal love,” attests to a lack of functioning formal bureaucratic structure, and to the centrality of patrimonial aspects within the highest level of Babylonian administration. The crown prince, certainly in his capacity of an army general, should neither persuade nor smooth-talk temple officials into sending their quotas of men to protect the empire. The personal context of this letter is even somewhat intensified in light of the common background of Nebuchadnezzar himself and Eanna personnel. This was perhaps, at least partly, the reason why the letter was written by Nebuchadnezzar (and not Nabopolassar). We can see, then, that what is supposed to be a formal administrative discourse between the royal family and its high officials, is still greatly 46.  Three years later (19 Nbp), the aging Nabopolassar will return to Babylon, leaving Nebuchadnezzar to command the Babylonian army (Glassner 2004: 224, no. 23: 8). 47.  The battle of Ḫarran at 16 Nbp was recognised already by several scholars as the historic context of TCL 9 99, e.g., Joannès 1991: 261, Da Riva 2008: 8, Kleber 2008: 338–39, Jursa 2014a: 105. 48.  Note the close phrasing of these lines and the closing lines of the Fall of Nineveh Chronicle: “Let the one who loves [the gods] Nabû and Marduk keep this tablet and not let it stray into other hands” (Glassner 2004: 224, no. 22: 77). 49.  1)im Id+ag- níg . du- ùr u / a-na Idm aš- lug al- ù ru / Id+ag-na-din-mu / u Ida ma r. u tu - ka r-ir 5 lu-ú šu-lum a-na ka-šú-nu / (. . .) 8)lug al a-na kurḫar-ra-nu / it-ta-lak 10)e-mu-qu ma-a-du / šá kurma-da-a-a it-tišú / it-ta-lak / mam-ma ma-la / lug al i-ra-aʾ-mu 15)u a-na-ku i-ra-man-ni / ⸢a d⸣ u ⸢d u m u⸣ / ⸢1*?-en*? la* i*-kil*⸣-li* / [x x x] gab-bi / [di-ke]-e-ma 20)⸢a*-di*-i* qí⸣-it / [itix li-i]l*-lik / ⸢x-bi? x x iá*⸣ / na*-⸢aṣ*?⸣-ra / [lú] en.⸢nun*⸣-tú 25) am-⸢mar*⸣ (⸢x⸣).

188

Yuval Levavi

influenced by personal relations. While these patrimonial aspects will gradually give way to a more formal bureaucratic pattern, it characterised to some extent the nature of these relationship at the early years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire.

Conclusion Following the death of the “last great Assyrian king” Assurbanipal in 631, Babylonia fell into a period of ongoing conflict between different war-lords and aspirant kings, all trying to take advantage of the Assyrian weakness. This unrest continued even after Nabopolassar sat on the throne in Babylon, and accompanied the new king for most of his reign. During all this, the Chaldeans, as well as the Assyrians, had to steer their way within the inner politics and personal aspirations of the Babylonian urban centres. The elite strata of the alluvium cities held considerable political and economic power, which was necessary for any side who wished to maintain supremacy. Given that future domination over Babylonia was at stake, members of these social strata had to choose their candidate carefully. Their decision could have been influenced by several factors; some of which, namely ideological aspect, will stay, at least for the time being, out of reach. 50 And so we are left with the somewhat cynical, though certainly not peripheral, factors. When the higher-ups are fighting for support, it is the priests, the high city and provincial officials, who are in the position to exploit it. While the warlords could offer potential land, property and income rights, the local elites had their support in return; they will give it to whomever they think will have the upper hand at the end. Local disputes played a leading role in the overall map of interests. A city, a tribe, a household, and even an individual could therefore embrace one side over the other as a contra reaction to the actions and the preference of one’s neighbour; in other words, “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” On this chess-board map of interests, each pawn had to weigh in all of these factors, and choosing whether, and how, to support one of the sides, or possibly abstain. 51 And it is important to remember that this set of interests and considerations was working on multiple levels, from kingdoms and provinces, down to tribes, cities, and households. The vast economic and political power held in the hands of the urban elite families, due to their traditional control of the administration of temples, was constantly challenging the royal establishment. It did not necessarily manifest as an open conflict, but there was a delicate balance to maintain. 52 One consequence of these struggles, from the second half of Nebuchadnezzar onwards, was the increasing numbers of royal representatives working in the temples, supervising their activities and watching over the interests of the palace.

50.  Political convictions among members of the Babylonian elite and Babylonian “national” devotion were naturally crucial during this period. However, due to the nature of our sources, our ability to get a deep understanding of this Zeitgeist is limited. 51.  Abstaining groups might be practically invisible to the modern scholar, but there were probably those who went out of their way to sit on the fence. 52.  The palace and the temple cities are two of the three elements whose interaction defined the structure of the Neo-Babylonian Empire (along with the Chaldean and Aramean tribes); see Jursa 2014b: 127.

Loyalty in the Early Years of the Neo-Babylonian Empire

189

Bibliography Baker, H. D. 2008 Babylon in 484 BC: the Excavated Archival Tablets as a Source for Urban History. ZA 98: 100–16. Beaulieu, P. -A. 1997 The Fourth Year of Hostilities in the Land. BaM 28: 367−94. Clay, A. T. 1919 Neo-Babylonian Letters from Erech. YOS 3. New Haven and London: Yale University Press and Oxford University Press. Contenau, G. 1926 Contrats et lettres d’Assyrie et de Babylonie. TCL 9. Paris: Geuthner. Da Riva, R. 2001 Sippar In the Reign of Sîn-šum-līšir (626 BC). AoF 28: 40–64. 2002 Der Ebabbar-Tempel von Sippar in frühneubabylonischer Zeit (640–580 v.  Chr). AOAT 291. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2008 The Neo-Babylonian Royal Inscriptions: An Introduction. GMTR 4. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2013 Nebuchadnezzar II’s Prism (EŞ 7834): A New Edition. ZA 103: 196–229. Dougherty, R. P. 1933 Archives from Erech: Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods. GCCI 2. New Haven and London: Yale University Press and Oxford University Press. Frame, G. 1984 The “First Families” of Borsippa during the Early Neo-Babylonian Period. JCS 36: 67–80. Fuchs, A. 2014 Die unglaubliche Geburt des neubabylonischen Reiches oder: Die Vernichtung einer Weltmacht durch den Sohn eines Niemand. Pp. 25–71 in Babylonien und seine Nachbarn in neu- und spätbabylonischer Zeit: Wissenschaftliches Kolloquium aus Anlass des 75. Geburtstags von Joachim Oelsner, Jena, 2. und 3. März 2007, ed. M. Krebernik and H. Neumann. AOAT 369. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Glassner, J. J. 2004 Mesopotamian Chronicles. WAW 19. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Hunger, H. 1970 Das Archiv des Nabû-ušallim. BaM 5: 193–304. Joannès, F. 1991 L’Asie Mineure méridionale d’après la documentation cunéiforme d’époque néobabylonienne. Anatolia Antiqua 1: 261–66. Jursa, M. 1995 Die Landwirtschaft in Sippar in neubabylonischer Zeit. AfO Beih. 25. Vienna: Institut für Orientalistik der Universität Wien. 2007 Die Söhne Kudurrus und die Herkunft der neubabylonischen Dynastie. RA 101: 125–36. 2010 Der neubabylonische Hof. Pp.  67–106 in Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court. Akten des 2. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema »Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen«, Landgut Castelen bei Basel, 23.–25. Mai 2007, ed. B. Jacobs and R. Rollinger. Classica et Orientalia 2. Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz. 2014a The Lost State Correspondence of the Babylonian Empire as Reflected in Contemporary Administrative Letters. Pp. 94–111, 226–28 in State Correspondence in the Ancient World: From New Kingdom to the Roman Empire, ed. K. Radner. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

190

Yuval Levavi

2014b The Neo-Babylonian Empire. Pp.  121–48 in Imperien und Reiche in der Weltgeschichte: Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche, ed. M. Gehler and R. Rollinger. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. 2015 Families, Officialdom, and Families of Royal Officials in Chaldean and Achaemenid Babylonia. Pp. 597–606 in Tradition and Innovation in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 57th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Rome, 4–8 July 2011, ed. A. Archi. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Keiser, C. E. 1918 Letters and Contracts from Erech Written in the Neo-Babylonian Period. BIN 1. New Haven and London: Yale University Press and Oxford University Press. Kessler, K. 2004 Urukäische Familien versus babylonische Familien. Die Namengebung in Uruk, die Degradierung der Kulte von Eanna und der Aufstieg des Gottes Anu. AoF 31: 237–62. Kleber, K. 2008 Tempel und Palast: Die Beziehungen zwischen dem König und dem Eanna-Tempel im spätbabylonischen Uruk. AOAT 358. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Levavi, Y. forthcoming  The Imperial Periphery as Seen from the Centre, in: Historical Approaches to the Bible and the Biblical World, vol. 1. Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix. Nielsen, J. P. 2011 Sons and Descendants: A Social History of Kin Groups and Family Names in the Early Neo-Babylonian Period, 747–626 BC. CHANE 43. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Pirngruber, R. forthcoming  Land and Power in a Northian Perspective: State Building and its Reflection in Private Archives from 1st millennium BC Babylonia. In Land and Power in the Ancient and Post-Ancient World. Proceedings of the 3rd International Conference of the Research Network Imperium and Officium, ed. S. Procházka and S. Tost. Vienna. Pohl, P. A. 1934 Neubabylonische Rechtsurkunden aus den Berliner Staatlichen Museen II. AnOr 9. Roma: Pontificio Istituto Biblico. Postgate, J. N. 2007 The Land of Assur & the Yoke of Assur. Studies on Assyria, 1971–2005. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Strassmaier, J. N. 1889 Inschriften von Nabuchodonosor, König von Babylon (604–561 v.  Chr.). BT 5–6. Leipzig: Verlag von Eduard Pfeiffer. Vanderhooft, D. S. 1999 The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets. HSM 59. Atlanta: Scholars Press. Waerzeggers, C. 2003/4 The Babylonian Revolts Against Xerxes and the ‘End of Archives’. AfO 50: 150–73. 2010 The Ezida Temple of Borsippa: Priesthood, Cult, Archives: AchHist 15. Leiden: Neder­lands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Weiher, E. von 1983 Spätbabylonische Texte aus Uruk, Teil II. ADFU 10. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag.

Part 3

King

The Origins of the LUGAL Office Petr Charvát

Plzeň and Prague Anyone interested in the past of ancient Mesopotamia knows today that the Sumerian word LUGAL means ‘king’. But since when is that so, and what history lies behind this common assumption? This is the topic of this modest contribution. The most important offices of the Late Uruk culture, those of EN and NIN, derived the anchoring of their dominant social position from the fact that together, they performed the NÁ ritual, presumably triggering-off fertility and procreative forces of both nature and the human society. 1 They could do this as the EN of Inanna was male and NIN of An female, the personage’s sex being always the opposite of the gender of the respective deity. I have treated this theme in detail before. 2 At that early time, the LUGAL acknowledged the superiority of the EN and engaged in economic, presumably entrepreneur-like, activities. 3 At the onset of the third pre-Christian millennium, the LUGAL of archaic Ur seems to have been primarily a temple official, chosen possibly by a divine omen; 4 his first task was to procure subsistence to the community of Ur. The personal names of archaic Ur show eloquently this function of his. 5 Activating fertility of living beings, the LUGAL was assumed to pass it on to his subjects. 6 In an almost incredible parallel with early medieval Irish usage, 7 the Ur LUGAL “slept with his city,” 8 perAuthor’s note: The material is published herewith with kind consent of the Near Eastern Section of the University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, PA. I could not complete the research presented here without support of several academic sponsoring bodies. The academic year 2003–2004 I spent in Philadelphia thanks to a research grant from the Prague office of the John William Fulbright Foundation (grant No. 2003–28–02, Fulbright no. ME659). In 2005, I could pursue my goals further with the aid of the American Philosophical Society (grant no. Franklin 2005), as well as of the Grant Agency of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic at Prague (grant no. A8021401). No less helpful was another grant project conferred on me jointly by the Grant Agency of the Czech Republic and the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG) under the no. (GA ČR) 404/08/J013. I am deeply obliged to Holly Pittman, Curator of the Near Eastern Section of the University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, as well as to Richard Zettler and Shannon White of the Near Eastern Section of the University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. 1.  On EN, see now Szarzyńska 2011. On the NIN of Late-Uruk or Jemdet Nasr times, see a text published by Monaco 2007: 14–15. 2.  Charvát 1997: 41–59, 84–85; Charvát 2002: 139–40, 210, 236–37; Charvát 2005: 168–70, 177–80. 3.  Charvát 1997: 77–78. 4.  Andersson 2012: 246. On archaic Ur, see most recently Šašková, Pecha, and Charvát 2010. 5.  See, in review, Andersson 2012: 228–29, 238, 245–47. 6.  Andersson 2012: 126–37. 7.  See, for instance, Fischer 2007: 21–24. 8.  Andersson 2012: 96 (l u g a l - u r u - n a - n ú).

193

194

Petr Charvát

foming presumably a variant of the “sacred marriage” ceremony. 9 This procedure finds confirmation in a personal name lugal ti-ma-nú = “LUGAL lies down in a sanctuary” 10 and in other names of this type. 11 The LUGAL office, however, linked up also with the universe, especially in its spheres where humans went after death and from which they burst upon this world, as well as with determination of destinies (see below), and with the Netherworld in particular. 12 Much as the moon god, the LUGAL was nevertheless re-born every month. 13 The qualities presumed to belong to the competence sphere of the LUGAL included dominion, protection, wisdom, cosmic order and possibly decreeing of fates, care of the living and dead, sometimes even causing or helping humans to come into this world, as well as assiduous diligence vis-à-vis the sacred sphere. 14 The Ur citizens expected their LUGAL to be physically perfect. 15 Thus the link between fertility, the supernatural sphere and especially with the voyages to, and returns from, the Netherworld make the ED-I LUGAL of Ur a likely candidate for the terrestrial incarnation of Dumuzi, the “dying god” of fertility, as expressedly denoted on the Mesannepada seal. 16

*  *  * The historic past of the twin city of Kish, consisting, among other minor settlement foci, of the tells of Uhaimir (West, shrine of Zababa) and Ingharra (East, shrine of Inanna), reaches back into the Late Uruk period. 17 A Kish monument of exceptional interest is constituted by a small plaque of black stone, unearthed by the expedition of Henri de Genouillac in 1912–1913 at Uhaimir. 18 I have submitted an attempted interpretation of this monument before. 19 A bas-relief shows a scene taking place in front of a building of an appearance identical with that of Uruk – Jemdet Nasr monumental architecture. The scene involves two personalities, identified by their costumes and beards as men. The Small Man on the right, approaching the taller one on the left, raises his hand in a gesture of greeting(?), but apparently touches the arm of the Big Man in the proximity of the armpit. In his turn, this Big Man lays his clutched hand on the Small Man’s head. For this depiction, we find a parallel that is most significant in the preceding age. One of the seals that left its impressions on figural sealings assigned once to the Susa B stage shows a scene that may well constitute a predecessor of the depic9.  Andersson 2012: 150–51. 10.  Andersson 2012: 158, n. 915. 11.  Andersson 2012: 224, s.v. nú. 12.  Andersson 2012: 156–57, s.v. l u g a l - k i - g a l - l a; Andersson 2012: 179 and n. 1084 = l u g a l - k i nu-gi4 = “the lugal (in) the place of no return (?)” 13.  Andersson 2012: 172. 14.  Andersson 2012, table on p. 81, 81–103, 104–7, 107–18, 126 (3.1.4.4), 127–29, 138–58. 15.  Andersson 2012: 159–74. 16.  UE 3: 518. 17. See Gibson 1972, esp.  pp.  48–86; Dolce 1978: 73–121; Moorey 1978. See also recently Haul 2004: 260; Steinkeller 2004; Steinkeller 2013; Marchetti 2006: 97–102; Frayne 2008: 49–50. Note further George 2009; Chen 2013: 76; Zgoll 2013: 78, Fig. 9.10 on a lapislazuli tablet of Lugal-KUR-si, lugal Kiš = BM 91013. 18.  De Genouillac 1925, Pl. 1, Fig. 1; Marchetti 2006 : 172, tab. 46: 4; Gubel 2012. 19.  Charvát 2010.

The Origins of the LUGAL Office

195

tion of our gentleman from Kish. 20 At Susa, the Big Man, standing in the centre of the image, raises his left hand while another Small Man approaches him from the left, putting his palm into the Big Man’s armpit. I have interpreted this scene as an act of transfer of “personal mana” of the Big Man, and thus as the very first known instance of conferment of political power from its bearer to his chosen successor. 21 What follows out of this—admittedly hypothetical bordering on speculative— interpretation results in consequences for our understanding of the origins of Kish royal power. Unlike Uruk, where the legitimation of EN and NIN as archpriestly figures releasing the fertility sources belonging to the divine sphere for the benefit of all mortal beings on earth, the early kings of Kish seem to have derived their power from a re-interpretation of the earlier “governance” doctrine dominating the pre-Late Uruk social bodies, and first attested to in Middle-Uruk Susa. 22 The rulers of Uruk—and, in consequence, also of ED Ur which manifestly represents the continuation of the Late-Uruk social supremacy of the city of Uruk, a sort of translatio regni—and Kish might thus have based their public power on foundations different from each other, one of the more recent, theocratic, the other of the more traditional, aristocratic origin. Meagre though our knowledge of ED Kish may be, it does show both administrative practices differing from those of Ur, and signs of public power compatible with the glory of the Ur “royal graves.” 23 Seals of late ED II date, the impressions of which come from Kish, bear inscriptions bearing the LUGAL title. This has no parallels at Ur before the time of the “royal graves.” One of the sealings unearthed by the Henri de Genouillac expedition at Kish bears impresions of two seals, both bearing a LUGAL title and one of them presumably linked with a toponym. 24 The toponym sign, unfortunately lamentably preserved, seems to imply a reading BU or SÙ. 25 To a certain extent, it does resemble the HAŠHUR sign. 26 This does not seem to give any sense, unless, of course, there is a connection with the HAŠHUR exchanged in terms of the circulation of goods recorded on the Jemdet Nasr-age tablets sealed with the city seals. 27 This practice, probably reflecting a hierarchy of LUGALs of different standing localized in space, is unknown at Ur. There, the ED I-II sealings from the SIS do not refer to LUGAL at all while the lone title appears in archaic Ur texts only.

*  *  * Can any patterns in the development of the earliest royal titles of the cities of Ur and Kish be discerned? First and foremost, let us focus on one of the very first LUGALs of Mesopotamia attested to by coeval written evidence, Meskalamdu or 20.  Charvát 2005: 310, no. 110. 21.  Charvát 2005: 119–22. 22.  On the Kish royal title, see now Sommerfeld 2004. 23.  A new inscription of Mebaragesi, LUGAL of Kish is IM 30590, published in Nissen 2013: 173, Fig. 26.6. 24.  De Genouillac 1925: 22 and 101, Pl. 1, Figs. 4 and 6 (AO 10496). My thanks go to Béatrice AndréSalvini for generously allowing me to examine the original pieces in the Musée du Louvre. 25.  For BU, see ZATU no. 56 (p. 181), for SÙ, see ZATU no. 487 (p. 277). 26.  ZATU no. 252 (p. 221). 27.  MSVO 2: 36–38.

196

Petr Charvát

Mesugedu (new reading by Gianni Marchesi), the first king of (Ur and) Kish. 28 In his Ur inscriptions, Meskalamdu either does not boast any titles at all, or is referred to simply as LUGAL. 29 His grave has come to light during Leonard Woolley’s excavations. 30 As against Gianni Marchesi and Douglas Frayne, 31 I am inclined to see in the occupant of PG 755 Meskalamdu the LUGAL; as Umberto Eco says, we should not multiply the hypotheses at hand unless this appears strictly necessary. Meskalamdug’s interment presents an interesting interpenetration of features common to Kish and Ur. Much in the manner of the Kish elite cart burials, 32 Meskalamdu received a rich array of burial goods, but unlike them, he found his last refuge in a simple pit grave. Yet, this prince bore no official office designation, and only en passant did he ornate himself with the LUGAL title, as was more compatible with the Ur usage, where the LUGAL was a cultic official and not a dynastic ruler (see above). How are we to explain this peculiar coalescence of features? In the course of the ED period, the Kish kingdom gained gradually so much power and prominence that its suzerainty must have loomed large over the lands of Sumer and future Akkad. 33 The conquests referred to in this new monument went hand in hand with penetration into the lands on the lower courses of the Euphrates and Tigris. The Tummal inscription, naming (EN)Mebaragesi of Kish as the temple’s first builder, 34 may well record events that had actually taken place in the distant past under the sway of one of the early suzerains of the northern centre. It is thus no wonder that we find the very first Ur king on record to have come from Kish (see above). Meskalamdu could indeed tip the achievements of the primeval Kish rulers by assuming the LUGAL office in Ur. Yet, he willingly complied with the local usage, divesting himself of the localized LUGAL title; he bore the dynastic Kish title only in the inscription of his son and successor, Mesannepada. Let us now see how things stand with the latter personage. The reign of Mesannepada, king of Kish and Ur, again bears some particular marks. 35 It may be eloquent that the times of the lavish expenditure poured into the “royal graves” came to an abrupt end with him, as shown by archaeological observations of the cessation of those extravagant burial practices, and of renewed superposition of administrative-discard layers over the cemetery deposit, displaying the Mesannepada documents over the last stratum of the “royal graves.” Mesannepada’s titles of “king of Kish” 36 and “consort of the Lofty One,” 37 known from his official seal, contain, for 28.  Reigned about 2600 b.c.e. See E1.13.5: 385–88 (RIME 1: 391–92), and possibly E1.13.7 (RIME 1: 401–2). The reading of Mesannepada’s inscription from Mari as “Mesannepada, king of Ur, son of Meskalamdu, king of Kish” was first suggested by Johannes Boese, apud Nagel-Strommenger 1995: 461; note also Marchesi 2004: 161, 183–84, n. 175, 190–93. Inanna is mentioned in ED sources as the one who confers the Kish kingdom (Selz 1992: 194, 200). 29.  E1.13.7 (RIME 1: 401–2); Woolley 1934: 98; Marchesi 2004: 161, n. 57. For Meskalamdu LUGAL, seeE1.13.3 (RIME 1: 385–86). 30.  Woolley 1934: 156–62. On his physical remains, see Molleson-Hodgson 2003: 93–94. 31.  Marchesi 2004: 184; E1.13.7 (RIME 1: 401–2). 32.  Moorey 1978: 104–10. 33.  Steinkeller 2013. 34.  E1.7.22 (RIME 1: 55). 35.  Reigned 2563–2524 b.c.e. See RIME 1: 391–94. 36.  See E1.13.5.2 (RIME 1: 392). On early Kish, see now Selz 1998: 313; Sommerfeld 2004; Czichon 2006; Steinkeller 2013. 37.  That is, Inanna, or “nugig priestess”: E1.13.5.2 (RIME 1: 392); Zgoll 2006: 113.

The Origins of the LUGAL Office

197

the very first time in history, a reference to the double aspect of royal power. The sacred character of Mesannepada’s kingship, expressed by his relation to the goddess of love and war and clearly expressing his suzerainty over the city of Ur, is linked with its secular aspect, embodied not in his own Ur title, but in the Kish supremacy. With Mesannepada, the dynastic character of the Kish royal line comes clearly to the fore. Not only did he himself assume the Kish title, but in his inscriptions, he legitimized the rule of his lineage over (Kish and) Ur, including his predecessors, precisely by the dynastic principle. The evidence for Mesannepada thus shows clearly that while the preceding incumbents of the LUGAL office of Ur fulfilled primarily cultic and temple functions, and were thus not referred to by names, the Kish suzerains held firmly onto the kinship principle of appointment to office. Needless to say that in a short time, Ur was also reduced to ashes by enemy action, 38 and the wheel of wars and devastation continued its motion with an aweinspiring regularity until the beginning of the Old Akkadian period. This led to the last formulation of the Ur royal title which now appeared on the horizon expressis verbis. Let us observe how, unlike the Kish royal title which had remained always the same, the early stages of the denomination of the highest office of Ur oscillated in time. Meskalamdug bore the bare LUGAL title. Mesannepada donned the prestigious “consort of the Lofty One” designation. Only with Aannepada, son and successor of Mesannepada, does the LUGAL URI5 title emerge. 39 In the third generation, the Ur suzerains consented to the dynastic legitimization of their power, and took over the territorial definition of their ruling title. For the first time in Sumerian history, the Mesopotamian thinkers defined a sacred-cum-profane nature of the royal office. The LUGAL rank of ancient Mesopotamia may, in its binary nature, be presumed to incarnate two traditions – the “theocratic” one of Ur and the “secular,” or “dynastic,” of Kish. Though the historical development ultimately led to the predominance of the worldly aspect of the Mesopotamian kingly office, it never quite extinguished the divine light falling on it. 38.  See E1.9.1.6b (RIME 1: 89–93) i 1 – ii 3 (p. 92). 39.  See Marchesi 2004: 167–68, n. 97; RIME 1: 395–99.

Bibliography Andersson, J. 2012 Kingship in the Early Mesopotamian Onomasticon 2800–2000 b.c.e. Acta Universitatis Uppsaliensis, Studia Semitica Uppsaliensia 28. Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet. Charvát, P. 1997 On People, Signs and States: Spotlights on Sumerian Society, c. 3500–2500 B.C. Prague: The Oriental Institute, Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic. 2002 Mesopotamia before History. London and New York: Routledge, Taylor and Francis Group. 2005 The Iconography of Pristine Statehood: Painted Pottery and Seal Impressions from Susa, Southwestern Iran. Prague: Karolinum Press. 2010 The Earliest History of the Kingdom of Kiš. Pp. 16–22 in Who Was King? Who Was Not King? The Rulers and the Ruled in the Ancient Near East, ed. P. Charvát and P. Maříková Vlčková. Prague: Institute of Archaeology of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic.

198

Petr Charvát

Chen, Y. S. 2013 The Primeval Flood Catastrophe: Origins and Early Development in Mesopotamian Traditions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Crüsemann, N. van Ess, M., Hilgert, M., and Salje B., eds. 2013 Uruk – 5000 Jahre Megacity. Petersberg: Curt-Engelhorn-Stiftung, Reiss-Engelhorn-Museen, Deutsches Archäologisches Institut – Orient-Abteilung, Deutsche Orient-Gesellschaft, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin–Vorderasiatisches Museum, Michael Imhoff Verlag. Czichon, R. M. 2006 Neue Überlegungen zur Bedeutung und Entstehung der frühdynastischen Beterstatuetten. AoF 33: 179–88. Dolce, R. 1978 Gli intarsi mesopotamici dell´epoca protodinastica I (Testo), II (Catalogo, Tavole). Roma: Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente – Università di Roma “La Sapienza.” Fischer, R. 2007 Die keltische Religion in Irland und ihre Beeinflussung durch die Christianisierung. MA dissertation. Universität Wien, Wien. www.univie.ac.at/keltologie/diplomar­ beiten/diplomarbeit1.pdf (accessed August 28, 2012). Frayne, D. 2008 Presargonic Period (2700–2350 B.C.). RIME 1. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Genouillac, H. de 1925 Fouilles françaises d’El-’Akhymer: Premières recherches archéologiques à Kich, vol. 2. Paris: Librairie ancienne Edouard Champion. George, A. 2009 Review of Frayne 2008. BSOAS 72: 390–92. Gibson, M. 1972 The City and Area of Kish. Miami: Field Research Projects. Green, M. W., and Nissen, H. J. 1987 Zeichenliste der archaischen Texte aus Uruk. ADFU 11, ATU 2. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Gubel, E. 2012 Relieve en miniature. P. 226 in Antés del diluvio: Mesopotamia 3500–2100 a.C., ed. P. Azara. Barcelona: Fundación “la Caixa.” Haul, M. 2004 Lú an-šè ba-e11-dè, Der Mythus von Etana um 2000 v.  Chr. Pp.  237–62 in 2000 v.  Chr.: Politische, wirtschaftliche und kulturelle Entwicklung im Zeichen einer Jahrtausendwende, ed. J.-W. Meyer and W. Sommerfeld. Berlin: Deutsche Orient­ gesellschaft in Kommission bei Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag. Legrain, L. 1936 Ur Excavations, vol. 3: Archaic Seal Impressions. London and Philadelphia: The Trustees of the Two Museums (The British Museum and The University Museum). Marchesi, G. 2004 Who Was Buried in the Royal Tombs of Ur? The Epigraphic and Textual Data. OrNS 73: 153–97. Marchetti, N. 2006 La statuaria regale nella Mesopotamia protodinastica. Con un Appendice di Gianni Marchesi (205–71). Atti della Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei Anno CDIII, Classe di scienze morale, storiche e filologiche, Memorie, Series IX, Volume XXI, Fascicolo I. Roma: Bardi Editore, Editore Commerciale.

The Origins of the LUGAL Office

199

Mathews, R. J. 1993 Cities, Seals and Writing: Archaic Seal Impressions from Jemdet Nasr and Ur. MSVO 2. Berlin: Gebr. Mann Verlag. Molleson, T., and Hodgson, D. 2003 The human remains from Woolley’s excavations at Ur. Iraq 65: 91–129. Monaco, S. F. 2007 The Cornell University Archaic Tablets. CUSAS 1. Bethesda, Maryland: CDL. Moorey, P. R. S. 1978 Kish Excavations 1923–1933. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Nagel, W., and Strommenger, E. 1995 Sechzig Jahre Forschung zur frühdynastischen Bildkunst und ein neues Denkmal des Urdynastikums. Pp. 455–68 in Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Vorderasiens: Festschrift für Rainer Michael Boehmer, ed. U. Finkbeiner, R. Dittmann, and H. Hauptmann. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Nissen, H. J. 2013 Die Erfindung und frühe Nutzung des Mediums Schrift in Mesopotamien. Pp. 169– 73 in Crüsemann, van Ess, Hilgert, and Salje 2013. Selz, G. J. 1992 Enlil und Nippur nach präsargonischen Quellen. Pp. 189–225 in Nippur at the Centennial: Papers Read at the 35e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, 1988, ed. M. deJ. Ellis. OPSNKF 14. Philadelphia: University Museum. 1998 Über Mesopotamische Herrschaftkonzepte. Zu den Ursprüngen mesopotamischer Herrscherideologie im 3. Jahrtausend. Pp.  281–344 in dubsar anta-men, Studien zur Altorientalistik: Festschrift für Willem H. Ph. Römer zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahres mit Beiträgen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen, ed. M. Dietrich and O. Loretz. AOAT 253. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Sommerfeld, W. 2004 Die inschriftliche Überlieferung des 3. Jahrtausends aus Tutub. Pp. 285–92 in Von Sumer nach Ebla und zurück: Giovanni Pettinato zum 27. September 1999 gewidmet von Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern, ed. H. Waetzold. HSAO 9. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Steinkeller, P. 2004 Studies in Third Millennium Palaeography, 4: Sign KIŠ. ZA 94: 175–85. 2013 An Archaic “Prisoner Plaque” from Kiš. RA 107: 131–57. Szarzyńska, K. 2011 The Urukean Archpriest EN in the Archaic period. A Few Remarks on his Functions. Palamedes 6: 5–15. Šašková, K., Pecha, L., and Charvát, P., eds. 2010 Shepherds of the Black-headed People: The Royal Office vis-à-vis godhead in ancient Mesopotamia. Plzeň: Západočeská univerzita. Woolley, Ch. L., et al. 1934 Ur Excavations, vol. 2: The Royal Cemetery, A Report on the Predynastic and Sargonid Graves Excavated between 1926 and 1931. London and Philadelphia: Joint Expedition of the British Museum and of the University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. Zgoll, A. 2006 Review of Love Songs in Sumerian Literature, by Y. Sefati. ZA 96: 109–19. 2013 Inanna – Stadtgöttin von Uruk. Pp. 71–79 in Crüsemann, van Ess, Hilgert, and Salje 2013.

Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk Dina Katz Leiden

The beginning seemed promising. The tale of Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (henceforth ELA) bestowed on Enmerkar a divine origin, having been born in kuršà-ga ‘the heart of the mountains’, in the kur me sikil-la-ka ‘the mountain of the pure ME’. 1 His father was the sun-god Utu and his mother, ‘the good cow’ — that is Ninsumuna. In historical terms, this genealogy means that the origin of Enmerkar is shrouded in mystery: no one knows who were his parents and where he really came from. The Sumerian King List (henceforth SKL), however, cannot be vague. Aspiring to present historical truth, it must be factual and realistic. The arrangement of the list according to paternal lineage freed the compiler from the need to deal with the identity of the mother. Yet, in actual reality the god Utu could not be a biological parent either. Since both traditional parents were unsuitable, but the son of nobody could not be a legitimate king, the SKL found for him a royal human father, Mes-kiaĝ-gašer. Accordingly the SKL presented him as the second king of the first dynasty of Uruk. The sun god Utu was set back one generation, to become his grandfather. The historicity of Mes-kiaĝ-gašer has long been suspected, due to the components of his name and the tradition about his disappearance. 2 More important, however, is the additional comment about Enmerkar, “the man who built Uruk” (SKL iii 8–9). It signifies that whoever his father was, he could not have been the first ruler of Uruk. However, one would expect the founder of Uruk to have had a distinguished pedigree. That explains why the SKL attributed to his “father” Meskiaĝ-gašer the kingship over Eana, the main temple of Uruk. The presentation of the temple as a kingdom indicates that the comment about Enmerkar, that he had built Uruk, was treated as an historical fact. Thus, the entry about Eana supports 1.  ELA 184 and 210 respectively. 2.  Mittermayer (2009: 93) points to the Sumerian-Akkadian hybrid structure of the name, and the element MES, which occurs in historical royal names of Ur. She suggests that the sequence of the first Uruk dynasty was fabricated during the Ur III period. Steinkeller (2003: 274–75) notes that the Ur III manuscript of the SKL can accommodate no more than eight rulers of the first Uruk dynasty, and that it is to be dated almost certainly in the second half of Šulgi’s reign. Excluding Akka “son of Enmebaragesi,” the Ur III version lists only names and numbers of regnal years. Moreover, it does not include the comments about some rulers. Therefore the comment about Enmerkar, that he built Uruk, is a later addition, yet the question is whether it is based on an older tradition.

201

202

Dina Katz

the tradition that Enmerkar founded Uruk, and serves the claim for his legitimacy as the son of king. In addition, it demonstrates the antiquity of the temple Eana and its cult. Therefore, the link to Eana was most probably deliberately added before the entry about Enmerkar. Until relatively recently we could not have known whether the comment that Enmerkar founded Uruk was an old tradition or an Old Babylonian fabrication. Now it appears that the so called “ad-gi 4 list” mentions the names Enmekar and Enmekar. zi his wife as the founders of Uruk. 3 Literally, according to Civil, the passage reads: “Enmekar, Enmekar-zi, town-knowing-wife, brickwork, brick pavement (. . .).” 4 In Civil’s full translation: “Enmerkar and (his) wife Enmerkar-zi, who know (how to build) towns, (made) brick and brick pavements. When the yearly flood reached its proper level, (they made) irrigation canals, and all kinds of the irrigation ditches. They made plows and yokes? (out of) timber (. . .).” 5 If Civil’s interpretation is correct, we have an ancient tradition, from the Uruk III period, that Enmerkar founded a town, and made agriculture possible. 6 Whether it is a historical fact or not, the “ad-gi 4 list” is a written document that shows that the tradition about the legendary Enmerkar is much earlier than the sources about Gilgameš and Lugalbanda. Uruk was one of the oldest and most important Sumerian cities, so prominent that it aggrandized its ancient kings, including Enmerkar. Thus, he became the hero of two great Sumerian tales and the instigator of tales about his successor Lugalbanda, the four poems which Vanstiphout labeled The Matter of Aratta. This anthology emphasizes his divine descent and transfers the events to a legendary sphere. It includes four tales, Enmerkar and Ensuhgirana, Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta (ELA), Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird (Vanstiphout: The Return of Lugalbanda) and Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave (Vanstiphout: Lugalbanda in the Wilderness). 7 Enmerkar figures in the first three tales but plays a central and active role only in ELA. 8 3.  Civil 2013: 20–21, 41–44. Spelling in Uruk III: EN:ÉŠ (l. 71); EN:ÉŠ:ZI (l. 72); SAL.ZI (ÉŠ = KÁR) (l. 73). For Fara, see SF 12 v 7–10 and 13 iv 11–13. 4.  Civil 2013: 20. 5.  Ibidem. This text may also help to understand the very enigmatic passage in ELA 571–76: x a m a-ru-ka gub -ba- m e - e š / [e ĝ ]ir a- m a- r u ba- ùr- ra - ta / di n a n a n i n ku r- k u r- ra - ke4 / n a m- g a l ki -áĝ ddum u-zi-da- k e4 / a nam - t i- la- k a m [ u]- u n - n e - s ù - s ù / g ú ka l a m- ma - ka [ ĝ ] e š mu - u n ne-en-ĝál “They were those who had stood in . . . the flood. After the flood had swept over, Inana, Lady of all the lands, out of her great love for Dumuzi, sprinkled the water of life upon them, and made the Land (Sumer) subject to them!” If this passage was based on the ancient account of Enmerkar and his wife, then the phrase “after the flood swept over” betrays an Old Babylonian elaboration of the reference to the high water, and dates Enmerkar and the foundation of Uruk immediately after the mythological flood. 6.  A passage in Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird seems to have a recollection of that: “Once upon a time my princely sister holy Inana summoned me in her holy heart from the bright mountains, had me enter brick-built Kulaba. Where there was a marsh then in Unug, it was full of water. Where there was any dry land, Euphrates poplars grew there. Where there were reed thickets, old reeds and young reeds grew there. Divine Enki, who is king in Eridu, tore up for me the old reeds, drained off the water completely. For fifty years I built, for fifty years I was successful” (ETCSL 1.8.2.2, ll. 297–302). The source of this allusion, whether the “a d - g i4 list” or other, is not known. 7.  Vanstiphout 2003; ETCSL 1.8.2.1–4. 8. In Enmerkar and Ensuhgirana (text and translation: ETCSL 1.8.2.4; Vanstiphout 2003: 23–48), the lord of Aratta demands the submission of Uruk, which Enmerkar refuses. The text promises a contest between the rulers (a - d a - m ì n, l. 22), but it turns out to be a framework for a contest between two sorcerers, a man from Hamazi and an old woman. Eventually, the lord of Aratta admits the greatness of Enmerkar and submits to him. In this tale Enmerkar is passive, so his glory emerges from the perfor-

Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk

203

The Sumerian tales vary in their portrayal of Enmerkar, but are unanimous about the superiority of Uruk. The city is a symbol for Sumer, and its superiority is illustrated by the exploits of its ancient three kings, Gilgameš, Lugalbanda and Enmerkar. We refer to them as a homogeneous group, but Enmerkar is different. Despite his proclaimed divine descent Enmerkar was not deified like his successors Lugalbanda and Gilgameš. 9 These two early kings were already listed in the god lists of Fara, and received offerings during the Ur III period. 10 We may conclude, therefore, that Enmerkar was indeed remembered only as the founder and first king of Uruk. 11 There is a consensus that the three kings of the first dynasty of Uruk were popular with the kings of Ur III dynasty, because Ur-Namma came from Uruk. Actually, excluding the legends, there is very little echo of such popularity. In the corpus of the Ur III royal hymns, only four hymns of Urnamma and Šulgi designate Gilgameš as their eldest brother (Urnamma A: 143; Urnamma C: 112; Šulgi C: 106; Šulgi O: 139); and three Šulgi hymns name Lugalbanda as his father (Šulgi A: 86; Šulgi D: 42 [personal god]; Šulgi P: 38). Enmerkar is not mentioned in any royal hymn. Our only Ur III text that may have mentioned his name is the SKL, a version without comments. 12 The fame of Enmerkar seems to hang solely on the legends in The Matter of Aratta. Of those, ELA is particularly important. In this tale the king of Uruk demonstrated his superior mind over the ruler of Aratta in a series of riddles and tests. Thus, Enmerkar proved to be better not by the power of the sword, but by the power of wisdom. It cannot be a coincidence that he was helped by Nisaba, patron goddess of the scribes (ll. 320–21). The narrated events lead us aptly towards the climax. The invention of the clay tablet and the cuneiform script brought Enmerkar’s fame to its highpoint. As the narrative goes, the messenger that communicated between Enmerkar and the lord of Aratta was too tired, so Enmerkar shaped some clay and wrote on it “like a tablet.” That was the first written tablet ever. The receiver, the lord of Aratta, looked at the tablet and saw that the message was just a drawing of a nail and became angry. 13 This episode has puzzled students of the text, but it seems to me that the mances of others. In Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird, Enmerkar tries to make Aratta submit by force. He is portrayed as rather weak, perhaps to enhance the image of Lugalbanda. Interestingly, in an appeal to Inana (ll. 297–302), he mentions that he dried the marsh and built Uruk. This recalls the tradition of the above mentioned “ad-gi4 list,” which is attested as from the Uruk III period. A Neo-Assyrian bilingual edition of this text was found at Nineveh, indicating that the tradition about Enmerkar was transmitted into the first millennium. 9.  Note, however, that in some first-millennium texts his name has the determinative diĝir, e.g., the Neo-Assyrian slander of Bel-eṭir (SAA 3 29: 1) and the introduction to Bit mēseri. 10.  Not surprisingly, these come from the royal administrative center at Puzriš-Dagan; Gilgameš: YBC 4190, rev. iii 25 (Sigrist 1999: 137, CDLI P200532), BIN 3 607: 9, Förtsch 1916 22 FH 5 i 28, MVN 1 38 rev. 5 (with Ninsumun); Lugalbanda: MVN 8 139 ii 10–11. 11.  The “ad-gi4 list” was copied until the Old Babylonian period, and the Old Babylonian spelling EN:ME:KÁR suggests that it was understood as a personal name. However, we do not know how the Ur III and Old Babylonian scribes understood the text, whether as a list of words, or as an aide memoire for oral transmission, as Civil (2013: 18) suggested. 12.  The section of Uruk I is missing (cf. Steinkeller 2003: 271). The comments were added to the SKL in the Old Babylonian editions. Some of these comments were probably based on oral traditions. The source about Enmerkar could well be the written “ad-gi4 list.” 13. ELA 503–6: e n k u l - a b a4ki- a- k e4 im - e šu b í - i n - ra i n i m d u b - g i n 7 / b í - i n \ - g u b / u d bi -t a ini m i m -m a g ub- bu nu- ub- t a- ĝ ál- la / ì- n e - é š du tu u d n e - a u r5 h é - e n - n a - n a m- ma - à m / en kul -ab a4ki-a- k e4 /inim\ [dub- g in7] /bí\- in- g u b u r5 /h é \ - [ e n - n a ] - n a m- ma. Ll. 538–40: i m

204

Dina Katz

interpretation of Glassner hits the “nail” on the head. He followed the text literally, indicating that a nail, written by sign GAG, is a symbol of submission. The lord of Aratta saw nail and understood the message immediately. 14 It seems to me that through this episode, the text promulgates the advantage of a written message over an oral one as a means of communication, and especially one written in cuneiform. The advantage of the cuneiform scripts is that the sign itself is the message, and therefore the recipient can understand it without having previous training. On the level of the plot, equating a single sign with the message has an ideological value, which is the advantage of the logographic cuneiform signs. As for the story materials, the relation between the sign GAG and the meaning “nail” embodies word-play. As the lord of Aratta inspected the tablet, a storm of Iškur broke out. The conjunction between looking at the sign, realizing its meaning, and the storm cannot be coincidental. It seems like a theophany. The writing on a tablet objectified the text, and endowed it with a performative power, as though it were a spell that Iškur had authorized through his storm. At the same time, however, Iškur’s blessed rain saved the famished people of Aratta from subjugation to Uruk. It seems, therefore, that the two rulers, beloved of Inana, had to cooperate with one another in peace. The vision of world peace was foretold in the spell of Nudimmud, which the messenger delivered to Aratta already at the first challenge. 15 There is no grain of historical truth in the story. Rather it is a loud and clear ideological presumption. It is a statement about the value of writing on clay tablets, and a claim that it is a Sumerian invention. The invention of writing is the final round of the contest, the climax and decisive phase of the story, the phase that would remain etched in the memory. Positioning this as the last sequence in the plot signifies that the storyteller considered the invention of writing the most significant legacy of the Sumerians. 16 This raises the question why Enmerkar rather than the divine Gilgameš or Lugalbanda was credited with the invention of writing. Enmerkar has one advantage over Gilgameš and Lugalbanda, in that he precedes them in the “history” of Sumer. The historiographical tradition names him as the first king of the first Sumerian dynasty after the flood. Accordingly, Enmerkar was the earliest “historical” Sumerian king and hence, the most suitable candidate for “inventing” the cuneiform writing system. In other words, the earliest script was invented by the earliest Sumerian king.

š u-rin-na-ni šu ba- ši- in- t i / e n ar at t aki- k e4 im- ma i g i i - n i - i n - b a r / i n i m d u g4- g a GAG-à m s a ĝ-ki m i-ré-da - àm. 14.  Glassner 2003: 20. Earlier, Komoróczy (1975: 21–24) worked on the idea that the message should have been understood immediately, but he looked for historical explanation. Vanstiphout (1989: 518) raised objections, arguing that the archaic tablets were the same Sumerian as Old Babylonian, meaning that the form of the sign was different. Any attempt to find a historical explanation to this legend invalidates the claim that Enmerkar invented the clay tablet and the writing system, and weakens the important ideological purpose of the narrative. Vanstiphout’s argument is as historical as Komoróczy’s. Moreover, the form of the sign in the archaic period is irrelevant to the tale. 15.  ELA 135–55, 206–7. The message is that all the peoples would speak one language. Šubur and Hamazi, Sumer and Akkad, and even the “uncivilized” Martu would speak to Enlil in Nippur, that is in Sumerian. Enki would transform these diverse peoples into a unified human body of “philo-Sumerians.” 16.  In other phases of the contest Enmerkar outwitted the lord of Aratta by finding solutions to existing materials, but the invention of writing introduced a brand new element, as the text states in l. 504: ud-bi-ta inim im-ma gub-bu nu-ub-ta-ĝál-la “In those days, putting a word on clay did not exist.”

Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk

205

The claim that writing was invented by the founder of the first Sumerian city after the flood is a political and ethnic statement. All the more so, since Enmerkar ruled after the long and eminent Semitic dynasty of Kiš, after Enmebaragsi and Akka. The decision to demonstrate the superiority of Sumer by means of intellectual abilities, rather than physical powers, befits the interests of the scribal circles who carried the intellectual legacy of Sumer. It seems, therefore, that rather than a royal ideology, ELA propagates the superiority of Sumerians. But while the solutions to the riddles exemplify the superiority of the Sumerian civilization in general, the invention of writing presents the scribes as the superior intellectual class among the Sumerians. The relation of the Ur III king Šulgi with Lugalbanda, and the literary association of Lugalbanda with Enmerkar, suggest that the tales that make The Matter of Aratta were originally composed during the Ur III period. However, whether contests with Aratta entertained the aristocrats of the Ur III dynasty or not, the text of ELA, as we have it, is most probably Old Babylonian. 17 The invention of writing is a good example for an “invented tradition” which intended to build up a body of Sumerian heritage in the Old Babylonian scribal schools. 18 The scribal activity was crucial for the preservation of the Sumerian heritage when at the turn of the second millennium Sumer ceased to exist as a national entity. The prominent place of ELA in the curriculum indicates a pedagogic purpose. The fact that not Enki but Nisaba helped Enmerkar to find a solution to a test suggests a bias for scribal activity. Therefore, in line with Veldhuis’ idea of “invented tradition” and the role of the Old Babylonian scribal schools in fashioning the Sumerian intellectual heritage, this episode should be dated to the Isin period. The vision of the spell of Nudimmud, that one day all peoples, including the Martu, would speak to Enlil in one language also points to that end. This language would be Sumerian. The glory of Enmerkar did not last long. It seems that in Old Babylonian Sippar he was not very popular. In The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sîn (henceforth: The Cuthean Legend) Naram-Sîn accuses Enmerkar of not recording his experience on a stele, so as a consequence he holds him responsible for a defeat in war and the devastation of Akkad: “(Enmerkar) whose wisdom and weapons paralyzed, caught and annihilated that army, did not write on a stele, did not leave it to me.” 19 At the core of the accusation is the importance of writing a stele, namely, the value of putting a message in writing. Undoubtedly, the story which propagated the single achievement of Enmerkar was used to defame him. 20 It counteracts the attribution of the invention of writing to the first king of Uruk. As such, the accusation of Enmerkar 17.  A line in the speech of the defeated lord of Aratta dates ELA to the Old Babylonian period. In l. 572 the lord of Aratta says: “after the flood swept over.” The temporal use of the flood motif is not earlier than the Old Babylonian period, see Chen 2012: 171 and 184. A textual echo of the Ur III period is the reference to the danger of the Martu, which dates this text later than the fifth year name of Šū-Sîn; see Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird, ETCSL 1.8.2.2, ll. 304 and 370. In this reference the boundaries of Enmerkar’s Uruk are similar to that of the Ur III kingdom. The reference to Martu can also be a later addition. 18.  Veldhuis 2010: 393 and 395. 19.  Cf. Goodnick Westenholz 1997: 306, ll. 28–29. The accusation in the Middle Babylonian version must have been based on an Old Babylonian version (ibid., p. 285, ll. 1′–2′). The references to Enmerkar’s wisdom may be an allusion to ELA. 20.  Michalowski (1999: 84) defines it as “intentional semantic reversal.”

206

Dina Katz

also makes a clear statement. Just as the story about the invention of writing was a political and ethnic statement about the intellectual superiority of Sumer, the accusation of the king of Uruk is a political and ethnic statement against it. The inverted thematic relation between The Cuthean Legend and ELA strongly suggests that the Sumerian tale was targeted on purpose. The Akkadian text is a response to the claim that was made by the Sumerian text. Thereby The Cuthean Legend forms a dialogue with the architects of ELA, with those who promote the cultural aspirations that the Sumerian text conveys. In actual reality a dialogue between literary works, represents an exchange between scribes. Consequently, the motif of Enmerkar’s alleged negligence signifies denial of the claim for the superiority of the Sumerian civilization. Considering that the sources of The Cuthean Legend originated in Sippar,  21 the rejection of a Sumerian superiority probably developed in the scribal circle in that city. Be that as it may, Enmerkar and Naram-Sîn are the representatives of two opposing (perhaps competing) cultural entities. How did Enmerkar fall prey to Naram-Sîn? The incipit of The Cuthean Legend ṭupšenna pitēma “Open the tablet box (and read)” defines the nature of the issue directly. The importance of a message from a king to future kings. The kings of Akkade erected quite a few royal inscriptions, some stood in temples and were copied in Old Babylonian scribal schools. 22 Yet, there is, of course, no inscription of Enmerkar. Thus, concerning messages to future kings, Naram-Sîn and Enmekar seem like representatives of contrasting practices. Naram-Sîn articulates the expectation that the inventor of writing would leave a written document with useful advice for future kings. Yet, the legend is about a specific advice regarding divination. NaramSîn asked the gods by means of extispicy whether he should attack his opponents, but he ignored their will (ll. 72–82 of the Standard Babylonian version) and was defeated. 23 Naram-Sîn argues that an inscription of Enmerkar would have warned him and prevented him from sinning. 24 This argument is twofold, one directed at Enmerkar and the other at Naram-Sîn himself. First, that Enmerkar did not leave an inscription casts doubts on the claim that he invented the writing system, and on the truthfulness of ELA. Secondly, the specific sin of ignoring the will of the gods was taken over from an older Sumerian narrative against Naram-Sîn, The Curse of Akkade. It appears that The Cuthean Legend revisits and forms a dialogue with an older text, in order to explain the fault of Naram-Sîn. 25 21.  The Old Babylonian sources of The Cuthean Legend come from Sippar, and the role of Šamaš in the plot suggests that Sippar was its place of origin. Although so far no fragments of ELA were found in Sippar, their intertextual relationship signifies that it was known in Sippar. ELA was part of the advanced school curriculum. 22.  See survey in Goodnick Westenholz 1997: 1. 23.  I assume that Naram-Sîn’s lament over the destruction of Akkade and his failure as a king in col. iii of the Old Babylonian version is related to the military disaster in the Standard Babylonian version. That the late version ascribes the destruction to superhuman powers does not change the basic message, only the agents of the disaster. 24.  The logic of his “sin” is odd, because there is no point in divination if one ignores the answer. Historical experience may have shown that the predictions were not always correct. To that end we have an interesting witness in a Neo-Assyrian text, The Sin of Sargon. In order to find out what was the sin of his father, Sennacherib asked several groups of diviners to examine the sin of Sargon by divination. The use of more than one diviner reveals a measure of distrust in divination; for text and translation, see Tadmor, Landsberger, and Parpola 1989. 25.  Cooper 1983: 54–55, ll. 94 ff. The Curse of Akkade dates to the Ur III period.

Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk

207

The argument of Naram-Sîn creates an intertextual triangle, with The Cuthean Legend as the vertex to which two Sumerian works are connected. Ignoring the result of the extispicy is the theme that links the The Curse of Akkade synonymously to the The Cuthean Legend. The Sumerian work is an accusation of Naram-Sîn whereas the Akkadian vindicates him. The message of a king to future generations is the theme that links ELA with The Cuthean Legend. The Akkadian legend accuses the inventor of the Sumerian cuneiform script for not writing for future kings, and commends Naram-Sîn. Through their triangular inter-relationships, the inverted statements of The Cuthean Legend with ELA correct the image of Naram-Sîn that was dented by The Curse of Akkade. The focus on Enmerkar was a clever choice, both for the credibility of the narratives and their affiliation to the different language groups. The author chose the only Sumerian cultural hero, whose activities are recorded only by three tales. Otherwise Enmerkar does not appear in inscriptions or god lists. The paucity of material is incompatible with his status as a king in the Sumerian tales. Moreover, Enmerkar was not deified like his successors Lugalbanda and Gilgameš despite his proclaimed divine ancestry. Since the Babylonians believed that the dead ancestor turns into a personal god by force of a proper funerary ritual, not being deified would suggest to them that he did not even have the traditional cult of the ancestors. A Babylonian would then conclude that either Enmerkar died in the wilderness or on the battlefield. Both cases would be regarded as a punishment. Death on the battlefield, however, would mean that he ignored the will of the gods, which is revealed in divination. This possible “Babylonian” line of speculations is supported by the Standard Babylonian recension of The Cuthean Legend. 26 Moreover, it links Enmerkar with Naram-Sîn through the motif of divination. From a literary point of view, materials of two important Sumerian school texts, ELA and The Curse of Akkade were linked in causal relations to create a completely new story in Akkadian. According to the new construct Naram-Sîn was merely a victim, the evildoer was Enmerkar. Allegedly, he invented the writing system, but he did not use it to guide future kings, which is the duty of a good king. So either Enmerkar was a bad king, or he did not invent the clay tablet and the cuneiform writing system. Consequently, it was Enmerkar’s fault that made Naram-Sîn fail to understand the importance of divination. However, unlike the king of Uruk, Naram-Sîn wrote his experience on a tablet for the benefit of generations to come, simply telling them to ṭupšenna pitēma “Open the tablet box (and read).” The purpose of The Cuthean Legend was to amend the image of Naram-Sîn, which has been ruined by the popular text of The Curse of Akkade. Accordingly, at the center of the story are the writings of royal inscriptions and extispicy, the writing on the liver. The use of extispicy as a common motif is significant, not merely because it is rooted in the political practice of the Old Babylonian dynasties. 27 The performance of extispicy, like that of writing royal inscriptions, is in the hands of the expert scribe. Therefore, the educated manipulation of the different sources that make The Cuthean Legend, with focus on the value of the extispicy and the royal inscriptions, underscores the importance of the scribal art. At the same time, the dialogue with the two Sumerian narratives indicates that the author wished to 26.  See the text in Goodnick Westenholz 1997: 300–331. 27.  Richardson 2010.

208

Dina Katz

neutralize The Curse of Akkade, and discredit the first Sumerian king Enmerkar. In a historical perspective, the origin of these objectives cannot be in southern Babylonia where the Sumerian legacy was guarded and circulated. Rather, it would be at home in the cultural center of Sippar, where The Cuthean Legend most probably originated. In addition, the biased treatment of Enmerkar is a statement against the Sumerian tradition and shows a preference for Akkadian heroes instead. From a cultural perspective, The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sîn seems like a challenge that a scribe at Sippar put to his peers in southern Mesopotamia. The bad reputation of Enmerkar followed him to the Weidner Chronicle. 28 Unfortunately the passage in the chronicle that refers to him is fragmentary. It is clear that Enmerkar committed a sin, but its nature unknown. The Chronicle is about the cult of Marduk in Esagila which means that the offense took place in Babylon. The remains of the text indicate that he was cursed by Adapa. I cannot explain how these two characters could meet outside the bookshelves. The one is an antediluvian character, and the other postdiluvian. The location in Babylon is anachronistic, far detached from the Sumerian literary landscape, as if the dimensions of time and place shrank. Is it possible that the chronicle is based on an unknown old tradition that considered Enmerkar as a contemporary of Adapa, but went out of hand? Whether or not this is possible, once they are mentioned together, a later text can pick it up as a fact. Enmerkar and Adapa are mentioned together again in fragments of a first millennium narrative. 29 There is a mention of lamentations, and digging into an old deep tomb and breaking its metal door. It is impossible to decide whether they cooperated or confronted each other in this task. Also, the fragments are too small to tell whether it is related to the curse of Enmerkar in the Weidner Chronicle, or to Enmerkar’s sin in the Cuthean Legend. A thousand years after it was composed, a parody on The Cuthean Legend makes use of the name Enmerkar to slander the Babylonian Bēl-eṭir. 30 The text begins with the incipit of The Cuthean Legend ṭupšenna pitēma NA4.RÚ.A šita[ssi] “Open the tablet box and read the stele”. The name Bēl-eṭir is written with Sumerian logograms EN.KAR alluding to Enmerkar. Whoever authored The Cuthean Legend had great success in ruining the reputation of Enmerkar forever. Or was it ruined? The Catalogue of Texts and Authors attributes to “king Enmekar” at least three and possibly four Sumerian literary texts. 31 So the association of Enmerkar with writing must have been known and he has even been promoted into an author. Since a Neo-Assyrian bilingual edition of Lugalbanda and the Anzu Bird was found in Nineveh and Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave is mentioned in a catalogue, 32 Enmerkar must have been known to late scribes. It is not impossible that more of The Matter of Aratta, including ELA, was transmitted to the first millennium.

28. Glassner 2004: 266–67, no. 38 (“Chronicle of the Esangila”), ll. 42–47; Al-Rawi and George 1990: 4. 29.  Picchioni 1981: 105–9; Foster 2005: 531–32; Glassner 2004: 294–95. 30.  SAA 3 29. 31.  Lambert 1962: 64–65. Enmerkar directly follows Kabti-ilani Marduk, the author of Erra and Išum. 32.  CT 15 39–44, K. 13684 + Sm. 2137 (Lambert 1976: 314).

Ups and Downs in the Career of Enmerkar, King of Uruk

209

Enmerkar also has a place in the introduction to an incantation of the series Bīt mēseri listing sages (apkallu), as the first king after the flood who had an apkallu. A Seleucid Uruk version that lists the sages with their kings, he was the last king to have a sage. Later kings had an ummānu. The positive remark about his apkallu, as opposed to the rest, suggests that Enmerkar too was looked upon positively. The Cuthean Legend of Naram-Sîn was transmitted down to the Neo-Assyrian period, retaining the bad image of Enmerkar. However, there was a parallel tradition, dependent on his association with writing, and this must have been transmitted as well.

Bibliography Al-Rawi, F. N. H., and George, A. 1990 Tablets from the Sippar Library. I. The “Weidner Chronicle”: A Supposititious Royal Letter concerning a Vision. Iraq 52: 1–13. Chen, Y. S. 2012 The Flood Motif as a Stylistic and Temporal Device in Sumerian Literary Traditions. JANER 12: 158–89. Civil, M. 2013 Remarks on AD-GI4 (A.K.A. “Archaic Word List C” or “Tribute”). JCS 65: 13–64. Cooper, J. S. 1983 The Curse of Agade. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Deimel, A. 1923 Die Inschriften von Fara II: Schultexte aus Fara. WVDOG 43. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Foster, B. R. 2005 Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. 3rd edition. Bethesda: CDL. Förtsch, W. 1916 Zwei altbabylonische Opferlisten. MVAG 21: 22–34. Glassner, J. J. 2003 The Invention of Cuneiform: Writing in Sumer, trans. Z. Bahrani and M. van de Mie­ roop. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press. 2004 Mesopotamian Chronicles. WAW 19. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Goodnick Westenholz, J. 1997 Legends of the Kings of Akkade, the Texts. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Keiser, C. E. 1971 Neo-Sumerian Account Texts from Drehem. BIN 3. New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Komoróczy, G. 1975 Zur Ätiologie der Schrifterfindung im Enmerkar-Epos. AoF 3: 19–24. Lambert, W. G. 1962 A Catalogue of Texts and Authors. JCS 16: 59–77. 1976 A Late Assyrian Catalogue of Literary and Scholary Texts. Pp. 313–18 in Kramer Aniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer, ed. B. L. Eichler, with the assistance of J. W. Heimerdinger and Å. W. Sjöberg. AOAT 25. Verlag Butzon & Bercker: Kevelaer / Neukirchener Verlag: Neukirchen-Vluyn. Livingstone, A. 1989 Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea. SAA 3. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press.

210

Dina Katz

Michalowski, P. 1999 Commemoration, Writing, and Genre in Ancient Mesopotamia. Pp.  69–90 in The Limits of Historiography: Genre and Narrative in Ancient Historical Texts, ed. C. Shuttleworth Kraus. Leiden, Boston, and Köln: Brill. Mittermayer, C. 2009 Enmerkara und der Herr von Arata: Ein ungleicher Wettstreit. OBO 239. Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Pettinato, G., Picchioni, S. A., and Reshid, F. 1979 Testi economici dell’Iraq Museum — Baghdad. MVN 8. Roma: Multigrafica Editrice. Pettinato, G., and Waetzoldt, H. 1974 La collezione Schollmeyer. MVN 1. Roma: Multigrafica Editrice. Picchioni, S. A. 1981 Il poemetto di Adapa. Budapest: Eötvös Loránd Tudományegyetem. Richardson, S. F. C. 2010 On Seeing and Believing: Liver Divination and the Era of Warring States (II). Pp. 225–66 in Divination and Interpretation of Signs in the Ancient World, ed. A. Annus. OIS 6. Chicago: University of Chicago. Sigrist, M. 1999 Livraisons et dépenses royales durant la Troisième Dynastie d’Ur. Pp.  111–49 in Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine, ed. R. Chazan, W. W. Hallo, and L. H. Shiffman. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Steinkeller, P. 2003 An Ur III Manuscript of the Sumerian King List. Pp. 267–92 in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, ed. W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll. OBC 14. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Tadmor H., Landsberger B., and Parpola, S. 1989 The Sin of Sargon and Sennacherib’s Last Will. SAAB 3: 10–51. Vanstiphout, H. 1989 Enmerkar’s Invention of Writing Revisited. Pp.  515–24 in DUMU-E2-DUB-BA-A. Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. T. Roth. OPSNKF 11. Philadelphia: University Museum. 2003 Epics of Sumerian Kings: The Matter of Aratta. WAW 20. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Veldhuis, N. 2010 Guardians of Tradition: Early Dynastic Lexical Texts in Old Babylonian Copies. Pp. 379–400 in Your Praise is Sweet. A Memorial Volume for Jeremy Black from Students, Colleagues and Friends, ed. H. D. Baker, E. Robson, and G. Zólyomi. London: British Institute for the Study of Iraq.

“Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur” Tonia Sharlach

Stillwater, Oklahoma This paper was delivered in Warsaw as part of a panel specifically to honor Professors Piotr Steinkeller and Piotr Michalowski, in lieu of the festschrift neither wished to receive. I stressed the contributions of my teacher, Piotr Steinkeller, but as these two scholars have often built on the work of one another and cross-fertilized each other, being almost like Gilgameš and Šulgi, brother-peers, both shall enter this narrative. The paper begins by stressing how different the field of Ur III studies was before Profs. Steinkeller and Michalowski began their careers. I will then go on to Šulgi, the most important, and certainly the longest reigning, king of this dynasty, suggesting that the early history of Šulgi’s reign is far murkier than we might like to admit. Furthermore, I will argue that Šulgi deliberately shifted his geographic focus away from Ur itself to concentrate on the Nippur region and that this culminated in the year name used for Šulgi year 39.

History of the Field Both Piotr Steinkeller and Piotr Michalowski originally began their Ph.D. studies in America in the 1970s. Steinkeller’s Sale Documents, completed under the direction of the also-Polish Ignace Gelb at the University of Chicago, fell squarely into the category of socio-economic history. 1 But already there appeared seeds of what we now can see are major strands in his work and writing, such as an amazing clear-headedness and rigor on matters of philology and the correct reading of signs. Perhaps most importantly, Steinkeller’s work has always stressed putting the individual tablets into a historical context. Though this does not seem revolutionary today, we must keep in mind that much scholarship in Ur III studies from the 1950′s to 1970′s consisted of a) publishing texts, generally in copy according to their museum number (Kang 1972 is but one example) or b) making lists, e.g., of year names, or important personages (such as Sollberger 1954–1956). There were notable exceptions. Clearly text publication and data collection were necessary prerequisites for others to be able to begin to make analyses, so I do not mean this as a criticism of a Author’s note:  I am most grateful to colleagues who read or commented on drafts of this paper, principally the honorees themselves, and also G. Rubio and C. Reichel. Clemens most generously allowed me to use his vector drawings of the palaces and photos from Ur. Naturally responsibility for any errors rests with the author. 1.  The revised version of this dissertation became Steinkeller 1989. At that time, stress on socioeconomic topics was called “Onionology,” following Gelb’s programmatic remarks in 1967.

211

212

Tonia Sharlach

past generation of Sumerologists. Still, I would like to stress that there does seem to be a major shift in the 1980′s, as American, European, and Asian scholars began working hard at reconstructing what the Ur III state and its economic foundations really were. As Ur III economic studies began to deal more and more with ideas and historical reconstructions, the boundaries between “economic history” and “literature” began to break down. Piotr Michalowski’s dissertation, completed under Bill Hallo of Yale in 1976, was on the Royal Correspondence of Ur, and thus was, strictly speaking, “literature.” This has continued to be a major focus of his intellectual creativity, but Michalowski has also written many articles on the royal family and the Third Dynasty of Ur itself; topics of interest to one Piotr have often been taken up in a new way by another, to the great benefit of the field. This, I think, has made the field of Ur III studies a bustling and exciting place. Far more Sumerologists today specialize in the Third Dynasty than in the Pre-Sargonic or Sargonic periods, for instance, despite the much longer time frames of the earlier periods. One major attraction of the Ur III period, of course, is the large number of tablets and the constantly-expanding nature of the data and archives available. Another attraction is that the Ur III period was populated by charismatic figures. One of the most compelling is Šulgi. Klein even went so far as to compare him to Alexander the Great! 2

Šulgi I think we feel that we know Šulgi about as well as one can know a Mesopotamian monarch, that we could almost reach out and touch him: this is not a feeling we have about other Ur III dynasts, such as Amar-Sîn or Utu-hegal. Both Steinkeller and Michalowski have devoted many pages to Šulgi over the course of their long careers. Both are far too adept historians to paint unidimensional portraits of Šulgi. Perhaps it is fair to say that Steinkeller’s Šulgi is a great man, even heroic at times, a reformer, a visionary, but also a warrior and a conscious “modernizer” (Steinkeller 1987, 2003, and forthcoming). Michalowski’s Šulgi is perhaps more sensitive, more tortured by his father’s complicated legacy and possibly a victim of parricide (Michalowski 1977).

The Story of Šulgi and the Rise of the Third Dynasty of Ur Just to review, we tell ourselves a nice, neat story about the early Ur III dynasty and how it emerged after the fall of the Sargonic state and the incursion of the Gutians (see for instance Steinkeller 1992: 728–30). While the Gutians ruled some areas in Babylonia, other city-states, perhaps principally Lagaš, remained independent. Gudea of Lagaš, probably working in tandem with Utu-hegal of Uruk, fought the Gutians and largely pushed them out. Utu-hegal seems to have had a brother, whom he installed in Ur as a military-governor, but when Utu-hegal died, it was this 2.  “Shulgi, the second and most important ruler of the Third Dynasty of Ur, was remembered as one of the most enlightened kings of the ancient world. During his extraordinarily long reign, Shulgi brought about a political and cultural renaissance for Sumer that exercised tremendous influence on contemporaneous and future generations.” He continued, “Very much like the Hebrews’ Solomon or the Macedonians’ Alexander III ‘the Great,’ Shulgi was remembered as the outstanding individual of his age: a heroic leader and a patron of the arts and sciences.” (Klein 2000: 843 and 856).

“Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur”

213

brother, Ur-Namma who became the founder of the Third Dynasty of Ur. So while the dynasty was said to be from Ur, it retained a strong attachment to Uruk and its legendary past. Ruling for 18 years, Ur-Namma concentrated on infrastructure and building—canals and ziggurats featuring prominently among them. Seemingly dying in battle against some remnants of the Gutians, 3 it was Ur-Namma’s son Šulgi, who during his 48 year long reign, would finish the job started by Ur-Namma. Šulgi’s long reign was a time of consolidation and reforms. Centralization was a priority, including the foundation of major royal accounting and control centers in the vicinity of Nippur, such as Puzriš-Dagan/Drehem. The king, himself adept in the scribal arts, appears to have been a patron of scribal schools and literature. For unknown reasons, he decided towards the middle of his reign to declare himself divine. He tirelessly conducted wars of expansion in the northeast, probably to gain control over trade routes, as detailed in Steinkeller’s forthcoming book, The Grand Strategy (a draft of which was kindly furnished to me by the honoree). In short, Šulgi appears to be the architect of the characteristic organization and centralization of the Ur III state. So runs the story. Scholarly writings on Šulgi have had a heavy focus on the last eight to ten years of his long reign, in large part because of the plenitude of the textual records from this date on. We habitually contemplate the very end of Šulgi’s reign, though it is clear that the major reform movements took place much earlier. But if we want to look earlier, we have two problems: first, a lack of many economic texts and thus a reliance on sources like year names; second, a problem with our interpretive framework, because, our nice neat little story about the beginnings of the Third Dynasty of Ur may be a little more fictional than we would like. If the textual evidence underlying the story is scrutinized, as many have done recently, there is much in this reconstruction that should disquiet us.

Complicating the Story To take just one example, are we really sure that Utu-hegal and Ur-Namma were brothers? Wilcke suggested in 1974 that they were siblings on the basis of a heavily broken diorite stela now in the Iraq Museum (IM 1048 = U 3158; Wilcke 1974: 193 and n. 67; see also Frayne 2001: 295–96). The textual evidence for their relationship is exceedingly weak, as Michalowski has recently reiterated (Frayne 2001: 295–96 and Michalowski 2013: 183–85). Wilcke, following Gadd, reconstructed the stele to be dedicated to Ningal? for the life of Utu-hegal, king of Uruk, by Ur-[Namma]?, gene[ral?] of Ur, servant?? of the shrine Ekišnugal?, his brother? (š[eš-a-ni]) (Wilcke 1974: 193; republished by Frayne 2001: 295–96). Previous reconstructions had suggested the sign was not šeš, brother, but dumu, son (e.g., Hallo 1966: 137 with previous scholarship), and thus that Utu-hegal was Ur-Namma’s father. But can we be sure this inscription really concerns Ur-[Namma] here and not some other Ur-[x]? And, if so, what are we to do with the two difficult lines ama x x é xxx? Wilcke’s proposal to reconstruct ama-[a-tu] is not impossible, but we know that ama-a-tu refers to a houseborn slave. It does not mean “servant” or temple functionary. This is not to say that Wilcke’s suggestions are wrong—they could well be correct—but they must be 3.  Presumably the Babylonians were soundly defeated if the body could not even be recovered, though they—and we—tend to skip over that quickly.

214

Tonia Sharlach

treated as hypotheses about a very difficult, heavily broken passage, not as fact. I do not believe that we know at this point what the relationship between Utu-hegal and Ur-Namma was. And what about the complicated relationship between Ur and Lagaš? According to Ur-Namma’s law code, it was Ur-Namma who “elevated” (Sumerian íl) to power a man named Nam-mahni, a ruler of Lagaš 4 (Frayne 1997: 5; see also Sollberger 1954–1956: 35). This would suggest that Ur controlled Lagaš. But if we assume that a subservient city will use the month names of its suzerain, we face the problematic fact that the small number of texts we have of this date from Ur used Lagaš month names well into the second decade of the reign of Šulgi. This suggests the opposite— that, at least at some point, Lagaš controlled Ur. An extensive bibliography exists on this problem (notable treatments include Sollberger 1954–1956, Widell 2003, de Maaijer 2008: 45–51) but no clear solution is visible. What is apparent is that the rise of the Third Dynasty of Ur was certainly not a simple passing of the torch from Uruk to Ur, more like a complicated patchwork of competing city-states, seemingly principally Uruk and Lagaš, then Ur—at least in the south; we really have little idea what was happening in the northern portions of Babylonia. Our basic problem is a lack of sources. Year names are one of our best windows onto the early years of Šulgi. We know year names were propaganda, to legitimate the king and praise his most glorious deeds. Firth (2013: 2) recently described year names as “grandiose and often lengthy statements of the achievement of king and state.” It has widely been stated that Šulgi’s early year names mainly refer to domestic matters, often cultic in nature. This is true. But is also appears to be true that a preponderance of these cultic events concern Nippur and points north. In the first nineteen years, Ur appears four times only. In year 7, when Šulgi made his famous round trip to the shrines of both Ur and Nippur, in year 10, when the É-hur-sag (a palace, in all likelihood, which we shall discuss below) was built, and lastly in years 15 and 17, which commemorate the choosing and installation, respectively, of the en-priestess of Nanna at Ur. Nippur occurs in eight year names between Šulgi years 1 and 19. Is it possible that Nippur—or at least the Nippur province, which included Nippur itself, but also Tummal and the suburbs of Puzriš-Dagan—was in fact a major focus for royal attention at this date? In order to answer this question, we need to look more closely at what was—and was not—at Ur and in Nippur.

Ur and Nippur Woolley’s excavations of Ur uncovered a great deal of Ur III material, but Ur, as the capital and seat of the Third Dynasty, remains strangely insubstantial at this time. The É-hur-sag, a palace started by Ur-Namma and finished by Šulgi, was excavated, but at only 59 m square, it is decidedly underwhelming (Zettler 2003: 53–54). Just for comparison, the Old Babylonian palace at Mari measured about 120 by 200 m on its ground floor (Edzard 2004: 207). The Ur building is in fact so small that many have wondered whether it was a palace at all (Zettler 2003: 54). Some have suggested it was a temple, as it was too 4.  Nam-mahni appears to have been ruler of Lagaš by virtue of marriage: he may be the same as Nam-mahni of Umma (Frayne 1997: 6).

“Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur”

215

Table 1.  The Year Names Year Name

Region/ Province

1 mu Šul-gi lugal 2 Temple foundations of Nin-gublaga laid (mu uš é-dnin-gubalaga ki ba-a-gar)

Kiabrig, later Nin-gublaga is attested at Ur and Nippur

3 Šulgi installed a lapis lazuli throne for Enlil

Nippur

4 Temple foundations of Ninurta laid

Nippur

5 Wall of E-anna constructed (mu bàd é-an-na ba-dù-a)

Uruk

6 The king set the paths of Nippur in order (mu lugal-e gìri nibruki si bí-sá-a)

Nippur

7 The king made a round-trip journey from Ur to Nippur (mu lugal-e úriki-ta nibruki-šè šu in-nígin)

Nippur and Ur

8 The barge of Ninlil was caulked

Nippur

9 Nanna of Karzida brought into his temple

Karzida

10 The Royal Ehursag built (mu é-hur-sag lugal ba-dù)

Ur

11 Ištaran of Der brought into his temple

Der

12 Numušda of Kazallu brought into his temple

Kazallu

13 The royal ice-house was built

?

14 Nanna of Nippur brought into the temple

Nippur

15 En of Nanna chosen by extispicy

Ur

16 Bed of Ninlil made

Nippur

17 En of Nanna installed

Ur

18 Liwwir-mittašu, the king’s daughter, raised to queenship of Marhaši

Marhaši

19 ? unclear [. . .] of Der was restored

Der

20 a: Ninhursag brought into her temple b. “sons” of Ur conscripted as spearmen (mu dumu úriki-ma lú gišgíd-šè ka ba-ab-kéš)

Enutur Ur

small for a palace, but the layout of the building is residential not religious. The residential nature of the plans of the Ehursag and the Ešnunna Palace of the Rulers were also stressed by I. Winter (2008). The location of Ur, in the far south, was of course inconvenient for major projects in Šulgi’s reign, such as the construction of the wall of the land (bàd ma-da) and the seemingly endless campaigns to the northeast regions like Simurrum and Simanum (Michalowski 2011: 125, 137, 167– 69; Steinkeller forthcoming, Grand Strategy). Woolley did find the burial chambers of Šulgi and Amar-Sîn, but no evidence—either architectural or textual—for a big set of government offices there. In the Nippur province, specifically in the suburb of Puzriš-Dagan, also known as Drehem, we must work on written sources as proper excavation has not been carried out in that location. We do know that there was a palace there in the reign of

216

Tonia Sharlach

Fig. 1.  The Relative Sizes of Palaces. (This drawing was prepared by C. Reichel, who generously allowed me to use it here). Mari is in dark gray on the right, Ur in very light gray at bottom left, and Ešnunna in medium gray at top left.)

Šulgi—this was noted already in the 1950s by Sollberger (1954–1956: 20, n. 42) and the point was reiterated by Sallaberger and others (Sallaberger 2006: 127; see now most recently Steinkeller 2015: 158 and following). The treasure archive and the instruments of bureaucracy in the form of many tablets are in fact to be found here, at Puzriš-Dagan. This is true even when the actual transaction took place in Ur: the tablets were filed in Puzriš-Dagan. I think this is telling, and an indication that the main thrust of the administration of the Land occurred in the Puzriš-Dagan palace. I am not arguing that Ur was not the seat of the dynasty, not a capital and not—at least at times—the residence of the kings. What I am arguing is that the Ur palace may have been secondary in importance.

Šulgi A Other sources also seem to suggest a tension between Nippur and Ur and the king’s need to fulfill cultic obligations at both sites. The hymn Šulgi A, sometimes called “The King of the Road,” is a case in point. Of course, Šulgi A is a work of literature, and cannot be treated as purely factual. The full version is known to us mainly from Old Babylonian copies, though one copy has been identified as being Ur III in date (Rubio 2000: 211 and n. 31). Since the incipit of Šulgi A is indeed found

“Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur”

217

Fig. 2.  A photograph of the remnants of the É-hur-sag. (This photograph was taken by C. Reichel in summer 2013. I am grateful again for the use of the image here.)

in an Ur III literary catalogue, and the existence of the topos is present in two other inscriptions, a year name (for Šulgi 7) and a statue inscription, we can have some degree of confidence that the theme of Šulgi speeding from one shrine to the other existed in the early Ur III period (Frayne 1997: 156–57 [RIME 3/2.1.2.54]). The Hymn is full of the usual vainglorious braggadocio familiar to us from other Šulgi Hymns: I, the king, was a hero already in the womb; I, Šulgi, was born to be a mighty man! (. . .) Truly I am not boasting! (ETCSL t.2.4.2.01: 1–2, 84)

The claim to have hastened, in pelting hail, from one shrine to another to fulfill his cultic obligations in the same day is obviously not meant to be taken literally, any more than we are to take literally Šulgi’s assertions that he was a horse, a lion or a bird of prey. But relative to our topic, where did Šulgi start? The year name seems to indicate Ur as a starting point. But, as Carroué already noted, Šulgi A tells us he started in Nippur (Carroué 2000: 177, ll. 40–41): Nibruki-ta šeg12 úrimki-ma-šè danna 1-gin7 šu ni10-ni10-da šag4-mu ha-ma-ab-dug4 My heart prompted me to make a return journey from Nippur to brick-built Ur as if it were only the distance of a double-hour.. . .

The passage continued, “I arose like an owl(?), like a falcon to return to Nippur in my vigor. . . . In the lustrous Ekur, I seized the holy scepter and I lifted my head towards the heavens. . . . I consolidated my kingship.

218

Tonia Sharlach

The statue inscription gives us the same information: Šulgi started in Nippur. Nibruki ki-ùr-ta na-kas4 Èš úriki é-temen-ní-gùru-šè (Šulgi) ran from Ki-ur (of) Nippur to the E-temen-ni-guru (of) shrine Ur. (Frayne 1997: 157, ll. 23–24)

Moreover, both statue and hymn make it clear that Šulgi returned to Nippur with no delay. It is troubling that the year name and literary evidence do not fully match. Carroué, however, found a variant year name for Šulgi 7, the year the king [left] from Nippur (Carroué 2000: 177). The matter of the discrepancies in year name cannot be completely solved here, but I do think we can see evidence that there was tension at the time as to whether Ur or Nippur was to be the principal residence of the king.

Palaces and the (Vain)glorious Šulgi If, in fact, the idea that Šulgi lavished a good deal of time and attention on the Nippur area is accurate, then perhaps it may help us understand another year name, this one for Šulgi 39. Šulgi year 39: m u d š u l -g i l u g a l ú r i ki -m a-k e 4 l ugal an ub-da l í m m u-bake 4 é - p u z u r 4 -i š - d d a -g a n ki é - d š u l -g i -ra m u-dù The year Šulgi, king of Ur, king of the four quarters, built é-Puzriš-Dagan, a residence {palace? temple?} of Šulgi.

Šulgi had many exciting deeds to commemorate every year, and he rarely had follow-on years, the year after [something happened]. For what may be the only time in his 48 year long reign, a full three years were devoted to one happening with the names for Šulgi years 39, 40 and 41. What was the cause of all the excitement? The year formula is generally accepted to refer to the foundation of PuzrišDagan, the livestock accounting center. Sallaberger concluded, “Die Gründung von Puzriš-Dagan (Daten Šulgi 39–41) als ‘Haus Šulgis’ ist als Einrichtung einer könig­ lichen, d.h. staatlichen Institution zu verstehen.” (Sallaberger 2004: 202, see also Sallaberger 2003/2004: 45–46). Sigrist’s conclusions were similar: “Šulgi ne parle dans le 39ème nom d’année que de la construction d’un temple/maison à PuzrišDagan sans qu’il soit fait allusion à ce vaste centre de gestion des animaux de l’empire d’Ur que constitue pour nous Drehem” (Sigrist 1992: 10; similarly, Sigrist 2010: 230). Accounting and data control centers are not very exciting, hardly a grandiose achievement of king and state. We care about Drehem sheep and goat accounts, but I highly doubt Šulgi—or his subjects—did, certainly not enough to name three years after it! 5 5.  There is also of course, the logical problem of how Šulgi could be “founding” an institution that palpably already existed. Scholarly convention starts the Drehem establishment at Šulgi’s 41st or 43rd regnal year (for Š42, see Sigrist 1992: 17, Sallaberger 1999: 260–61 prefers the Š43 date), but as Sigrist (1992: 16–20) and others have noted, Drehem tablets begin already in Š26. The same officials produced tablets recording almost identical transactions before Š39. By convention, we refer to any tablet from this area earlier than Š39 as part of the “Early Drehem Series” or may refer to these bureaus as “Vorläuferorganisation” (Sallaberger 2006: 125–26) but how the “Early Drehem Series” or the predecessor organizations actually differed from what we think of as Drehem proper remains to be determined.

“Šulgi, Mighty Man, King of Ur”

219

Nor is the foundation of an accounting center really what the year name—taken literally—says. Perhaps what is commemorated here was in fact literally what the year name suggests, a residence for the king. That is, a palace, and almost certainly a palace on a scale far larger than 59 m sq., a palace as over the top as Šulgi’s selfimage and self-praise. . .? This, surely, would be an achievement worth three year names! While administrative reforms were an important element in Šulgi’s system of rule, it is far more likely that his 39th to 41st year names reflect the completion of a palace (and/or temple) for the deified king suitable for his glorious self-image. And in fact there is considerable evidence—as the honoree pointed out to me as I delivered this paper—for the construction of a royal palace in the Nippur province at exactly this time (Steinkeller 2015: 158–67).

All in All I have suggested that, while Šulgi remains one of the best known Mesopotamian kings, many aspects of his early reign remain unclear. His beginnings, and that of Ur itself, may have been more modest than we have imagined. Was Ur really his chief seat of power or did he spend most of his time in and lavish most resources on the Nippur area? Much work remains to be done on the reign of Šulgi, and we eagerly anticipate further studies from Profs. Steinkeller and Michalowski—and others—in the years to come.

Bibliography Carroué, F. 2000 Šulgi et la Temple Bagara. ZA 90: 161–93. de Maaijer, R. 2008 Šulgi’s Jubilee: Where’s the Party? Pp. 45–52 in On the Third Dynasty of Ur: Studies in Honor of Marcel Sigrist, ed. P. Michalowski. JCS Suppl. 1. Boston: ASOR. Edzard, D. O. 2004 Palast. A. III. Altbabylonisch. Pp. 205–8 in RlA 10. Firth, R. 2013 Notes on Year Names of the Early Ur III Period: Šulgi 20–30. CDLJ: 1–12. Frayne, D. 1997 Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC). RIME 3/2. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. 2001 Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC). RIME 2. University of Toronto Press. Gelb, I. J. 1967 Approaches to the Study of Ancient Society. JAOS 87: 1–8. Hallo, W. W. 1966 The Coronation of Ur-Nammu. JCS 20: 133–41. Kang, S. 1972 Sumerian Economic Texts from the Drehem Archive, vol 1: Sumerian and Akkadian Cuneiform Texts in the Collection of the World Heritage Museum of the University of Illinois. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Klein, J. 2000 Shulgi of Ur: King of a Neo-Sumerian Empire. Pp. 843–57 in vol. 2 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. J. Sasson. Peabody: Hendrickson. Michalowski, P. 1977 Death of Šulgi. OrNS 46: 220–25. 2011 The Correspondence of the Kings of Ur: An Epistolary History of an Ancient Mesopotamian Kingdom. MC 15. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

220

Tonia Sharlach

2013 Networks of Authority and Power in Ur III Times. Pp.  169–205 in From the 21st Century B.C. to the 21st Century A.D.: Proceedings of the International Conference on Sumerian Studies Held in Madrid, 22–24 July 2010, ed. S. Garfinkle and M. Molina. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Richter, T. 2004 Untersuchungen zu den lokalen Panthea Süd- und Mittelbabyloniens in altbabylonischer Zeit. AOAT 257. 2nd ed. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Rubio, G. 2000 On the Orthography of the Sumerian Literary Texts from the Ur III Period. ASJ 22: 203–25. Sallaberger, W. 1999 Ur III Zeit. Pp. 121–414 in Mesopotamien: Akkade-Zeit und Ur III-Zeit, ed. W. Sallaberger and A. Westenholz. OBO 160/3. Freiburg: Universitätsverlag. 2003/2004  Schlachtvieh aus Puzriš-Dagan. Zur Bedeutung dieses königlichen Archivs. JEOL 38: 45–62. 2004 Palast. A. I. Mesopotamien im III. Jahrtausend. Pp. 200–4 in RlA 10. 2006 Puzriš-Dagān. Pp. 125–28 in RlA 11. Sigrist, M. 1992 Drehem. Bethesda: CDL. 2010 Les noms d’anée du règne du roi Šulgi. Pp.  219–38 in Why Should Someone Who Knows Something Conceal It? Cuneiform Studies in Honor of David I. Owen on His 70th Birthday, ed. A. Kleinerman and J. M. Sasson. Bethesda: CDL. Sollberger, E. Sur la chronologie des rois d’Ur et quelques problèmes connexes. AfO 17: 1954–1956 10–48. Steinkeller, P. 1987 The Administrative and Economic Organization of the Ur III State: The Core and the Periphery. Pp. 19–41 in The Organization of Power: Aspects of Bureaucracy in the Ancient Near East, ed. M. Gibson and R. Biggs. SAOC 46. Chicago: Oriental Institute. 1989 Sale Documents of the Ur III-Period. FAOS 17. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. 1992 Mesopotamia, History of (Third Millennium B. C.). Pp. 724–32 in Anchor Bible Dictionary, ed. D. N. Freedman. New York: Doubleday. 2003 An Ur III Manuscript of the Sumerian King List. Pp. 267–92 in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, ed. W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll. Wiesbaden: Harasowitz. 2015 The Employment of Labor on National Building Projects in the Ur III Period. Pp. 137–235 in Labor in the Ancient World. A Colloquium held at Hirschbach (Saxony), April 2005, ed. P. Steinkeller and M. Hudson. International Scholars Conference on Ancient Near Eastern Economies 5. Dresden: ISET Verlag. forthcoming  The Grand Strategy Widell, M. 2003 The Administrative and Economic Ur III Texts from the City of Ur. Piscataway: Gorgias Press. Wilcke, C. 1974 Zum Königtum in der Ur III-Zeit. Pp. 177–232 in Le Palais et la Royauté: Archéologie et Civilisation. Actes de la XIXe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. P. Garelli. Paris: Geuthner. Winter, I. J. 2008 Touched by the Gods: Visual Evidence for the Divine Status of Rulers in the Ancient Near East. Pp. 75–101 in Religion and Power: Divine Kingship in the Ancient World and Beyond, ed. N. Brisch. OIS 4. Chicago: Oriental Institute. Zettler, R. 2003 Archaeology and the Problem of Textual Evidence for the Third Dynasty of Ur. BCSMS 38: 49–62.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari Rafał Koliński Poznań

The career of Yasmaḫ-Addu, son of Samsī-Addu, king of Assur, is relatively well known, illuminated by numerous letters and other documents discovered in the royal archives of Mari. More than 12 years that he spent in Mari (from either the year of Riš-Šamaš or Ibni-Addu, REL 185 or 186), are hallmarked by his marriage to Bēltum, princess of Qatna, in the year of Ikūn-pī(ya) (REL 189), and by the death of his father in the year of Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur (REL 197). 1 It is assumed that shortly after the latter event, the Kingdom of Northern Mesopotamia was divided between Samsī-Addu’s sons, the elder one, Išme-Dagan, holding Ekallātum (and Assur, as witnessed, among others, by the Assyrian King List granting him 40 years of kingship) and the younger one, Yasmaḫ-Addu, ruling Mari and the Euphrates valley. However, Yasmaḫ-Addu’s promotion to the Great King status was followed by a rapid demise of his kingdom, which was soon conquered by Zimrī-Līm. The last period of the Yasmaḫ-Addu’s tenure in Mari is much less well known than the years before it. There are relatively few texts pertaining to this period and none of them mentions the war with Zimrī-Līm. The only reference to the end of Yasmaḫ-Addu’s in Mari is constituted by two letters (ARM 10 149; A.3696) from the early period of Zimrī-Līm suggesting that Yasmaḫ-Addu fled the city before the approaching army blocked its gates. 2 No further mention of Yasmaḫ-Addu can be found in any source. This scarcity of information provokes a discussion on the chronology of this period, and on the length of the independent rule of Yasmaḫ-Addu in Mari in particular. Leemans (1960: 176–81) proposed that this period could have lasted as much as six years, but in 1985 Charpin and Durand (1985: 304–10) re-evaluated the available evidence and proposed to shorten this period to mere months. This position was repeatedly advocated in a series of publications on the history of the period authored or co-authored by Charpin . 3 However, the Mari evidence is in fact to some extent contradictory to this reconstruction. First, three tablets dated by eponyms discovered in the archives of the Zimrī-Līm period postdate the death of SamsīAddu by four (eponym Puṣṣānum, REL 201), or six years (Ahiyaya, son of Takiki, REL 203). 4 It was convincingly demonstrated by Charpin (1985: 250), however, that the tablets in question could have been brought to Mari as a part of a personal archive of Mēqibum, and as such they would have no relevance for the chronology of

2014.

1.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 75–168. 2.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 175–76. 3.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 161–66; Charpin 2004, and the most recently Charpin and Ziegler 4.  Charpin 1985: 265.

221

222

Rafał Koliński

the city. Second, the disputable case of tablet TH85.72 also needs to be taken into consideration. The tablet is dated to the year of Ahiyaya. 5 Charpin and Ziegler assumed that his tenure falls to the year of Ilī-ellitī (REL 188), and that these two years could be conflated. 6 However, their arguments in favor of placing these two eponyms in one year are not only unconvincing, but they are also contradictory to the evidence form Tell Chagar Bazar, discussed recently by Denis Lacambre (2009). All this leaves a very narrow field for a convincing reconstruction of the date of the tablet. Either Ahiyaya is Ahiyaya, son of Takiki (REL 203), and the tablet dates to six years after the year of Samsī-Addu’s death, or another Ahiyaya must be added to the eponym list, in year REL 193, as it was proposed by Lacambre but dismissed by Charpin and Ziegler (2014). Finally, the last year entry in the famous Mari Eponym Chronicle (henceforth MEC) is of the year of Aššur-emuqī (REL 199), which is the second year after the year of Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur. Durand and Guichard (1997: 43, n. 145) postulated that MEC was written in Šubat-Enlil, and its tablets were transported to Mari after the capital city of Samsī-Addu was looted by Zimrī-Līm’s army. Yet, the evidence of Tell Rimah tablet OBTR 5 suggests that the city was pillaged by Ḫadnu-rapi, who proposed a share of the spoils to Zimrī-Līm via Bunu-Eštar, king of Kurda, but there is no proof that this offer was ever accepted. 7 In the situation when the data from Mari are inconclusive I would like to consider the evidence from Tell Leilan, or Šubat-Enlil, the capital city of Samsī-Addu. Epigraphic discoveries at Tell Leilan were made during the seasons of 1982–85, 1987, and 1991, in three sectors spread over the area of 90-hectare walled city: in two sectors located in the Lower Town area, namely the so-called Lower Town East Palace and the Lower Town North Palace, and also on the Acropolis. The Lower Town East Palace yielded tablets and tablet fragments spanning a period from Aššur-taklāku (REL 206) to Aššur-taklāku (REL 241), possibly corresponding to the year Samsu-iluna of Babylon defeated Yakūn-Ašar, king of Šeḫna, and captured the city, as listed in the formula for the 23rd year of the Babylonian king. 8 The archive of the Lower Town East Palace has thus very little relevance for my study. The Lower Town North Palace yielded the so-called “beer archive,” composed of 642 tablets referring to beer production, covering 19 months of the eponymy years of Aššur-taklāku, Zazzabu/Sassāpum and Aḫu-waqar (REL 206–8). 9 On the basis of legends of numerous seal impressions present on many tablets, the building has been identified as the palace of Qarnī-Līm, king of Andarig, whose position in Šeḫna is well evidenced in the Mari archives of the period between the fifth and the tenth year of Zimrī-Līm. 10 Most interesting is a collection of tablets discovered on the Acropolis mound. They could be divided into two groups. The earlier one, dating to the period of SamsīAddu, provides the dates of the eponymy of Adad-bāni (most likely REL 172, being thus the oldest known text dated to Samsī-Addu’s tenure), of Namīya – two tablets (REL 176), and of Su’en-muballiṭ – two tablets (REL 184). The later group, much better represented, comprises five tablets dated to the year of Ennam-Aššur, one to 5.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 164, n. 636. 6.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 164–66; 2014: 22. 7.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 200, n. 265. 8.  Charpin 2011: 57. 9.  Van De Mieroop 1994. 10.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 168.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari

223

Table 1.  Chronology of tablets found at the Acropolis of Tell Leilan, sealed by servants of Samsī-Addu, Yasmaḫ-Addu and Išme-Dagan in years REL 198–202 Ennam-Aššur Aššur-emuqī Abu-šalim REL 198 REL 199 REL 200 Seal of

Servant of

Puṣṣānum REL 201

Ikūn-pī-Ištar REL 202

5 texts

1 text

3 texts

23 texts

8 texts

Ipiq-Anunitum Išme-Dagan

L85–126

–

–

–

–

DINGIR-MA. AN.SUM

Samsī-Addu

L85–146, L85–147

–

–

–

–

Ilum-gamil

Išme-Dagan

L85–148, L85–149A-B

–

–

–

–

Ḫala-aštu[k]

Samsī-Addu

–

–

–

L85–138

–

[   ]ra[   ]

Samsī-Addu

–

–

–

L85–453

–

Šamašzame[r]

Išme-Dagan

–

–

L85–145

L85–100–109, – L85–132 L85–438

Sîn-iddinam

[Yasmaḫ-Addu?] –

–

L85–145

–

–

Yatar-ašdu

Išme-Dagan

–

–

L85–145

–

– –

Sāmiya

Samsī-Addu

–

–

–

L85–112

Šalim-bēli

Samsī-Addu

–

–

–

L85–100–104, – L85–107 L85–108

Yāwi-Ila

Yasmaḫ-Addu

–

–

–

L85–105, L85–132, L85–438

L85–140, L85–141

Lītar-šarrūssu Samsī-Addu

–

–

–

–

L85–115

Kasap-d[X]

–

–

–

–

L85–445

Išme-Dagan

a.  On the cylinder a name of a new owner is engraved, reading Bunuma-ilī (Parayre 1990, Fig. 31, no. 12).

the year of Aššur-emuqī, three to the year of Abu-šalim, 23 to the year of Puṣṣāya (Puṣṣānum), and eight to the year of Ikūn-pī-Ištar, thus covering consecutive five years immediately after the death of Samsī-Addu (REL 198–202). 11 These data become more significant when combined with the evidence of seals impressed on these tablets. Many of the impressions were provided with inscriptions allowing to identify the holder of the office, and the king whom he was serving. A handful of officials referred to the authority of Samsī-Addu, even a few years after his death. The remaining seals belonged either to the servants of Išme-Dagan (years REL 198–202), or to Yāwi-Ila, the servant of Yasmaḫ-Addu, who have sealed tablets dated to the years REL 201–202 (Table 1). 12 While it is impossible to prove that the presence of 11.  Whiting 1990: 569–73. 12.  Parayre 1990; Whiting 1990: 575–79. The process of replacing references to Samsī-Addu with references to Yasmaḫ-Addu by the latter’s officials in Mari was described by Villlard (2001: 19–20). It is noticeable that an official swore an oath to a new king not upon his coronation, but with a delay of several months: three months after the marriage of Yasmaḫ-Addu to Bēltum, marking beginning of his dependant rule in Mari, and as much as nine months in the case of Zimrī-Līm (Villard 2001: 20).

224

Rafał Koliński

a seal belonging to a person who once served Yasmaḫ-Addu is an evidence for the latter’s physical presence in Šubat-Enlil at this time, there is no doubt that the city remained under the power of Samsī-Addu’s son (or both sons) at least till the year of Ikūn-pī-Ištar (REL 202). Owing to a study of the administration of Yasmaḫ-Addu published by Pierre Villard (2001), it is possible to identify quite a number of the officials to whom the seals belonged. Among the most prominent was Līter-šarussu, who originally served Yaḫdun-Līm and his son Sūmu-Yamam in Mari, and later joined the ranks of servants of Samsī-Addu in the same city. 13 In the year of Rīš-Šamaš (REL 185) he was transferred by the king to Ekallātum, and apparently terminated his long career at the royal court in Šubat-Enlil, where he was already present during the war against Qabrā, five years before the death of Samsī-Addu (A.2177). Another high-ranking official was Sîn-iddinam, who served as the chief advisor to YasmaḫAddu during the early years of the latter’s stay in Mari, and was later granted an office of the chief of archives in the cities of Razama, Burullum, and Ḫāburatum in the north, under the authority of Samsī-Addu himself. In the year of Abu-šalim, together with two servants of Išme-Dagan, he sealed a document concerning a dead man (partial preservation of the legend on the seal precludes the determination of his master). Another eminent figure was Yāwi-Ila, known from several letters written to Yasmaḫ-Addu. He appears to have been an administrator of Yasmaḫ-Addu’s property in Šubat-Enlil at the time Samsī-Addu still ruled the kingdom. His presence at the royal court in the year REL 201 (he sealed one of naptan šarri [royal meal] texts) is another proof of continuity of the administration of Samsī-Addu’s time under the rule of his son(s). Another very interesting servant seal belonged to Sūmiya/Sāmiya, who oversaw the expenditure of lard for the royal meal in the year REL 201. At an earlier stage of his career, he served as an administrator of rural domains in Ekallātum, and later in Rapīqum. Then he was transferred to Šubat-Enlil, where he appears to have been a prominent member of the local administration. This period is represented by his letter A.1421 discovered in Mari; an impression of his seal was found on the envelope 14 that, according to Charpin and Ziegler (2003: 167, n. 655), belonged to the above mentioned letter. This letter by Sāmiya and the elders of Šubat-Enlil is addressed to a person named Muḫaddū, and, according to Charpin and Ziegler (2003: 167, n. 654), it was intercepted from the messenger before it reached its addressee. The author of the letter describes a difficult political situation in Šubat-Enlil, torn by opposing political parties fighting one another. Sāmiya seemed to have been in a very precarious situation, being the last senior representative of the ancien regime left in the city, but deprived of any assistance from his king. 15 This complicated situation is further enlightened by letter A.556, in which Sūmu-Ḫadu informed that Turum-natki, the head of one of the lesser parties in the city, was offering the treasures of Samsī-Addu to Zimrī-Līm, as a reward for intervening in his favor, which suggests that the royal palace in the city has not been captured and robbed yet. In consequence, Sūmu-Ḫadu urged Zimrī-Līm to launch an attack against Šeḫna, in cooperation with Simaḫ-ilāne, king of Kurda, and Qarnī-Līm, king of Andarig. However, it seems Zimrī-Līm was either not willing, or had no power to take the 13.  Parayre 1990, Fig. 31 no. 12. 14.  Amiet 1960: 221–25; Parayre 1990, Fig. 34 no. 22. 15.  Eidem 1994.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari

225

city for himself, probably because of a threat from Ešnunna. The end of Sāmiya was probably brought by the Ešnunnean army, which moved into the city during the campaign of Ibāl-pī-El II against Subartu (recorded in the formula of his tenth year). 16 This terminated the period of dependency of the city to the kings of Assur, opening the way for the local dynasty to claim the kingship, highlighted by return to the traditional name of the city (replacing the name of Šubat-Enlil). It is also very likely that the royal administrative complex built by Samsī-Addu on the Acropolis was abandoned at that moment (the latest dated text found in the Acropolis temple together with sealings of servants of Tarum-natki and Ḫaya-abum is of the year REL 206, the first year evidenced in the Lower Town Eastern Palace). 17 Instead, a new royal palace was erected in the Lower city for the new local dynasty (the Eastern Palace), as well as a palace for Qarnī-Līm of Andarig (the Lower Town Northern Palace), who played a very important role in Šehna, as manifested, for instance, by his signing together with king Ḫaya-abum the Leilan Treaty 1 with Sūmum, king of Kaḫat. 18 While the sequence of events in Šeḫna is clear, and could be linked to the chronology of the Samsī-Addu’s rule on the basis of REL, the relation of these events to the chronology of the reign of Zimrī-Līm is more difficult to establish, mainly because the majority of the political correspondence discovered in the Mari palace has no dates. The most valuable synchronism is provided by the Ešnunnean campaign in Subartu, referred to in the formula of the tenth year of Ibāl-pī-El II that allows to place this campaign in the ninth regnal year of this king, five years after the death of Samsī-Addu recorded in the formula for the fifth year of the same king. This places the Subartean campaign of Ibāl-pī-El in the years REL 202/203 (the years of Ikūn-pī-Ištar/Aḫiyaya). This reconstruction is in line with the already established presence of the Assyrian administration in Šubat-Enlil, still in operation in the early part of the year REL 202, as witnessed by the seal impressions on the tablets from the Acropolis hill. The Mari archive provided numerous letters referring to the Ešnunnean campaigns in the area of Rapīqum, and in Subartu in the following year. The date-list from Tell Harmal links the attack on Rapīqum with the eighth year of Ibāl-pī-El, and the Subartu campaign with the ninth year. Finally, in Mari archive there was discovered a fragmentarily preserved peace treaty between Zimrī-Līm and Ibālpī-El II; swearing of this treaty apparently terminated a period of animosity between Mari and Ešnunna. 19 The treaty tablet (A.361) provides a clear synchronism for both kings, but it is not dated itself. Charpin, on the basis of the correspondence referring to the treaty proposed the following synchronism, 25/v/ZL5 = 25/vii/Ibalpī-El 9. 20 The treaty allows thus to place the Ešnunnean campaigns in Rapīqum and Subartum in the third and the fourth year of Zimrī-Līm. 21 Still, there is one more factor which needs to be taken into consideration, namely the relation between the sequence of months in the calendar of Samsī-Addu (with years starting in autumn) and the months of the Zimrī-Līm calendar (with years beginning in spring, like most of the Old Babylonian calendars). This situation is 16.  Baqir 1949: 47–48. 17.  Weiss 1985: 281–83. 18.  Eidem 2011: 324–25. 19.  Charpin 1991. 20.  Charpin 1991: 164. 21.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 204.

226

Rafał Koliński

even more complicated, because the correlation proposed by Larsen (1974: 16–21) and supported by Charpin (1985: 246) has been altered after the sixth year of ZimrīLīm, when three intercalary months were added to the calendar (Koliński 2013). 22 Charpin and Ziegler (2003: 170) observed that the latest text of the Yasmaḫ-Addu era (T.310) is dated to 13/VI* 23 in the year of warki Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur (= the year of Ennam-Aššur). The earliest text of the year 0 of Zimrī-Līm formula “Zimrī-Līm entered the throne of the house of his father,” is dated to 26/X of this year (M.9883). However, Charpin and Ziegler claimed (2003: 172–73) that texts forming two archives concerning animals, supervised by Dabium and by Asqūdum, belong to the very same year. These texts cover a period starting on 24/IX and ending either on 13/XII (Dabium) or on 16/XII (Asqūdum). Consequently, they suggested that the formula for year ZL0 was used from month IX till the middle of the following year, when it was replaced by the formula “Zimrī-Līm captured Kahat.” 24 This, however, creates a problem of the overlap of the texts of the last months of Yasmaḫ-Addu’s period (bearing dates down to 13/VI* = 13/XI) and the first two months of ZimrīLīm (in fact, the period of overlap is 1 month 17 days). Charpin and Zigler theorized (2003: 173–74) that the calendar of Zimrī-Līm has two months delay, in respect of the Mari calendar, because of the dissynchronous intercalations. 25 Consequently, if the synchronization between the Samsī-Addu calendar and the Zimrī-Līm calendar is corrected in respect of the proposal published by Charpin (1985: 246) and Charpin and Ziegler (2003: 156), it would lead to a situation, when the same name of the month will fall to different part of the year (abum in one calendar is not contemporary with abum in the other, the same concerns kinūnum). Because the names of the month were related to periodical temple festivals, 26 and it is generally assumed that intercalations served to synchronize lunar administrative calendar with solar religious calendar, 27 it is hard to believe that a difference bigger than one month could occur. In this situation it seems that the most reliable grounds for correlating the calendar of Samsī-Addu and the Mariote calendar are provided by the Mari evidence concerning the war against Ešnunna in combination with the information from the archives of Tell Leilan. This reconstruction can be done in a satisfactory manner only when one very important correction is introduced: namely, the date of the Mari–Ešnunna treaty should be placed in the tenth year of Ibāl-pī-El, instead of his ninth year, as assumed by Charpin (1991). This earlier date is contradictory not only to all the information pertaining to the chronology of this war, leading to a situation when Mariote dates of subsequent conquests of Ibāl-pī-El (Rapīqum in his eighth year, and Subartu in his ninth year) fall one year too early (in the seventh and in the eighth year of Ibāl-pī-El, respectively), 28 but also to the already quoted evidence from Tell Leilan. 22.  The reason for this change is unclear. 23.  Asterisk conventionally designates months of the Samsī-Addu’s calendar (Charpin 1985: 256). 24.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 173–74. Nevertheless, at the beginning of the calendar year, another year formula: “Zimrī-Līm made a statue of Annunitum of Šeḫrum” was introduced, which was used in the following twelve months (ibidem). 25. The same delay has been observed by Charpin in respect of the chronology of swearing the peace treaty with Ešnunna in ZL5 (Charpin 1991: 164). 26.  Cohen 1993: 5, 248–68. 27.  Hunger 2009: 130. 28.  Lacambre 1993.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari

227

Consequently, the entire reconstruction of the transition from Yasmaḫ-Addu to Zimrī-Līm proposed by Charpin and his colleagues needs to be dismissed. Instead, another correlation of events should be put forward, based on the assumption that the Mari – Ešnunna treaty was sworn in year ten of Ibāl-pī-El and that the correlation of months reconstructed by Larsen (and accepted by Charpin) is valid only for the first years of Zimrī-Līm’s rule, till the year of three intercalations (ZL6). Chronology of the period since the death of Samsī-Addu till the beginning of year six of Zimrī-Līm is illustrated in Table 2. The synchronization of months is done on the assumption that the correspondence between the calendar of Mari and the calendar of Samsī-Addu proposed by Larsen (1974) reflects the situation in the year of Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur (REL 197), and that month names which appear both in the Mari calendar and the calendar of Ešnunna correspond to one another. It is also assumed that the Ešnunnean calendar was intercalated, and that an intercalary month can be reconstructed in the sixth year of Ibāl-pī-El, and most likely in his eighth year as well. 29 Given these premises, the oldest texts with a full date of Zimrī-Līm would correspond to month mana (VI*) of the year of Aššur-emuqī (REL 199), while the tablets of archives belonging to Dabium and Asqūdum could eventually belong to months corresponding to months nabrium and mammītum (IV*–V*) of the same year. Consequently, the period of Yasmaḫ-Addu’s tenure in the city should be extended to 16– 18 months. The lack of administrative tablets for the most of this time (the extant texts are dated to months I–VI of the year warki Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur = Ennam-Aššur, REL 198), may reflect another period of partial abandonment of the Royal Palace in Mari due to its reconstruction, similarly as it was in the case of the earliest years of Yasmah-Addu’s presence in the city, when Petit Palais Oriental served as his seat. The interim royal residence of this later period is not known, but it is possible that the “house of Šubat-Enlil” in Mari, whose existence is confirmed by Mari tablets, 30 was used in this capacity. 31 The presence of Yasmaḫ-Addu in Mari in the beginning of the year of Aššur-emuqī allows to place the composition of MEC in Mari in the same year. Thus, the theory that it was taken by Zimrī-Līm’s army as a booty from Šeḫna can be dismissed (it seems that the servants of Samsī-Addu yielded the city to the Ešnunneans, and later it was captured by Bunu-Eštar, king of Kurdā, and not by the Mariote army). 32 The fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu after his escape from Mari remains a mystery. It is tempting to place him in Šubat-Enlil for some time, but the seal impressions left by his faithful servant, Yāwi-Ila, are not a proof of the king’s presence in the city. The fact that he is never mentioned either in the Zimrī-Līm period correspondence in Mari, in contrast to his senior brother, or in the much less numerous texts from Tell Leilan suggests that he met his fate relatively soon after running away from Mari, and therefore had no part in the later history of what left of the former “Kingdom of North Mesopotamia.” 29.  The intercalary month in Ešnunna was kinku II, set at the end of the year (“the year: golden statue,” Greengus 1979 no. 42, UCP 10/1 57, belonging either to Narām-Su’en, Ipiq-Adad II, Dannumtaḫaz, or Dāduša; “the year: wall for his sonship” of Dannum-tahaz, NBC 8548, cf. Simmons 1961: 82–83). 30.  Villard 2001: 109. 31.  Given the present conditions in Syria, the discovery of this structure it is not very likely to happen soon. 32.  Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 200, n. 265.

Month

IX nabrium X mammītum XI kiskissum XII kinkum I nigallum II elunum III magrāttum IV abum V zibnum

IV nabrium

V mammītum

VI mana

VII ayyarum

VIII addarum

IX maqrānum

X Dumuzi

XI abum

XII tīrum

VI niqmum

I niqmum VIII tamḫīrum

V zibnum

XII tīrum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

XI abum

III tamḫīrum

III magrāttum

II kinūnum

II elunum

198

Month I nigallum

X Dumuzi

Ennam-Aššur

REL 197

EŠNUNNA

Samsī-Addu died

Land of Maḫazum

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

IX maqrānum

Eponymy Ṭāb-ṣilli-Aššur

Month

VIII addarum

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

5

4

Year no.

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Mari

Šubat-Enlil

Mari

Place

?

?

?

13

30

?

Day

L85–148– 149

L85–146

L85–147

T.310

L85–126

M.7595

Text

Event

servants of SamsīAddu seal tablets

servant of SamsīAddu seals a tablet

servant of SamsīAddu seals a tablet

latest text of YasmaḫAddu in Mari

servant of Išme-Dagan seals a tablet

Samsī-Addu dies in Šubat-Enlil

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

228 Rafał Koliński

II kinūnum

III tamḫīrum

IV nabrium

VII kinūnum

VIII Dagan

IX liliātum

V zibnum VI niqmum

I niqmum

VI IGI.KUR

200

XII tīrum

V ḫibirtum

III magrāttum

IX nabrium

VIII tamḫīrtum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

X Dumuzi

XI abum

II elunum

I nigallum

III laḫḫum

Abu-šalim

XI kiskissum XII kinkum

IV abum

IX maqrānum

VIII addarum

I urāḫum

II malkānum

VI mana

VII ayyarum

XI kiskissum

X mammītum

IX nabrium

VIII tamḫīrtum

XII ebūrum

Kaḫatb

Month VI niqmum VII kinūnum

V mammītum

Annunitum 1

REL 199

III tamḫīrum

X Bēlet-bīrī

0

Eponymy Aššur-emuqī

Wall of é. s i kil

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

EŠNUNNA

II kinūnum

IV nabrium

Throne of the fathera

Month

I niqmum

IX liliātum

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

6

Year no. Place

Mari

Mari

Mari

Mari

13 16

26

24

Day

ARM 21 13 ARM 23 129–30

M.9883

ARM 23 345; 23 1

MEC

Text

Event

the latest tablet of the archive of Dabium the latest tablets of the archive of Asqūdum

the earliest tablet with ZL0 date

the earliest texts from the archives of Dabium and Asqūdum

last year covered by MEC

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari 229

I niqmum

VI IGI.KUR

VI mana

VII ayyarum

VIII addarum

XI kiskissum

XII ebūrum

I urāḫum

I nigallum

XII kinkum

XI kiskissum

X mammītum

IX nabrium

IV nabrium

V mammītum

IX liliātum

X Bēlet-bīrī

VII kinūnum VIII tamḫīrtum

II kinūnum

III tamḫīrum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

VIII Dagan

3

XII tīrum

V ḫibirtum

Benjaminites

V zibnum VI niqmum

XI abum

IV abum

II elunum III magrāttum

IX maqrānum

X Dumuzi

II malkānum

III laḫḫum

Addu of Ḫalab3

VIIIbis DIRI. GA

I urāḫum

I nigallum

XIIbis kinkum*

VIII addarum

XII bis ebūrum

XI kiskissum XII kinkum

VI mana

201

Month X mammītum

VII ayyarum

Puṣṣānum

REL

XI kiskissum

2

Eponymy

Temple of Sîn/ Enlil

Golden statue

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

EŠNUNNA

XII ebūrum

Banks of Euphrates

Month

V mammītum

X Bēlet-bīrī

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

8

7

Year no.

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Place

?

6

15

Day

L85–453

L85–132

L85–145

Text

Event

servant of SamsīAddu seals a tablet

servants of YasmaḫAddu and Išme-Dagan seal together a tablet

servants of SamsīAddu (?) and IšmeDagan seal together a tablet

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

230 Rafał Koliński

Month

Month

III tamḫīrum

IV nabrium

V mammītum

VIII Dagan

IX liliātum

X Bēlet-bīrī

VI niqmum

I niqmum

II kinūnum

VI IGI.KUR

VII kinūnum

V zibnum

XII tīrum

V ḫibirtum

III magrāttum

X mammītum

IX nabrium

VIII tamḫīrtum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

X Dumuzi

II elunum

XI abum

202

REL

III laḫḫum

Ikūn-pī-Ištar

Eponymy

EŠNUNNA Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

IV abum

IX maqrānum

II malkānum

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI Year no. Place

Mari

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Mari

Šubat-Enlil

Šubat-Enlil

Day

xe

? 10 ?

? 3

1, 3 5, 6, 13–9 22

18

ARM 21 333

A.1421

L85–115 L85–140– 141 L85–445

ARM 26 477

L85–100– 109 L85–438

L85–112

Text

Event

Zimrī-Līm sends gifts to his allies

“Let’s kill Sāmiya, make Mār-Aššur king”

Bunuma-ilī, seals a tablet Yāwi-Ila, servant of Yasmaḫ-Addu, seals tablets servant of Išme-Dagan seals a tablet

Ibāl-pī-El II captures Rapīqumd Mariote army withdraws to Yabliya

servants of SamsīAddu and Išme-Dagan seal naptan šarri tablets mentioning Mār-Aššur Servants of YasmaḫAddu and Išme-Dagan seal together a tablet

Sāmiya, servant of Samsī-Addu, seals a tablet

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari 231

II kinūnum

III tamḫīrum

IV nabrium

VII kinūnum

VIII Dagan

IX liliātum

V zibnum VI niqmum

203

I niqmum

VI IGI.KUR

Ahiyaya

XII tīrum

V ḫibirtum

III magrāttum

IX nabrium

VIII tamḫīrum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

X Dumuzi

XI abum

III laḫḫum

II elunum

IV abum

IX maqrānum

II malkānum

I nigallum

VIII bis DIRI.GA*

4

I urāḫum

Ašlakka

XIIbis kinkum*

VIII addarum

XII bis ebūrum

Month XI kiskissum XII kinkum

REL

VII ayyarum

Eponymy

XII ebūrum

Month

VI mana

Capture of Rapīqum

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

EŠNUNNA

XI kiskissum

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

9

Year no. Place

Mari Šubat-Enlil Šubat-Enlil

Mari

Mari

Mari

Mari

Day

? 19 23

6 IV –2 VI

9

1–12

ARM 26 25 ARM 27 6 A.2821

A.2623, M.5420, A.896, A.2152,

ARM 25 40

MARI 5: 681–82

ARM 10 50

Text

Event

Mariote army goes to the field Ešnunnean army withdraws from Šubat-Enlil funeral of Turumnatki, his son Zuzu becomes king

Sammeatar forges an alliance with the kings of Turukku, Kurda, Qaṭṭarā and Andarig

Zimrī-Līm receives gifts from Yarim-Līm of Ḫalab

arrival of troops from Babylon and Qatna

Zimrī-Līm makes offerings in Dēr

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

232 Rafał Koliński

Month

V zibnum VI niqmum

XI abum

XII tīrum

I niqmum

II kinūnum

III tamḫīrum

IV nabrium

V mammītum

IV abum

V ḫibirtum

VI IGI.KUR

VII kinūnum

VIII Dagan

IX liliātum

X Bēlet-bīrī

II elunum

X mammītum

IX nabrium

VIII tamḫīrtum

VII kinūnum

IV abum

III magrāttum

IX maqrānum

I nigallum

XII kinkum

XI kiskissum

X mammītum

X Dumuzi

204

REL

II malkānum

Bēliya

Eponymy

EŠNUNNA

Defeat of Subartu and Ḫana

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

III laḫḫum

VIII addarum

I urāḫum

5

VII ayyarum

XII ebūrum

Throne of Šamaš

VI mana

XI kiskissum

Month

V mammītum

X Bēlet-bīrī

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

10

Year no. Place

Mari

Mari

Šeḫna Ešnunna

Suḫum

Qaṭṭarā

Day

21

?

1 25

?

?

ARM 26 199

A.4460 A.2028

M.11374

A.1180

Text

Event

beginning of tēbibtu-census

treaty between Mari and Ešnunna not yet sworn by Zimrī-Līm

Muškenu deposes Zuzu from the throne, Haya-abum becomes king peace treaty between Mari and Ešnunna is sworn by Ibal-pī-El

Ešnunnean army withdraws from Suḫum

Ešnunnean army withdraws from Qaṭṭarā

Historical Events

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari 233

Eponymy

REL

Month XII kinkum

XI kiskissum

Year name of Ibal-pī-El II

Calendar of Ešnunna

EŠNUNNA Year no. Place

Day

Text

Historical Events

a.  Year name in use till month V of the year “Annunitum” (Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 174). b.  Year name in use from month VI of the year of Annunitum till month V of the year “Banks of Euphrates” (Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 174). c.  Year name in use from month VI of the year “Boards of Euphrates” till month V of the year “Benjaminites” (Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 174). d.  Lacambre 1993. e.  The date is uncertain.

IX maqrānum

VIII addarum

VII ayyarum

XII ebūrum

Month

VI mana

XI kiskissum

Month

Calendar of Samsī-Addu

Year no.

Calendar of Zimrī- Līm

Year name

MARI & ŠEḪNA

MARI

Table 2.  Chronology of years REL 197–204 reconstructed on the basis of suggested synchronization of the calendars of Mari, Ešnunna, and Assur/Šubat-Enlil.

Event

234 Rafał Koliński

The Fate of Yasmaḫ-Addu, the King of Mari

235

Bibliography Amiet, P. 1960 Notes sur le répertoire iconographique de Mari à l’époque du Palais. Syria 37: 215–32. Baqir, T. 1949 Date-Formulae & Date-Lists from Harmal. Sumer 5: 34–86. Charpin, D. 1985 Les archives d’époque ‘assyrienne’ dans le palais de Mari. MARI 4: 243–68. 1991 Un traité entre Zimrî-Lîm de Mari et Ibâl-pî-El II d’Ešnunna. Pp. 139–66 in Mar­ chands, diplomates et empereurs: Études sur la civilization mésopotamienne offertes à Paul Garelli, ed. D. Charpin and F. Joannès. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. 2004 Histoire politique du Proche-orient amorrite (2002–1595). Pp 25–480 in Mesopotamien: Die altbabylonische Zeit, ed. D. Charpin, D. O. Edzard, and M. Stol. OBO 160/4. Fribourg: Academic Press / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 2011 Le „pays de Mari et des Bédouins“ à l’époque de Samsu-iluna de Babylone. RA 105: 41–59. Charpin, D., and Durand, J.-M. 1985 La prise de pouvoir par Zimri-Lîm. MARI 4: 293–43. Charpin, D., and Ziegler, N. 2003 Florilegium marianum V: Mari et le Proche-Orient à l’époque amorrite: essai d’historie politique. Mémoires de NABU 6. Paris: SEPOA. 2014 En marge d’ARCHIBAB, 14: la séquence des éponymes. N.A.B.U. 2014/12: 21–22. Cohen, M. A. 1993 The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East. Bethesda: CDL. Durand, J.-M., and Guichard, M. 1997 Les rituels de Mari. Pp. 19–78 in Florilegium marianum III. Receuil d’études à la mémoire de Marie-Thérèse Barrelet, ed. D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand. Mémoires de NABU 4. Paris: Sepoa. Eidem, J. 1994 Raiders of the Lost Treasure of Samsī-Addu. Pp. 201–7 in Florilegium marianum II. Receuil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot, ed. D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand. Mémoires de NABU 3. Paris: SEPOA. 2011 The Royal Archives from Tell Leilan: Old Babylonian Letters and Treaties from the Lower Town Palace East. PIHANS 117. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Osten. Greengus, S. 1979 Old Babylonian Tablets from Ishchali and Vicinity. PIHANS 44. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Osten. Hunger, H. 2009 Schaltmonat. Pp. 130–32 in RlA 12. Koliński, R. 2013 ZL 6 – a year of three intercalations. N.A.B.U. 2013/3: 74–76. Larsen, M. T. 1974 Unusual eponymy-datings from Mari and Assyria. RA 68: 15–24. Lacambre, D. 1993 La date de la prise de Rāpiqum par Ešnunna et du début de la guerre avec ZimriLim. N.A.B.U. 1993/30: 24–25. 2009 KEL G 79, Aššur-malik ou Ahīyaya? N.A.B.U. 2009/18: 24.

236

Rafał Koliński

Leemans, W. F. 1960 Foreign Trade in the Old Babylonian Period as Revealed by Texts from Southern Mesopotamia. Studia et documenta ad iura orientis antiqui pertinenta 6. Leiden: Brill. Lutz, H. F. 1931 Legal and Economic Documents from Ashjâly. UCP 10/1. Berkeley: University of California Press. Parayre, D. 1990 Seals and Seal Impressions from Tell Leilan 1985. AJA 94: 556–67. Simmons, S. D. 1961 Early Old Babylonian Tablets from Tell Harmal. JCS 15: 81–83. Van De Mieroop, M. 1994 The Tell Leilan Tablets 1991. A Preliminary Report. OrNS 63: 305–44. Villard, P. 2001 Les administrateurs de l’époque de Yasmaḫ-Addu. Pp.  9–140 in Amurru 2: Mari, Ébla et les Hourrites; dix ans de travaux. Actes du colloque international (Paris, mai 1993), ed. J.-M. Durand and D. Charpin. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Weiss, H. 1985 Tell Leilan and Shubat-Enlil. MARI 4: 269–93. Whiting, R. M. 1990 The Tell Leilan Tablets: A Preliminary Report. AJA 94: 568–79.

Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl Daniel Bonneterre

Université du Québec à Trois-Rivières A stomach for big helpings of fortune. The body of Prudence should have a big gullet. A great talent is made up of great parts. If you deserve the best luck, don’t eat your fill of good luck. 1

It is well known how a Mesopotamian king makes his good fortune. His success is linked to his cultic duties. As his health depends on his regular cultic practices, so his diet becomes a priority. 2 Needless to say that a well-fed king represents a conspicuous guarantor of stability. 3 The king, like a god, must eat food of many kinds since a good selection of nutriments provides an immediate and noticeable effect on the royal person. Interestingly and strangely enough, the act of eating greedily has, for instance, the theological resonance of keeping dearth away. 4 From their first days, kings are fed with the best and the purest food, like the gods. 5 Milk, essential for new-born babies and young children, represents the bonds of kinship, hence, the purity of milk kings consume is of great importance. 6 Breastfed kings play a preeminent role in ancient legends, cosmology 7 and in coronation rituals, 8 mainly as a symbol of protection. Eannatum (2455–2425), prince of Lagaš, mentions in his inscriptions the fact that he grew up healthy thanks to the goddess mother Ninḫursag’s sacred milk. 9 Similarly, in a poem of Ugarit, the royal children are also reported sucking the divine milk from their wet-nurses’ breasts, ensuring thereby their strength and health. 10 Thanks to this divine nursing, Ashurbanipal Author’s note: I wish to thank Giselle Corbeil (UQTR) and Anna Dysert (U.McGill) for translating and proofreading. 1.  B. Gracián (1601–1658), The Art of Worldly Wisdom: A Pocket Oracle, trans. C. Maurer, Doubleday and New York 1992: 56. 2.  About food production and cuisine, see Bottéro 1995 and Milano 1989, 2004, and 2012. 3.  See, inter alia, Winter 2010. 4.  Traditional societies found ways of warding off famine through ritual fattenings. In Egypt, see Bonhême 1994. In the Greek world, see Sissa 1991. On gluttony of the Achemenid kings and its political perception in court, see Bonneterre forthcoming. 5.  Lugalbanda and his brothers received pure milk. “They had been brought up at the god An’s table,” in Lugalbanda in the Mountain Cave (ETCSL t.1.8.2.1): 59–64. 6.  CH §194; Alster 2005: 98, l. 264. Gruber Mayer 1989, Ziegler 1999: 108–9. On breastfeeding, see Labat 1951. 7.  Stol 1993: 189–201 and 2000: 181–88; Heimpel 1989: 3–4. 8. Labat 1939: 65–69. Biga 1994: 333–45. Ritual breast-fed pharaohs is particularly well documented in ancient Egypt, see Leclant 1959: 63–64, 69–71, 222. 9.  Cooper 1986: 44. 10.  Caquot and Sznycer 1974: 539. See also Enūma eliš I 85 (Foster 2005: 442) and CAD E: 165.

237

238

Daniel Bonneterre

thrives on activity, and holds dominion forever bearing the legitimate scepter and staff that Ištar from Arbela, the good foster-mother, has provided as symbols of dominion in sky and earth. 11 Of course, milk is not enough. Every day of his life, the king must eat and drink pure and significant foods and beverages. Certain fruits and vegetables are selected for their ability to give strength or arouse sexual desire. In addition, they are sometimes used as decorative motifs in furniture, garments and jewels revealing through those depictions the symbolic character of domination. 12 Given his involvement in cosmic life, the king is expected to follow specific rules dictated by the seasons, the calendar and a great deal of prohibitions, notably the ones occurring on days of taboos. Since his everyday life is permeated by witchcraft, he has to avoid certain food. 13 Foods could have either a beneficial or harmful magical influence over health: they could be the ruin of a person, a family, or a complete tribe. Their magical powers could as well be transferred into the king’s body. Therefore, a series of rules was established for a number of specified days for every month that prohibited among other things: fish, onions, and leeks. Apart from these prohibitions, it was well advised to counteract the possible negative forces or effects brought about by magic or prophylactic measures. 14 In ceremonies, for example, one could also call down prosperity by acting in a specific way or by eating special food. 15 The prosperity of the year to come, then, could be assured by having a good meal and eating early fruits, while famine (or insect plagues) could be kept away by eating cake or porridge, or fermented gruel. Inebriating drinks like beer or wine also played an important role in reducing the gods to human proportions and giving men fleeting illusions of being on a higher plane. 16 In one of my recent papers, I noticed the symbolic nature of two products, namely honey and ice, the former, being the most amazing sweetener in ancient world (gods and kings being fed on mythical honey, fed for its sweet, mellow taste and purity) and the latter, for its important role in the drinking habits of the Mari court. 17 It is worth pointing out that both are connected to the astral world. They come, indeed, from Heaven, like Kingship. When they are mixed in wine in a ritual manner, this elaborated drink embodies a number of great qualities such as purity, transparency, sweetness, and strength, qualities highly evocative of the king’s own qualities and of the very nature of his power: incorruptibility and (unfortunately) ephemerality. I wish to extend briefly on the relation between the symbolic food and the good fortune. A careful look at the king’s table (documented by Mari archives, especially administrative texts), shows without any doubt the importance of food as a source of symbolism, especially with regard to daily provisions for the royal meal (naptan šarri). 18 In addition to the regular excellent fare served at the king’s table, we come 11.  SAA 9 7 r. 6b and SAA 3 13 r. 6–8. 12.  Pientka 2002: 510–12, Miller 2013: 128–29. 13.  See Shibata 2015. 14.  The feelings of being happy (ḫadû) are often associated with the idea of having a belly full; see, for instance, Gilgameš passage quoted in CAD Ḫ: 26. 15.  For life-giving food, see Selz 2014. 16.  Glassner 1991 :127–46. 17.  Bonneterre 2013. 18.  Durand 1983, Lafont 1985, Chambon 2009, Sasson 2004.

Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl

239

across pomegranates, pistachios nuts, figs of special sort (amurru figs), 19 fresh lettuce, and products from the faraway Sea World 20 (including crustaceans, shrimps, wonderful fish, amazing shells, resistant tough turtles), 21 or from the steppes, such as: large ostrich eggs, 22 locusts, clear wild honey, and mysterious truffles, products labeled as “exotic food” by J.-M Durand in his classification. 23 One can hardly argue with this label our unfamiliarity of this assortment. However, the selection of these foods has another purpose than the mere enhancement of the table. For the time being, I must skip here wine and pomegranate, 24 and only concentrate on peculiar food. Very few foods in the Ancient Near East have a more “natural” image than locusts. 25 This sort of insect, like grasshoppers (irbû) and crickets (ṣarṣaru) are considered a delicacy and deserved a special treatment in cuisine. 26 Once beheaded and gutted, big ones could be grilled, boiled, prepared in sauce, or soaked in brine made of watercress, chickpeas, fish, meat, garlic, and beer. 27 Locusts can be cooked in kebabs or ground in flour, baked as a pita or Arab bread. It is unlikely that people in ancient times were aware of the nutritional value of insects (they have a high concentration of proteins, fats, calories, minerals, and vitamins). Ancient people were chiefly concerned with insect imagery, and the behavior of certain insects (bees, scarabs, ants, etc.), and thus the idea of assimilating the values and qualities of a well-built creature, an animal capable of enduring long distance journey, an animal capable of making noise and capable of devouring entire fields. When countless armies of warriors in cuirass are on the march, desolation and famine accompany them. Since they too announce a disaster, the capture of these winged insects is almost revengeful. Gathering and eating the evildoers give additional emphasis by concretization, to the intention and the act; it could than easily be considered a prophylactic action led by the king or his messengers. Furthermore, a connection (morphologically, analogically and nutritionally) may be established between the duty of the royal messengers and that of the grasshoppers. Messengers by virtue of their mission had to run fast, jump, and be resilient. Similarly, blessed with long legs and hard carapaces, like a footballer, grasshoppers are second when it comes to running and traveling fast as well as jumping. It is no wonder that the messengers’ diet consists of flour made of ground locusts, rich in vitamins, and also more convenient for travel purposes than pieces of meat or a fish. 28 Actually, this flour is then a concentration of dopamine, perfectly suitable for runners. 19. About delivery of “Bedouin figs” for the king (aššum 0.01 àm tīnātim amurrītim), see text A.2635+M.13597: 50 in Durand 2002: 101–2. 20.  In antiquity, fish were seen as having magical powers, especialy able to induce love. For the Greek world, see Davidson 2011. 21.  Owen 1981: 29–47. 22.  Ostrich eggs are a food explicitly sent to the king’s table; cf. text A.1937 in Charpin and Durand 1994: 104. 23.  See “les nourritures exotiques” in Durand 1997: 310–15. 24.  The symbolism of the pomegranate in antiquity is well established. Its seeds are signs of abundance. Its crown is widely depicted in royal art. More generally, red, with the colors wine and purple, is linked to royal power. 25.  For locusts as food, see CAD E: 257a, Bonneterre 1988, Lion and Michel 1997. 26.  ARM 2 136 and Durand 1997: 310, no. 177. 27.  AbB 9 152: 24–26. 28.  On the symbolic of the locusts in Egypt, see Bonhême and Forgeau 1988: 205.

240

Daniel Bonneterre

Another product frequently mentioned in the texts is the truffles of the desert consumed by Bedouins. 29 Truffles (kamʾātu) are not exotic at all, but genuine productions from the soil. 30 They appear miraculously after the rain, seemingly without any rational explanation. Their subterranean birth used to be explained by the marriage of lightning and earth, although ancient people, like the Greeks and the Romans, had no clear understanding of their origin. They can say about them is they are prodigious on many respects. 31 As previously mentioned these foods were of interest to ancient people and the reasons for this interest raise some questions such as why do locusts and truffles, all those foods supplied by the Providence, have their place alongside ostrich eggs (peli lurmi), at the table of the kings of Mari? 32 One can simply answer that these foods are perfect for the kings of the nomadic tribes who do not want to associate themselves with luxury foods usually reserved for children and women. Products from the wild world, from the steppe, from the mountains or from the marshes, namely game and gathered food, were highly valued. They were considered charged with magic and esoteric flavor, suggesting thereby a purer and more natural image than projected by the polluted city. This explanation is not however completely satisfactory. Gathering fruits, eggs, 33 truffles, and roots of plants from desert domains is rich with significance (some food destined to the gods Marduk and Ṣarpanitu are qualified as “the Pride of the marsh”); 34 it is symbolically possessing a part of this domain, mastering the king’s territory. The logic is the following: this land is mine if I can enjoy its fruits. The fruits are the very nature of this land. They are its identity. This is why the kings are so proud of their identity based on a way of life and a frugal diet. It represents a different taste, a different sensibility rooted in ancestral traditions, a promise of future happiness coming from the wilderness, a space occupied by lions, ostriches, and authentic nomads. The Epic of Erra is helpful to understand the spirit of nomadic life, close to the warrior life with its pursuit of destruction by means of raid and plunder. 35 Young men find this life a wild adventure with its exciting physical prowess, and binding male relationships. 36 In the wildness, coarse and substantial foods, such as pita bread cooked in ashes, are preferred to the soft and light breads prepared by women. Similarly, water drawn out of goatskins has a flavor superior to that of the perfumed excise beer. Indeed, the elaborated banquets of the cities are less attractive to these men than their simple meals with all the conviviality and sharing they offered. The meaning of “sharing,” even a poor meal, is at the core of this way of life, as it implies contracting an alliance, asserting one’s identity, and a position, or a social status. 29.  About the desert truffles (Arab. kamʾa or terfès, Latin Terfezia leonis Tul.), see Raswan 1990: 75. 30.  Heimpel 1997: 3 (Text A. 1937), Durand 1994: 94. 31. Theophrastus, Fragment 167; Pliny, Hist Nat. XIV 33; Plutarch, Symposium Questions 4.2. See also Toussaint-Samat 2009: 392–94. 32.  CAD P. s.v. pelû 312; ARM 14 86: 28; ARM 27 9: 31–32. See also Duponchel 1997: 229, Beaulieu 1991; 79. 33.  Eggs are symbols of hope for better future, see Brothwell and Brothwell 1998: 54–55. 34.  Beaulieu 1991: 79. 35.  Lion 2003, Potts 2006: 66. 36.  “Why have you been sitting in the city like a feeble old man, why sitting home like a helpless child? Shall we eat woman food, like non-combattant? (. . .) However toothsome city bread, it holds nothing to the camfire loaf. However sweet fine beer, its holds nothing to water from a skin. . . ,” in Erra and Išum 48–50 (Foster 2005: 883).

Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl

241

As often reported in royal inscriptions, the king is fond of hunting wild animals, such as lions, bears, and hyenas. He delights in eating dishes prepared with their meat which represent an “out of the ordinary” meal. Such a meat supplies him with all the renowned qualities of these beasts such an impressive force, opportunistic scavenge searching (a polluted food like the carcasses of stock killed in game) and perhaps a certain animalistic spirit, it is surely an impressive psychic force. King Zimrî-Lîm, in his epic, is proud of his rugged life, proud of his violent character, and especially proud of his frugal diet, consisting of the uncooked flesh of these wild animals (especially carnivores). Perhaps he gives it to his soldiers? In order to strengthen them, Zimrî-Lîm encourages his men to do the same and to drink water drawn from a goatskin in order to acquire warrior qualities. 37 Gilgameš is another king who is portrayed in the Assyrian version of the Gilgameš Epic as a hero who eats the meat of bears, hyenas, lions, panthers, leopards, deer’s, and animals he captured from the steppe. “I ate their flesh,” affirms Gilgameš. 38 We are here sent back to a wide territory in which the borders are clearly defined: men, in nomadic societies, do not eat like women (and certainly not eat like children). The Amorite kings picture this way of life in a no equivocal manner. He shows contempt not only for refined food, for a comfortable life and the world of peasantry (muškēnūtu). In a nomadic society, the king does not make a living out of agriculture or out of grain stocks, but rather out of plundered villages. 39 In fact, the Lords of War have their own personal way of living. In the Mari archives, it is stated that a certain Yamṣum has revealed that “since their childhood, the princes are trained for military mission, they don’t care for the cultivation of the land.” 40 Most, if not all, the Bedouin kings shared the same values. In his epic, Zimrî-Lîm, for instance, proudly claimed that he did not really need to stock grain because he was strong and lucky in war and raid. 41 Similarly, his rival Šamši-Addu describes himself as a lion that never practices agriculture, but instead plunders the soil of the enemy. 42 Such statements show opposition to sedentary life. Resisting sedentary life through observation of a traditional diet renewed with ancestral ways of living was a key factor in their quest for authentic, traditional (if not wild at least barbarian) values, encouraging and fostering thereby challenging attitudes, exploit and resilience. Not only foods deserved special attention, but also the molds they were baked in. For instance, in the kitchen or bakery of the king Zimrî-Lîm’s palace, there were two large ovens, and in a room close to the ovens, there was a group of baking molds made of pottery for cakes that presented different patterns inside of them: geometric motifs, spirals, labyrinths, and animals like lions, deer or fish and, most importantly, the shape of a nude figure holding her breasts. The figure represented a fertility goddess, indicated that the cake was probably reserved for cultic use. The symbolic meaning of this figure is rather clear given the importance of this goddess. To conclude, let us take a last example from the Mari letters. Prince Išme-Dagan wrote to his brother Yasmaḫ-Addu reporting battles he won. He mentions that the 37.  Marello 1992: 122. 38.  Gilgameš X 259–261, in Lion 2003: 18. 39.  Marello 1992: 119, l. 46. Guichard 2014: 20, l. 9–13. 40.  ARM 26 333: 10–11. 41.  Guichard 2014: 20, l. 9–15. See also ARM 28 179: 34–37 (p. 260). ARM 1 83 (=LAPO 16 255). 42.  ARM 1 103: 18′–19′, Durand 1998: 44 no. 469. About destruction of Qabra’s harvest, see Eidem 1985: 93.

242

Daniel Bonneterre

army is safe. He indicates that he applies the scorched earth tactics on the field of the opponent and its supplies are now completely destroyed. He is quite happy with this destruction saying that “I am eating pears, they are delicious! I am about to send you a basket along with the first pistachios of the Sinjar Mount.” 43 This fruit which is a sign of luck and pleasure happens at the right time for him. As an allegory, the consumption of such a voluptuous food brings fortune given the association of this fruit with luck, fertility, and progeneration. Finally, it is quite clear that in Mesopotamia, like in the ancient Greek and Roman world, and even in medieval cuisine, certain fruits and vegetables, certain spices and herbs, beverages, cakes (similar to Medieval dainties and haslets), but also meat of hunted animals (killed without ritual) were chosen, prepared, cooked and consummed not only for culinary reasons, but surely for their abilities to stimulate psychic force, appetite, sexual desire, and undoubtedly fortune. 43.  ARM 4 42 and Durand 1998: 91 no. 499.

Bibliography Alster, B. 2005 Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda: CDL. Beaulieu, P-A. 1991 Eggs Offerings for Gods of Babylon. N.A.B.U. 1991/79. Biga, M.-G. 1994 Il latte nella documentazione cuneiforme del IIIe-IIe millennio. Pp. 333–45 in Drinking in Ancient Societies: History and Culture of Drinks in the Ancient Near East. Papers of a Symposium Held in Rome, May 17–19, 1990, ed. L. Milano. HANES 6. Padova: Sargon srl. Birot, M. 1974 Lettres de Yaqqim-Addu, gouverneur de Sagarātum. ARM 14. Paris: Librairie Orientaliste Paul Geuthner. 1993 Correspondance des gouverneurs de Qaṭṭunân. ARM 27. Paris: Editions Recherches sur les Civilisations. Bonhême, M-A. 1994 L’appétit rituel et symbolique pour la royauté. Pp. 47–53 in vol. 2 of Hommages à Jean Leclant, ed. C. Berger, G. Clerc, and N. Grimal. Bibliothèque d’études 106/2. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale. Bonhême, M.-A., and Forgeau, A. 1988 Pharaon, les secrets du pouvoir. Paris: A. Colin. Bonneterre, D. 1988 Notes sur le criquet et Memorandum ARM 23, 101. N.A.B.U. 1988/56. 2013 L’incorruptible et l’éphémère. Le miel et la glace composants sacrés des boissons royales. Pp. 625–34 in Time and History in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 56th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Barcelona, 26–30 July 2010, ed. L. Feliu, J. Llop, A. Millet-Alba, and J. Sanmartín. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. forthcoming  Le lait, la viande et la gloutonnerie du roi. Rites alimentaires d’installation des Achéménides à la lumière de quelques textes mésopotamiens. In Proceedings of the 58th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden. Bottéro, J. 1995 Textes culinaires Mésopotamiens / Mesopotamian Culinary Tests. MC 6. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl

243

Brothwell, D., and Brothwell, P. 1998 Food in Antiquity: a Survey of the Diet of Early Peoples. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Caquot, A., and Sznycer, M. 1974 Textes ougaritiques : Mythes et légendes. LAPO 7. Paris: Cerf. Chambon, G. 2009 Florilegium marianum XI. Les archives du vin à Mari. Mémoire de NABU 12. Paris: SEPOA. Charpin, D., Joannès, F., Lackenbacher, S., and Lafont, B. 1988 Archives épistolaire de Mari I/2. ARM 26. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Charpin, D., and Durand. J.-M., eds. 1994 Florilegium marianum II. Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot. Mémoire de NABU 3. Paris: SEPOA. Cooper, J. S. 1986 Sumerian and Akkadian Royal Inscriptions, vol. 1: Presargonic Inscriptions. American Oriental Society, Translation Series 1. New Haven: American Oriental Society. Davidson, J. N. 2011 Courtesans and Fishcakes: The Consuming Passions of Classical Athens. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Duponchel, D. 1997 Les comptes d’huile du palais de Mari. Pp.  201–62 in Florilegium marianum III. Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Marie-Thérèse Barrelet, ed. D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand. Mémoire de NABU 4. Paris: SEPOA. Durand, J.-M. 1983 Textes administratifs des salles 134 et 160 du Palais de Mari. ARM 21. Paris: Geuthner. 1997 Les documents épistolaires du palais de Mari, tome I. LAPO 16. Paris: Editions du Cerf. 1998 Les documents épistolaires du palais de Mari, tome II. LAPO 17. Paris: Editions du Cerf. 2002 Florilegium marianum VII. Le culte d’Addu d’Alep et l’affaire d’Alahtum. Mémoire de NABU 8. Paris: SEPOA. Eidem, J. 1985 News from the Eastern Front: the evidence from Tell Shemshara. Iraq 47: 83–107. Foster, B. R. 2005 Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. 3rd ed. Bethesda: CDL. Glassner, J.-J. 1991 Les dieux et les hommes. Le vin et la bière en Mésopotamie ancienne. Pp. 127–46 in Le ferment divin, ed. D. Fournier and S. D’Onofrio. Paris: Éditions de la Maison des Sciences de l’Homme. Gruber Mayer, I. 1980 Breast Feeding Practices in the Biblical Israel and in the Old Babylonian Mesopotamia. JANES 19: 61–83. Guichard, M. 2014 Florilegium marianum XIV. L’Épopée de Zimrī-Lîm. Mémoire de NABU 16. Paris: SEPOA. Heimpel, W. 1989 The Babylonian Background of the Term ‘Milky Way’. Pp.  249–52 in DUMU-E2DUB-BA-A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg, ed. H. Behrens, D. Loding, and M. T. Roth. Philadelphia: University Museum. 1997 Mushrooms. N.A.B.U. 1997/3.

244

Daniel Bonneterre

Jean, C.- F. 1950 Lettres diverses. ARM 2. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale. Kupper, J.-R. 1998 Lettres royales du temps de Zimri-Lim. ARM 28. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Labat, R. 1939 Le caractère religieux de la royauté assyro-babylonienne. Paris: A. Maisonneuve. 1951 Traité akkadien de diagnostics et pronostics médicaux. Paris: Académie Internationale d’Histoire des Sciences. Lafont, B. 1985 Le ṣâbum du roi de Mari au temps de Yasmaḫ-Addu. Pp.  161–80 in Miscellanea Babylonica: Mélanges offerts à Maurice Birot, ed. J.- M. Durand and J.-R. Kupper. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Leclant, J. 1959 Le rôle de l’allaitement dans le cérémonial pharaonique du couronnement. Pp. 69–71 in Akten des 24. Internationalen Orientalisten-Kongresses, München 28. August bis 4. September 1957, ed H. Franke. Wiesbaden: Franz Steiner Verlag. Leichty, E. 2011 The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC). RINAP 4. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Lion, B. 2003 Un idéal de bonheur atypique, celui des guerriers nomades. Estudios orientalis 8: 13–32. Lion, B., and Michel, C. 1997 Criquets et autres insectes. Pp.  707–24 in MARI 8, ed. D. Beyer, B. Muller, and M. Sauvage. Paris : Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Livingstone, A. 1989 Court Poetry and Literary Miscellanea. SAA 3. The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project: Helsinki University Press. Marello, P. 1992 Vie nomade. Pp. 115–26 in Florilegium marianum. Recueil d’études en l’honneur de Michel Fleury, ed. J.-M. Durand. Mémoire de NABU 1. Paris: SEPOA. Milano, L. 1989 Food and Diet in Pre-Classical Syria. Pp. 201–71 in Production and Consumption in the Ancient Near East, ed. C. Zaccagnini. Budapest: University of Budapest. 2004 Food and identity in Mesopotamia: a new look at the aluzinnu’s recipes. Pp. 243– 56 in Food and Identity in Mesopotamia, ed. C. Grottanelli and L. Milano. Padova: Sargon. 2012 Mangiare divinamente: pratiche e simbologie alimentari nell’antico Oriente. Venise: LoGisma. Miller, N. 2013 Symbols of Fertility and Abundance in the Royal Cemetery at Ur, Iraq. AJA 117: 127–33. Owen, D. 1981 Of Birds, Eggs and Turtles. ZA 71: 29–47. Parpola, S. 1997 Assyrian Prophecies. SAA 9. The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project: Helsinki University Press. Pientka, R. 2002 Aphrodisiaka und Liebeszauber im Alten Orient. Pp.  507–22 in vol 2 of Sex and Gender in the Ancient Near East: Proceedings of the 47th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Helsinki, July 2–6, 2011, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

Finding the Good Genius in Your Bowl

245

Potts, D. 2006 Ethnographic reality or literary topos: Bread baked in ashes. N.A.B.U. 2006/66. Raswan, C. 1990 Im Land der schwarzen Zelte. 2nd repr. ed. Hildesheim: Olms. Sasson, J. M. 2004 The King’s Table: Food and Fealty in Old Babylonian Mari. Pp.179–216 in Food and Identity in the Ancient World, ed. C. Grottanelli and L. Milano. Padova: Sargon. Selz, G. 2014 Plant Metaphors: on the Plant of Rejuvenation. Pp. 655–67 in From Source to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014, ed. S. Gaspa, A. Greco, D. Morandi Bonacossi, S. Ponchia, and R. Rollinger. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Shibata, D. 2015 Hemerology, Extispicy and Ilī-padâ’s illness. ZA 105: 139–53. Sissa, G. 1991 Le bon appétit. Modern Language Notes 106: 751–64. Stol, M. 1981 Letters from Yale. AbB 9. Leiden: Brill. 1993 Milk, Butter, and Cheese. BSA 7: 99–113. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx. Toussaint-Samat, M. 2009 A History of Food. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Winter, I. 2010 Ornament and the “Rhetoric of Abundance” in Assyria. Pp. 163–83 in On Art in the Ancient Near East, vol. 1: Of the First Millennium B.C.E. CHANE 34. Leiden: Brill. Ziegler, N. 1999 Florilegium marianum IV. Le harem de Zimrî-Lîm. Mémoire de NABU 5. Paris: SEPOA.

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts Joanna Töyräänvuori Helsinki

Several Biblical texts seem to refer to the symbolic adoption of the king by the monarchic divinity. The background for this concept has been sought in Mesopotamian royal inscriptions and in Egyptian texts. But these Biblical texts share a closer affinity with the much discussed portion of the Ugaritic Baal Cycle, KTU 1.1 iv 13–25, in which the father of the gods, El, proclaims the name of Yamm, the Sea, possibly extending a blessing upon his kingship. This article will discuss the ways in which the Ugaritic text can give us insight into the Biblical texts, but also the ways the Biblical texts can help us make sense of the important but unfortunately broken Ugaritic text. From the reconstructed text, one can see that the tablet breaks off in the middle of the column, so the end-half of each line is missing: w yʿn.lṭpn.il.dp[id ] šm.bny.yw.ilt 1 [   ] w pʿr.šm.ym [    ] tʿnyn . l zntn.[   ] at.adn.tpʿr 2 [   ] ank.lṭpn.il [. d pid ] ʿl.ydm.pʿrt[   ] šmk.mdd.i[l   ]

And El, gentle of heart, answers: . . . the name of my son (is?) . . ., o Elat and he calls the name of Yamm . . . (pronounces the name of Nahar?) they answered: for she/they will call you Lord 3 I am El, gentle [of heart,] over the hands (that are) set, I pronounce your name, beloved of El

The context of the passage is unclear and has inspired various theories as to its meaning, from coronation to bestowal of blessing (see Loretz 1990; Wyatt 2005a; 1.  Wyatt 2005a: 19, adds the word ym to line 14 and nhr to line 15, translating “Yam is the name of my son, Lord of the gods is Nahar!” In 2005b: 711 he admits that the translations are “inevitably provisional.” Wyatt has employed Murtonen 1952: 49–50, but Murtonen not only has a different translation of the words (“The name of my son is Yw ʿIl(m?)”), he also divides the lines into cola differently; see also Aistleitner 1959: 34. De Moor 1990: 113–14 has also translated the verses, adding the negation l to the line “My son [shall not be called] by the name of Yw.” This interpretation seems unlikely both on the basis of syntax and context: for El to deny the name, either someone would have called Yamm by the name, or it would have some highly offensive connotations obvious to the reader. The difficulty in interpretation is direct result of our ignorance of the meaning of the word ‘yw’. For further translations, cf. Smith 1994, idem 1997: 89, Sanders 2004: 173. 2.  The word tpʿr can be interpreted in various ways, but under no circumstances can it represent the sg.2.m person of the imperfect or the jussive. On the verb pʿr, the basic meaning of which is ‘proclamation’, see Sanders 2004: 172–74. 3.  Note that in KTU 1.2 i 33–34 Yamm presents himself to the assembly as the adn and bʿl of the gods.

247

248

Joanna Töyräänvuori

Smith 1994; Belnap 2011). The interpretation I propose in light of earlier Amorite texts and later biblical texts employing the same semantic cluster (name, son, declaration, hands, beloved, and the sea) that we find in the Ugaritic passage is that of royal adoption. One aspect of kingship that appears to have been shared by the Northwest Semitic peoples was the symbolic adoption of the monarch by the divinity that acted as the protector of kingship and the guarantor of the monarchic authority of the king (Usue 2007: 83). 4 While few overt witnesses to this concept exist, we have vestiges of the tradition in the Ugaritic and Biblical texts suggesting, albeit not witnessing, that a scene of royal adoption may have accompanied the instalment of a king. It has long been theorized that in the Pre-Exilic cult Yahweh was present at the coronation of the kings; that it was the authority of the monarchic god that was in a metaphorical sense present in the reign of the Davidic kings, and that the kings were regarded as Yahweh’s adopted sons (Craigie 1983: 65; Wilson 1987: 217). In fact, the whole Davidic line explicitly begins with the act of adoption when Naomi adopts Obed, the father of Jesse and the grandfather of David in the Book of Ruth (Sasson 1987). The Biblical texts most relevant to the concept of royal adoption are 2 Sam 7, Ps 2 and 89, and 1 Chr 17:13, 22:10, 28:6, which are likely later reworkings of the tradition. In these texts, David should probably be read as an archetypal king, the king that stands in for all the kings of Israel. The passage of 2 Sam 7:11b–16 features the Prophet Nathan relaying the words from Yahweh to King David: Yahweh declares to you that Yahweh himself will establish a house for you: When your days are over and you rest with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring to succeed you, your own flesh and blood, and I will establish his kingdom. He is the one who will build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be his father and he will be my son. When he does wrong, I will punish him with a rod wielded by men, with floggings inflicted by human hands. But my love will never be taken away from him, as I took it away from Saul, whom I removed from before you. Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before me; your throne will be established forever.

The passage recalls not only the Ugaritic text, but Mariote political correspondence from the period of the Amorite kingdoms, especially in the formula: “I will be the father of X and X will be my son.” The Mari letters feature examples of senior kings offering their fatherhood to newly appointed kings, and the junior kings professing their sonship to the established kings whose kingdoms were more secure (Sasson 1988). The keywords in the passage include words such as house, throne, kingdom, son, and love. The same formula is found in Ps 2:7–12 as a direct address to the recipient: I will proclaim Yahweh’s decree: He said to me, “You are my son; today I have become your father. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your inheritance, the ends of the earth your possession. You will break them with a rod of iron; you will dash them to pieces 4.  See also Wilson 1987: 217: “Jerusalemite kings apparently did at least claim to be sons of Yahweh, even if they did not claim to be divine themselves.”

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts

249

with a forged weapon.” 5 Therefore, you kings, be wise; be warned, you rulers of the earth: Serve Yahweh with fear and celebrate his rule with trembling. Kiss his son, or he will be angry, and your way will lead to your destruction, for his wrath can flare up in a moment.

Akin to the Ugaritic text, Ps 2 has traditionally been connected with a coronation ritual or the annual re-establishing of the king’s accession (Von Rad 1947; Anderson 1972; Craigie 1983). The text of the royal psalm has also been linked to Egyptian royal ideology by Granerød (2010), who states the psalm can be used to argue that the king had been physically procreated by the god. Granerød sought the background of Ps 2 in what he calls the king’s “divine sonship” (2010: 323). The text he presented as evidence of Ps 2 being dependent on Egyptian royal ideology as its background is the Decree or Blessing of Ptah upon Ramesess II (and III) 263:5–13: I am your father who begot you among the gods, all of your body being from the gods. I assumed my form as the Ram, Lord of Mendes, and I poured you in your august mother to make you into (my) champion and you, indeed, shall perform benefactions to my Ka-spirit. I fashioned you as when Re shines forth and I have exalted you before the gods, o king of Upper and Lower Egypt!

This text, which has been suggested as the background of the Biblical texts, has been dated to the Ramesside period (the 13th to 11th centuries b.c.e.), which roughly corresponds to the time of the end of the Ugaritic monarchy (Kitchen 1996: 102). Should there exist influence between the two textual traditions, the question always remains as to which direction the influence traveled. During this time there was heavy Northwest Semitic influence flowing into Egypt (discussed in Töyräänvuori 2013). The main point of connection between Ps 2 and the Egyptian text appears in the word ‫( נסך‬l. 6), the literal meaning is that of pouring a liquid, but even on the level of vocabulary, the psalm shares much closer parallels with the Ugaritic text. Of note, the idea of begetting is shared by the psalm and the Egyptian Decree and is absent from the Ugaritic text: the Decree 263:5 states “I am your father who begot you among the gods,” the psalm states “You are my son, on this day I have become your father,” explicating the relationship between the king and the god. It is the immediacy of the begetting (which therefore cannot refer to actual physical begetting that would require a gestation period) and the proclamation of the recipient as son in the Hebrew text that is reminiscent of an adoption formula. Most cases that ostensibly deal with adoption in the Hebrew Bible feature the adoption of infants, where the ceremony seems to have involved placing the child upon the knees of the father or merely make mention of the adopted status of the person (Gen 48:5–22, Josh 13:30, 1 Kgs 4:13, Num 26:29; 32:41). 6 But in the one 5.  Reading based on Isa 54:17 and the context are discussed in Töyräänvuori 2012. 6.  There have also been few studies in the terminology of non-symbolic, familial adoption in the ancient Near East. The major work is probably Stone and Owen 1991. It does not appear that actual adoption involved a formula of the pronouncement of the child’s name, making it solely a feature of symbolic adoption. Divine adoption has also been studied in the context of the New Testament, e.g., in Scott 1992 and Levin 2006. The sources for familial adoption in the Neo-Babylonian time were collected and examined by Wunsch 2003/2004. According to her (p. 184), the adoption documents had two types of formulas: objective style and dialogue style. The formulas in the former style were ana mārūti nadānu/ leqû (“to give/take into sonship”) and PN1 māru ša PN2 šū (“PN1 is (henceforth) the son of PN2”). The formula in the latter style was lū mārūa attā (“May you be my son!”). The children were rarely named in the documents.

250

Joanna Töyräänvuori

case where a grown child is adopted (Exod 2:10), we find the same details as in these cases of royal adoption: the declaration of sonship and the pronouncing of the name of the child: “And the child grew, and she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son. And she named him Moses.” The reader is asked to make note of the fact that it is the pharaoh’s daughter and not the king himself that adopts Moses, as many tropes of kingship are subverted in the character of Moses, who functions as a kind of anti-king. 7 It is likely that Ps 2 contains a ritual text that could have been used in a variety of contexts, as attempts to connect the psalm with any particular Judahite monarch have failed. Indeed, if the Sitz im Leben of the psalm is to be found in a coronation festival, then it would naturally have been employed by various monarchs (Anderson 1972: 64). 8 The textual tradition does not pertain to any one king, but to the succession of kings. It is readily apparent when we look at the Ugaritic text that the psalms share much more of the cultural context of the Northwest Semitic text example, even if conceptually things like palace building and the promise of the destruction of the king’s enemies are also found in the Egyptian tradition. A similar royal adoption scene can also be detected in Ps 89:2–4, 20–29: I will declare that your love stands firm forever, that you have established your faithfulness in heaven itself. You [Yahweh] said: “I have made a covenant with my chosen one; I have sworn to David, my servant: ‘I will establish your line forever and make your throne firm through all generations!’ ” “I have found David, my servant. With my sacred oil I have anointed him. My hand will sustain him, my arm shall surely strengthen him. The enemy will not get the better of him, the wicked will not oppress him. I will crush his foes before him and strike down his adversaries. My faithful love will be with him and through my name his horn shall be exalted. I will set his hand over the sea and his right hand over the rivers. He will call out to me: “You are my father! My god, the rock, my savior!” And also I myself will bestow him (the status of) my firstborn, 9 the most exalted of the kings of the earth. I will maintain my love to him forever, and my covenant with him will never fail. I will establish his line forever — his throne, as long as the heavens endure!”

The interpretation of the psalm in the context of royal adoption was first made by Von Rad (1947). While there have been attempts to date the psalms to the time of the Israelite monarchy (Dahood 1970), I do not find it necessary to force them or the motifs therein to any particular timeframe. The motifs may indeed have been adopted to both the Israelite and Egyptian contexts during multiple points of cultural contact, and while the final redaction of the psalm texts may date to the Herodian era (see Mitchell 2005), the earliest attestations of the concept are firmly rooted in the Amorite age (Sasson 1994). The difference between the two psalms is in the fact that in Ps 89:28 the king calls Yahweh “my father,” where as in Ps 2:7 Yahweh says to the king “my son.” 7.  See my contribution in the 59e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale volume. 8.  Usue (2007: 88) claims that it is the “universal authority” of the king that precludes the attachment of the psalm into any historical king. Textual dominance posturing is however to be expected in the genre. The Amorite kings ruled with the authority of the Storm god so to present oneself as invincible was a natural result of this divine favour. 9. From ‫ֶתנֵ֑הּו‬ ּ ְ ‫אַף־ ָ֭אנִי ְבּכֹ֣ור א‬.

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts

251

Ps 89 is one of the most discussed psalms with regards to the Qumran texts and it has been proposed that the text 4QPs89 contains a different version of the psalm (Mitchell 2005). The Qumran version puts much more emphasis than the Masoretic version on Yahweh’s covenant with David on the one hand, and on Yahweh’s mighty arm strengthening the arm of his chosen one on the other. The composition of the Qumran fragment is significantly different: the portion in ll. 21–26 of the Masoretic psalm is actually at the beginning of the Qumran fragment, beginning the psalm, and ll. 24–25 are missing completely with l. 26 placed between ll. 22–23. Line 29 is also missing from the Qumran version, giving credence to the suggestion that l. 28 is the end of the portion that so arranged bears an uncanny similarity to the Ugaritic scene. Although in a fragmentary state, the Qumran version of Ps 89 would have read: I have found David, my servant; with holy oil I have anointed him. With whom my hand shall be established, my arm also shall strengthen him. I will set his hand on the sea and his right hand on the rivers. The enemy shall not exact from him, nor the son of wickedness afflict him.

The psalm records the setting of the hand upon the sea and the right hand upon the rivers, featuring the locus classicus of this motif in the Hebrew Bible. There has been some discussion concerning whose hands are placed upon the sea and the river, Yahweh’s or the king’s (see Lipiński 1965). If we consider the king as performing the role of the god, then the hand of Yahweh is the hand of the king. The sea and the rivers of the passage certainly parallel the important epithets of Baal’s enemy “Prince Sea, Judge River” of the Ugaritic myth, but there are also other key terms of the Ugaritic adoption scene that can be found in the passage of Ps 89:21–28, including the hand, the earth, the son, the beloved, and the name. These words form a semantic cluster shared between the texts, linking them together. The common elements of these texts may be outlined as follows: Founding of a house / Promise of offspring and kingdom / Proclamation of fatherhood and sonship / Naming of the proclaimant/ Threat of violence (mention of weapons) / Declaration of love / Establishment of throne / (Anointing with oil / Placing hands atop the sea = handing over the symbolic weapons).

Interestingly, Timo Veijola (1983) interpreted the psalm in the light of ancient Near Eastern social contracts or suzerainty treaties (Staatsverträge), suggesting that Ps 89 contained an Israelite version of such a treaty. The proposition has merit since both the Ugaritic passage and the Biblical texts seem to contain phrases and vocabulary of Amorite diplomatic correspondence, which functioned as proto-state treaties. The idea of royal adoption could be interpreted in the context of a social contract between the god and the king. According to Sasson (1994), kinship terminology was commonly used as metaphor for political allegiance in the Old Babylonian diplomatic circles. The same author (1988: 462) posited that the familiar terminology “must have been crystal clear to the people of the time; but it could be confusing to us, leading us to reconstruct false relationships, whether we take the vocabulary to be about kinship or power. In fact, the circumstances under which one was permitted to call another “brother” rather than “father” were controlled by an elaborate protocol.” This is surely likewise true of the mythological texts in which we find the same vocabulary being used.

252

Joanna Töyräänvuori

There is a Mari diplomatic text that is especially relevant to the scene of royal adoption, as this diplomatic text uses language very similar to the scene in the Ugaritic and the later Biblical passages. In ARM 26 537 the newly acceded king Yatar-Ami writes to king of Mari, Zimri-Lim: My father Aplahanda has not died; he still lives. Zimri-Lim is my father and Yatar-Ami is truly your son. Hold him in your hand and in order for him not to feel that his father has indeed died, speak candidly with him.

The letter contains an inversion of the adoption formula as it was sent by the newly enthroned king: “Zimri-Lim is my father and I am his son.” It suggests that the response from Zimri-Lim to Yatar-Ami’s petition, should he have been favorable to the sponsorship of the younger king’s kingship, would have been along the lines of “I am the father of Yatar-ami and Yatar-Ami is my son.” However, the corresponding text, which would have been sent to Aplahanda, has not survived. Nonetheless, these letters indicate that the royal adoption scene was based on the practice of symbolic political adoption with which the patronage of established kings aided the accession of more junior kings, securing their newly vested rule of their smaller kingdoms. The Ugaritic scene uses this existing political vocabulary to establish a power relationship between two divinities, whether El and Yamm or El and Baal. There is also indication in the Mari letters that the Addu of Aleppo was seen as the adoptive father of the king, and indeed it may have been that it was with the weapons of the Addu of Aleppo that this patronage was transmitted to the new monarchs. In A.1121 46–50 (published by G. Dossin apud A. Lods 1950: 103–7), Adad reminds the king, through the word of the prophet, that he raised the king in his thigh or armpit (using terminology from real world social adoption) and was the one to restore him to his ancestral throne. Also noticeable about this text is that Adad promises to the king “the land from the east to the west,” so long as the king heeds his words and especially renders the god’s judgements for him. 10 Based on the terminology, this system of patronage is what the text of the Baal Cycle references and some vestiges of the system also survive in the Biblical texts. A further point of contact between the psalms and the Ugaritic texts is in KTU 1.101, a Ugaritic hymn celebrating the enthronement of Baal: Baal sits — like a throne is the mountain; Haddu — like the flood in the midst of his mountain, the divine Saphon. On the mountain of victory: seven lightnings, eight bundles of thunder, a tree of lightning. His head is awesome, dew is between his eyes. Enemies have fallen at the base of his (throne), the horn of his head is exalted at the descent from heaven.? El, the bull⟨s⟩: his mouth is like two clouds — like wine is the love of his heart.

In the description of Baal as the king of the gods, we find in ll. 6–7 the phrase “his horn is exalted” (qrn[m] dt ʿlh), resembling the exalting of his horn of Ps 89:24. The Ugaritic text reaffirms the context for the cluster of terminology found in these texts: it is the enthronement of a newly appointed king. Returning to col. iv of KTU 1.1, out of the common features in the Hebrew texts, the words that we find in the Ugaritic text are house, proclamation, son, name, and love, and probably the sea, throne, and kingdom. Oil is not mentioned in the 10.  Sasson (1994: 316) suggests that this is the prophet, formerly based in Mari but now stationed at Yamkhad, manipulating “the demand for social justice that Addu of Halab has made of Zimri-Lim.”

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts

253

Ugaritic passage, but the threat of violence in the Hebrew texts may be metaphorically present in the sacrificial feast that follows the scene in the Ugaritic text. Dan Belnap (2011) discussed the passage of KTU 1.1 iv 9–32, which he calls El’s “endorsement” of Yamm as king or Yamm’s “inauguration,” in the context of ancient Near Eastern feasts. According to him, the feast, used in the ancient Near East as symbolic legitimation of asymmetrical social power and institutionalized relations, is where the acceptance of Baal’s kingship is enacted. Furthermore, the entire myth revolves around three feasts: the feast arranged by El for Yamm, Baal’s feast upon his defeat of Yamm and Baal’s feast following the completion of his palace. The text of col. iv has, in his assessment, two primary scenes: ll. 9–11 feature Yamm proving sustenance and ll. 21–32 feature “proclamations” followed by a feast provided by El for Yamm’s benefit. The end of col. iv probably does feature the sacrifice of animals and a subsequent feast, which is a feature missing from the Hebrew examples. The main difference between the Ugaritic and the Biblical texts is that the Ugaritic scene involves the gods, while the Hebrew texts involve Yahweh’s selection of an earthly monarch. The important term ‘Beloved’, featured in both the Ugaritic and Biblical passages, has been discussed by Mark S. Smith, who states that the title “may more precisely denote El’s legal selection of Yamm over the other gods in his family” (Smith 2001: 34). I agree with his assessment of the legal aspect of El’s election of Yamm but he makes too much out of the familial relationship between El and Yamm in order to cement the outside status of the god Baal and to advance his theory of Baal as an outsider to the Ugaritic pantheon. There does not seem to be enough in the Ugaritic texts to establish El as the “biological” or birth father of either divinity as opposed to his role as the social and legal parent — the physical progenitor of these gods as opposed to their adopter. We should not conflate the issues of the integration of Baal into the Ugaritic pantheon and the social function of monarchic adoption; the king, and by extension the king of the gods, needed to be adopted for the purpose of the legitimation of his monarchic authority regardless of his factual pedigree. The sharing of a filial bond was not enough to establish one as the legitimate ruler; the crucial aspect was the election by the monarchic divinity, the mythological concept drawing heavily from the social system of sponsored kingship practiced among the Amorites in the period of Amorite kingdoms (Sasson 1994). As Baal was (ultimately) elected by El, so the ancient Northwest Semitic king was in turn elected by the Storm god. The pronouncing of the name was an important part of this divine election, featured also in the inscriptions of the Neo-Assyrian monarchs (for example A.0.102.5 ii 2 [RIMA 3: 28], where Shalmaneser III is called by name to the shepherdship of the people by Aššur, and is crowned with the exalted crown). The possibility that col. iv of KTU 1.1 is not about Yamm at all might also be entertained. The name of Yamm has been traditionally read into the passage, but we may have been too hasty in the casting of roles for the scene. Neither the preceding nor the subsequent column shed light unto the identity of the recipient of El’s proclamation (there is an on-going discussion regarding the reading order of the tablet’s columns). 11 One of the columns features El’s instructions for the building of a palace and breaks off at the mention of a son, presumably the son of El — not, I suggest, 11.  Dijikstra 1987; Smith 1994; Dietrich, Loretz, and Sanmartín 2013.

254

Joanna Töyräänvuori

his natural son, as the famed impotence of the god (see KTU 1.23) plays a role in the monarchic succession. The other column Smith (1994) has interpreted as containing a conversation between El and Yamm, but the name of Yamm features not once in the column. In fact, the name of Yamm may not feature in the tablet at all. There are three reasons for the insertion of Yamm into the narrative of the text of the column. First, there is the mention of El’s son in l. 14 and the assumption that this son is Yamm. Second, there are the characters ym following the word ‘name’ in l. 15, which might indicate the reading of ‘the name of Yamm’. However, the tablet breaks off immediately after the characters, so it is impossible to tell what would have followed them. Are they the whole words, or the beginning of a word — a vocative or a verbal form? Did a word-divider follow the characters? Is there a reason why a reading other than the name of Yamm ought to be considered? One such reason is that neither the epithet zbl nor mdd il precedes the name and it is through either of these epithets, though never in conjunction, that we may usually identify the god Yamm as a character. In fact, when not preceded by one of the epithets, another interpretation may be preferred: whether the sea as a physical element or the word for day (ym), written identically to the sea. Thirdly, the words mdd il are most likely to be read on l. 20, which has undoubtedly aided in the interpretation of the characters on l. 15 as Yamm. But once more the line breaks off at an unfortunate place and we do not know whether the word Yamm would have followed. The epithet and the name of Yamm are not found together in the second tablet and we must be cautious in transferring the usage of the third and fourth tablets to a passage that may be completely unrelated to tablet 1.1. The interpretation of Yamm as the recipient of El’s proclamation is certainly warranted, but it is not definite. Are there reasons for assuming that Baal might be the recipient of the proclamation? There are reasons for suspecting that the term ‘Beloved’ may have functioned as a cognomen for the crown prince (Wyatt 1985; Töyräänvuori 2015). The “heights of Saphon” are mentioned on the first line, which has a correspondent in the mention of “Zion, the mountain of his holiness” in Ps 2. The house of “your Baal” is mentioned in l. 6 and in l. 22, mention is made of aliyn b, the text again unfortunately breaking off. Once more, this seems not to offer us definite proof that Baal is involved in the scene, let alone that he should be the recipient of the proclamation. But certain inferences are possible. It is El who makes a proclamation and this proclamation concerns the name of his son. It is on the basis of an inverse parallel passage in KTU 1.3 v 35–36 (  ṯr.il.abh.il/mlk.d yknnh, “Bull El, his father, the god who establishes him as king”) that we may deduce that this proclamation also has to do with the establishing of a king. In this instance, the king is explicitly Baal. This may not help us identify whose kingship is to be established in the scene of the first tablet, but the passage is nonetheless interesting. As witnessed by the similarity of the Hebrew texts to the Ugaritic scene, where mutatis mutandis, the principles probably played out exactly the same for every successive king, we can assume that whether the recipient of the proclamation was Baal or Athtar or any other would-be king of the gods, the scene of symbolic adoption would have been the same. If and when Baal was proclaimed king, the scene would have followed along the same lines. It follows that the same would also have been the case with Yamm if not for one detail: the placing of the yd (whether it is understood as referring to the hands

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts

255

or the symbolic weapons or a metaphorical combination of the ideas of hand and weapon) 12 upon the sea seems to have been a feature of the scene of royal adoption. This is not only witnessed by the Hebrew texts, but also in Mari (A.1968, Durand 1993: 43–46) and the Sargon Omens (K. 2130: 24–25). 13 Had the sea been the first recipient of this proclamation, the first king in heaven, it would make sense that every subsequent or post-deluvian mortal king would have to symbolically conquer the sea to wrench the throne for themselves. The king is dead, so long live the king! In Nicolas Wyatt’s interpretation of the lines (2005a: 17–20), El places his hands on top of Yamm’s head in order to give blessing for his kingship. While we know very little of the ceremonial proceedings of Ugaritic coronation, such an act is not out of the question. He further proposed that the antiphonic nature of l. 16 suggests the text may have been in actual liturgical use. The blessing of the chosen king with hands upon his head in the text might have been modelled after an existing Northwest Semitic tradition. It is possible that scenes of election or coronation or royal feasting in the narrative might have been modelled after existing practice. However, I agree with Oswald Loretz (1990: 88) that the text is too fragmentary for concluding such things. Based on the shared vocabulary in the Hebrew and the Ugaritic texts that is derived almost verbatim from Amorite political correspondence, we can make a few suggestions: based on the context of the later Hebrew texts, the most natural setting for the Ugaritic scene is that of a symbolic adoption of the king and his instalment as reigning monarch through the confirmation of his sonship and the pronouncement of his name. With regard to the Hebrew texts, the older Ugaritic text, a pivotal scene in the myth of divine combat, places them within the tradition in which it was Yahweh the Storm god who brought kingship down from heaven for the Israelite monarch, a tradition that had existed in the polities of the Eastern Mediterranean for centuries before the installment of the first Davidic monarchs. 12.  For discussion, see Töyräänvuori 2012. 13.  Published in Rawlinson 1875, Pl. 34, no. 1.

Bibliography Aistleitner, J. 1959 Die mythologishen und kultischen Texte aus Ras Shamra. Bibliotheca Orientalis Hungarica 8. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Anderson, A. A. 1972 The Book of Psalms, vol. 1: Introduction and Psalms 1–72. New Century Bible. London: Oliphants. Belnap, D. L. 2011 “A Feast, O Baal, We Shall Provide”: The Role of the Feast in the Ugaritic Mythological Texts. Pp. 45–70 in Le banquet à travers les Âges: De Pharaon à Marco Ferreri, ed. S. H. Aufrère and M. Mazoyer. Paris: L’Harmattan. Craigie, P. C. 1983 Ugarit and the Old Testament. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company. Dahood, M. 1970 Psalms III (101–150). The Anchor Bible 17A. Garden City: Doubleday.

256

Joanna Töyräänvuori

De Moor, J. C. 1990 The Rise of Yahwism: The Roots of Israelite Monotheism. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Dietrich, M., Loretz, O., and Sanmartín, J. 1976 Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit. AOAT 24/1. Kevalaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag. 2013 Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit, Ras Ibn Ḫani and Other Places. 3rd ed. AOAT 360/1. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Dijikstra, M. 1987 Epigraphical Evidence for the Determination of the Column Order of the Tablets KTU 1.1 and KTU 1.20–22. UF 19: 49–60. Durand, J.-M. 1993 Le mythologème du combat entre le dieu de l’orage et le mer en Mésopotamie. MARI 7: 41–61. Grayson, A. K. 1996 Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC II (858–745 BC). RIMA 3. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Granerød, G. 2010 A Forgotten Reference to Divine Procreation? Psalm 2:6 in Light of Egyptian Royal Ideology. VT 60: 323–36. Kitchen, K. A. 1996 Ramesside Inscriptions II, Translated and Annotated: Translations. Ramesses II, Royal Inscriptions. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Lafont, B. 1988 La correspondence de Ṣidqum-Lanasi. Pp. 509–41 in Archives épistolaires de Mari I/2, ed. D. Charpin, F. Joannès, S. Lackenbacher, and B. Lafont. ARM 26. Paris: Editions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Lipiński, E. 1965 La royauté de Yahvé dans la poésie et le culte de l’ancien Israël. Brussel: Paleis der Academiën. Levin, Y. 2006 Jesus ‘Son of God’ and ‘Son of David’: The ‘Adoption’ of Jesus into the Davidic Line. Journal for the Study of the New Testament 28: 415–42. Lods, A. 1950 Une tablette inédite de Mari, intéressante pour l’histoire ancienne du prophétisme sémitique. Pp. 103–10 in Studies in Old Testament Prophecy Presented to Professor Theodore H. Robinson on his Sixty-Fifth Birthday, August 9th, 1946, ed. H. H. Rowley. Edinbourg: T.&T. Clark. Loretz, O. 1990 Ugarit und die Bibel: Kanaanäische Götter und Religion im Alten Testament. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Mitchell, M. W. 2005 Genre Disputes and Communal Accusatory Laments: Reflections on the Genre of Psalm LXXXIX. VT 55: 511–27. Murtonen, A. 1952 A Philological and Literary Treatise on the Old Testament Divine Names ‫אלוה‬, ‫אלוהים‬ ‫אל‬, and ‫יהוה‬. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seuran Kirjapainon Oy. Rad, G. von 1947 Gesammelte Studien zum Alten Testament. Theologische Bücherei, Neudrucke und Berichte aus dem 20. Jahrhundert 8. München: Christian Kaiser Verlag. Rawlinson, H. R. 1875 The Cuneiform Inscriptions of Western Asia, vol. 4: A Selection from the Miscellaneous Inscriptions of Assyria. London: Trustees of the British Museum.

The Royal Adoption Scene in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts

257

Sanders, S. L. 2004 Performative Utterances and Divine Language in Ugaritic. JNES 63: 161–81. Sasson, J. M. 1987 Ruth and Naomi. Pp. 491–92 in vol. 12 of Encyclopedia of Religion, ed. M. Eliade. 14 vols. New York: Macmillan. 1988 The King and I: A Mari King in Changing Perceptions. JAOS 118: 453–70. 1994 The Posting of Letters with Divine Messages. Pp.  299–316 in Florilegium marianum II. Recueil d’études à la mémoire de Maurice Birot. Mémoire de NABU 3, ed. D. Charpin and J.-M. Durand. Paris: SEPOA. Scott, J. M. 1992 Adoption as Sons of God: An Exegetical Investigation Into the Background of Huiothesia in the Pauline Corpus. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2, Reihe 48. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Smith, M. S. 1994 The Ugaritic Ba‛al Cycle, vol. 1: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU I.I–I.2. Vetus Testamentum Supplements 55. Leiden, New York, and Köln: Brill. 1997 The Baal Cycle. Pp. 81–180 in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry, ed. S. B. Parker. WAW 9. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. 2001 The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts. New York: Oxford University Press. Stone, E. C., and Owen, D. I. 1991 Adoption in Old Babylonian Nippur and the Archive of Mannum-mešu-liṣṣur. MC 3. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Töyräänvuori, J. 2012 The Weapons of the Storm God in Ancient Near Eastern and Biblical Traditions. StOr 112: 147–80. 2013 The Northwest Semitic Conflict Myth in Egyptian Sources from the Middle and New Kingdoms. Pp. 112–26 in Creation and Chaos: A Reconsideration of Herman Gunkel’s Chaoskampf, ed. J. Scurlock and R. H. Beal. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2015 The Beloved as a Title of Royal Legitimation in Ugaritic and Biblical Texts. Pp. 197– 217 in “Der Herr des Himmels möge lang machen seine Tage und seine Jahre.” Religionsgeschichtliche Beiträge. Festschrift fúr Herbert Niehr zum 60. Geburtstag, ed. O. Dyma, S.-U. Gulde-Karmann, and D. Kühn. AOAT 427. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Usue, E. O. 2007 Theological-Mythological Viewpoints on Divine Sonship in Genesis 6 and Psalm 2. Pp. 77–90 in Psalms and Mythology, ed. D. J. Human. Library of Hebrew Bible, Old Testament Studies 462. New York: T&T Clark. Veijola, T. 1983 Davidverheißung und Staatsvertrag: Beobachtungen zum Einfluß altorientalischer Staatsverträge auf die biblische Sprache am Beispiel von Psalm 89. ZAW 95: 9–31. Wilson, R. R. 1987 The Death of the King of Tyre: The Editorial History of Ezekiel 29. Pp.  211–18 in Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin H. Pope, ed. J. H. Marks and R. M. Good. Guilford, Connecticut: Four Quarters Publishing Company. Wunsch, C. 2003/2004  Findelkinder und Adoption nach neubabylonischen Quellen. AfO 50: 174–244. Wyatt, N. 1985 ‘Jedidiah’ and cognate forms as a title of royal legitimation. Biblica 66: 112–25. 2005a ‘There’s Such Divinity Doth Hedge a King’: Selected essays of Nicholas Wyatt on Royal Ideology in Ugaritic and Old Testament Literature. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing, Ltd. 2005b The Religious Role of the King in Ugarit. UF 37: 695–727.

“One Epic or Many?” Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ? Stefan Jakob Heidelberg

Das Ringen zwischen Assyrien und Babylonien um Einflusssphären und Grenzlinien fand am Ende des 13. Jahrhunderts vor Chr. einen vorläufigen Höhepunkt. Es waren nicht nur die Sieger, die davon kündeten, auch die Gegenseite war noch viele Generationen später um Erklärungen für jene Vorgänge bemüht, in deren Verlauf sogar Babylon zeitweise unter assyrische Kontrolle geriet. 1 Einer der Protagonisten, der assyrische König Tukultī-Ninurta I. (1233–1197 v. Chr.), beließ es nicht dabei, auf seinen Sieg innerhalb einer Königsinschrift hinzuweisen, 2 sondern beauftragte einen für uns bis jetzt namenlos bleibenden Autor damit, die aus assyrischer Sicht ruhmreichen Taten in einem umfangreichen Epos zu verherrlichen. 3 Das innerhalb der Forschung als „Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos“ (im Folgenden: TNE) bekannt gewordene Werk gilt in Umfang und Sprache als Besonderheit im mA Schrifttum, wenn auch andere Könige zwischen dem 13. und 10. Jahrhundert literarische Schilderungen über erfolgreiche militärische Unternehmungen, auch gegen Babylonien, hinterlassen haben. 4 Der Text des Epos ist etwa zur Hälfte erhalten. Insgesamt liegen bislang fünf Fragmente aus der mA Periode vor (A-E) und ein weiteres in neuassyrischer Schrift (F). 5 Der größte Teil des Textes wird durch die Fragmente A, B und C repräsentiert, die in Ninive geborgen wurden und sicher zu derselben Tafel gehörten, wenn auch ohne direkten Anschluss. Die von dem Erstbearbeiter R. C. Thompson 1929 vorgenommene Anordnung wurde von W. G. Lambert einer Revision untergezogen. Er nahm an, dass die äußere Form von Fragment A gegenüber der ursprünglichen Kolumnenzählung eine Umstellung von Vorder- und Rückseite gegenüber Fragment B erfordert. 6 Dieser Vorschlag ist in der Folge allgemein akzeptiert worden. 7 1.  Grayson 1975: 175–76. 2.  Grayson 1987: 244–45 (RIMA 1, A.0.78.5: 48–69). 3.  Machinist 1978. 4.  Hier ist vor allem Tukultī-Ninurtas Großvater Adad-nērārī I. (1295–1264 v. Chr.) zu erwähnen. Die siegreich verlaufende Auseinandersetzung mit Nazimaruttaš wurde ebenfalls in einem umfangreichen Werk literarisch verklärt, das nachweislich bis in die neuassyrische Zeit tradiert wurde (s. Weidner 1963, vgl. Brinkman 1976: 282). 5.  Zu Provinienz und Publikation der Textvertreter s. Hecker 2015: 75–76. 6.  Lambert 1957: 38–40. Nach der Neuorientierung entspricht die Tafel mit der flachen Vorderund konvexen Rückseite der für literarische Texte üblichen Konvention, die freilich nicht immer beachtet wird, wie Lambert einräumt. 7.  Machinist 1978; Foster 2005: 298–323.

259

260

Stefan Jakob

Unter den Texten, die durch das Heidelberger Projekt „Literarische Keilschrifttexte aus Assur“ bearbeitet werden, konnte ein weiteres Fragment des TNE identifiziert werden. VAT 10722+12178 stammt, wie bereits die Fragmente D und E, aus der assyrischen Metropole Assur. Beide Seiten tragen Reste von Text (Seite A: 30 Zeilen; Seite B: 22 Zeilen). Der linke Rand ist im Tafelkern erhalten, die Oberfläche abgerieben. Der rechte Kolumnenrand ist verloren, der Textverlust beschränkt sich aber, wie durch die parallelen Passagen in den bereits bekannten Fragmenten nachgewiesen werden kann, auf wenige Zeichen. Reste anschließender Kolumnen sind nicht vorhanden, die Krümmung der Oberfläche am linken Rand findet aber auf der rechten Seite des Fragments keine Entsprechung, so dass angesichts dieses Befundes zunächst nicht auszuschließen war, dass die Tafel ursprünglich mehrkolumnig gewesen sein könnte. Es zeigte sich, dass Seite B des neuen Fragments die zur abschließenden VI. Kolumne gehörigen Zeilen 15′–36′ der Rückseite von TNE B duplizierte, jene Textpassage, in der u. a. die Verteilung der Kriegsbeute auf verschiedene wichtige Heiligtümer der Stadt Assur behandelt wird. Die sich daraus ergebende Hoffnung, der Text der Seite A von VAT 10722+ könnte in Kolumne I des TNE eine Entsprechung finden, wurde allerdings enttäuscht. Stattdessen verlief der Text parallel zu Fragment A VI 7′–27′. Davon ausgehend schien es zwingend, die Anordnung der Ninive-Fragmente, wie sie von W. G. Lambert vorgenommen worden war, so zu ändern, dass man wieder zu der ursprünglichen Version von C. Thompson zurückkehrt. Die Handlungsstränge innerhalb des Epos würden sich natürlich entsprechend signifikant verändern. Zum Vergleich hier die Fassung nach Lambert und Machinist (Version 1) und diejenige nach einer Umstellung (Version 2) (siehe S. 261). Ohne Zweifel wirkt Version 1 insgesamt stringenter. In der I. Kolumne werden die beiden Kontrahenten wechselseitig charakterisiert: Auf der einen Seite der tapfere, dabei immer umsichtige und gerechte Tukultī-Ninurta, auf der anderen Seite der verräterische, eidbrüchige Kaštiliaš, der eben aufgrund des eigenen sündhaften Handelns von seinen Göttern verlassen wird. Während sich das assyrische Heer noch auf dem Weg zum Schlachtfeld befindet, werden babylonische Kaufleute gefangen genommen, die, stellvertretend für ihren Oberherrn, dem Richtergott Šamaš vorgeführt werden. Teil der Verhandlung ist eine Darstellung der assyrisch-babylonischen Beziehungen seit den Tagen Kurigalzus II., der sich als erster König in einer mit Kaštiliaš endenden Reihe in besonderer Weise gegen Assyrien als vertragsbrüchig und verräterisch erwiesen hat. 8 Die Kaufleute werden freigelassen und überbringen die Nachricht des assyrischen Königs, in der dieser seinem Kontrahenten dessen Verfehlungen noch einmal schriftlich vorwirft. Kaštiliaš wird in der Folge der Lächerlichkeit preisgegeben, indem er sich zunächst schuldbewusst und zerknirscht gibt, dann trotzig zum Kampf aufruft, ohne aber die offene Feldschlacht wirklich zu suchen. Vielmehr verbirgt er sich immer wieder vor den Assyrern und versucht, durch einen Hinterhalt zum Erfolg zu kommen, was misslingt. Daraufhin sprechen die assyrischen Soldaten zu ihrem Herrn und bekunden ihren Entschluss, jetzt die Entscheidung zu suchen. Aus der anschließenden Schlacht geht das assyrische Heer natürlich als Sieger hervor, die Familie des Kaštiliaš wird deportiert und mitsamt der reichen Kriegsbeute nach Assyrien gebracht. Am Ende wird noch einmal der strahlende Sieger besungen. 8.  Jakob 2011: 195–96.

Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ?

261

Version 1

Version 2

Gegenüberstellung Tukultī-Ninurta – Kaštiliaš (B) Babylonischer König, des Verrats schuldig, verlassen von seinen Göttern (B) Gegenüberstellung Tukultī-Ninurta – Kaštiliaš (A/F) a

Gegenüberstellung Tukultī-Ninurta – Kaštiliaš (B) Babylonischer König, des Verrats schuldig, verlassen von seinen Göttern (B) Militärische Ruhmestaten Tukultī-Ninurtas mit Hinweis auf Vernichtung der Dynastie des Kaštiliaš (A)

II Gefangennahme babylonischer Kaufleute, Prozess vor dem Richtergott Šamaš, dabei Abriss assyrisch-babylonischer Beziehungen seit dem 14. Jh. (A)

Rede der assyrischen Soldaten an ihren König, die Götter kämpfen an der Seite der Assyrer; Schlachtengemälde (A)

III Botschaft des Tukultī-Ninurta an Kaštiliaš: Vorwurf von Kriegsverbrechen (D) Vorwurf des Vertragsbruchs unter Hinweise auf gemeinsamen Vertrag (A) Monolog des Kaštiliaš: Angsterfüllte Selbstkritik (A/E) Negative Charakterzeichnung des Kaštiliaš (C)

Kaštiliaš gibt vor, kämpfen zu wollen, flieht aber (C) Negative Charakterzeichnung des Kaštiliaš (E) Keine Unterwerfung, aber Vermeiden der offenen Feldschlacht, babylonischer Hinterhalt wird erkannt, die Assyrer bleiben siegreich (A) Bezug auf Kämpfe (D)

IV Kaštiliaš gibt vor, kämpfen zu wollen, flieht aber (C) Keine Unterwerfung, aber Vermeiden der offenen Feldschlacht, babylonischer Hinterhalt wird erkannt, die Assyrer bleiben siegreich (A) Bezug auf Kämpfe (D)

Botschaft des Tukultī-Ninurta an Kaštiliaš: Vorwurf von Kriegsverbrechen (D) Vorwurf des Vertragsbruchs unter Hinweis auf gemeinsamen Vertrag (A) Monolog des Kaštiliaš: Angsterfüllte Selbstkritik (A/E) Negative Charakterzeichnung des Kaštiliaš (C)

V

Gefangennahme babylonischer Kaufleute, Prozess vor dem Richtergott Šamaš, dabei Abriss assyrisch-babylonischer Beziehungen seit dem 14. Jh. (A)

I

Rede der assyrischen Soldaten an ihren König, die Götter kämpfen an der Seite der Assyrer; Schlachtengemälde (A)

VI Militärische Ruhmestaten Tukultī-Ninurtas mit Hinweis auf Vernichtung der Dynastie des Kaštiliaš (A) Verteilung der Kriegsbeute, Lobpreis auf Tukultī-Ninurta (B)

Gegenüberstellung Tukultī-Ninurta–Kaštiliaš (A/F) Verteilung der Kriegsbeute, Lobpreis auf Tukultī-Ninurta (B)

a.  Zu dem in neuassyrischer Schrift verfassten Textvertreter F (Rm 142) s. Lambert 1957: 48–51. Die bei Foster 2005: 317 zitierten Stellen, die einem “unpublished fragment” zugeordnet werden, beziehen sich auf das von Lambert nachträglich mit Rm. 142 gejointe Anschlussstück Rm. 957.

Version 2 scheint demgegenüber dramaturgische Schwächen aufzuweisen. Etwas deplatziert wirkt in der I. Kolumne etwa, dass dort bereits die Deportation der Familie des Kaštiliaš erwähnt werden sollte, die doch erst ein Ergebnis der Entscheidungsschlacht sein dürfte, die ihrerseits in der Handlung zu weit nach vorne rückte. Noch schwieriger zu erklären ist der Monolog des Kaštiliaš in der IV. Kolumne, der sich auf die „Anrufung des Šamaš“ (šisīt Šamaš) bezieht. Wenn dabei auf den vorerwähnten Prozess der Kaufleute Bezug genommen wird, ist die Reihenfolge der Ereignisse vertauscht. Es scheint demnach, als dürfte VAT 10722+ doch lediglich als Exzerpt der VI. Kolumne des TNE angesehen werden. Entsprechendes ist bereits früher für F erwogen worden, unter Umständen seien sogar Teile verschiedener epischer Texte

262

Stefan Jakob

auf der Tafel vereinigt gewesen. 9 Die teilweise bis zu ihrer vollen Breite erhaltene linke Kolumne FY dupliziert nach der traditionellen Zählung Fragment A I 9′–25′, ist also zweifelsfrei Teil des TNE. Die linke Kolumne Fx dagegen hatte bislang keine Parallele, schien jedoch eine Schmährede des Kaštiliaš an seinen Widersacher zu entahlten, in der dieser höhnisch aufgefordert wird, nach Gutdünken die Kaufleute des Babyloniers zu behindern und die Boten aufzuhalten. 10 Es werde, so glaubte man interpolieren zu dürfen, keinesfalls zum Sieg führen. Ein weiteres Fragment aus Assur schafft immerhin in diesem zweiten Punkt Klarheit: VAT 10339+10343 vom linken Rand einer mittelassyrischen Tontafel dupliziert Kolumne Fx und bringt dabei einen erheblichen Textgewinn, der einen anderen Zusammenhang nahelegt, als nach den bisher allein zur Verfügung stehenden Zeilenenden zu vermuten war. Auch wenn der Kontext noch nicht vollständig verstanden ist, so wird doch deutlich, dass es in Z. 10′, die Fx:7′ entspricht, der hethitische König ist, der eine Nachricht schickt ( . . . ⸢MAN KUR⸣ Ḫa-at-te-e [ši-pír-t]a [il-ta-pa-ar]). 11 Bezeichnenderweise wird der Emissär als muʾirtu 12 des Hethiters bezeichnet: Z. 11′ . . . a-na kurAš-šur mu-ʾi-ir-ta-šu [ ]⸢SIG5⸣-ta i[p-ru-us]. Er soll demnach wohl einen für das Land Assur positiven Bescheid bringen. In der Folge werden Kaufleute als „Beutelträger“ erwähnt: Z. 14′ [   ]x KUR-ia na-áš ki-si-ka DAM.GÀR.MEŠ e-te-qa [šu-uk-li] 13 [   ] . . . meines Landes, lass [verhindern], dass deine Beutelträger, die Kaufleute, passieren!

Diese Zeile könnte sich unmittelbar auf jene Szene innerhalb des TNE beziehen, in der die babylonischen Kaufleute, die man auch dort zusätzlich als „Beutelträger“ bezeichnet, von den Assyrern gefangen genommen und dem Gott Šamaš vorgeführt werden (s. o. Version 1, Kol. II). Hierin könnte dann ein Indiz zu sehen sein, dass Fx tatsächlich Teile des TNE und nicht eines anderen Epos enthält. Aus VAT 10339+ ist zu ersehen, dass sich eine Reihe von Handlungsaufforderungen anschließen, die zumindest teilweise Babylonien unmittelbar betreffen: Z. 15′ [      ] .  .  . [  eš-r]i-ti 14 kurURIki-i ú-s[u-uḫ] [       ] . . . [   die Heili]gtümer des Landes Akkad beseitige! Z. 18′ [  ] x [           ] si-kip ù š[u-um-qi-it] [  ] .  .  . [          ] stoß um und b[ring zu Fall!]

Damit beleuchtet der bewusste Abschnitt einen bisher unbekannten Aspekt der assyrisch-babylonischen Auseinandersetzung im TNE: Der hethitische König tritt, wenn auch am Rande, als Akteur in Erscheinung, indem er offenbar den Angriff 9.  Machinist 1978: 16. 10.  Machinist 1978: 31–33 (vgl. auch Foster 2005: 304–5). 11.  Die Ergänzungen erfolgen nach Fx (Lambert 1957, Tafel IV). 12.  Der Begriff muʾirtu ist als Akkadogramm vor allem aus dem hethitischen Schrifttum bekannt. Die in AHw: 669 fragend vorgeschlagene Übersetzung “Untergebene(r)” würde nach der vorliegenden Stelle durchaus passen. (vgl. CAD M 2: 180 “The meaning people, population, subjects [of a province] is based on the context. . .”). 13.  Alle bekannten Belege für den „Beutelträger“ (nāš kīsi) sind unmittelbar mit Kaufleuten bzw. deren Gehilfen (šamallû) verbunden (s. AHw: 487). Innerhalb des TNE findet er sich noch einmal, im Zusammenhang mit dem Prozess der babylonischen Kaufleute vor Šamaš (Machinist 1978: 74 A II 9′ . . . na-a-⸢šu⸣ ki-i-si DAM.GÀR.MEŠ . . .). 14.  Die Ergänzung erfolgt hier tentativ. Die entsprechende Stelle ist in Exemplar F nicht erhalten.

Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ?

263

auf babylonisches Territorium und die anschließenden Plünderungen gutheißt. 15 Die diplomatischen Beziehungen zwischen Ḫatti und Assyrien waren zu jener Zeit erwiesenermaßen gut, wie aus administrativen Texten hervorgeht. Es gab einen regen Botenverkehr 16 und über die Sekundogenitur Karkemiš auch wirtschaftlichen Austausch. 17 Auf diesem Hintergrund erklärt sich auch jener Brief Tukultī-Ninurtas an Šuppiluliuma II, worin er sich darüber beklagt, dass der Hethiter die Machtergreifung Adad-šuma-uṣurs in Babylon, die assyrischen Bestrebungen einer Oberherrschaft über den südlichen Nachbarn schließlich ein Ende macht, anscheinend weder verurteilt hat, noch den Assyrern zu Hilfe gekommen ist. 18 Bei der Frage, wo innerhalb des TNE diese Episode verortet werden darf, ist die Reihenfolge der Kolumnen in F ein wesentlicher Aspekt. Fy bietet den rechten Rand der Tafel. Das wäre bei einer I. Kolumne unüblich. VAT 10339+ wiederum ist, wie oben erwähnt, ein Fragment vom linken Rand. Das könnte darauf hindeuten, dass Gleiches ursprünglich auch für Fx galt. Man müsste dann annehmen, dass dieser Teil der Tafel innerhalb der Handlung des TNE vor dem von Fy vertretenen anzusetzen ist. Dabei ergibt sich aber u. a. das Problem, dass angesichts der mindestens 47 Zeilen von Fragment B, die auf jeden Fall noch vor Fy einzufügen sind, von A vor I 1′ noch ein erheblicher Teil fehlen müsste, wenn die rechte Kolumne in F ebenso viel Text enthielt wie die linke. Man wird aber m. E. den mutmaßlichen Raumverhältnissen auf der ursprünglichen Tafel eher gerecht, wenn man annimmt, dass Fx und Fy den unteren Rand der Rückseite repräsentieren. Für den Text von Fragment B wäre auf der Vs. von F genug Raum. B könnte sogar noch bis zum Beginn der Rs. in der rechten Kolumne reichen, ehe A 9′–25′ (= Fy) einsetzen (siehe fig. 1). Mit Fx gelangte man entsprechender Weise bis unmittelbar vor das Ende der I. Kolumne des TNE. Dorthin gehörte demnach auch die nun bekannt gewordene Episode mit der Erwähnung des hethitischen Königs. Mit der hier vorgeschlagenen Rekonstruktion von F wäre der logische Zusammenhang am Übergang von Kolumne I zu II des TNE gefunden und Fragment F böte tatsächlich, wie zuvor bereits für VAT 10722+ vermutet, lediglich einen Ausschnitt aus dem TNE, in diesem Fall die I. Kolumne (siehe fig. 2). 19 Während in den genannten Fällen die Identifizierung dadurch gesichert ist, dass bereits vorliegende Textpassagen dupliziert werden, kann ein Fragment, das nicht unmittelbar an Bekanntes anschließt, allein aufgrund inhaltlicher und phraseologischer Übereinstimmungen zugeordnet werden. Immerhin ist noch ein erheblicher Teil des Werkes nicht bekannt. Zu prüfen sind Kandidaten wie etwa VAT 10447, ein großes Fragment aus Assur mit dem Rest von zwei Kolumnen auf beiden Seiten. Der linke Rand ist nicht erhalten, es fehlt aber kaum mehr als ein Zeichen. Somit repräsentiert das Fragment Reste der beiden ersten und letzten Kolumnen des ursprünglichen Textes, d. h. Teile von Anfang und Ende eines umfangreichen literarischen Werkes. Es ist in mittelassyrischem Duktus geschrieben, der dem des oben behandelten Fragments VAT 10722+ sehr nahe kommt. Der Fluß 15. Die bis dahin einzige Erwähnung von Hethitern im TNE erfolgte in einem stark zerstörten Kontext (Machinist 1978: 80–81 A II 40′ [   ur]-⸢dam⸣-ma Ḫa-at-tu-ú [   ] . . . “es [sti]eg der Hethiter herab . . .” 16.  Jakob 2009: 10–11. 17.  Cancik-Kirschbaum 1996: 124–25 (Nr. 7:18′–29′). 18.  Jakob 2011: 204–5. 19.  Es wäre an dieser Stelle zu fragen, ob das TNE ursprünglich generell auf 6 Tafeln ausgelegt war und der sechskolumnigen Ausgabe aus Ninive (Textvertreter A–C) eine Sonderstellung zukommt.

264

Stefan Jakob

Fig. 1.

der Erzählung lässt sich allerdings aufgrund des Erhaltungszustandes nur schwer nachvollziehen, vor allem auf der stark abgeriebenen Seite B. Sicher ist, dass zumindest dort eine Reihe von termini technici erwähnt werden, die eindeutig dem militärischen Vokabular zugehörig sind. An einer Stelle wird Tukultī-Ninurta in seiner Funktion als König von Assur explizit erwähnt: ⸢IISKIM⸣-dMAŠ MAN Aš-šur (Seite B 12′). Dieser Titel ist, in unterschiedlichen Schreibweisen, aus offiziellen Inschriften Tukultī-Ninurtas I. gut bekannt, 20 findet sich aber bisher an keiner Stelle im TNE. Während Kaštiliaš in der Regel als “kassitischer König” (šarru kaššû) gekennzeichnet ist, kommt an der bisher einzigen Stelle, an der sich der Dichter des Epos auf Tukultī-Ninurta (freilich ohne ihn namentlich zu erwähnen) als König bezieht, nur ein Epitheton vor, das keinen unmittelbaren Bezug auf das Land oder den Gott Aššur aufweist. 21 Seite A 15′–18′ wird der Königstitel mit dem Bild des Herrschers als Hirte (der Menschen) verbunden: 20.  Grayson 1987: MAN KUR da-šur (RIMA 1, A.0.78.1 i 2); MAN KUR aš-šur (RIMA 1, A.0.78.2: 1, 15); MAN KUR daš-šur (RIMA 1, A.0.78.6: 2) und passim. 21.  „Die Weisung des starken Königs . . . (ʾu-ur-ti MAN dan-ni . . . A IV 24′).

Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ?

265

Seite A 15′ [  ]-dMAŠ MAN lúSIPA-ši-na [  16′ [  ]⸢A⸣.MEŠ ÍD la ka-la-a i-ri-di x[   17′ [IISKI]M-dMAŠ MAN SIPA-ši-na ⸢ti?⸣-[   18′ [  ]A.MEŠ ÍD la-a ka-la-a i-⸢ri-di⸣ [  

] ] ] ]



] ] ] ]

[Tukultī]-Ninurta, der König, ihr Hirte [ [   ] die ungebändigten Wasser des Flusses leitet er . . . [ [Tukultī]-Ninurta, der König, ihr Hirte [ [   ] die ungebändigten Wasser des Flusses leitet er . . . [

Die Verwendung des Titels „König“ ohne attributives Adjektiv ist selten, aber nicht gänzlich ohne Parallele, wie die Inschrift auf einem Symbolsockel Tukultī-Ninurtas I. zeigt. 22 Dagegen ist das Epitheton „Hirte“ ein geläufiger Teil der Titulatur dieses Königs. 23 Z. 16′ und 18′ scheinen sich ebenfalls unmittelbar auf Tukultī-Ninurta als Akteur beziehen. Es sei hier an jene Stelle Lugale Z. 347–59 erinnert, derzufolge der Gott Ninurta im Auftrag Enlils die in ihrem ungelenkten Lauf für die Felder bedrohlichen Wassermassen aus dem Gebirge gezielt in den Tigris leitet. 24 Der Kontext lässt aber keine sicheren Schlüsse hinsichtlich eines eventuellen Vergleiches des Gottes und jenes Königs, der ihn in seinem Namen führt, zu. Erschwerend kommt hinzu, dass in den vorangehenden, nahezu identischen Zeilen ein anderer Königsname erscheint: 13′ [  ]-⸢a?⸣-šu MAN lúSIPA-ši-na [   14′ [A.ME]Š ÍD la ka-la-a i-ri-⸢di⸣ [  

] ]



] ]

[   ]-ašu(?), der König, ihr Hirte [   [   die ungebändig]ten Wasser des Flusses leitet er [

Da ein auf –šu auslautender Name eines assyrischen Herrschers nicht bekannt ist, sei an dieser Stelle vorgeschlagen, es könne sich um den babylonischen Widersacher Tukultī-Ninurtas I, Kaštiliaš IV. handeln. Wenn man die im TNE übliche Schreibweise zugrundelegt, wäre folgendermaßen zu ergänzen: [IKaš-til-a]-⸢a⸣-šu. Es scheint angesichts der durchweg negativen und respektlosen Charakterzeichnung des Kaštiliaš, wie sie uns im TNE begegnet allerdings problematisch, dass er hier in der gleichen Weise als Handelnder erschiene wie der assyrische König und so mit diesem als gleichrangig gelten dürfte. 25 Mit anderen Worten: Wenn der Text sich tatsächlich auf den Konflikt zwischen Tukultī-Ninurta I. und Kaštiliaš IV. bezieht, tut er das in einer Weise, die innerhalb des TNE nicht zu erwarten wäre. Immerhin wird ausreichend deutlich, dass es sich um einen Text handelt, der historische Inhalte in einer epischen Form darbietet, wie einige Beispiele zeigen sollen: Seite A 19′ [  ]-⸢da?⸣-ki UGU KUR-šu ša te-bi-ru [   I]D? 20′ [  ]-ki ⸢UN⸣.MEŠ-šu ša šud-lu-⸢pa⸣ [  ]x

[   ] . . . über sein Land, das du überschreitest [  ] [   ] . . . seine Leute, die geplagt sind [  ] . . .

21′ [  -ḫu/r ]i?-ki a-na qar-ra-di-šu ⸢ka⸣-[ 



[     ] . . . zu seinen Kriegern . . . [ 

]⸢GAL?⸣ ] . . .

22.  RIMA 1, A.0.78.27: 3 mGIŠ.tukul-ti-dnin-urta MAN. 23.  Seux 1967: 244–46. 24.  Annus 2002: 127. 25.  Für Kaštiliaš als Hirte seines Volkes s. Machinist 1978: 64 B I 35′ ⸢it⸣-ti par-ri-ki SIPA-ši-na sab-su . . . “von dem Eigenwilligen, ihrem Hirte, wendeten sie (die Götter) sich ab. . .”.

266

Stefan Jakob

Fig. 2.



31′ [i+n]a?-an-na mu-ši-rib gišTUKULm[eš] x [ 32′ [  ṭup-p]u?-šu ⸢i+na ŠU DUMU?⸣ [ši]-ip-ri [

[J]etzt? bringt er Waffen hinein . . .[  Seine [Taf]el? in der Hand des Boten? [ 

] ] ] ]

Seite B 11′ [UNme]š-šu lid-mu-ma ⸢i+na⸣ nu-be-e

xx



] . . . [   ]



[   ] seine Leute sollen jammern in der Wehklage [

22′ [  .ME]Š? ša um-ma-na i-ni-ʾi  (leer) ⸢d?⸣x [



[   ] ihre . . . er wendete das Heer . . . [

[   ]

] ]

Keine der zitierten Stellen lässt sich sprachlich oder inhaltlich unmittelbar mit dem Text des TNE in Verbindung bringen. Die Wahrscheinlichkeit, dass VAT 10447 zugehörig ist, scheint gering. Wenn es sich aber bei dem König, der Seite a 13′ erwähnt wird, tatsächlich um Kaštliaš IV. handelt, dürfte sich das Werk dennoch auf Ereignisse aus der Zeit Tukultī-Ninurtas I. beziehen, die im Zusammenhang mit dem assyrisch-babylonischen Konflikt zu sehen sind. Das TNE wäre dann nicht mehr die einzige Komposition jener Periode, die den assyrischen Sieg in ausführlicher Weise würdigt. Das wäre auch hinsichtlich der Entstehungsgeschichte des TNE von großer Bedeutung, indem es möglicherweise neben der bekannten Fassung des sechskolumnigen (bzw. 6 Tafeln umfassende) Epos weitere Versuche gab, die für beide Seiten prägenden Ereignisse in literarischer Form zu verarbeiten. Da der Gegner in VAT 10447 nicht zweifelfrei zu identifizieren ist, sollte andererseits nicht ausgeschlossen werden, dass sich der Text auf einen anderen Feldzug

Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos zum Ersten, zum Zweiten und zum. . . ?

267

Tukultī-Ninurtas I. bezieht. Angesichts des bezeugten Umfangs von wenigstens zwei Kolumnen pro Seite wäre die Existenz eines solchen Werkes allerdings nicht weniger bemerkenswert. Wenn es aber sogar aus der Regierungszeit jenes einen Königs bereits zwei epische Erzählungen gäbe, könnte man vermuten, dass Entsprechendes, wenn auch je nach historischer Entwicklung bzw. der Persönlichkeit eines Herrschers möglicherweise in geringerem Ausmaß, auch bei einer Reihe anderer assyrischer Könige der Fall war, wir aber (noch) nicht über den schriftlichen Nachweis verfügen. Vielleicht sind epische Texte aus mA Zeit bisher überhaupt erst zu einem geringen Teil entdeckt bzw. als solche erkannt. Das TNE verlöre seinen Nimbus als zweckgebundenes Instrument der Propaganda, das eigens dazu ersonnen wurde, um juristisch fragwürdiges Handeln eines individuellen Königs vor dem eigenen Volk zu rechtfertigen. 26 Es erschiene vielmehr als ein, gleichwohl herausragender, Vertreter eines Genres, das spätestens zwei Generationen vor Tukultī-Ninurta mit Adad-nērārī I. einsetzt und bis in die nA Periode fortlebt. Die alte Reichshauptstadt Assur kann hier, wie bereits die gezeigten Beispiele verdeutlichen und wie nach einer systematischen Aufarbeitung der im Vorderasiatischen Museum zu Berlin befindlichen Fragmente zu erwarten sein wird, ganz sicher einen wichtigen Beitrag leisten. 26.  Mayer 1995: 50; 215–20.

Literatur Annus A. 2002 The God Ninurta in the Mythology and Royal Ideology of Ancient Mesopotamia. SAA 14. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Brinkman, J. A. 1976 Materials and Studies for Kassite History, vol. 1: A Catalogue of Cuneiform Sources Pertaining to Specific Monarchs of the Kassite Dynasty. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Cancik-Kirschbaum, E. Ch. 1996 Die mittelassyrischen Briefe aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad. BATSH 4, Texte 1. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Foster, B. R. 2005 Before The Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature. 3rd ed. Bethesda: CDL. Grayson, A. K. 1975 Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. TCS 5. Locust Valley: J. J. Augustin. 1987 Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennium BC (to 1115 BC). RIMA 1. Toronto, Buffalo und London: University of Toronto Press. Hecker, K. 2015 Akkadische Epen. 1. Das Tukultī-Ninurta-Epos. S. 75–88 in Weisheitstexte, Mythen und Epen, Hrsg. B. Janowski und D. Schwemer. TUAT NF 8. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Jakob, S. 2009 Die mittelassyrischen Texte aus Tell Chuēra in Nordost-Syrien. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz.

268

Stefan Jakob

2011 Das Osttigrisgebiet im strategischen Konzept mittelassyrischer Könige zwischen 1350 und 1056 v. Chr. S. 191–208 in Between the Cultures: The Central Tigris Region from the 3rd to the 1st Millennium BC. Conference at Heidelberg, January 22nd– 24th, 2009, Hrsg. P. A. Miglus und S. Mühl. HSAO 14. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Lambert, W. G. 1957 Three Unpublished Fragments of the Tukulti-Ninurta Epic. AfO 18: 38–51. Machinist, P. 1978 The Epic of Tukulti-Ninurta I: A Study of Middle Assyrian Literature. Ph.D. Dissertation. Yale University. Mayer, W. 1995 Politik und Kriegskunst der Assyrer. ALASPM 9. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Seux, J.-M. 1967 Épithètes royales akkadiennes et sumériennes. Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Thompson, R. C., und Hutchinson, R. W. 1929 The Excavations on the Temple of Nabû at Nineveh. Archaeologia 79: 103–48. Weidner, E. F. 1963 Assyrische Epen über die Kassiten-Kämpfe. AfO 20: 113–16.

Part 4

City and State

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver Mardin

Introduction Building a wall is the signal of organisational thinking, reflecting a political rule and control as well as protection of an area like a territory, being also often a cultural or/and an environmental demarcation line. The walls mark spatial limits, boundaries, borders or frontiers between outsiders and insiders. In the material sense they are tangible limits of space. To look for such remains we can search for evidence both in written and archaeological sources. Often literary sources play a major role in interpreting the cases such as the fall of Ur and the end of the Sumerian civilization in Mesopotamia. Exceptions are the well-known studies by T. Jacobsen and R. McC. Adams (1958), as well as R. McC. Adams and H. Nissen (1972) that initially brought environmental and archaeological factors to be discussed. In the case of Egypt, such proponents as K. Butzer (1966, 1976) and B. Bell (1971, 1975) raised these aspects in the studies of the development of the Egyptian civilization. Indeed, beside the written sources we need also to look at environmental, topographical and material evidence that archaeological studies can provide to attain a holistic picture of the past. There are at least three rather coterminous building projects of walls in the Ancient Near East in the shift from the third to the second millennium b.c.e. These walls are: the Mardu/Martu wall, the Amorite wall (RIME 3/2: 290) in Mesopotamia, Un Très Long Mur, i.e., A Very Long Wall, between the agricultural lands and the steppe of western Syria east of Hama (Geyer et al. 2010) and in Egypt various wall projects starting from the First Intermediate Period especially exemplified by the Walls of the Ruler in Wadi Tumilat (Hoffmeier 2006: 8) to protect the Delta zone of the Nile (Fig. 1). As far as these walls are concerned, there are differences in the evidence of them that we have at our disposal: from the Mardu/Martu wall in Mesopotamia and the fortifications in the Delta zone of Egypt the evidence is chiefly textual, while the evidence of Un Très Long Mur in Syria is solely archaeological and topographical. We shall first look at the evidence of a climate change dating to the end of the third millennium b.c.e., and whether it can be interpreted as a reason either direct or indirect for erecting the mentioned walls, especially the Mardu/Martu wall. In the course of decades scholars have either emphasized or ignored the movement of the Amorites as a pressure to the agricultural lands of Mesopotamia in the end of 271

272

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

Fig. 1.  The approximate locations of the contemporaneous walls in Mesopotamia, Syria and Egypt in the Ancient Near East. The walls date from the shift of the third millennium b.c.e. (the Early Bronze Age) to the beginning of the second millennium b.c.e. (the Middle Bronze Age). Mapping: Minna Silver 2015.

the third millennium b.c.e. I have previously asked in two articles questions related to the present inquiry, namely: Were the Nomadic Amorites on the Move? (Lönnqvist 2008) and How to Control Nomads? (Lönnqvist 2010a). From the historical records of Ur we know that Amorites made incursions and built pressure to Southern Mesopotamia, although the final blow to the Ur III state and the Sumerian civilization came from the Elamites (Potts 1999: 142). But in the famous Lament on Sumer and Ur (Black et al. [ed.] 2004: 127–41), Tidnum, that is associated with the Amorites, bears also responsibity for the fall of Ur (Michalowski 2011: 116). Traditionally the mountainous region of Jebel Bishri has appeared as the central habitat of pastoral and tribal Amorites in the third millennium b.c.e. (Lönnqvist 2008: 201), although various other locations have also been searched for and suggested. We shall review the evidence concerning the environmental situation and effects of a climate change on pastoral nomads. As we are currently undergoing another climate change our point of view here derives from the modern remotesensing methods using satellite imagery and ethnoarchaeological research on the ground in Syria carried out by the Finnish project SYGIS under the leadership of the present author. Our studies have dealt with the impact of desertification and en-

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

273

vironmental changes on pastoralists and their movement associated with the mountainous region of Jebel Bishri (Lönnqvist et al. 2010, 2011: 371–98). H. Weiss (2013: 367–68) refers to the situation in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. as an abrupt climate change in the Near East. This is one of the questions that needs to be looked at more closely, and the evidence can be traced in various sources to retrieve a picture that takes into account chronological and spatial variety. The chronologies and spatial varieties of phenomena are important factors in archaeological and historical interpretation and cannot be overlooked in the process of cultural development.

The Climate Change at the End of the Third Millennium b.c.e. In various areas of the globe evidence has been retrieved of a climate change dating to the 4200–4100 cal yr BP, namely ca. 2200–2100 b.c.e. (Goudie 2012: 8), and some scholars have extended the evidence to stretch even to the periods of 4200–3900 BP, namely 2200–1900 b.c.e. (Weiss 2013: 372) and 2400–1700 b.c.e. (Fiorentino et al. 2012: 25). The desiccation process of the Saharan lakes took place at the end of the third millennium b.c.e., and the Egyptian texts record drought and famine that started in the First Intermediate period (2130–1960 b.c.e.) ending the flourishing Old Kingdom (Bell 1971, 1975). By 2000 b.c.e. the desert environment had taken over the Negev (Rosen 2002–14). The Red Sea sediments and the core of the Gulf of Oman also testify a dry event at the period (Goudie 2012: 8, Cullen et al. 2000: 379–82). The study of proxy data in Mesopotamia has provided further substantial evidence (Issar and Zohar 2004: 18). Arid spells occurred both in 5.2. and 4.2. kyr BP in the Mediterranean and Southwestern Asian sphere. There was dust input and decline in rain-fed agriculture as well as site abandonments (Kaniewski et al. 2012: 3862) that led to difficulties in Syria at the end of the third millennium b.c.e. A volcanic erruption has also been seen as the reason for the increased aridity and wind circulation ca. 2200 b.c.e. in Syria. That ultimately has been seen as the cause of the fall of the Akkadian empire based on the collected environmental evidence in the Habur region in Northeastern Syria (Weiss et al. 1993: 995). In radiocarbon AMS tests stable carbon isotopes have been studied from plant remains derived from Ebla and Qatna in western Syria showing the start of aridification in the third millennium b.c.e., and the evidence seems to be somewhat comparable to the data acquired from the Dead Sea shore displacements and the Soreq cave speleotherms in central and western Palestine (Israel). The change towards aridity is visible in the Ebla–Qatna curve already ca. 2600 b.c.e., but there was a slight change to more humid conditions in 2400 b.c.e. A longer period of drought started ca. 2300 b.c.e. in the Near East in general continuing to ca. 1700 b.c.e. (Fiorentino et al. 2012: 25–27). The situation in the western Syria seems therefore to differ from central and eastern Syria the desiccation already starting in the mid-third millennium b.c.e. Beside the expanding drought in the Jezira in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. at the same time signs of overwhelming flooding in other areas, like on the Upper Euphrates, have been detected as a reason for site abandonments at that time (Peltenburg 2007: 247–48). In Turkey Titriş Höyük also brings evidence of new ruralised landscape of the area after the end of the Early Bronze Age in the course of the environmental

274

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

change (Algaze and Poumelle 2003: 115). A. S. Issar and M. Zohar (2004: 131) state that the climate change of the third millennium b.c.e. was one of the most serious ones during the whole Holocene. As indicated, the archaeological evidence pertaining to settlement life in Syria and Palestine accordingly shows that several sites were abandoned in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. However, nowadays continuity in the settlement life in the side of modern Jordan is more visible than was earlier thought. This has created a nuanced picture of rural life that included some urban centres as well (Parr [ed.] 2009, passim). However, in Syria beside abandonments there are also signs of site destruction, and a few sites were also destroyed in Palestine. The signs of destruction can be interpreted as enemy attacks or invasions depending on the signs of cultural change in stratigraphic site sequences (Lönnqvist 2008: 205–206). Pastoral nomadism and village-based agriculture spread substituting more clearly the citylife of the Early Bronze Age at a number of sites in Palestine, especially those that were located on desert fringes. In Palestine this period became to be known as the Intermediate Bronze Age (the EBIV/MBI period) for being coeval with the First Intermediate Period of Egypt. Evidence based on speleothems from lava tubes have been used to study the climate in the Black Desert of Jordan that belongs to the North Arabian Desert bordered by the Syrian Desert. These studies connected to the ancient city of Jawa have concentrated on the questions related to the arid zone during the Late Chalcolithic and Early Bronze Age. There is evidence that negative symptoms may cause systems to collapse, but in the case of Jawa the water harvesting helped to cope with aridity in this dry farming area (Frumkin et al. 2008). The Golan Heights in northern Palestine seem to provide evidence that is exceptional. The pollen data retrieved from the Birkat Ram craterlake does not point to any drought during the Intermediate Bronze Age (i.e., the EBIV/MBI period). The values are still high and Mediterranean conditions seem to have prevailed during the period. On the other hand, a curious thing is the diminishing settlement life there as well, like in the rest of Palestine, and pastoral nomadism seems to have prevailed there, too (Neumann et al. 2007: 336). In any event, the Golan Heights have been some kind of a buffer zone on which environmental changes have not affected the data in the same way as in other areas (Neumann et al. 2007). The situation is different in central Palestine, where rainfall is usually abundant but where long periods of diminished rainfall can have a strong impact (Western 1971). The Early Bronze Age and the Intermediate Bronze Age bring a number of dolmens, megalithic tomb structures, to the Golan (Neumann et al. 2007: 338), although some may date from earlier periods. These megalithic funerary monuments are often connected to pastoral people in the area. But there are other tomb types that also seem to reflect the tribal and mobile groups of the period in Syria-Palestine. I have earlier discussed the phenomenon of agro-pastoralism connected to rock-cut shaft-graves on the Mediterranean and riverine zones in the Levant, and tumuli, burial mounds, or cairns that were preferred by more nomadic groups in the Greater Southwest Asian arid zone (see Zarins 1992) signalling the economy and tribal structures of the societies (Lönnqvist 2010b). During the Intermediate Bronze Age after a destruction of Jericho in Palestine the abandoned tell site is rebuilt with flimsy structures of pastoral nomadic groups (Kenyon 1954: 56–58), and a large shaft-grave cemetery associated with pastoral nomads appears in Jericho (Kenyon

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

275

1960: 180–262). Similar evidence of a large cemetery has been attained at Bâb edhDhraʿ in Jordan near the Dead Sea (Schaub and Rast 1989: 473) and elsewhere in Palestine during the Intermediate Bronze Age.

Environmental Problems for the Irrigated Fields of Sumer The so-called abrupt climate change may not have had immediate effects in southern Mesopotamia as early as 2300 b.c.e. like was the case further northwest in Syria — and we may wonder whether the overall change actually was that sudden. The first proxy-signs are seen in the area of Syria, and the abandonment of sites in northern Mesopotamia is fixed to ca. 2200 b.c.e. (Ristvet 2012: 37). There is evidence from the sea core in the Arabian Gulf district indicating that the aridity hit southern Mesopotamia 4025±125 yr BP persisting for 300 years (Cullen et al. 2000). However, as far as the situation of Ur is concerned, the large marginal error of this dating does not provide much means for the specific studies of the effects of the climatic change. The evidence from southern Mesopotamia attests canal building under king Urnammu (2112–2095 b.c.e.) and his son Šulgi (2094–2047 b.c.e.) during the Ur III dynasty producing abundantly of fish, birds, reed and fodder for cattle before the threat of the Martu (Amorite) incursions. This prosperity was seen as the result of the existence of the divine kingship in Nippur and Ur (Flückiger-Hawker 1999: 77). Still in ca. 2400 b.c.e. the ratios and revenues of agricultural lands of Girsu had been the subject of a wonder by the modern standards, but there was a falling trend towards 2100 b.c.e. and a very low point in 1700 b.c.e. (Jacobsen and Adams 1958). Let us look at some textual excerpts from the famous Lament on Sumer and Ur (Black et al. [ed.] 2004: 127–41), a later text that has been generally interpreted as describing enemy invasions and destruction in the land of Sumer. Interestingly in the Lament there seems to be a reference to a great storm, floods and famine, also drought is mentioned as an agent accompanied with enemy incursions, such as those of the Gutians preceding the final Elamite invasion. In the Lament a violent flood took over and a storm blew over cities, even changing the courses of the Euphrates and the Tigris. The water became brackish and the fields turned to grow weeds. These kinds of changes in the river channels have indeed been traced in fieldworks (Adams 1981: 49, Adams and Nissen 1972: 56) and in satellite image analyses (Lönnqvist et al. 2007). Woods and orchards were drawn from their roots and fruits were stripped off from the trees, and the crop downed. The storm came over Umma affecting the brickwork in the midst of the highland. Then in Urim no one went to fetch food, no one went to fetch water. Those who went to fetch food, went away from the food and will not return. The Elamite invasion took place, and there is a reference that the Tidnumites were participating: The Tidnum daily strapped the mace to their loins (ll. 251–59). God Enlil answered mentioning the destruction of the city, the great wall and the walls with broken battlement (ll. 460–74). The storm, however, had affected foreign lands as well: The storm that blew over Sumer blew over foreign lands. It had blown over Tidnum, over Gutium, over Anšan as well, and there was famine allover (ll. 489–92). The description of environmental catastrophes could merely be symbolic way to express the arrival and desolation caused by the enemy troops or a curse if we follow the tense of another

276

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

translation referring to the future (see Michalowski 2011: 116). But when reading the Lament with the environmental evidence available one may gather here an echo that reflects the actual events that preceded and that were coeval with the arrival of the enemies. If there was any kernel of truth in the description of the Lament, could we here have some possible explanation also for the change of the fortune of the Sumerian civilization that made it more vulnerable to enemy attacks? The reference that the storm and famine affected Tidnum as well should also be considered in the light of pastoral evidence. M. Rowton (1973: 252) has emphasized the narrowness of the alluvial plain limiting the arable land. The area becomes more vulnerable to salinization than the Mediterranean and Monsoonal regions where rainfall can wash away the excessive amounts of salts. In the arid land geomorphology salt plains are met as a phenomenon typical of the areas with low precipitation (Shaw and Thomas 2000: 293–17). Already in the 1950s, T. Jacobsen and R. McC. Adams (1958) suggested that the fall of the Sumerian civilization was caused by salinization and the silting up of the irrigation canals. The evidence from the Diyala Valley was collected consisting of both archaeological and textual evidence. Further on Adams and Nissen (1972) and Adams (1981) followed this line in their studies of Uruk and Nippur. M. Gibson (1974: 15) has suggested that in Sumer, the central authority was mismanaging the irrigation systems and this also increased salinization leading to more serious circumstances. The effective methods to combat were adapted only in modern Iraq, but how the Sumerians coped with environmental hazards are still under a debate. For example, M. A. Powell (1985) and some others have criticized the salinization theory. More recently M. Altaweel (2013) has applied simulation techniques to study the situation and has come to the conclusion that the salinization needed not to have been a big problem for a long period. We also know that the Sumerians changed from wheat to barley that sustains salinization better. It is, however, evident that drought quickens salinization. Drought and salinization together dominantly diminish agricultural productivity. But it is also to be kept in mind that the fall of agricultural ratios does not have to directly be connected with the climate or mismanagement of the fields. The war brings famine as the agriculture cannot be carried out in the same extent when fields have been turned to battlefields.

The Defensive Mardu Wall against the Tidnum The building of the bàd ma-da, Wall of the Land, the Wall Facing the Highland (Michalowski 2011: 137), to protect Ur is known to have already been started during the reign of Šulgi. The length of this wall probably reached ca. 63 km (Wilcke 1969/1970: 9–12). But a special reference is made by the end of the Early Bronze Age that king Šū-Sîn (2037–2029 b.c.e.) built Muriq Tidnim (ca. 2034 b.c.e.), i.e., the Mardu wall, the Amorite wall, which keeps away the Tidnum (RIME 3/2: 293). The project of building bàd ma-da was followed by the Mardu wall. The threat of the Tidnuminates, identified as a group that belonged to the Amorites, was felt in Ur. One text describes the incursions: that the hostile Amorites have entered the plains (Buccellati 1966: 332). Another one mentions the Amorites, a ravaging people with canine instincts, like wolves (ibidem). An Ur III letter by Šū-Sîn states that the Amorites are evil and have minds like beasts, like wolves, and reference is made to

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

277

their sheepfolds and their ignorance of urban life (E3/2.1.4.1 v 24–29 [RIME 3/2: 299]). The man, who was responsible for the building of the great wall Muriq Tidnim, was Šarrum-bāni, the high commissioner. He wrote to Šū-Sîn, how the Mardu, the Amorites, were descending upon the land: You comissioned me to carry out construction on the great fortifications (bàd gal) of Muriq-Tidnim and presented your views to me as follows: “The Amorites have repeatedly raided the frontier territory.” You commanded me to rebuild the fortifications, to cut off their access, and thus to prevent them from repeatedly overwhelming the fields through a breach (in the defenses) between the Tigris and Euphrates (Michalowski 2011, letter 18, ll. 1–7). He further continued: When I had been working on the fortifications that then measured 26 dana (269 km) after having reached (the areas) between the two mountain ranges, the Amorite camped in the mountains turned his attention to my building activities (ll. 11–13). The wall in another estimation reached the length of ca. 280 km during Šū-Sîn’s reign (Wilcke 1969/1970: 9). The location, physical structure and the appearance of Muriq Tidnim, the Mardu wall, have been discussed by several scholars. Some locate the wall into the area between Abgal canal to Simudar as the text above mentions, others have even included the areas from Umm Ra’us through Habbanije lake continuing through the Jezira to Samarra (see Wilcke 1969/1970: 9). Weiss et al. (1993: 995, Fig. 1) located the wall from Badigihursaga and Simudar. P. Michalowski (2011: 116) points to the Diyala region, where Simudar has been located (Frayne 2008: 36). Unfortunately there is no archaeological evidence that has been traced to the remains of this wall or rampart. We need to take into account the described length of the wall that ŠūSîn built and the account of the building project that mentions Simudar (see Fig. 1). Interestingly, over 2000 years later the Great Wall of Gorgan was similarly erected to prevent Central Asian nomads invading Persia. This wall was built of bricks and remains of it are visible still today. (Malian et al. in press). Actually Muriq Tidnim may have been a very early example and possible prototype of the rampart fortification system that became in vogue in Syro-Mesopotamia, Palestine and Egypt in the course of the Middle Bronze Age developing into the exquisite glacis constructions (see Burke 2008: 10). Whether there was a fosse or a moat system in place in Muriq Tidnim as well is difficult to judge with the present evidence but the earlier construction process of the bàd ma-da indicates for the existence of a such. Interestingly, the moats are traced to the canal systems of the irrigated lands and bankments constructed to prevent overflooding (Burke 2008: 58). This application of the system could also have been used. We shall in due course discuss a contemporary fortification system in Egypt with a canal construction. There is later evidence from the building projects from Syria by using earth and bricks, often in forming a double wall, and the existence of water moats amrimmum that protected sites that were walled. There even were methods to make such ditches waterproof with bitumen and then cover them with lime plaster (Sasson 1969: 4). Two Sumerian kings, namely Šulgi and Šū-Sîn, who built the walls, are also told to have led military campaigns against the Tidnum and Iaʾmadium during the Ur III period (RIME 3/2: 290). Šū-Sîn is told to have returned the “foot” of the Amorites to their land, and a victory over the Tidnuminites took place by avenging their staff. There is a reference to their leaders against whom king of Ur fought a battle apparently in the Transtigridian areas. However, despite the boasting this was not

278

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

the final solution as the Sumerians had to erect a wall to protect the land from the incursions. The Iaʾmadium, like the Tidnum, form a subgroup of the Amorites (Michalowski 2011: 114). There is an ongoing discussion, where to locate the people that were called “Tidnum.” The Tidnum have been interpreted as representing a primeval Amorite tribe, and the etymological connection to the names Dedan and Didanu has been traced by some scholars (see Astour 2002: 116). In the Assyrian King List a king bearing the name Didanu is the ninth of the kings, who were living in tents–a reference to nomadism. It has been suggested that the early kings were not residing in Assur but were tribal leaders. There were total of 17 kings that used to live in tents, and their names refer to the Semitic origins (Poebel 1942: 252, Kraus 1965). P. Michalowski (2011: 116), like A. Porter (2009: 206), locates Tidnum to the east, in the Tigris and the Diyala region. In their view the Amorite entity is only representing agropastoralists in the Jezira and the Tigris area. This view is following in the line of much earlier ideas expressed by B. Landsberger (1924: 236–38) and T. Bauer (1926: 90), who already identified the East Tigridian area as the Amorite homeland based on the title of Kudur-mabuk and his forefathers ad-da KURMAR.DU. I. Gelb (1961: 31), however, interpreted the connection to the Tigris and the east as a secondary development in the process of the spread of the Amorites — the view that I share. The Tidnum in the vicinity of Muriq Tidnim (Michalowski 2011: 116) can be a periodic situation and a partial picture that is applicable to ca. 2100–2000 b.c.e., and therefore needs further evidence to be evaluated. Gudea had brought large stones of marble/gypsum/alabaster from Tidnum, the Mountain of MAR.TU (Gudea, Statue B vi 13–16). Furthermore, he had also transported na-stone (basalt?) from Basalla, the Mountain of MAR.TU (Gudea, Statue B vi 5–12), and Basalla is identified with the mountain of Jebel Bishri in central Syria. In the narratives of the conquest there can be the question of a topos concerning the victory over the land of Tidnum. The Akkadian kings Naram-Sîn (see RIME 2: 91–92) and Šar-kali-šarrī (MAD 1 268: 6–9) had namely earlier also carried out similar campaigns the Amorites in the mountainous region of Jebel Bishri. At that time the Amorite chiefs in the region were referred to as being vassals of Sumerians (RIME 2: 92–93). Interestingly, in the Drehem texts Jebel Bishri appears as a deified mountain to which a lamb was offered with another lamb beside god Amurru (Dhorme 1912, Pl. 1, text 3: 3). If the earlier mentioned Iaʾmadium has any connection with Yamhad, it would be logical that Tidnum is in the region of Jebel Bishri on the way to Yamhad following the Euphrates bank. As far as Tidnum as a source of basalt and marble/alabaster/gypsum is concerned, it perfectly fits with Jebel Bishri, where archaeological surveys led by the present author have even identified basalt areas and marble/alabaster/gypsum quarries along the Euphrates and port sites such as Tell Tibne and Tell Kharita providing archaeological evidence of the Sumerian impact (Lönnqvist et al. 2011: 218–25). Beneath Jebel Bishri the emergence of numerous sedentary sites, like Tell Tibne and Tell Kharita, is clearly visible in the Early Bronze Age. Some of them represent pastoral and tribal features (Lönnqvist et al. 2011: 233–37). The large shaftgrave cemetery of Abu Hamed on the mountain piedmont of Jebel Bishri facing the Euphrates dates from the EBIV period, and in my view represents agro-pastoralist and tribal groups comparable to the later Benjaminites, an Amorite tribe, and their tribal area described in the Mari texts (see Falb et al. 2005, Lönnqvist 2010b). Interestingly this graveyard has parallels not only in the Middle Euphrates and western

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

279

Syria but also in several sites in Palestine, such as those mentioned in Jericho and Bâb edh-Dhraʿ cemeteries. I prefer to see a broader picture from an archaeological perspective. The existence of the Amorites in the west in the third and second millennia b.c.e. does not exclude their spread to the Jezira and the Tigris in the east as seen from the more documented situation in the second millennium b.c.e. The distribution seems to be a chronological as well as a spatial phenomenon. The distribution may be connected with the environmental circumstances that triggered the movement during the Akkadian and Ur III periods. The rate of the movement could have followed the rate of the spreading of the drought. One should not exclusively think that the Ur III evidence is all that is at our disposal, but that there is earlier evidence from Syria that needs to be taken into account as well.

Sedentism, Desertification, and Pastoral Mobility As far as the chronology of the data referring to the Amorites is concerned, the first designation MAR.TU, i.e., “Amorite” already appears in connection with a person bearing a Sumerian name in the texts from Fara (Šuruppak) and dates to ca. 2600 b.c.e. (VAT 127 29, see Wilcke 1969/1970: 28). Then the word MAR.TU starts occurring in the area of Emar and Tuttul in the Ebla texts found in Syria and dating to the 24th century b.c.e. (Archi 1985: 8, Streck 2000: 30–31). The MAR.TU (Archi 1985) seem to have also been under the changing domination of Ebla and Mari in the region (see Archi and Biga 2003) before the indications of any major Amorite movements. The MAR.TU even had a kingdom of their own known as MAR.DU-ki which was led by a king, en, and governors, lugal, with elders in the 24th century b.c.e. (TM.75.G.1769, TM.75.G.2279, see Archi 1985: 8, 12). One ruler of MAR.DU-ki, who appears as lugal, even bears the personal name “A-mu-ti” (TM.75.G.1769, see Archi 1985: 12). In the Sumerian texts, however, lugal is generally a higher title given to the king of Ur. In Šu-Šin’s texts this higher title lugal is even used for the rulers of Tidnum and Ia’amadium, while the lower title énsi was used for the powerful ruler of Anšan (cf. Michalowski 2011: 115). As mentioned, interestingly the early contacts with the Amorites appear to have taken place in between Emar and Tuttul, the latter site identified as Tall Bi’a at the confluence of the Euphrates and the Balikh beneath the mountain of Jebel Bishri. However, the exact location of MAR.DU-ki has remained obscure. Some have suggested that it existed in the neighbourhood of Jebel Bishri (Astour 1992: 54–55), and I have recently presented a hypothesis locating the centre of the kingdom to Tuttul (Tall Bi’a) stretching its territory or grazing areas to Jebel Bishri (Silver 2014). This is partly supported by textual evidence from Ebla referring to the existence of the Amorites in Emar and Tuttul, especially an Amorite, who was a resident from Tuttul and at the same time inhabitant of MAR.DU-ki (TM.76.G.533, see Archi 1985: 8, 12). In addition, Jebel Bishri, its neighbourhood with Emar and Tuttul, and the archaeological remains from the region and the sites are well applicable to the material culture of the Amorites (Cf. Lönnqvist 2000, passim). (See Fig. 2). The Myth of Martu or The Marriage of Martu (CBS 14061, see in Chiera 1924: 14–23) locates god Martu and his activities to the neighbourhood of the city of Ninab/Inab in a mountainous region, a mythical place. Beside pastoral nomadism

280

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

Fig. 2.  Jebel Bishri and some of the most important Bronze Age kingdoms in Ancient Syria. Mapping: Minna Silver, basemap: the Syro-Japanese Tell el-Kerkh expedition.

gazelle hunting appears as one of the subsistence economies of the Martu’s region. Even the gazelle traps are described in detail in some versions of the text (ll. 16–25 in http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section1/tr171.htm): The people living around the city hung up nets, the people living around Inab hung up nets, hung up nets, chased gazelles and killed the gazelles as one kills humans. Interestingly the major concentration of the desert-kites used as gazelle traps appears in the Syrian Desert, namely around Palmyra, and in the Black Desert of Jordan although the phenomenon stretches from Armenia to Sinai (see Crassard et al. 2015). Parts of the gazelle route coming from the Syrian Desert was located in the Levantine corridor beneath Jebel Bishri continuing to the Middle Euphrates to the sites like Abu Hureyra (Legge and Rowley-Conwy 1987: 79). Pastoral remains of Jebel Bishri consist of cairns/tumuli and animal pens/corrals (Lönnqvist et al. 2011: 135–95). Apart from the emergence process of pastoral nomadism and transhumance in the region (Zarins 1992, Lönnqvist 2014), the desert-kites and their geographical association to the desert-steppe culture are well applicable to The Marriage of Martu. In The Marriage of Martu god Martu was also digging truffles in the foot of a mountain (CBS 14061, see in Chiera 1924: 20). Jebel Bishri is an ideal habitat for truffles, and the Bedouin women have been collecting them in the region for their subsidising economy (Lönnqvist et al. 2010: 377). During the second millennium b.c.e. they were also much appreciated in the neighbouring Amorite palaces (Shavit 2014: 14, 15). Apart from the evidence of sedentism and the kingdom known as MAR.DU-ki, the opportunity for mobility in the case of pastoralists needs to be taken into account in the responses in coping with environmental changes. There is no contradiction between pastoral nomadism and a kingdom, so well attested in the later Mari documents. The climate change seems to have affected the life of the pastoral nomads like those of the Syro-Palestinian region by the end of the third millennium b.c.e.

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

281

We have more recent historical cases to compare with the situation in the periods of droughts. The abolition of tribal rights in Syria was coeval with a severe drought in 1958–1961. Camel population dropped 80% and sheep population nearly to the half (FAO 1967). This caused the state to direct steppe management and the sedentarization of many pastoral nomads in the Jebel Bishri region. The programme to produce more meat led to uncontrolled exhausting of the steppe resources, like by overstocking. The grazing possibilities were seriously diminished (FAO 1973). Tribes may have a long history of tribal territorial management of grazing grounds. The people belonging to a tribe have not only right for grazing and moving but usually have the rights to dig a well, build on a land or take up in agriculture in the lands in the territory. The dirahs, the tribal roads, have functioned as a network between water sources (FAO 2001). The information gathered by the German technical and environmental desertification combating project, ACSAD and the archaeological Jebel Bishri project led by the present author have elucidated the expanding desertification and its impact on pastoral nomads in the region of Jebel Bishri in past decades (Lönnqvist et al. 2010, passim, Lönnqvist et al. 2011: 371–98). This has opened a window to the past conditions and for understanding the vulnerability of desert fringes in the case of a climate change and the impact on the life of pastoralists. Especially visible expanding desert line was followed up from the 1980s to 2000. Shifting cultivation was carried out by some Bedouin tribes in small wadis but the area of the fields had drastically diminished from the 1980s to 2000 when the sand cover was spreading from the Syrian Desert. Ethnoarchaeological studies were carried out among the nomads of the region, whose life and subsistence economy were vulnerable to desertification. On Jebel Bishri and its piedmont there were Bedouins, who had their seasonal grazing grounds in the Euphrates valley or in the Jezira. Abandonments were testified in several village compounds in the foot and on the mountain during the period of drought. It became clear that overstocking and agricultural endeavours had spread the desert line and diminished the pastoral grazing grounds. In the case of continuous drought the village-pastoralists were open to continue their seasonal life in tents in the Jezira (Lönnqvist et al. 2010, passim). In my view Amorites were especially on the move in the late third millennium b.c.e. (Lönnqvist 2008, passim), like the traditional view holds. The West Semitic toponymes en miroir, the mirrored toponyms, analysed by D. Charpin and N. Ziegler (2003: 30) and J.-M. Durand (2004: 128) could implicate the period of the Amorite movement. Here we also may have the same process as elsewhere that the Amorites in the course of their spreading were identified in various mountainous localities as with similar place names (Wossink 2009: 132). Consequently, I also agree with P. A. Beaulieu’s (2005: 40) opinion that Amorites appear as mountaineers par excellence in several places but the earliest evidence of their wider spatial appearance seems to be from the Ur III period onwards. In the second millennium b.c.e. the Amorites tribes of the Benjaminities and Bensimalites, the latter more closely connected to the Hana tribal confederation, were very much spread to various areas: the former to the right banks of the Middle Euphrates as well as to the Balikh and the latter to the Jezira and the Upper Tigris (see passim Kupper 1957: 1–81, Charpin and Ziegler 2003: 30). The name of the tribe or confederation “Hana” and the Haneans interestingly points to those, who live in tents and are nomads (Gelb 1961: 46), and the area of the Old Assyrian kings claim to their tribal roots to them and the direction of the Upper Tigris (see also Kraus 1965).

282

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

D. Charpin and N. Ziegler (2003: e.g., 53, 122 n. 380, 140) and J.-M. Durand (2004: 125–28) have also especially looked at the toponym of Dēr meaning an encampment, and Charpin has even listed five of such Dērs. However, Dēr near Mari, Transtigridian Dēr and Dēr of the Balikh have been the focus of the studies. The word is near to the Akkadian dūrum that denotes a ‘wall, fortified settlement’ (Durand 2004: 126, cf. Frayne 2008: 40). Durand (2004: 125–28) has paid special attention to Dēr near Mari and to another in the Jezira, the examples coming from the second millennium b.c.e. Amorite rule of Mari. The subject of Dēr and the movement of its toponym have also been dealt with by A. Porter (2009: 201–12, see also Fig. 11.1). She points out that there was an early Dēr against which Šulgi already campaigned to secure his power by crushing a possible revolt there. Two fortresses were even built, and the pouring of an earthen ramp beside Dēr by Šulgi is mentioned. This Dēr has tentatively been located into the region of the Diyala river and appears in association with the campaign echoing the later building of the Mardu wall into the region (Frayne 2008: 38–40). This is the Sumerian “frontier territory” that moved towards highlands (Michalowski 2011: 132). Furthermore, the site name BÀD-ki, equivalent to dūrum, a ‘wall, fortified settlement’ also appears in connection with the Amorites of the third millennium b.c.e. Actually one of such sites has been allocated to the Diyala region (see the discussion in Astour 2002: 117, also n. 395), and may be even the same Dēr that was connected to Šulgi’s campaigns and building activitiess. However, the connection of the Amorites to the sites bearing the name BÀD-ki is of interest as far as bàd ma-da, the predecessor of the Muriq Tidnim, is concerned. On the other hand, Durand (2004: 126) hints to the emergence of the so-called Kranzhügel sites, circular towns with a double fortification system, as a possible material reflection of the mirrored toponyms such as Dērs. The Jezira that is representing dry farming communities is the primary area of the Kranzhügel sites, which start appearing in the early/mid-third millennium b.c.e. in the area referred to as the region of uncertainty in rainfall, but still in the limits of dry-farming above the 200 mm isohyet marking the annual precipitation (Smith et al. 2014: 152–57). Fine examples of the Kranzhügel types are Tell Chuera (Helms and Tamm 2014) and Tell Beydar (Lebeau 2006) in the Jezira. We do not know the exact role of pastoralists in the emergence of these earliest Kranzhügel sites. On the other hand, Al-Rawda, a circular urban site, was established ca. 100 km west of Jebel Bishri in the desert-steppe region of central Syria ca. 2400 b.c.e. It was a fortified and possibly canalized entity that was basing its cultivation on irrigation and agropastoralism. Enclosures that were used for animals have been found in the surrounding areas as well as kites for gazelle hunting. (Barge et al. 2014). Here again the archaeological remains find parallels with the text in The Marriage of Martu. We may inquire whether one could see the site of Al-Rawda as the colonization of the Kranzhügel idea as far as to the steppe zone of central Syria in the west. The site, however, lies below the 200 m isohyet that is even below the area of uncertainty and the limits of dry-farming. In the EBIV period the grazing endeavours exploited the marginal environment and the expanding utilization of the biodiversity took place. What is further noteworthy is the vicinity of Al-Rawda to Un Très Long Mur dating from the EBIV period and running between agricultural lands and the steppe. The last occupational levels of the town date to 2100–2000 b.c.e. Contacts to the kingdoms such as Ebla, Qatna, and Mari are indicated in the finds of Al-Rawda, and

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

283

at the site there are several material elements which are attested in the typically Amorite-occupied sites in Syria. There are references in the Ebla texts to some sites, like the tribal entities of Ib’al and Uraš-mah that may be identified with the site and the area. Why the urban occupation ended at the site ca. 2000 b.c.e., is unclear, but as seen, this is a phenomenon that takes place in along with a climate change at various sites in the Levant culminating in the fall of Ur in Mesopotamia (see Castel and Peltenburg 2007, also compare the material elements of the Amorite-occupied sites in Syria in Lönnqvist 2000, passim). In my view a curvilinear plan was the first stage of the Amorite-occupied sites in the end of the third and early second millennium b.c.e. (Lönnqvist 2000: 210–16) — the view that has later been further elucidated by the studies of Qatna, Byblos and Mari (Al-Maqdissi 2010). This, however, does not mean that the earliest Kranzhügels were necessarily founded by the Amorites or that the basic form could not have been an invention of another culture and adapted by the Amorites. In any event, Durand’s tentative association of the Kranzhügels with Dērs might find some resonance, also bearing in mind that BÀD-kis had Amorite residents in the Ur III period. It needs to be mentioned that the earliest layout of Qatna detected by remote sensing methods is also circular and dates from ca. 2600 b.c.e. (EBIII) (AlMaqdissi 2010: 135–36, Mouamar 2012: 77). Interestingly this is the time when the first peak in aridity appears in the Ebla and Qatna environmental data lasting for a few decades (cf. Fiorentiono et al. 2012: 26). On the other hand, by crossing the Jezira towards the east one approaches Tell Taya, another circular site, also removed from the traditional central area of the Kranzhügels. The site is located between the Habur and the Tigris in Iraq (Reade 1968, 1971, 1973). During the Old Assyrian period Amorites belonging to ŠamšiAdad’s regime (Postgate apud Reade 1973: 173–75) are indeed known to have resided there and in the neighbouring regions, like in Qabra. The archaeological evidence from Tell Taya, however, indicates that the destruction ca. 2000 b.c.e. had apparently brought the Amorites to the site. Therefore the site (Lönnqvist 2000: 177–79) does not provide any secure evidence of the Amorite presence during the Ur III period to support that the site was populated by the Tidnuminites. So, this archaeological evidence from Tell Taya dates to the time, when the Amorites were already sizing power in other parts of Mesopotamia as well, and this is what also I. Gelb seems to have meant with a secondary distribution above. Various mechanisms can be extracted in the sedentarization process ranging from the evidence of peaceful to the violent one in the site strata in Syro-Mesopotamia (see Lönnqvist 2008, 2009, passim). Curiously northwestern Syria that first seems to face drought also provides evidence of the invasions and attacks or other mechanisms in the sedentarization process of the Amorite related groups. Environmental hardships may have weakened the central powers, like Ebla already becoming vulnerable to the conquests and other enemy attacks. The situation resembles the case of Ur and the environmental hardships.

Demarcation Lines between Environments and People As briefly mentioned in the introduction, the building project of the Mardu wall against the Amorites in Mesopotamia finds coeval and comparable works in Egypt. The climate change that took place in Egypt during the First Intermediate Period

284

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

is attested in recent radiocarbon and dendrochronological studies based on samples obtained from the wooden artefacts such as coffins and funerary boats (see Manning et al. 2014). Also pictoral evidence of hunting and desert environments in tombs and temple reliefs dating already from the Dynasties V and VI of Egypt (24th to 22nd centuries b.c.e.) indicate changes in landscapes and game, even describing people dying in hunger. Sand dunes apparently started increasing at the time bringing the effects of winds blowing from the deserts into the Nile Valley in the First Intermediate Period (Bell 1971: 5–6). The situation has comparable features with the Habur region in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. and the situation of Jebel Bishri in recent decades in Syria. The voyages and trade between Egypt and Byblos, the site located in the Levantine coast, ceased for the period of ca. 2150–1970 b.c.e. (Aubet 2013: 235). The Instruction for Merikare, associated with the Heraklepolitan ruler Khety and dating from the Dynasty IX/X (ca. 2160–2040 b.c.e.), provides advice concerning infiltrations of Asiatic people at the time (see Helck 1977). The enemies are largely described in the way the Amorites appear in the Sumerian accounts, such as The Marriage of Martu and the Ur III texts. In The Marriage of Martu (CBS 14061, see Chiera 1924: 20) god Martu, a some kind of personification of the Amorites, is a tent-dweller, who eats uncooked meat, who does not bury his dead companion and does not know the city life. In the Instruction for Merikare an Asiatic is described as having (l. 98) a crocodile on his bank, he robs on an isolated road, he does not steal in the vicinity of a city. As far as the Mardu wall is concerned, the Instruction for Merikare also comprises information about a canal digging in association with a wall system against the eastern enemies in the Nile Delta: (l. 99) Dig a moat against and flood the half of it at the Bitter Lakes, for see: it is the navel-string of the desert dwellers (Helck 1977, see Hoffmeier 2006: 2). Water is used in both cases as a defensive measure. Israeli geologists have been able to detect a canal construction in Qantara in the Delta zone (Hoffmeier 2006). In The Prophesy of Neferty (Papyrus Hermitage 1116B, Helck 1970, l. 26–71) from the Dynasties XI and XII (2133–1786 b.c.e.) the river Nile had become dry, a famine had struck the land, there was destruction but a unifying ruler built a fortification system named “the Walls of the Ruler” to prevent the Asiatics from entering the eastern Delta area. It is evident that the Walls of the Ruler was erected in the eastern side of Wadi Tumilat, where caravans enter Egypt from the Negev (Hoffmeier 2006, Fig. 1). The desert and steppe people lived in the district. The Negev area has various types of steppes and desert vegetations as far as the northern and southern parts are concerned (Rosen 2002–2014). From archaeological sources we indeed know that the region was occupied by pastoral nomads in the Early Bronze Age in the third millennium b.c.e. (Kochavi 2009, passim). The Sinai is even more of a desert-type area, and the archaeological surveys there have brought evidence of remains belonging to pastoral nomads and gazelle hunting in the Early Bronze Age as well (see Eddy and Wendorf 1999: 165–77). The Asiatics from the Desert came to water their flocks to the Delta area during a drought, and campaigns were set against them (Pritchard 1955: 416b). In The Story of Sinuhe (Pritchard 1955: 18–22), the earliest parts of which are dating from ca. 1960 b.c.e., the fortification systems such as the Walls of the Ruler and the Ways of the Horus were already existing in the Delta area. These fortifications and their location in Egypt are clearly indicating the spatial contrast between the agricultural lands of the Nile Delta as

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

285

well as the valley and the steppes and deserts like the Negev and Sinai. We know that West Semites were involved in the attacks, the height of which took place in the second millennium b.c.e. continuing with the Hyksos invasion, Amorite-related groups from Syria-Palestine (see Oren [ed.] 1997, passim). Whether Un Très Long Mur (Fig. 1) in Syria, like the Mardu wall in Mesopotamia and the fortifications in Egypt, was erected against nomadic incursions is debatable. The remains of the wall stretch over 220 km running east of Hama. B. Geyer et al. (2010) think that this wall on the fringe of the steppe zone was actually a border line between the steppe and the kingdoms of Hama or Ebla. Did it also divide the ecozones and the types of people living in the steppe zone in relation to the agricultural and urban lands? There is archival evidence that Ebla needed large areas of rangeland for flocks that have been estimated to have consisted of hundreds of thousands heads (Smith et al. 2014: 152–53). Geyer (2002) has emphasized the adaptation of agriculturalists and seminomads in western Syria during the deterioration of the climatic conditions in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. In the latest hypotheses H. Weiss (2013) proposes that soon after the nomadic interlude and abandonments, dry farming was quickly adapted for cereal production with habitat-tracking to spring-based refugia in central Syria. The latest articles dealing with the area define the zone of uncertainty (Barge et al. 2014), where the sedentarization takes place in the end of the Early Bronze Age. It seems that sedentarization gradually moved to the west and southeast from the semi-arid and arid central Syria.

Amorite Military Men, Bodyguards, and Usurpers in the Internal Politics King Šulgi had a close contact with the Amorites as he says that he knew their language, like Sumerian and that of the Elamites — and he refers to the Amorites as mountain people who reside on the hills: (..) they [gre]et me and I reply (?) to them in the Martu language (Šulgi C 122–24, see Streck 2013: 316). Šulgi’s comments also clearly indicate that the district of the Amorites differed from that of the Elamites and that the Amorite language existed, even if we have only been left with the written evidence of the onomastica (see Gelb 1980). In J.-M. Durand’s view (apud Streck 2013: 318–19) it is apparent that it was a vernacular language generally used by rural and pastoral nomadic population of the west. Šulgi denotes the Amorites as mountain people in general while he mentions Elamites and Subareans (Hurrians), and some other people are connected with the black mountains (Meluḫḫa, India?) in specific (Šulgi B 207–20, see Streck 2013: 316–17). It is noteworthy to understand the role of the Amorites in the gradual downfall of the Ur III dynasty. C. Wilcke (1970) has defined three distinct stages in the fall of the Ur III state seeing the first stage in the Elamite attacks and the central role of general Išbi-Erra. The outer impact of the Amorites seems to have a role that worked together with the internal problems. There is varied evidence that Amorites were also used as military personnel, such as bodyguards, in the Sumerian society during the Ur III period, for example, during Šulgi’s reign. Michalowski (2011: 107–9) even suggests that the most famous leader known as Naplanum, the Amorite, with his cohorts served as personal bodyguards of the king, and that the designation Amurrum is actually a professional

286

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

title in the Ur III texts. However, the detailed and impressive analyses of the military role of these people do not exclude the possibility of their tribal and pastoral nomadic roots that are attested in the later Mari archives. That does not mean that the large-scale sedentarization of various Amorite groups did not take place either. Later Amorite tribesmen are well represented in military roles in the court of Mari on the Middle Euphrates, and the Amorite military men consist of groupings and bear various titles (Sasson 1969: 11–24). There are several instances, when nomads or tribal people are employed as military personnel in antiquity. One agrees with the notion that there were many Amorites, who were settled and agriculturalists in the Ur III times as already indicated by the publications such as the one by G. Buccellati (1966). It is true that there was not a massive Amorite presence in the Ur III society, but N. Weeks (1985: 54) suggests that the role of the Amorite mercenaries in the Ur III society was meaningful in the change of power in northeastern Mesopotamia. This is a comparable situation that has been the problem of the present political situation in Iraq, namely the Ur III neutralization of the opponents and the emergence of unemployed mercenaries. 1 R. Whiting (1995: 1235), who himself earlier had a military career, also sees that the involvement of the Amorite mercenaries in the Sumerian world helped them to destroy the political system inside and take over the power in various sites after the end of the Ur III state. They took over the cities that they had previously protected for the Sumerians, and their knowledge of military organisation was easing their way. We, indeed, see in the late history of the Ur III period that there occurred internal power plots that weakened the kingdom. A central figure was the usurper Išbi-Erra, the man of Mari of the Akkadian origin, who first served king Ibbi-Sîn (2028–2004 b.c.e.). There was shortage of grain in Sumer according to Išbi-erra’s letter to Ibbi-Sîn (see http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section3/tr3117.htm), which supports the account seen in the Lament of Ur: You ordered me to travel to Isin and Kazallu to purchase grain. With grain reaching the exchange rate of one shekel of silver per gur, 20 talents of silver have been invested for the purchase (2 mss. have instead: ...) of grain. That seems to be an indication of hardships in Ur, but at that time better crops in the north. The letter continues: http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/section3/ c3117.htm–line7I heard news that the hostile Martu have entered inside your territories. I entered with 72,000 gur of grain (1 ms. has instead: 72,000 gur of grain was brought) — the entire amount of grain — inside Isin. Now I have let the Martu, all of them, penetrate inside the Land, and one by one I have seized all the fortifications therein. Because of the Martu, I am unable to hand over (2 mss. have instead: I am unable to make ...) this grain for threshing. They are stronger than me, while I am condemned to sitting around. The threat at the time could logically, unlike that of Elam, come from the northwest, because the Martu hindered the way from Kazallu and Isin to Ur. They blocked the way to the grain transportation on the Euphrates. 1. Saddam Hussein’s leading military core was left unemployed after the Iraqi war from 2003, and that vacuum has been identified as the source for the military success of ISIS/ISIL and its spread (Washington Post: April 5, 2015). The war has now taken over the region of Syria and Iraq again and the neighbourhood is ruled by ISIS/ISIL from Raqqa to Deir ez-Zor as far as Palmyra and northern Iraq. The ISIS and ISIL are spreading towards Baghdad and Mesopotamia from the region so closely to the Amorite core habitat. What is interesting is that currently we are living under another climate change. Here we have a modern echo of the Tidnum nomads at the gates of Ur.

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

287

Išbi-Erra (2017–1985 b.c.e.) settled his rule in Isin establishing a dynasty there ca. 2017 b.c.e. by taking the advantage of this chaos. Ur fell ca. 2004 b.c.e. into the hands of the Elamites-Shimashkians, and Išbi-Erra proceeded finally to conquer Ur from them establishing his power and rule there (see, e.g., Roux 1982: 171–72).

Conclusions: Environment, Chronology, and Space Supporting Gradual Change Understanding the present climate change and the vulnerability of desert fringes has opened a window to the past through desertification and ethnoarchaeology in the region of Jebel Bishri in Central Syria. The studies provide possible explanations for the ancient climate change and its dynamic forces in the life of pastoral nomads and tribalism prone for movement from Syria to more central area of Mesopotamia. The end of the third millennium b.c.e. was the time of climatic changes that had several forms from storms, drought, and flooding and causing famine in various areas. The evidence provided here points that we need to look at the dynamics of desert fringes. However, the environmental change in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. was not so abrupt and coeval everywhere as previously indicated in several studies. It was proceeding spatially in different pace in various places in the Near East. For example, the environmental hardships first appear in western Syria (2600–2400 b.c.e.) proceeding to central Syria, northern Mesopotamia (2300–2200 b.c.e.), Palestine and Egypt (2200–2100 b.c.e.). In the Habur (2200 b.c.e.) in northeastern Syria the effects for the Akkadian rule are visible and became fatal opening a new opportunity to the Sumerian revival in southern Mesopotamia exemplified by the Ur III dynasty. The drought seemed therefore to have affected later southern Mesopotamia (ca. 2000 b.c.e.), where the culmination took place 300–200 years after it had started in western and central Syria as well as northern Mesopotamia. The data from the core of the Oman Gulf supports the shift to the south. The Syrian Desert had gradually spread its influence, either directly by a drought and a famine or indirectly from disturbances caused by people, among them the Amorites, influencing from outside or inside. The evident large-scale sedentarization and urbanization of the Amorites seem to have followed with the environmental phenomena. Our environmental and ethnoarchaeological studies support that movement is a choice in the time of an environmental change. The climate change that took place in the end of the third millennium b.c.e. apparently had a catalystic impact on the life of the pastoralists in Syria, which is supported in the recent process of desertification of Jebel Bishri that we have previously studied by satellite imagery and field work including ethnoarchaeological observations. As far as the case of Mesopotamia is concerned, the comparable evidence from Egypt supports the coeval situation drop in agricultural productivity and the pressure caused by pastoral nomads during the period of drought and the diminishing space of the grazing grounds in the desert fringes. The Mardu wall was a wall between the Twin rivers in the agricultural plains of Mesopotamia clearly protecting the southern regions. The fortifications in Egypt and Un Très Long Mur in Syria were built between more distinct environmental zones: between agricultural lands and steppe-deserts. But it seems that in all the cases pertaining to these walls they may also be interpreted as materialized

288

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

demarcation lines between peoples and cultures. The canal systems seem to have played a role in defensive architecture both in Mesopotamia and Egypt developing to moats and rampart fortifications. According to the name of the Mardu wall, it was built against the Amorites. Un Très Long Mur had apparent connections with Al-Rawda, its pastoral desert-steppe and gazelle hunting culture — very similar to the culture attested in the Palmyrene and Jebel Bishri region. I have provided here nuanced evidence that takes into account the chronological framework and spatial evidence of the environmental factors of the Amorite existence and their distribution. I have looked at various kinds of sources, not limiting the inquiry only to the textual data. There is adequate evidence from the third millennium b.c.e. Ebla archives and Akkadian sources that Amorites were especially connected to the Emar-Tuttul axel on the Middle Euphrates and Jebel Bishri. There is archaeological and historical evidence that Sumerians also had contacts to the region. The environment of the Tigris and the Diyala do not provide any evidence that they were affected by the primary movers such as desertification like the progressing line from the Syrian Desert towards Jebel Bishri, although salinization may have been an ongoing problem in the river valleys. But in the course of the climate change and movement a larger number of Amorites from central Syria was apparently distributed to the Tigris, the Diyala and also to the west, to the areas that became populated by them. Tell Taya is a good example in the Jezira side of the Tigris area. Following the outer attacks by the Tidnum, a group of Amorites, to the kingdom of Ur in south started integrating with gradual environmental deterioration affecting the food production and influenced by disloyalties of military personnel causing inner power struggles and an administrative change in Mesopotamia. The fall of the Sumerian civilization, often attributed to the Elamite conquest, therefore had a background in environmental changes. The climatic and environmental changes apparently worked as trajectories for the attacks of the Amorite Tidnuminites. This is reinstated by the similar and coeval evidence from Egypt. All the mentioned walls are defining a line between territories. That all the walls date to the period of a climate change identified in environmental proxy data, in historical texts and in archaeological data can make us to suggest that they were material symptoms for the desiccation of climate, changing grazing grounds, the mode of life of pastoralists and the protection of agricultural lands by state societies.

Bibliography Adams, R. McC. 1981 Heartland of Cities: Surveys of Ancient Settlement and Land Use on Central Floodplain of the Euphrates. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Adams, R. McC., and Nissen, H. J. 1972 The Uruk Coutryside: The Natural Setting of Urban Societies. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Algaze, G., and Poumelle, J. 2003 Climatic Change, Environmental Change, and Social Change at Early Bronze Age Titriş Höyük: Can Correlation and Causation. Pp.  103–28 in Köyden Kente, From Villages to Cities: Early Villages in the Near East. Studies Presented to Ufuk Ensin, ed. M. Ödzöǧan, H. Haptmann, and N. Başgelen. Arkeoloji ve Sanat Yayinlari 1. Istanbul: Mat Matbaasi.

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

289

Al-Maqdissi, M. 2010 Matériel pour l’étude de la ville en Syrie (deuxième partie). Urban Planning in Syria during the SUR (Second Urban Revolution) (Mid-third Millennium BC). Pp. 131–45 in Formation of Tribal Communities: Integrated Research in the Middle Euphrates, Syria. Al-Rāfidan — Journal of Western Asiatic Studies, Special Issue. Altaweel, M. 2013 Simulating the Effects of Salinization on Irrigation Agriculture in Southern Mesopotamia. Pp. 239–54 in Models of Mesopotamian Landscapes: How small-scale processes contributed to the growth of early civilizations, ed. T. J. Wilkinson, M. Gibson, and M. Widell. British Archaeological Reports, International Series 2552. Oxford: Archaeopress. Archi, A. 1985 Mardu in the Ebla Texts. OrNS 54: 7–13. Archi, A., and Biga, M. G. 2003 A Victory over Mari and the Fall of Ebla. JCS 55: 1–44. Astour, M. A. 1992 An Outline of the History of Ebla (Part 1). Pp. 3–82 in vol. 3 of Eblaitica: Essays on the Ebla Archives and Eblaite Language, ed. C. H. Gordon and G. A. Rendsburg. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2002 A Reconstruction of the History of Ebla (Part 2). Pp. 57–195 in vol. 4 of Eblaitica: Essays on the Ebla Archives and Eblaite Language, ed. by C. H. Gordon. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Aubet, M.E. 2013 Commerce and Colonization in the Ancient Near East. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barge, O., Castel, C., and Brochier, J. É. 2014 Human impact on the landscape around Al-Rawda (Syria) during the Early Bronze IV. Pp.  173–85 in Settlement Dynamics and Human-Landscape Interaction in the Dry Steppes of Syria, ed. D. Morandi Bonacossi. Studia Chaburensia 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Bauer, T. 1926 Die Ostkanaanäer: Ein philologich-historische Untersuchung über die Wanderschicht der sogenannten “Amoriter” in Babylonien. Leipzig: Verlag der Asia Major. Beaulieu, P.-A. 2005 The God Amurru as Emblem of Ethnic and Cultural Identity. Pp. 31–46 in Ethnicity in Ancient Mesopotamia: Papers Read at the 48th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Leiden, 1– 4 July 2002, ed. W. H. van Soldt, in cooperation with R. Kalvelagen and D. Katz. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. Bell, B. 1971 The Dark Ages in Ancient History. I. The First Dark Age in Egypt. AJA 75: 1–26. 1975 Climate and the History of Egypt: The Middle Kingdom. AJA 79: 223–69. Black, J., Cunningham, G., Robson, E., and Zólyomi, G., eds. 2004 The Literature of Ancient Sumer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Buccellati, G. 1966 The Amorites of the Ur III Period. Pubblicazioni del seminario di semistica a cura di G. Garbini. Richerche I. Naples: Istituto Orientale di Napoli. Burke, A. A. 2008 Walled up to Heaven: The Evolution of Middle Bronze Age Fortification Strategies in the Levant. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Butzer, K. 1966 Climatic Changes in the Arid Zones of Africa during Early and Mid-Holocene Times. Pp.  72–83 in World Climate from 8000 to 0 B.C. Proceedings of the International Symposium Held at Imperial College, London, 18 and 19 April 1966. London: Royal Meteorological Society.

290

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

1976 Early Hydraulic Civilization in Egypt: A Study in Cultural Ecology. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Castel, C., and Peltenburg, E. 2007 Urbanism on the margins: third millennium BC Al-Rawda in the arid zone of Syria. Antiquity 81: 601–16. Charpin, D., and Ziegler, N. 2003 Florilegium marianum V. Mari et le Proche-Orient à l’époque amorrite : essai d’histoire politique. Mémoire de NABU 6. Paris: SEPOA. Chiera, E. 1924 Sumerian Religious Texts. Crozer Theological Seminary Babylonian Publications 1. Upland: Crozer Theological Seminary. Crassard, R., Barge, O., Bichot, C.-E., Brochier, J. É., Chaoud, J., Chambrade, M.-L., Chataigner, C., Madi, K., Régagnon, E., Hamida, S., and Vila, E. 2015 Addressing the Desert Kites Phenomenon and Its Global Range Through a Multiproxy Approach. Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 22: 1093–1121. Cullen, H .M., deMenocal, P. B., Hemming, S., Hemming, G., Brown, F. H., Guilderson, T., and Sirocko, F. 2000 Climate change and the collapse of the Akkadian empire: Evidence from the deep sea. Geology 28: 379–82. Dhorme, P. 1912 Tablettes de Dréhem à Jérusalem. RA 9: 39–56. Durand, J.-M. 2004 Peuplement et sociétés à l’époque amorrite (I). Les clans Bensim’alites. Pp. 111–97 in Amurru 3: Nomades et sédentaries dans le Proche-Orient ancien: Compte rendu de la XLVIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (Paris, 10–13 juillet 2000), ed. C. Nicolle. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations. Eddy, F. W., and Wendorf, F. 1999 An Archaeological Investigation of the Central Sinai, Egypt. Cairo: American Center in Egypt, Inc. and University Press of Colorado. Falb, C., Krasnik, K., Meyer, J.-W., and Vila, E. 2005 Gräber des 3. Jahrtausends v. Chr. im syrischen Euphrattal. Vol. 4: Der Friedhof von Abu Ḥamed. Schriften zur Vorderasiatischen Archäologie 8. Saarwellingen: Saarländische Druckerai & Verlag. Fiorentino, G., Carakuta, V., Quarta, G., Calcagnile, L., and Bonacossi, D. M. 2012 Palaeoprecipitation Trends and Cultural Changes in Syrian Protohistoric Communities: the Contribution of σ13C in Ancient and Modern Vegetation. Pp.  17–33 in Collapse or Continuity? Environment and Development of Bronze Age Human Landscapes, ed. J. Kneisel, W. Kirleis, M. Dal Corso, N. Taylor, and V. Tiedtke. Universitätsforschungen zur prähistorischen Archäologie 205. Bonn: Verlag Dr. Rudolf Habelt GmbH. Flückiger-Hawker, E. 1999 Urnamma of Ur in Sumerian Literary Tradition. OBO 166. Fribourg and Göttingen: University Press and Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Frayne, D. R. 1993 Sargonic and Gutian Periods (2334–2113 BC). RIME 2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 1997 Ur III Period (2112–2004 BC). RIME 3/2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. 2008 The Zagros Campaigns of the Ur III Kings. Journal of the Canadian Society for Mesopotamian Studies 3: 33–56. Frumkin, A., Bar-Matthews, M., and Vaks, A. 2008 Paleoenvironment of Jawa basalt plateau, Jordan, inferred from calcite speleothems from a lava tube. Quaternary Research 70: 358–67.

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

291

Gelb, I. J. 1952 Sargonic Texts from the Diyala Region. MAD 1. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. 1961 The Early History of the West Semitic Peoples. JCS 15: 27–47. 1980 Computer-aided Analysis of Amorite. AS 21. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Geyer, B. 2002 Expansion and Decline of Syria’s Arid Margin. The Arab World Geographer 5: 73–84. Geyer, B., Awad, N., Al-Dibiyat, M., Calvet, Y., and Rousset, M.-O. Un « Très Long Mur » dans la steppe Syrienne. Paléorient 36: 57–72. Gibson, M. 1974 Violation of Fallow and Engineered Disaster in Mesopotamian Civilization. Pp. 7–19 in Irrigation’s Impact on Society, ed. T. E. Downing and M. Gibson. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Goudie, A. 2012 Introduction. Pp. 5–16 in Changing Deserts: Integrating People and their Environment, ed. L. Mol and T. Sterberg. Cambridge: The White Horse Press. Helck, W. 1970 Die Prophezeiung der Nfr.tj. Kleine ägyptische Texte 2. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 1977 Die Lehre für König Merikare. Kleine ägyptische Texte 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Helms, T. B. H., and Tamm, A. 2014 Exploring the Outer City of a Major EBA Centre: Recent Excavations in the Eastern Extent of Tell Chuera’s Lower Town (2005–2010). Pp.  132–146 in Proceedings of the 8th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East. Vol. 1: Plenary Sessions, Township and Villagers, High and Low — the Minor Arts for the Elite and for the populace, ed. P. Bieliński, M. Gawlikowski, R. Koliński, D. Ławecka, A. Sołtysiak, and Z. Wygnańska. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Hoffmeier, J. K. 2006 “The Walls of the Ruler” in Egyptian Literature and the Archaeological Record: Investigating Egypt’s Eastern Frontier in the Bronze Age. BASOR 343: 1–20. Issar, A. S. and Zohar, M. 2004 Climate Change — Environment and Civilization in the Middle East. Berlin and Heidelberg: Springer. Jacobsen, T. and Adams, R. McC. 1958 Salt and Silt in Ancient Mesopotamian Agriculture. Science N.S. 128: 1251–58. Kaniewski, D., Van Campo, E., and Weiss, H. 2012 Drought is a recurring challenge in the Middle East. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America 109: 3862–67. Kenyon, K. 1954 Excavations at Jericho 1953. Palestine Exploration Quarterly 86: 45–63. 1960 Excavations at Jericho. Vol. I: The Tombs Excavated in 1952– 4. London: the British School of Archaeology in Jerusalem. Kochavi, M. 2009 The Intermediate Bronze Age (IBA) in the Negev, Forty Years Later. Pp. 43–48 in The Levant in Transition. Proceedings of a Conference held at the British Museum on 20–21 April, 2004, ed. P. Parr. Palestine Exploration Fund Annual 9. Leeds: Maney Publishing. Kraus, F. R. 1965 Könige, die in Zelten wohneten: Betrachtungen über den Kern der assyrischen Königsliste. Mededelingen der Koninklijke Nederslandse Akademie van Wertenschappen, Afd. Letterkunde Nieuwe Reeks, Deel 28, No. 2. Amsterdam: Noord-Hollandische Uitgevers Matschappij.

292

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

Kupper, J.-R. 1957 Les nomades en Mésopotamie au temps des rois de Mari. Bibliothèque de la Faculté de Philosophie et Lettres de l’Université de Liège, Fascicule 142. Paris: Des Belles Lettres. Landsberger, B. 1924 Über die Völker Vorderasiens im dritten Jahrtausend. ZA 35: 213–38. Lebeau, M. 2006 Les temples de Tell Beydar et leur environment immédiat à l’époque de Early Jezirah IIIb. Pp. 101–4 in Les espaces syro-mésopotamiens. Dimensions de l’experience humaine au Proche-Orient ancien. Volume d’hommage offert à Jean-Claude Margueron, ed. P. Butterlin, M. Lebeau, J.-Y. Monchambert, J. L. Montero Fenollós and B. Muller. Subartu 17. Turnhout: Brepols. Legge, A. J. and Rowley-Conwy, P. A. 1987 Gazelle Killing in Stone Age Syria. Scientific American 255: 88–95. Lönnqvist, M. 2000 Between Nomadism and Sedentism: Amorites from the Perspective of Contextual Archaeology. Helsinki: Juutiprint. 2008 Were Nomadic Amorites on the Move? Migration, Invasion and Gradual Infiltration as Mechanisms for Cultural Transition. Pp. 195–215 in Proceedings of the 4th International Congress of the Archaeology of the Near East, 29 March — 3 April 2004, Freie Universität Berlin. Vol. 2: Social and Cultural Transformation: The Archaeology of Transitional Periods and Dark Ages, Excavation reports, ed. H. Kühne, R. Czichon, and F. J. Kreppner. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 2009 Jebel Bishri and the Role of Nomadism in the End of the Early Bronze Age. Pp. 49– 55 in The Levant in Transition. Proceedings of a Conference held at the British Museum on 20–21 April, 2004, ed. P. Parr. Palestine Exploration Fund Annual 9. Leeds: Maney Publishing. 2010a How to Control Nomads? A Case Study Associated with Jebel Bishri in Central Syria: West Semitic Nomads in Relation to the Urban World. Pp. 115–39 in vol. 2 of City Administration in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 53e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, ed. L. Kogan, N. Koslova, S. Loesov, and S. Tishchenko, Orientalia et Classica 31. BB 5. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2010b Tracing Tribal Implications among the Bronze Age Tomb Types in the Region of Jebel Bishri in Syria. Pp. 165–73 in Formation of Tribal Communities, Integrated Research in the Middle Euphrates, Syria. Al-Rāfidān, Special issue. 2014 The Emergence of Pastoral Transhumance at Jebel Bishri in Central Syria. Pp. 93– 109 in Settlement Dynamics and Human-Landscape Interaction in the Dry Steppes of Syria, ed. D. Morandi Bonacossi. Studia Chaburensia 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lönnqvist, M., Törmä, M., Okkonen, J., Lönnqvist, K., Nuñez, M., and Latikka, J. 2007 The Euphrates Channel Changes and Archaeology along Jebel Bishri in Syria. Pp. 465–70 in vol. 1 of Proceedings of the XXI Symposium, CIPA 2007, Athens, Anticipating the Future of the Cultural Past, ed. A. Georgopoulos. The International Archives of Photogrammetry, Remote Sensing and Spatial Information Sciences 36–5/ C53. Lönnqvist, M., Törmä, M., Lönnqvist, K., Nuñez, M., Okkonen, J., Stout Whiting, M., Riihiaho, H. and Nissinen, M. 2010 Desertification and Ethnoarchaeology: Studying Hazards in the Nomadic Environment of Jebel Bishri in Syria. Pp.  369–90 in Proceedings of the 6th International Congress on the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, May 5th–10th 2008, “Sapienza”Università di Roma. Vol. 1: Near Eastern Archaeology in the Past, Present and Future. Heritage and Identity. Ethnoarchaeological and Interdisciplinary Approach, Results and Perspectives. Visual Expression and Craft Production in the Definition of

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

293

Social Relations and Status, ed. P. Matthiae, F. Pinnock, L. Nigro, and N. Marchetti, with the collaboration of L. Romano. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Lönnqvist, M., Törmä, M., Lönnqvist, K., and Nuñez, M. 2011 Jebel Bishri in Focus: Remote sensing, archaeological surveying, mapping and GIS studies of Jebel Bishri in central Syria by the Finnish project SYGIS. BAR International Series 2230. Oxford: Archaeopress. Malian, A., Fathabad, S. A. H., and Jouzdani, M. F. in press  Detection of Buffer Changes of Historical Monuments and Sites Using Remote Sensing Methods, Case Study: Great Wall of Gorgan. In 3rd EARSeL Workshop on Remote Sensing for Archaeology and Cultural Heritage Management, Ghent, Belgium, 19th–22nd September, 2012. Manning, S. W., Dee, M. W., Wild, E. M., Ramsey, C. B., Bandy, K., Creasman, P. P., Griggs, C. B., Pearson, C. L., Shortland, A. J., Steier, P. 2014 High-precision dendro-14C dating of two cedar wood sequences from First Intermediate Period and Middle Kingdom Egypt and a small regional climate-related 14C divergence. Journal of Archaeological Science 46: 401–16. Michalowski, P. 2011 The Correspondence of the Kings of Ur: An Epistolary History of an Ancient Mesopotamian Kingdom. MC 15. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Mouamar, G. 2012 Nouvelles données sur les inhumations en jarre du site Mishrifeh/Qatna du Bronze ancien IV. Pp.  77–99 in « L’Heure Immobile » entre Ciel et Terre: Mélanges en l‘honneur d’Antoine Suleiman, ed. P. Quenet and M. Al-Maqdissi. Subartu 31.Turnhout: Brepols. Neumann, F., Schlötzel, C., Litt, T., Hense, A., and Stein, M. 2007 Holocene vegetation and climate history of the northern Golan heights (Near East). Vegetation History and Archaeobotany 16: 329–46. Oren, E., ed. 1997 The Hyksos: New Historical and Archaeological Perspectives. Philadelphia: University Museum, University of Pennsylvania. Parr, P., ed. 2009 The Levant in Transition. Proceedings of a Conference held at the British Museum on 20–21 April 2004. The Palestine Exploration Fund Annual 9. Leeds: Maney Publishing. Peltenburg, E. 2007 Diverse Settlement Pattern Changes in the Middle Euphrates Valley in the Later Third Millennium B.C: The Contribution of Jerablus Tahtani. Pp. 247–66 in Sociétés humaines et changement climatique à la fin de troisième millénaire: une crise a-t-elle eu lieu en Haute Mésopotamie? Actes du Colloque de Lyon, 5–8 décembre 2005, ed. C. Kuzucuoğlu and C. Marro. Varia Anatolica 19. Paris: De Boccard. Poebel, A. 1942 The Assyrian King List from Khorsabad. JNES 1: 247–306. Porter, A. 2009 Beyond Dimorphism: Ideologies and Materialities of Kinship as Time-Space Distanciation. Pp. 201–25 in Nomads, Tribes, and the State in the Ancient Near East: CrossDisciplinary Perspectives, ed. J. Szuchman. OIS 5. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Potts, D. T. 1999 The Archaeology of Elam: Formation of an Ancient Iranian State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Powell, M.A. 1985 Salt, Seed, and Yields in Sumerian Agriculture: a Critique of the Theory of Progressive Salinization. ZA 75: 7–38.

294

Minna (Lönnqvist) Silver

Pritchard, J. B., ed. 1955 Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to The Old Testament. 2nd ed. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Reade, J. E. 1968 Tell Taya (1967): Summary Report. Iraq 30: 234–64. 1971 Tell Taya (1968–9): Summary Report. Iraq 33: 87–100. 1973 Tell Taya (1972–73): Summary Report. Iraq 35: 155–88. Ristvet, L. 2012 Resettling Apum: Tribalism and Tribal States in the Tell Leilan Region, Syria. Pp. 37–50 in Looking North: The Socioeconomic Dynamics of the Northern Mesopotamian and Anatolian Regions during the Late Third and Early Second Millennium BC, ed. N. Laneri, P. Pfältzer, S. Valentini. Studien zur Urbaniserung Nordmesopotamiens D1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Rosen, S. A. 2002–2014 Desertification and Pastoralism: A Historical Review of Pastoral Nomadism in the Negev Region in vol. 5 of Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems, Land Use, Land Cover and Soil Sciences, accessed 24.2.2014 at www.eolss.net/sample-chapters/c19/ E1–05–06–02.pdf. Roux, G. 1982 Ancient Iraq. Harmonsdsworth: Penguin Books. Rowton, M. 1973 Autonomy and Nomadism in Western Asia. OrNS 42: 247–58. Sasson, J. 1969 The Military Establishments at Mari. StPohl 3. Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute. Schaub, R. T. and Rast, W. E. 1989 Bâb edh-Dhraʿ: Excavations in the Cemetery Directed by Paul W. Lapp (1965–67). Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Shavit, E. 2014 The History of Desert Truffle Use. Pp. 217–41 in Desert Truffles: Phylogeny, Physiology, Distribution and Domestication, ed. V. Kagan-Zur, N. Roth-Bejerano, Y. Sitrit, and A. Morte. Soil Biology 38. Berlin and Heidelberg: Springer. Shaw, P. A., and Thomas, D. S. G. 2000 Pans, playas and salt lakes. Pp. 293–348 in Arid Zone Geomorphology: Process, Form and Change in Drylands, ed. D. S. G. Thomas. 2nd ed. Chichester: Wiley. Silver, M. 2014 The Earliest State Formation of the Amorites: Archaeological Perspectives from Jebel Bishri. ARAM 26: 243–267. Smith, S. L., Wilkinson, T., and Lawrence, D. 2014 Agro-pastoral Landscapes in the Zone of Uncertainty: The Middle Euphrates and the North Syrian Steppe during the 4th and 3rd millennia BC. Pp. 151–72 in Settlement Dynamics and Human-Landscape Interaction in the Dry Steppes of Syria, ed. D. Morandi Bonacossi. Studia Chaburensia 4. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Streck, M. 2000 Das amurritische Onomastikon der altbabylonischen Zeit. Vol. 1: Die Amurriter. Die onomastische Forschung, Orthographie und Phonologie, Nominalmorphologie. AOAT 271/1. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2013 Remarks on Two Recent Studies on Amorite. UF 44: 309–27. Weeks, N. 1985 The Old Babylonian Amorites: Nomads or Mercenaries? OLP 16: 49–57.

Climate Change, the Mardu Wall, and the Fall of Ur

295

Weiss, H. 2013 The Northern Levant during the Intermediate Bronze Age: Altered Trajectories. Pp. 367–87 in The Oxford Handbook of the Archaeology of the Levant, c. 8000–332 b.c.e., ed. M. L. Steiner and A. E. Killebrew. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Weiss, H., Courty, M.-A., Wetterstrom, W., Guichard, F., Senior, L., Meadow, R., and Curnow, A. 1993 The Genesis and Collapse of Third Millennium North Mesopotamian Civilization. Science 261: 995–1004. Western, C. 1971 The Ecological Interpretation of Ancient Charcoals from Jericho. Levant 3: 31–40. Whiting, R. 1995 Amorite Tribes and Nations of Second-Millennium Western Asia. Pp.  1231–42 in vol. 2 of Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, ed. J. Sasson. New York: Scribner’s Sons. Wilcke, C. 1969/1970  Zur Geschichte der Amurriter in der Ur-III-Zeit. WO 5: 1–31. 1970 Drei Phasen des Niedergangens des Reiches von Ur III. ZA 60: 54–69. Wossink, A. 2009 Challenging Climate Change: Competition and cooperation among pastoralists and agriculturalists in northern Mesopotamia (c. 3000–1600 BC). Leiden: Sidestone Press. Zarins, J. 1992 Archaeological and Chronological Problems within the Great Southwest Asian Arid Zone, 8500–1850 BC. Pp. 42–62 in vol. 1 of Chronologies in Old World Archaeology, ed. R. W. Ehrich. 3rd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

Regional Differences in Middle Assyrian Jacob Jan de Ridder Leipzig

At some point in the 14th century b.c.e., the town of Assur shed the yoke of the Mitanni who had dominated Northern Mesopotamia in the preceding decennia, both politically and militarily. The royal dynasty ruling Assur exploited the military crisis of their former overlords to incorporate their former vassals into the kingdom of Assur, and enlarge the city-state considerably. This sudden expansion transmitted Assyrian scribal traditions over a large geographical area in a short period and we find archives in a large number of sites in the conquered territory. At the same time, Assyrian cuneiform replaced local customs, as the people of the newly conquered territory had their own scribal traditions. This is attested, for instance, for Tell Ar-Rimāḥ, where two ‘Nuzi’-era texts were found besides the Old Babylonian and Middle Assyrian tablets (TR 125 and 126, see Wiseman 1968: 186–87). Likewise, for Tell Ṭābān we have an adoption contract in the Ḫana-style, which predates the Middle Assyrian tablets from the site (Yamada 2011). The local calendar used in Tell Ṭābān is perhaps the best-documented case of local traditions having been preserved into the Middle Assyrian period (Shibata 2010). Recently, Fincke (2014: 23–28) published an unusual letter in the Nuzi style, dated to the period following the conquest of Arrapḫa, showing that local traditions continued in this region, as well. Regional variation in orthography is not a unique feature in the different phases of Akkadian history. It is well attested for OB, where some scholars distinguish between southern and northern traditions in terms of syllabic values. 1 To these two groups we may add the scribal traditions of Mari and Ešnunna. 2 On the other hand, this period has a considerably different background, where scribal traditions could be developed by local scribes in independent kingdoms, and which lasted until Babylon was unified by Ḫammurapi (e.g., Mari and Ešnunna). As for the interpretation of this variation, Kraus pointed out in response to Oppenheim that such regional differences did not reflect dialectal differences, but rather scribal traditions. 3 This assessment is no doubt correct and we should not confuse scribal traditions with dialectal differences. For instance, the OA corpus variation had a social aspect, Author’s note:  This article uses abbreviation of kings’ names in order to date sources. These abbreviations are taken from Freydank 1991: 188–89, e.g., Aub = Aššur-uballiṭ I. Other abbreviations used for text references are: Billa = texts numbered following Finkelstein 1953; Giricano = texts numbered following Radner 2004; TR = siglum of Tell Ar-Rimāḥ texts published by Saggs (1968) and Wiseman (1968). 1.  Veenhof 2005: xiii. 2.  See von Soden and Röllig 1991: xxxi; Goetze 1945. 3.  See Oppenheim 1964: 55; Kraus 1973: 32–34.

297

298

Jacob Jan de Ridder

as some signs could be used to show off erudite scholarship. 4 On the other hand, unusual sign values may occur in combination with other unusual features, such as incorrect spellings, syntax and foreign lexemes. In addition, as the Assyrian empire was a young state, establishing multiple scribal traditions might possibly provide us with knowledge on Assyrian scribal origins and/or foreign elements in Assyrian society. In this short paper, a selected number of peculiarities will be discussed from (peripheral) archives other than Assur and Kār-Tukultī-Ninurta, concerning orthography, phonology, and lexicon. This does not mean that there are no irregularities in texts from Assur. Here, too, we find texts from obviously foreign scribes. Scribes with Babylonian names, including theophoric elements such as Marduk and Nabû, occur throughout MA history (cf. Jakob 2003: 243–44). A Babylonian background could result in some misunderstandings when writing legal formulae in MA dialects. A possible instance is the adoption KAJ 6, written by Nasḫira-Marduk, son of Yāku-limmer: a-na pa-i (= a-na pi-i) KAJ 6: 4; mi-i-mu-ú-šu ga-BI-e (= mi-(im)mu-šu gab-be) l. 9; Li-ba-a-la (= Lìb-bi-URU) l. 11; i-BA-la-aḫ-šu l. 12; ú-BA-sú l. 16; TE-e-ni (dēni) l. 20; ka-ús-pí (= kaspu = ‘silver ’) l. 23. In other texts, such as MARV 10 30, there is a consistent confusion of grammatical genders, suggesting that the linguistic background of the scribe was a language without gender distinctions, such as Hurrian/Hittite (de Ridder 2015: 123).

1. Orthography 1.1.  Sign Values of Tell Ar-Rimāḥ The Tell Ar-Rimāḥ texts are typical for some unusual sign values. Some attestations might be faulty readings caused by eroded tablets. Nonetheless, some examples are interesting enough to be discussed here. In TR 3012: 12, the value ⟨ṭá⟩ is used in the stative from nadāˀu in na-TA-at (naṭṭat). 5 Kouwenberg (2003: 85) suggested that the attestation came from an inherited spelling from OA. This might be unlikely because ⟨  ṭá⟩ is present in Western Peripheral Akkadian (von Soden and Röllig 1991 no. 102; cf. Wilhelm 1970: 87). The value is only attested once at this peripheral outpost. Moreover, other forms of this stative use expected ⟨ṭa⟩ DA: naṭa-at Billa 18: 11; KAJ 142: 15; TR 3001: 10. In one early MA text, we even find a broken spelling, suggesting a preserved aleph: na-ad-at (nadˀat) WVDOG 130 31: 11. It should be noted that ⟨ṭá⟩ occurs passim in the geographic name Qaṭarā: uruQaṭá-ra, e.g., TR 2031: 6. 6 Another unusual interdental value ⟨tù⟩ (DU) is attested in 4.  See Kryszat 2008: 232. 5.  The geminated /ṭ/ originates in the regressive assimilation of an aleph to the preceding consonant, similar to the well-known example of the verb našāˀu in MA/NA (nasˀ- > naṣṣ-). The existence of the assimilation of an aleph can already be proven for other verbs in OA texts based on the difference between “broken” and alephless spellings (see Kouwenberg 2003), thus for maṣāˀu ‘to be able’ one may find a 1cs stative written either as ma-aṣ-a-ku (maṣˀāku) or ma-ṣa-ku (maṣṣāku). As explained in Kouwenberg’s study, the sign TA in the OA period has two common syllabic values, ⟨ta⟩ and ⟨ṭá⟩, whereas for /da/ the sign DA is more commonly used. Thus, TA in spellings as na-TA-at can best be read as ⟨ṭá⟩. The analysis for this verb is furthermore confirmed by the other MA alephless spellings of this verb with DA (e.g., na-DA-at), as in this period /ṭa/ is expressed by the value ⟨ṭa⟩ DA instead of OA ⟨ṭá⟩ TA, thus confirming the assimilation (nadˀat ⟩ naṭṭat). 6.  The reading ⟨ṭá⟩ rather than the expected ⟨ta⟩ is based on the OB spellings of the geographic names with ⟨ṭà⟩ (ḪI), e.g., Qa-ṭà-ra-aki Dalley, Walker, and Hawkins 1976 no. 79: 4, and rarely ⟨ṭá⟩ in Qa!-

Regional Differences in Middle Assyrian

299

the following passage: e-ṣu-tu ma-du-tù “little and much” TR 3025: 16 (Sa/TN). The value ⟨tù⟩ is standard in OA, but also attested in peripheral Akkadian (von Soden and Röllig 1991 no. 135; Nuzi in Wilhelm 1970: 87). The examples quoted above concern dentals, which may have been caused by the Hurrian background of scribes, as the difference between voiced and voiceless consonants in this language is not phonetic. Emphatic consonants were totally absent in Hurrian. Thus we may also apply this explanation to the confusion between the labials (b:p), e.g., tup-pu ṣa-⸢PI⸣-te TR 2058: 13. Admittedly, confusion of the labials is not unheard of in MA texts, though many of the traditionally quoted examples derive from KAJ 6 (see above). We may also note the unusual CvC value ⟨kar5⟩ in the verb karāˀu: ú-kar5-ru-ú in Tell Ar-Rimāḥ: TR 2015: 11; TR 2057B: 4′ (Deller and Saporetti 1970: 291; von Soden and Röllig 1991: 19*, no. 323) vs. ú-kar-ú TR 102: 11; ú-kar-ru-ú TR 3011: 13. In general, this value is very rare in Akkadian and only otherwise attested in some Amarna letters from Byblos (von Soden and Röllig 1991: 64, no. 323). It seems likely that the scribe(s?) in question derived this value from the similar ⟨gar⟩. Rather than explaining this as occurring due to the scribe’s confusion of the velars, it seems more likely that this was a local innovation. Syllabic values in Akkadian are often based on the consonantal triples, in his case /g-k-q/, cf. ⟨ták⟩ and ⟨táq⟩ from the sign DÀG: táq-ti-bi MAL A § 2: 16; il-ták-nu-ú-ni MAL B § 6: 44. That being said, the value ⟨gar⟩ is very unusual in MA texts, e.g., mI-gar-še-mi-id MARV 1 41: 4. In most variants of peripheral Akkadian, the value ⟨gàr⟩ (QAR) seems to be preferred over ⟨gar⟩. Therefore, the explanation that ⟨kar5⟩ derives from ⟨gar⟩ is probably the most likely solution, but adopting it simultaneously creates new problems.

1.2.  The Value ⟨šú⟩ in Giricano Giricano documents feature a number of attestations of ⟨šú⟩ in a word’s final position: tup-pu-šú Giricano 1: 15; na4KIŠIB-šú Giricano 4: 1, 14: 1; ŠEŠmeš-šú Giricano 4: 25. However, this occurs in less than a tenth of the normal attestations of ŠU in the final position. Moreover, all attestations are from three texts by the same scribe Aḫu-teribīya. 7 Nonetheless, the occurrence is a sign of the archive’s younger date. The value is also found in Abk era texts from Assur: úáp-ru-šú MARV 2 28: 5. According to the von Soden and Röllig 1991, the value first appears in a royal inscription from Salmanassar I, however we can already find the sign a number of times in KAJ 7 (e.g., DUMUmeš-šú), which is an early MA marriage document (EAd/Aub). A few other texts from this early period have this value, but only in a broken context. During the period Adn-TN, the sign occurs occasionally, e.g., DUMU-šú MARV 5 53+: 11 et passim (Sa). It does not occur at all in the Tell Ḫuwīra archives, but is attested in Tell Ar-Rimāḥ: a-bu-šú “his father” TR 3029: 4 (Adn/Sa) and probably in the PN from the same text: m.d⸢A⸣-šur-⸢KUR⸣-[U]N-šú! TR 3029: 13. The value is found in three texts from Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad in ŠEŠ-šú “his brother” (Salah 2014: 333). Attestations do not increase in late MA texts, though it is attested in bi-ḫir-šú KAJ 306a: 9 (Nae). As for the literary corpus, ⟨šú⟩ is all but absent in the laws and palace edicts, but does occur in the crowning ritual which is believed to be a late copy (Hecker 2008: 96), e.g., ma-za-al-te-šú MVAG 41/3: 14 iii 14. It also appears once in ṭá-raki no. 155: 20. The GN might feature an active case of Geers’ law, where the spellings with TA point to the weakening of the emphatic /ṭ/ to /t/ because of preceding emphatic /q/ (GAG: 65 § 51e). 7.  See Radner 2004: 62.

300

Jacob Jan de Ridder

another ritual from Kār-Tukultī-Ninurta: GÙB-šú KAR 139: 4. It is likely that the value ⟨šú⟩ was introduced from MB as it is present during the history of MA, but never gained much ground except for its use by a Giricano scribe, Aḫu-teribīya. 8

1.3.  The Logogram lúA.BA in Giricano Rather than applying common DUB.SAR, different Giricano scribes use the logogram lúA.BA for tupšarru ‘scribe’, in Giricano 4: 40; 7: 29; 8: 36; 10: 31. In the NA period, it became very common and seems to have mostly replaced the older DUB. SAR. 9 This logogram has been discussed many times since Parpola claimed that lúA. BA refers to the alphabetic order. 10 As such, the logogram refers to an alphabetic script rather than cuneiform ones, and thus the presence of West Semitic people. There are a few misperceptions about the implications of this fact, caused by Deller, who erroneously claimed that the logogram occurs for the first time in MA colophons in texts from the Tiglatpilesar I library (sic). 11 The conflicts between this king and Aramaic tribes, and the occurrence of Aramaic personal names in the Giricano archive, would fit well with Deller’s claim. Unfortunately, it cannot be maintained, as the earliest attestations occur in texts dating as far back as possible within the reign of Adad-nīrārī I from the Urad-Šerūa archive: KAJ 101: 25 (Adn); MARV 1 47: 32 (TN). Still, it appears again in a later MA text numbered VAT 9487. 12 Another misconception is the presumed origin of Ugarit, whereas it seems that attestations in Ugaritic texts are not numerous. 13 Moreover, none of the Ugarit examples are dated, but if our first MA attestation dates back to Adad-nīrārī, the logograms appear more or less simultaneously in Assur and Ugarit. There is, therefore, no clear indication that lúA.BA founds its origin in Ugarit. Instead, we need not forget that alphabetic texts occur as early as in late Old Babylonian texts from Southern Babylon. 14 As a West-Semitic descent cannot be proven for any of the scribes in the Giricano archive, we cannot connect the West-Semitic presence and the logogram lúA.BA in this context. Moreover, we should not make a direct link between the presence of West-Semitic people and the use of the alphabet. It is doubtful whether alphabetic literacy could have been common in the often (semi)nomadic, Aramaic tribes in this period. However, as the logogram A.BA was preferred over DUB.SAR in NA, we can regard Giricano as the earliest archive in which this shift took place.

2. Phonology 2.1.  The Situation of /w/ The MA period is known for the orthographic representation of etymologic /w/ as ⟨B⟩. One example is the noun awātu ‘command’, in the common expression i+na 8.  Cf. MB in Aro 1955: 25. 9.  See for instance the index of SAA 6 (p. 316), where DUB.SAR is found only once, against many cases of A.BA. 10.  See Parpola in Tadmor 1987: 459. 11.  See Deller 1982: 151. On a side note, the existence of the Tiglatpilesar library has been laid to rest in recent years, e.g., Pedersén 1998: 83–84. 12.  Period Tp, see Freydank 1991: 76 n. 205, 174. 13.  See Tadmor 1987: 459; Deller 1982: 149–50; Hallo 1996: 40. For actual attestations in Ugarit, see Huehnergard 1989: 411. 14.  See D’Istria 2012.

Regional Differences in Middle Assyrian

301

a-bat LUGAL “according to the command of the king” MARV 9 55: 5. While MA is mostly regular in this aspect, some unusual orthographic spellings of etymologic /w/ are found in the peripheral texts. In the Tell Ar-Rimāḥ archive, we find one unusual stative mus-ba-a-ku? “I dwelt” (usbāku) TR 2083+: 9, as in the proposed reading by Postgate (1979: 92). MA features the sound change /š/ > /s/ in the verbs ušābu and šabalkatu when the sibilant is directly followed by the labial (Mayer 1971: 24), not visible here because MUŠ can be read both ⟨mus⟩ or ⟨muš⟩. More important is the preservation of etymologic /w/ in word initial position, written ⟨M⟩. Another unusual case is the spellings of the MA deity Bēr found in theophoric elements in personal names. It derives from Old Assyrian Wēr, indicating an original word initial /w/ (Mayer 1971: 20, § 14.2; cf. Hirsch 1972: 34b). According to standard MA spellings, we would expect /w/ > /b/: Be-er as found in the onomasticon (Saporetti 1970: 185). In itself, this is rather unusual since we have already stated that the word initial /w/ disappeared in MA, with this DN as the only noticeable exception; still, this might explain some of the unusual spellings. In the Tell Šēḫ Ḥamad corpus we may note the patronym I-din-dWe-e[r] (BATSH 9 45: 25), father of eponym Aššur-mušabši. 15 Following Röllig (2004: 24), there is one more unpublished text (DeZ 3814) where the theophoric element is written as Mēr. As we also have the same patronymic attested in an Assur text (I-din-Me!-er KAJ 116 r. 6), it seems clear that this unusual type of spelling is based on an irregularity in the PN of this particular individual. In other words, the scribe actually perceived the DN Mēr as sounding different from MA common Bēr. As an explanation, we may note a dedicatory inscription to the Ḫana king Tukultī-Mēr (RIMA 2 A.0.89.2001). This short text is devoid of any local characteristics (Podany 2002: 74). Presumably, the text is in SB, and similar to normal MA official and monumental inscriptions. An exception is the theophoric element in the RN Tukultī-Mēr. This typical spelling for Ḫana is also found in MA-era texts of the kingdom (e.g., mṢíl-lí-dMe-er in Kümmel 1989: l. 9). The occurrence of Mēr rather than Bēr in this and other Ḫana texts might very well be due to phonologic rather than orthographic reasons, but it is in any case typical for Ḫana. This leads to the suggestion that Aššur-mušabši’s family might have originated from the region, explaining the unusual spellings of his father’s name Iddin-Mēr.

2.1.  Phonology of Giricano The Giricano texts feature one important phonological change, which is characteristic for NA but otherwise not attested in MA. In MA/MB we find, virtually without exception, the sound change /š/ < /l/ when preceding a dental. According to Streck, this can be best explained by a realization of /š/ as [ɬ] and perhaps more accurately [tɬ]. 16 The situation in NA is different, instead we find the sound change /lt/ > /ss/, disregarding the etymologic origin of /l/, e.g., is-se-eq-qé ( /ss/. This in its turn can be explained by the chronological period of these texts, as they date to the last MA king, Aššur-bēl-kāla (Abk). Contemporary texts from Assur (the period Tp-Abk) do not clearly display similar features; the use of ⟨šú⟩ is still rare and the shift /lt/ > /ss/ is not attested in verbal forms. It is possible that similar features will eventually turn up in Assur. However, until they do we should ascribe the aforementioned features to the personal preferences of a couple of scribes in Giricano. 22.  This becomes even more complicated with letters, which we may assume were written somewhere else.

Bibliography Aro, J. 1955 Studien zur mittelbabylonischen Grammatik. StOr 20. Helsinki: Societas Orientalis Fennica. Artzi, P. 1997 EA 16. AoF 24: 320–36. Dalley, S., Walker, C. B. F., and Hawkins, J. D. 1976 The Old Babylonian Tablets from Tell al Rimah. London: British School of Archaeology in Iraq. de Ridder, J. J. 2015 Review of Urkunden der königlichen Palastverwalter vom Ende des 2. Jt. v. Chr., by D. Prechel and H. Freydank. BiOr 72: 120–24. Deller, K. 1982 Das Siegel des Schreibers Aššur-šumī-aṣbat, Sohn des Rībāte. BaM 13: 143–54. Deller, K., and Saporetti, C. 1970 Documenti medio-assiri redatti a titolo di ricevuta dietro parziale adempimento di un debto. OrAnt 9: 285–314. Dijkstra, M. 2014 The Hurritic Myth about Šaušga of Nineveh and Ḫašarri (CTH 776.2). UF 45: 65–94. D’Istria, L. 2012 Épigraphes alphabétiques du pays de la Mer. N.A.B.U. 2012/48.

304

Jacob Jan de Ridder

Donbaz, V. 1976 Ninurta-Tukulti-Aššur. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. Ebeling, E. 1919 Keilschrifttexte aus Assur religiösen Inhalts I. WVDOG 28. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. 1927 Keilschrifttexte aus Assur juristischen Inhalts. WVDOG 50. Leipzig: J. C. Hin­ richs’sche Buchhandlung. Fincke, J. 2014 Three Nuzi Texts from the British Museum and a Middle Assyrian Letter from the Aftermath of the Conquest of the Kingdom of Arrapḫe. AoF 41: 15–29. Finkelstein, J. J. 1953 Cuneiform Texts from Tell Billa. JCS 7: 111–76. Freydank, H. 1979 Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte I. VS 19. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. 1982 Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte II. VS 21. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. 1991 Beiträge zur mittelassyrischen Chronologie und Geschichte. SGKAO 21. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Freydank, H., and Feller, B. 2004 Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte V. WVDOG 106. Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag. 2010 Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte IX. WVDOG 125. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Goetze, A. 1945 The Akkadian Dialects of the Old-Babylonian Mathematical Texts. Pp.  146–51 in Mathematical Cuneiform Texts, ed. O. Neugebauer and A. Sachs. AOS 29. New Haven: American Oriental Society. Grayson, A. K. 1991 Assyrian Rulers of the Early First Millennium BC I (1114–859 BC). RIMA 2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Hallo, W. W. 1996 Origins: The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Western Institutions. SHCANE 6. Leiden: Brill. Hecker, K. 2008 Die Krönung des Königs. Pp. 96–98 in Omina, Orakel, Rituale und Beschwörungen, ed. B. Janowski and G. Wilhelm. TUAT NF 4. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Hirsch, H. 1972 Untersuchungen zur altassyrischen Religion. 2nd ed. AfO Beih. 13/14. Osnabrück: Biblio Verlag. Huehnergard, J. 1989 The Akkadian of Ugarit. HSS 34. Atlanta: Scholars. Jakob, S. 2003 Mittelassyrische Verwaltung und Sozialstruktur: Untersuchungen. Leiden: Brill. Kataja, L., and Whiting, R. 1995 Grants, Decrees and Gifts of the Neo-Assyrian Period. SAA 12. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Kouwenberg, N. J. C. 2003 Evidence for Post-Glottalized Consonants in Assyrian. JCS 55: 75–86.

Regional Differences in Middle Assyrian

305

Kraus, F. R. 1973 Vom mesopotamischen Menschen der altbabylonischen Zeit und seiner Welt. Mededelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen, afd. Letterkunde 36/6. Amsterdam and London: North-Holland Publishing Company. Kryszat, G. 2008 The Use of Writing Among the Anatolians. Pp. 231–38 in Anatolia and the Jazira during the Old Assyrian Period, ed. J. G. Dercksen. OAAS 3, PIHANS 111. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Osten. Kümmel, H. M. 1989 Ein Kaufvertrag aus Ḫana mit mittelassyrischer līmu-Datierung. ZA 79: 191–200. Kwasman, Th., and Parpola, S. 1991 Legal Transactions of the Royal Court of Nineveh, Part I: Tiglath-Pileser III through Esarhaddon. SAA 6. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Larsen, M. T. 2010 The Archive of the Šalim-Aššur Family, Vol. 1: The First Two Generations. AKT 6a. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu. Mayer, W. 1971 Untersuchungen zur Grammatik des Mittelassyrischen. AOATS 2. NeukirchenVluyn: Verlag Butzon & Bercker Kevelaer. Moran, W. L. 1992 The Amarna Letters. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Müller, K. F. 1936 Das assyrische Ritual. Teil 1: Texte zum assyrischen Königsritual. MVAG 41/3. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. Oppenheim, A. L. 1964 Ancient Mesopotamia: Portrait of a Dead Civilization. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Pedersén, O. 1998 Archives and Libraries in the Ancient Near East, 1500–300 B.C. Bethesda: CDL. Podany, A. H. 2002 The Land of Ḫana: Kings, Chronology and Scribal Traditions. Bethesda: CDL. Postgate, J. N. 1979 On Some Assyrian Ladies. Iraq 41: 89–103. Prechel, D., and Freydank, H. 2011 Mittelassyrische Rechtsurkunden und Verwaltungstexte X. WVDOG 143, KMZ 9. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Radner, K. 2004 Das mittelassyrische Tontafelarchiv von Giricano/Dunnu-ša-Uzibi. Turnhout: Brepols. Reculeau, H., and Feller, B. 2012 Mittelassyrische Urkunden aus dem Archiv Assur 14446. WVDOG 130, KMZ 7. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Reade, J. E. 2000 Ninive (Nineveh). Pp. 388–433 in RlA 9. Röllig, W. 2004 Eponymen in den mittelassyrischen Dokumenten aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad/DūrKatlimmu. ZA 94: 18–51. 2008 Land- und Viehwirtschaft am unteren Habur in mittelassyrischer Zeit. BATSH 9, Texte 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Saggs, H. W. F. 1968 The Tell al Rimah Tablets, 1965. Iraq 30: 154–74.

306

Jacob Jan de Ridder

Salah, S. 2014 Die mittelassyrischen Personen- und Rationenlisten aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad / DūrKatlimmu. BATSH 18, Texte 6. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Saporetti, C. 1970 Onomastica Medio-Assira, Volume II: Studi, Vocabolari ed Elenchi. StPohl 6. Rome: Biblical Institute Press. Shibata, D. 2010 Continuity of Local Tradition in the Middle Habur Region in the 2nd millennium B.C. Pp. 217–39 in Dūr-Katlimmu 2008 and Beyond, ed. H. Kühne. Studia Chaburensia 1. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Soden, W. von 1952 Zu den Amarnabriefen aus Babylon und Assur. OrNS 21: 416–34. Soden, W. von, and Röllig, W. 1991 Das akkadische Syllabar. 4th ed. Roma: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico. Streck, M. P. 2006 Sibilants in the Old Babylonian Texts of Hammurapi and of the Governors in Qaṭṭunān. Pp. 215–251 in The Akkadian Language in its Semitic Context: Studies in the Akkadian of the Third and Second Millennium BC, ed. G. Deutscher and N. J. C. Kouwenberg. PIHANS 106. Leiden: Nederlands Instituut voor het Nabije Oosten. 2011 Babylonian and Assyrian. Pp. 359–96 in The Semitic Languages: An International Handbook, ed. S. Weninger. Handbücher zur Sprach- und Kommunikationswissenschaft 36. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Tadmor, H. 1987 The Aramaization of Assyria: Aspects of Western Impact. Pp.  449–70 in Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn: politische und kulturelle Wechselbeziehungen im alten Vorderasien vom 4. bis 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (XXV. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale), ed. H. J. Nissen and J. Renger. BBVO 1. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Trémouille, M.-C. 2009 Šauška, Šawuška. A. Philologisch. Pp. 99–103 in RlA 12. Veenhof, K.R. 2000 Ninive 5. Akkadische und altassyrische Periode. Pp. 433–34 in RlA 9. 2005 Letters in the Louvre, Transliterated and Translated. AbB 14. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Wilhelm, G. 1970 Untersuchungen zum Hurro-Akkadischen von Nuzi. AOAT 9. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Verlag Butzon & Bercker Kevelaer. Wiseman, D. J. 1968 The Tell al Rimah Tablets, 1966. Iraq 30: 175–205. Yamada, S. 2011 An Adoption Contract from Tell Taban, the Kings of the Land of Hana, and the Hana-Style Scribal Tradition. RA 105: 61–84. Ziegler, N. 2004 The Conquest of the holy City of Nineveh and the Kingdom of Nurrugûm by ŠamšîAddu. Iraq 66: 19–26.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers: Analyzing the Foreign Policy of the Assyrian Empire under Esarhaddon Selim Ferruh Adalı ANKARA

Aim of the Study, Models, Sources, and Some Qualifications This paper seeks to gain new insights into the Assyrian Empire’s policies conducted against foreign polities situated in the Empire’s Anatolian and Iranian frontiers during the time of king Esarhaddon (680–669 b.c.e.). A comprehensive study of these polities and policies requires an exhaustive treatment elsewhere. This paper focuses on two basic types of foreign policy decisions: conducting military campaigns and the attempt to establish alliances. Each such decision constitutes what may be dubbed “foreign policy.” “Analyzing foreign policy,” within the scope of the present study, comprises the analysis of the most influential reasons behind Assyria’s policy decisions of war and/or diplomacy against foreign polities in Anatolia and Iran. New insights into this ancient empire’s foreign policies are sought by means of the aid of certain models and approaches used to analyze modern foreign policy in the fields of political science and international relations. This paper can be a departure point for new ways of analyzing the history of the Assyrian Empire and its periods, potentially applicable to other areas of ancient history. The political science and international relations literature that could be cited and used is vast, and the models employed can be greatly diversified. 1 Given the scope and intentions of this paper, however, the analysis offered should be regarded as preliminary and the models employed are those most commonly known in the literature. In his seminal work on the making of modern foreign policy, Essence of Decision, Graham Allison questioned the processes which resulted in foreign policy decisions and took the Cuban Missile Crisis as a case study. 2 When Allison studied the Cuban Missile Crisis and went through the documentation that was available, he noticed that indeed certain foreign policy decisions could be explained as the result of calculations made by a state conceived as a rational actor. On the other hand, foreign policy decisions could also be explained as the output of recognizable entities 1. Holsti 2006; Stein 2008. In the near future, I intend to expand on ways to implement these models in greater detail. 2.  Allison 1971; updated in Allison and Zelikow 1999.

307

308

Selim Ferruh Adalı

functioning within the state. Allison discussed three models of foreign policy, arguing that they supplemented each other to produce a more comprehensive understanding and explanation of foreign policy decisions. 3 The Rational Actor Model (Model I) describes foreign policy decisions as the state’s choices made on a rational basis and with calculations of certain strategic interests, as if the state is one rational actor, and of one mind. Many experts and commentators read policies undertaken by the state was the result of strategic calculation. The second model is the Organizational Process Model (Model II), according to which institutions have certain procedures and limited resources which affect their treatment of, and reflection upon, foreign policies. A government consists of certain organizations functioning according to certain patterns and they create a certain output as a result. The leadership and elite do not exercise full control over these processes. Furthermore, the state has not one consistent goal but consists of several organizations with potentially different goals and interests. Model III is the Governmental (Bureaucratic) Politics Model, also dubbed Court Politics. This model assumes a complicated web of relations and interests that existed among groups and institutions within the state. In modern case studies, there may be documentation revealing personal and group interests regarding a foreign policy outcome. Each player in the government seeks to bolster their own position while pushing for a particular foreign policy decision. Different people want different foreign policies to be pursued, for their own interests. Non-governmental interest groups can also lobby members of the elite. In more ancient times, I think that all of this can be seen as manifestations of relations within the state hierarchy, though the present state of the evidence will not always help document these. Ideally, all possible factors should be included in the proper analysis of a given foreign policy decision. The models presented above help classify some of the critical factors as the output of rational decisions, organizational processes, or court politics. The models help ask new questions to the information available. When analyzing foreign policy, one must account not only for the international and geopolitical conditions but also the state’s domestic socio-political conditions, regime, and, where possible, the economic structure and interests. The models presented above offer a framework by which these factors can be included in the analysis of foreign policy. The events, campaigns and alliances of interest to the present study are known primarily from contemporary and relatively contemporary cuneiform texts. Assyrian royal inscriptions, along with extispicy queries, letters, and reports written for king Esarhaddon, provide information about the foreign policies of the Assyrian Empire carried out in its Anatolian and Iranian frontiers. Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions, and some Neo-Babylonian chronicles—in the case of this paper the chronicle concerning the period from Nabû-nāṣir to Šamaš-šumu-ukīn, and the Esarhaddon Chronicle in particular—provide much of the chronology of events and campaigns. 4 The present study will make use of the texts mentioned above in order to discuss the factors behind the Assyrian decisions of campaign and/or diplomatic initiative in Anatolia and Iran during the time of Esarhaddon, on the basis of the foreign policy models presented above. A very detailed study in the future would look at each 3.  Allison is not strict about the naming of the models, the names chosen from ordinary language help with familiarity. 4.  The pertinent Babylonian Chronicles are collected in Grayson 1975 (ABC 1 and ABC 14); Glassner 2004 (nos. 16 and 18).

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

309

ancient text individually in order to identify the specific human agent(s) active in the formation of that specific foreign policy known from the text, and then accumulate the data as each text is meticulously studied. Furthermore, I intend, in future work, to process more details regarding the administrative and economic structure of the Assyrian Empire, while at the same time recognizing that the extant written evidence does not reveal the full scale of the political and administrative relations within the Empire. 5 This paper is a preliminary work seeking to establish new insights into the Anatolian and Iranian policies of Esarhaddon. I proceed mainly from valid generalizations (for example, “members of the ruling elite supporting Esarhaddon”) instead of discussing specific individuals. One could dispute the validity of the specific details of a given military and political event described in this paper. One may require the discussion of alternative reconstruction of events. Additionally, one may request the analysis of all frontiers of the Empire (including Babylonia and the Levant) and not only Anatolia or Iran. Finally, the bibliography offered in this paper could also be significantly expanded for each topic raised. I hope to address all these in future work with more details. My purpose at present is to provide new insights from a general perspective looking over multiple episodes in Assyria’s Anatolian and Iranian frontiers. Each episode would otherwise require very extensive research in itself. This study does not aim at a complete factual and exhaustive description of events on the ground (incorporating both textual and archaeological evidence). Instead, I gather the most pertinent and available information in a chronological framework. I assume that the ancient texts are reliable insofar as that the events, campaigns or alliances mentioned in them did occur in the real past. How, on the other hand, they transpired in their specific details, and their multiple social, political and economic contexts—for example the specific outcomes of a given military campaign as claimed in a text or the effects and afterlife of a given alliance—all of these are topics of discussion in future works.

Setting the Scene In 681 BC, Sennacherib was killed by one of his sons; the ensuing civil war ended with Esarhaddon’s victory and accession. 6 Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions claim Sennacherib had elected him as the crown prince against his older brothers. 7 The civil war points to the divisions among the ruling class within the Assyrian heartland. Some members of the elite supported king Esarhaddon and others did not. On the other hand, the king needed to ensure an adequate degree of support, voluntarily or out of fear, from members of the ruling elite. Both Esarhaddon’s father (Sennacherib [r. 704–681 b.c.e.]) and his grandfather (Sargon II [r. 721–705 b.c.e.]) were killed, though apparently for different reasons. 8 Esarhaddon’s time witnesses to a rigorous administration of the loyalty oaths, with the explicit purpose of protecting the royal family. 9 The loyalty of the ruling class 5.  For recent overviews of Neo-Assyrian administration, see Mattila 2000; Postgate 2007; Radner 2014: 105 (with references). 6.  ABC 1 iii 34–38 in Grayson 1975: 81–82. 7.  For example, RINAP 4 1 i 8–ii 11 (Leichty 2011: 11–14). 8.  Sargon II was killed during his campaign against Gurdî in Tabal, Cappadocia in central Anatolia. This transpired in 705 b.c.e. according to the Eponym Chronicle (Millard 1994: 48); see also ABC 1 ii 6′–23′ in Grayson 1975: 76–77. 9.  See recently Fales 2012; Ponchia 2014.

310

Selim Ferruh Adalı

was deemed critical for the welfare of the Empire. 10 The elite were responsible for reporting suspicious activity against the Sargonid dynasty. 11 It was in the interest of some members of the ruling class that Esarhaddon was king. These members of the ruling class had incentive to prevent their potential rivals from organizing and planning initiatives against the king. Therefore, standard Assyrian organizational procedures trying to ensure dynastic stability gained some level of support after Esarhaddon emerged victorious from the civil war that had began with the assassination of Sennacherib. Given these dynamics of the Empire at the beginning of Esarhaddon’s reign, and based on Models II and III discussed above which focus on the role of internal actors and dynamics in the making of foreign policy, I propose that the Empire could potentially use any tool available to Esarhaddon’s regime; including the organization of military campaigns. 12 The Assyrians had the strongest military establishment in the ancient Near East during the time of Esarhaddon. Military campaigns formed a fundamental part of Assyrian foreign policy. Successful military campaigns were also used to strengthen the authority of the king inside the Empire and to represent the king’s power in royal ideology. For example, SAA 9 3 (= K. 2401), an oracle collection dating to the time of Esarhaddon, has god Aššur declaring victory against certain countries; Melid (as restored by Parpola in SAA 9 3 i 35), the Cimmerians, Ellipi and two other polities (their names are lost on the clay tablet). The same tablet also has goddess Ištar speaking of traitors defeated in the past; the gods confirm their favour for Esarhaddon. State religion connected successful military campaigns with the divine legitimacy of the Assyrian king. There is a decline in the number of campaigns to Anatolia and Iran during the reigns of Sennacherib and Esarhaddon. The economic benefits and relative political and military ease of the Levant, as well as the presence of more powerful polities in Anatolia (e.g., Phrygia, Urartu) are among the reasons given for the decline of Assyrian military campaigns in Anatolia. 13 There is also a decline in the number of military campaigns into western Iran mentioned in royal inscriptions during the time of Esarhaddon. 14 This has been attributed to the growing power of certain polities in Assyria’s Iranian frontier; the Scythians, the Cimmerians (some Cimmerians were settled in western Iran, others in Anatolia), the Median city-states, especially a certain Kaštariti, and Mannaea, a kingdom presumably based south of Lake Urmia. 15 Mannaea was the target of a major Assyrian campaign during the time of Esarhaddon. Even if one posited that few campaigns of Esarhaddon are currently known because of an accident of discovery, it is recognized that his reign witnessed a decline in military activity. 16 Explanations focusing on geopolitical factors suit the Rational 10.  For example, a Neo-Assyrian prophetic text (SAA 9 3) calls the “sons of Assyria” to be loyal to the king and speaks of traitors who perished in the past. 11.  This is mentioned, for example, in Esarhaddon’s Succession Treaty § 6 (Parpola and Watanabe 1988: 31–32). 12.  This is not to argue that other kings did not view campaigns also as a tool in domestic affairs. This paper focuses on Esarhaddon’s period and seeks to explore facts from this king’s reign. 13.  Grayson 1998. 14.  Brown 1987–1990: 620; Leichty 2011 (nos 1–4, 6, 8, 35, 77–79, 93). 15.  Starr 1990: lviii–lxi. 16.  Grayson 1991: 122–41.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

311

Actor Model (Model I). Conceived as a rational decision-maker, the Assyrian Empire sees it is more profitable to avoid unnecessary conflict. Model I may look to factors external to the workings of the Empire, such as the growing power of foreign states. It seems reasonable for modern researchers to assume such factors, even when the ancient texts would not explicitly state that a given foreign policy decision was made because of such a strategic calculation. On the other hand, Models II and III would indeed lead one to ask for other factors in Assyrian foreign policy decision making. Did the internal dynamics, organizational process, or influential interest groups or individuals have any influence on the decline of military campaigning in Anatolia and Iran during the time of Esarhaddon?

The High Offices and the Elite The organization of a military campaign against a foreign country delegates power to members of the military and political elite, especially to military commanders. Given the tight internal measures against and the screening of members of the military and political elite during the time of Esarhaddon, the organization of military campaigns constitutes political risk. Will they remain loyal with a significant military force under their command? 17 During Esarhaddon’s reign, the names of the following members of the military and political elite were used as eponyms (provided below with their respective dates): 18 •  Nabû-aḫḫē-ēreš, governor (šaknu) of Samʾal (681 b.c.e., year of Esarhaddon’s accession) •  Danānu, governor (šaknu) of Manṣuate (680 b.c.e.) •  Itti-Adad-anēnu, governor (bēl pīḫati) of Megiddo (679 b.c.e.) •  Nergal-šarru-uṣur, chief butler (rab šāqê) (678 b.c.e.) •  Abī-rāmu, chief vizier (sukkallu dannu/rabû) (677 b.c.e.) •  Banbâ, chief/second vizier (sukkallu dannu/šanû) (676 b.c.e.) •  Nabû-aḫḫē-iddin, (chief) chamberlain (masennu rabû) (675 b.c.e.) •  Šarru-nūri, governor (šaknu) of Barḫalzi (674 b.c.e.) •  Atar-ilu, governor (šaknu) of Laḫīru (673 b.c.e.) •  Nabû-bēlu-uṣur, governor (šaknu) of Dūr-Šarrukīn/Šarrukku (672 b.c.e.) •  Kanūnāyu, chief bailiff (sartinnu) (671 b.c.e.) •  Šulmu-bēlu-lašme, governor (šaknu) of Dēr (670 b.c.e.) •  Šamaš-kāšid-ayābi, governor (šaknu) of Asdu[. . .] (669 b.c.e.) These members of the Assyrian ruling class may be considered as some of those closest to king Esarhaddon. Whether they or other members of the ruling class were sincerely loyal or not is another matter. This was also an explicit concern of the Assyrian loyalty oaths. All one can do with our current knowledge is to state that the names listed above were on record as those who seemed worthy of having their names used as eponyms to date the king’s regnal years. No doubt there were other favoured members of the ruling class. The chief eunuch Ša-Nabû-šū led campaigns against Melid, Ellipi, Tabal, and the third campaign against Egypt during the time 17.  Such concerns are implied in other periods as well. For example, Sargon II inquires as to why a certain Mannu-kī-Adad is recruiting certain able-bodied men without royal permit (SAA 1 11). 18.  Millard 1994: 51–52; Leichty 2011: 6.

312

Selim Ferruh Adalı

of Esarhaddon. 19 He remained favoured by Assurbanipal, and is eponym for the year 658 b.c.e.. 20 The most prominent Assyrian military and political offices serving the king, were the masennu, the nāgir ekalli, the rab šāqê, the rab ša-rēši, the sartinnu, the sukkalu, and the turtānu. 21 Each of these offices, subject to the king, had their own economic resources and duties, and certain military forces under their responsibility, as well as shares of tributes attained by the state. The administration, controlling territory across Mesopotamia and the Near East in the form of provinces, 22 also had a governor (bēl pīḫati, šaknu) for each province and city. Furthermore, vassal kings were subject to the king. The Assyrian military and civil administration existed in close relation to the royal family, the latter recognizable as a distinct entity with its own household and properties. 23 The qēpu officials, directly responsible to the king, would work with governors and in provinces, representing the king’s direct control and acting as a check against local members of the administration. 24 Citizens in Assyrian controlled cities, presumably among them affluent ones and merchants, 25 could voice their concerns about local governance through mechanisms of communication with the civil administration, potentially even with the king himself. 26 Members of religious institutions and their representatives should also be included as part of the political elite. The king was responsible for the maintenance and protection of Assyria’s (and Babylonia’s) temples, and under Esarhaddon’s proBabylonian policy, relations with the temples of Babylonia and the support of the priests were also critical. Furthermore, the temples received a portion of the state’s tribute. 27

Experts and Diviners The scholars and diviners from Assyria and Babylonia had the ear of the king. Contemporary records show that Esarhaddon corresponded intensively with scholars (ummānu), astrologers, diviners and men of Mesopotamian lore. 28 Sixteen of them conducted regular correspondence with the king and they can be regarded as among the “inner circle” of the king: 29 •  Nabû-zēru-lēšir (chief scribe, the king’s ummānu, father of Issar-šumuēreš mentioned below) •  Issar-šumu-ēreš (following his father Nabû-zēru-lēšir, he became chief scribe, king’s ummānu, and continued under Assurbanipal) 19.  Grayson 1991: 132. 20.  Grayson 1991: 132; Millard 1994: 53. 21.  Mattila 2000. 22.  Radner 2006. 23.  Postgate 2007. 24.  Dubovský 2012: 449–460. 25.  Assyria was reputed for its rich traders: “You [Nineveh] have increased your traders more than the stars of heaven” (Nahum 3:16a). On traders in the Assyrian Empire, see Radner 1999. 26.  Ponchia 2012: 214–23. 27.  Cole and Machinist 1998: xi–xvii. 28.  Many of these letters are edited in SAA 4 and SAA 10. 29.  Parpola 1993: xxv–xxvi. I exclude Nabû-zēru-iddina, Assurbanipal’s chief chanter, also in Parpola’s list, since Parpola is concerned also with scholars serving Assurbanipal. Nabû-zēru-iddina succeeded his father Urad-Ea in royal service.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

313

•  Balasî (crown prince’s ummānu, during the reigns of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, associate of Nabû-aḫḫē-erība) •  Nabû-aḫḫē-erība (astrologer, associate of Balasî, served both Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal) •  Akkullanu (priest in the Temple of Aššur and astrologer, served both Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal) •  Bēl-ušēzib (Babylonian scholar and diviner corresponding with Esarhaddon) •  Marduk-šumu-uṣur (chief haruspex for Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal) •  Adad-šumu-uṣur (royal exorcist for Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, brother of Nabû-zēru-lēšir, father of Urad-Gula) •  Marduk-šākin-šumi (chief haruspex for Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal) •  Nabû-nādin-šumi (chief exorcist for Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, succeeded Marduk-šākin-šumi) •  Urad-Gula (exorcist for Esarhaddon, son of Adad-šumu-uṣur) •  Nabû-nāṣir (exorcist for Esarhaddon) •  Urad-Nanaya (chief physician, Esarhaddon) •  Ikkaru (physician for Esarhaddon) •  Urad-Ea (chief chanter, Esarhaddon) •  Mār-Issar (scribe for Esarhaddon, a spy in Babylonia) This is not a comprehensive list of Esarhaddon’s favoured men of lore. Aba-Enlildari is remembered in Aramaic tradition (the story of Ahiqar) as a favoured ummānu or vizier serving during the periods of Sennacherib and Esarhaddon. 30 He may have preceded Nabû-zēru-lēšir. In any case, it is recognized that the Sargonid dynasty had Aramaic connections. Naqīʾa, mother of Esarhaddon, bore an Aramaic name, 31 whereas Zakûtu was her Akkadian name. She may have commanded military units during the time of Sennacherib when she expanded her role in the Assyrian cult. 32 Neo-Assyrian prophecies recorded during the time of Esarhaddon claim Naqīʾa’s support for Esarhaddon during the civil war preceding his accession to the throne. 33 She had a dominant role in state and temple rituals. Naqīʾa is known for administering on the Assyrians the loyalty oath to Assurbanipal, her grandson. This document is now dubbed the “Zakûtu-Treaty” (SAA 2 8, an adê [“oath”]-text). Queen Naqīʾa remains an enigmatic figure of Assyrian history. She exercised influence at the Assyrian court and especially among the royal family. 34 Esarhaddon had a very large royal family. He had as many as 19 children. 35 The king’s foremost wife was queen Ešarra-ḫammat. She died in 672 b.c.e.. Naqīʾa became the head of the queen’s household as was required. 36

30.  Grayson 1991: 132. 31.  Naqīʾa’s name may only point to the name’s linguistic affinity with Aramaic. As for her ethnic origins, the possibility she was connected with Aramaeans in Babylonia is discussed in Melville 1999: 13–16. 32. The earlier queen, Tašmetu-šarrat, may alternatively have been the queen who commanded units during the time of Sennacherib (Svärd 2015: 53). 33.  SAA 9 1; SAA 9 5; discussed in Nissinen 1998: 22–24. 34.  On Naqīʾa’s political power, see Melville 1999; eadem 2004: 43–57; Svärd 2015: 54–61. 35.  Parpola 1983: 117–19. 36.  Svärd 2015: 44–46.

314

Selim Ferruh Adalı

Circulating among the members of the Assyrian elite was a body of knowledge about foreign countries, and, among some members of the military and political elite, expertise (written or oral) about campaigning and information about enemy terrain and politics. For example, a fragmented letter from the time of Sargon II contains a glimpse of very detailed terrain information for a city in western Iran near northern Luristan: 37 You [know] that this pass (né-ru-bu) [leading to] Urammu is [ver]y difficult [to march through]; there is absolutely no way the Elamite [troops] will be able to get at you. Don’t be afraid; at the city of Urammu where you are to pitch the camp [there is] a plain (mid-bar) which is [very] good for encamping (. . .); and it is a [good] place to rest.

Bēl-ušēzib, for example, refers to knowledgeable members of the military and political elite when asked by Esarhaddon about omens regarding his planned campaign against Mannaea south of Lake Urmia: 38 I am writing to the king, my lord, without knowing the exit and entry (mu-ṣu-ú u e-re-bi) of that country. The lord of the kings should ask men who know the country (LÚmu-de-e KUR), and the king should write to his army as he deems best.

Such information was gathered, in great amounts, from Assyrian army personnel, provincial administration, diplomats, merchants, travellers, and the intelligence services. The Assyrians had a sophisticated intelligence service, which monitored enemies abroad and within the Empire. The Assyrian terms dayyālu ‘patroller,’ bātiqu ‘denouncer,’ lišānu ‘tongue,’ ēnāti ša šarri ‘the eyes of the king,’ and ša uznī ‘one with ears’ referred to spies on the ground. 39 This body of knowledge circulated among the Assyrian ruling elite, and under the offices of the magnates (rabûti). They, with the king overseeing this process and giving the final approval, would plan campaigns. These written plans were submitted for divine approval by extispicy. 40 The extispicy queries about the potential political or military manevours of foreign powers drew their information from this body of knowledge.

Viewing Campaigns as Domestic Policy Tools Model II of this paper (Organizational Process Model) may be used to view Assyrian military campaigns as part of the organizational process of the Empire. Members of the Assyrian military and political elite were expecting, by tradition, that campaigns be planned and executed. It was also a proof of divine approval. Successful military campaigns were an integral part of Assyrian royal ideology. One cannot imagine an Assyrian Empire without planned and executed campaigns. How much the Empire relied on booty still seems to be the subject of differing opinions, given the primacy of agriculture and trade in Assyria and among its subjects, as well as the role of innovative administrative procedures that enabled the longevity of the Assyrian Kingdom. 41 In any case, campaigns were part of state tradition. 37.  SAA 1 13: 7′–19′. 38.  SAA 10 111 r. 9–12. 39.  On the Assyrian intelligence services, see Dubovský 2006 and 2014. 40.  For example, see SAA 4 129–38. 41.  Radner 2014: 105, with references.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

315

Model II therefore leads to the view that knowledge about foreign countries and the tradition of campaigning within the Assyrian Empire—recognized among its elite and supported by its institutions—led to an expection that the Assyrians should campaign. It is always possible to justify such campaigns with economic or political factors, but this should not do injustice to the insight provided by Model II, that the organizational processes in the Assyrian Empire favoured and induced the conduct of military campaigns. Model III (Court Politics) may help focus on Esarhaddon and his closest circle, who wanted to control the military and political elite after the bloody civil war. Whenever a military campaign was planned, however, power would need to be delegated to a military commander. This commander, with an Assyrian force under him, could potentially turn out to be a danger to the royal dynasty. Model III, then, may lead one to assume that it was in the interest of Esarhaddon and his closest circle that there be as few military campaigns as possible. 42 While the king had to meet the tradition of campaigning (Model II), Esarhaddon and his circle used the same traditions to justify their own policies which sought to protect the interests of the dynasty as well as the state (Model III). The Anatolian and Iranian frontiers presented a series of external challenges to Esarhaddon. There were times when campaigning was viewed as inevitable. Both external and internal reasons can be posited. If the king was too inactive in campaigning, that would make him look weak and also threaten his legitimacy. The king had to meet these external challenges without creating threats for his regime. Here, trying to establish alliances or at least relations of non-aggression with certain powers in Anatolia and Iran became very important. In other words, alliances and stable external relations also consolidated the dynasty from within the Empire. Military campaigns were tools of domestic policy as they were of foreign policy. My interpretation following Models II and III should be seen only as supplementing Model I, rather than trying to replace it. External factors as well as the Empire’s organizational processes, ideology, webs of knowledge, and political actors were influentces behind Assyrian foreign policy decisions. Several sectors of the Assyrian elite would benefit from the campaigns and they exerted pressure, making use of traditions and processes available within the socio-political system of the Empire. The king, on the other hand, tried to use the same facilities and his supreme position to pursue foreign policies that would make it easier for him and his close circle to control the state and its subjects, especially the elite. I now turn to some of the dynamics of Anatolian and Iranian foreign policies with Models I, II, and III used in analysis.

Prioritizing the Levant and Egypt The civil war at the beginning of Esarhaddon’s reign provided opportunity for some vassals to break away from Assyrian rule. The situation in the Levant was the most pressing. Military effort was needed to pull them back in. By the time of Esarhaddon’s fourth year (677 b.c.e.), Sidon’s rebel king Abdi-Milkūti was captured and his city Sidon sacked; similarly, Sandauarri, king of cities Kundi and 42.  This is not to exclude other factors already discussed above, including its economic and international political risks.

316

Selim Ferruh Adalı

Sissû (in Rough Cilicia?), was defeated and captured. 43 Some booty campaigning took place in Tabal sometime before 677 b.c.e., perhaps associated with the defeat of the Cimmerians in Cybistra/Ereğli in 679 b.c.e.. 44 These campaigns point to the significance of Cilicia as an area under Assyrian protection and as a buffer region protecting Assyria’s interests in the Levant, and in Syria-Palestine. This can also explain why Sidon and Rough Cilicia are mentioned together in some of Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions. Esarhaddon was trying to maintain the Assyrian dominance over the Levant attained during the reign of his father Sennacherib. Egypt presumably backed antiAssyrian political movements in the Levant during the reign of Sennacherib. In 679, Esarhaddon’s armies sacked Arzâ, a city on Egypt’s borders. 45 Throughout his reign, Esarhaddon spend much energy trying to control the Levant; a treaty with Sidon’s rival Tyre was also concluded (SAA 2 5). 46 The culmination of Esarhaddon’s efforts were the campaigns against Egypt itself. The Assyrians wanted to spare their resources and energies in their other frontiers (Anatolian, Iranian and Babylonian) and prioritized the Levant as targets of campaigns. This reasoning resonates with Model I. Below now, I will try to use interpretations combining Models I, II, and III, focusing on Anatolia and Iran.

The Policy of Minimum Engagement with the Cimmerians For the year 679 b.c.e., Esarhaddon registers a victory against the Cimmerians in Cappadocia’s Cybistra/Ereğli region (Assyrian Ḫubušna/u), at the southern and southeastern ends of the Konya plain. 47 Ereğli is next to the Cilician Gates. Esarhaddon’s forces had to prevent potential Cimmerian incursions into the Cilician plain. The Assyrians fought the Cimmerians only when necessary. Extispicy queries report Cimmerian tribes active in different parts of Anatolia and western Iran. 48 The extent of the Cimmerian tribes’ political and military reach owed to their Eurasian nomadic socio-political organization and mounted-archer military capabilities. 49 The Cimmerians were named the Umman-manda in Neo-Assyrian tradition during the times of Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. 50 In general, the Mesopotamian tradition of naming barbarian peoples from the mountain frontiers of Anatolia and Iran as the Umman-manda justified the lack of military action against such peoples. 51 I argue that the Assyrians named the Cimmerians as the Umman-manda 43.  ABC 1 iv 3–4; ABC 14 12´; RINAP 4 1 ii 65 – iii 38, RINAP 4 2 i 14 – i 56 in Leichty 2011: 16–17, 28–29. For the localization of Kundi and Sissû in Rough Cilicia and references to alternative views, see Radner 2011. 44.  This is mentioned separately in Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions. Tabal appears in RINAP 4 1 iii 49, 2 ii 7, 3 ii 19′, 4 i’ 6′. The Cimmerians were defeated in Cybistra according to RINAP 4 1 iii 43, 2 ii 1, 3 ii 15′, 4 i’ 2′, 30 18′, 60 1′, 77 18, 78 17, 79 17, 93 8, 97 23). 45.  ABC 14 7–8. 46.  For details, see Grayson 1991: 123–26. 47.  ABC 14 9. 48.  Starr 1990: LVII–LXII. 49.  For the material culture of the Cimmerians, see Ivantchik 2001. 50.  Adalı 2011: 107–32. 51.  Adalı 2011: 64–71.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

317

in part to justify the low level of military engagement against them. As external reasons for this policy of minimum engagement, one may assume that the mobile Cimmerians were hard to engage and deadly in battle due to their their horse-riding and archery capabilities which gave them a high levels of mobility and shooting power. I posit that Esarhaddon closely corresponded with scholars and diviners for multiple purposes. One of them was trying to find and use tenets of Mesopotamian and Assyrian tradition to justify his policies. In this case, the king sought to avoid costly and politically risky campaigns against the Cimmerians. When the conception of the Cimmerians as the Umman-manda justified Esarhaddon’s policy of minimum engagement, this constituted one less problem for the king monitoring the elite because there was no risk of delegating power in what would be a difficult campaign in Anatolia or Iran. Esarhaddon depicted the Cimmerians with themes associated with the Umman-manda, 52 also when doubting the reliability of the Cimmerians in western Iran who promised to stay neutral during the Assyrian campaign against Mannaea. 53

The Alliance Initiative with the Scythians Royal inscriptions claim Esarhaddon’s victory against a Mannaean-Scythian alliance led by Išpakāya, a Scythian, by 676 b.c.e. the latest. 54 The extispicy texts limit Scythian military activity to western Iran, the vicinity of Media and Mannaea. 55 It is not known whether the Assyrians reached their campaign objectives against Mannaea. During the time of Assurbanipal, the Mannaeans under Aḫšeri were independent and anti-Assyrian in the 660s b.c.e.. 56 A Scythian king other than Išpakāya, by the name of Bartatua, appears in extispicy texts as a foreign king who requested an Assyrian princess in marriage; this offer was subjected to divinatory examination as attested by several extispicy reports. 57 The same king Bartatua is known by Herodotus as Protothyes (Histories 1.103). The historical tradition reported by Herodotus (in Histories 1.103) claims that the Assyrians and the Scythians had an alliance during the time of Scythian king Madyes, son of Protothyes, against Cyaxares of Media. Strictly speaking, contemporary cuneiform texts do not confirm that Esarhaddon and Bartatua established an alliance but Herodotus’s information may imply indeed such an alliance was attempted sooner or later. The extispicy query SAA 4 20 points to the fact that the Assyrians considered the option of establishing an alliance with the Scythians and their king Bartatua, with a consolidating dynastic marriage. Esarhaddon sought to have the Scythians as an ally and probably also tried to establish some control over the political situation of Mannaea and Media, the countries most associated with Scythian political activity in Assyrian texts. This initiative was an alternative to campaigning in these distant regions.

52.  Adalı 2011: 114–16. 53.  Fales and Lanfranchi 1981; Adalı 2011: 113–16. 54.  RINAP 4 2 ii 20–23 in Leichty 2011: 29–30. 55.  Starr 1990: LXI–LXII. 56.  Grayson 1991: 129; Brown 1987–1990: 621. 57.  SAA 4 20–22.

318

Selim Ferruh Adalı

The Policy of Rapprochement with Urartu Another Assyrian rapprochement was with Rusa II of Urartu. Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions are silent about relations with Urartu except in relation to the Assyrian campaign against Šubria in 673 b.c.e., described in a Letter to Aššur. 58 After the campaign, Assyria and Urartu exchanged political prisoners regarded as dangerous to both sides and residing in Šubria. 59 There is no known military conflict between Assyria and Urartu during or after this episode. Mixed relations and a certain degree of uncertainty may have prevailed between Assyria and Urartu before this period. For example, extispicy texts ask whether Rusa II would plan a military attack against the Assyrians marching to Šubria. 60 Rusa II was a contempory of both Esarhaddon and the previous Assyrian king Sennacherib. 61 He was the last powerful king of Urartu. There were ambitious building activities during his reign. 62 Some royal inscriptions of Rusa II refer to slaves deported from Assyria, listed among other lands, for work in building projects. 63 This may perhaps refer to a period of hostilities between Assyria and Urartu before Esarhaddon’s campaign against Šubria in 673 b.c.e. and the subsequent rapprochement. The timing of the Assyrian campaign can be explained also with Model III. Eph‘al has already noticed the temporal proximity of the failed campaign against Egypt in 673 b.c.e. and the campaign against Šubria a few months later. 64 Eph‘al argues that this temporal proximity and the elevated descriptions of the Šubria campaign in the Letter to Aššur (RINAP 4 33 II iii 28′–34′) makes one suspect that the Assyrians campaigned against Šubria to renew faith in the king’s legitimacy after his disastrous defeat in Egypt.

The Policy of Non-Aggression: Mugallu of Melid and Urtaku of Elam During Esarhaddon sixth regnal year in 675 b.c.e., Assyrian troops marched against Melid. 65 Forces under Ša-Nabû-šū encamped against Mugallu, an Anatolian king. 66 Mugallu or his predecessor had conquered Melid during the period of Sennacherib or sometime before 675 b.c.e. during the reign of Esarhaddon. 67 Around 675 b.c.e., another king, Iškallu, was recognized in Assyrian texts as the king of Tabal. 68 The precise outcome of the Assyrian campaign against Melid remains unclear. 58.  RINAP 4 33 II 2 iii 28′–34′ in Leichty 2011: 85. 59.  ABC 1 iv 19–22; ABC 14 23′–25a’. On the fifth day of the month Addaru (XII) of the same year 673 b.c.e., the king’s wife Ešarra-ḫammat died. 60.  SAA 4 18. 61.  Sagona and Zimansky 2009: 322. The chronology of the final kings of Urartu remains disputed; see Sagona and Zimansky 2009: 326–31. 62.  Sagona and Zimansky 2009: 328–31. 63.  Salvini 2008: 568 (no. A 12–1 vi 10–11), 576 (no. A 12–4 ii 6′–9′). 64.  Eph‘al 2005. 65.  ABC 1 iv 10. 66.  SAA 4 9 is a query text exploring this plan and naming Esarhaddon’s chief eunuch. The campaign was realized, as known from the Babylonian Chronicle (ABC 1 iv 10). 67.  Hawkins 1993a: 38. 68.  SAA 4 9–11. Tabal was an Assyrian designation for the politically fragmented region of southern central Anatolia; D’Alfonso 2012.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

319

Afterwards, Mugallu was still recognized as “the Melidian,” and Iškallu was no longer mentioned. 69 Mugallu’s name appears as the king of Tabal during the reign of Assurbanipal, when this Anatolian king submitted to Assyria and started sending horse tribute. 70 It is very likely that perhaps Mugallu’s military advance, whatever its nature, was stopped. 71 I think that Esarhaddon opted to enter into a phase of non-agression with Mugallu. All that is known with complete certainty from the texts is that Mugallu sent emissaries asking for peace talks and extispicy queries questioned the sincerity of Mugallu’s diplomacy. 72 I am under the impression that Esarhaddon and his administration pursued a similar policy with the Elamites. Ḫumban-ḫaltaš II, king of Elam, or his predecessor, had executed a Chaldean chief who had fled to Elam after rebelling against Assyria in 680 b.c.e.. 73 This was a display of rapprochement on the part of Elam. During Assyria’s attempted expedition against Melid in 675 b.c.e., however, Ḫumban-ḫaltaš II died. 74 The new king Urtak vied for peace. This was accepted by Esarhaddon. 75 The next year, the Elamites are said to have returned certain gods of Akkad to Babylonia. 76 Such a policy, pleasing to the Babylonians, would also be relevant for the Assyrians, since Esarhaddon had not yet fully returned Marduk and his cultic properties, and yet he needed to pursue his pro-Babylonian policy. Esarhaddon withheld the full return of Marduk to ensure Babylonian support for his plans of dynastic succession. Marduk was completely returned to Babylon during the reign of Assurbanipal. 77 The Assyrian policy against Elam and the willingness to avoid further conflict despite Elam’s violation of treaty obligations can be seen as part of Assyria’s policy of nonaggression with several polities in Anatolia and Iran. Furthermore, Egypt and the Levant promised more economic gain. The Assyrians were concentrating on these areas and not campaigning in Anatolia or Iran. This suited Esarhaddon’s policy of avoiding military campaigns when possible.

Limited Campaigning in Media and Western Iran The Assyrian provincial system in central Zagros region was maintained by Esarhaddon but the extispicy queries indicate that control was difficult. Tribute collection (mainly horses) continued. 78 The extispicy texts refer to several Mede citystates which planned alliances or military actions. A certain Kaštariti of Karkašši is a powerful enemy in the region; queries concern the threat he poses to various citystates in Media. 79 Meanwhile, several Median and other Zagros city-lords swore loy69.  SAA 4 1, 3, 5, 7–12. One extispicy text referred to Mugallu without any a title whereas others refer to him as “the Melidian.” 70.  Hawkins 1993b. 71.  There is also the possible cuneiform restoration of Melid’s name by Parpola as one of the defeated lands in the Neo-Assyrian prophetic text SAA 9 3 i 35. 72.  SAA 4 12. 73. ABC 1 iii 39–47. It cannot be excluded that Ḫumban-ḫaltaš II came to power after the proAssyrian move by the Elamites. On his reign, see Waters 2000: 37–40. 74.  ABC 1 iv 9–10; ABC 14 15–19. 75.  SAA 4 74–75; Waters (2000: 42–45) traces the development and gradual deterrioration of Assyrian-Elamite relations which remained peaceful into the early part of Assurbanipal’s reign. 76.  ABC 1 iv 16–18. 77.  ABC 1 iv 34–36; ABC 14 35–36; ABC 16: 5–7; SAA 4 262–66. 78.  Brown 1987–1990: 621. 79.  Starr 1990: LX–LXI; Diakonoff 2008: 276–82; Medvedskaya 2010: 156–62.

320

Selim Ferruh Adalı

alty to the Sargonid dynasty. 80 The Assyrians contemplated military action against Kaštariti. 81 Since the royal inscriptions do not mention his defeat, either these expeditions did not take place or they failed. On the other hand, Kaštariti is said to have vied for peace at least once. 82 The context is not clear and it may have been lost in the series of complicated events that unfolded and beyond the knowledge of the extant evidence today. The outcome of his efforts and the Assyrian response remain unknown. Media was not centralized during the time of Esarhaddon. It was more difficult for Assyria to establish alliences or treaties of peace or at least non-aggression with polities that could affect the region. Competing Median city-states complicated the political scene. It is difficult to ascertain to what extent the Assyrians were able to maintain their control in the Zagros regions and Media. In any case, the Medes grew more in power during the time of Assurbanipal. For whatever reason it may be, Media was not regarded as a major threat during the last years of Esarhaddon. Assyria could afford the Egyptian campaigns during Esarhaddon’s final years. The extispicy texts make clear that whenever the Assyrians campaigned into Media, they were at risk. There are only a few references to successful campaigns in Media according to Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions. They mention the defeat of two Median city-lords by the year 676 b.c.e., with some others voluntarily accepting to be vassals. 83 Some extispicy queries and royal inscriptions concern collecting horse tribute and going as far as the salt sea (Darya-i Namak of the central Iranian plateau, or smaller but still extensive salt wastes east of Arak and Saveh) and Mt. Bikni (Mt. Demavend or Alvand West of Hamadan). 84 These resonate in Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions. It may be that Esarhaddon could not expand the Zagros provincial system but conducted raids and achieved less in terms of tribute collection. I think this supports the view that Esarhaddon tried to avoid military campaigns in general, for the reasons proposed above, following the perspectives provided by the models of foreign policy focusing on the internal dynamics of the state. The campaigns conducted against Mannaea, Ellipi, 85 and Media, along with the alliances attempted with Urartu and the Scythians sought to stabilize the region enough for Assyria’s Levantine interests.

Concluding Remarks Esarhaddon attempted to build alliances or at least entered into relations of non-aggression with Melid, Urartu, the Scythians, certain Median city-states, and Elam. At the same time, the Assyrians sought minimal military engagement against the Cimmerians and in western Iranian countries such as Media and Mannaea. By means of alliances attempted with the Scythians (if it existed, it was established sometime after 677 b.c.e.), Elam (c. 675 b.c.e.) and Urartu (c. 673 b.c.e.), and with a constructive policy towards Babylon, Model I of this paper could infer, among 80.  Parpola and Watanabe 1988: XXX. 81.  SAA 4 60–62. 82.  SAA 4 56. 83.  Brown 1987–1990: 621; Leichty 2011: 20, 32, 39, 43–44, 50, 155–156, 159, 176. 84.  For example, SAA 4 64 and RINAP 4 1 iv 46–52 in Leichty 2011: 20. For the differing identifications of these toponyms, see Levine 1974 and Medvedskaya 2010. 85. A Zagros country (RINAP 97 20 in Leichty 2011: 181, also mentioned in SAA 9 3, claiming Assyrian victory).

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

321

other things, that the Assyrian Empire under Esarhaddon was trying to stabilize its multiple fronts to the extent possible, while concentrating on the Levant, and ultimately targeting Egypt. The changing military and political landscape in Anatolia and Iran led to policies of trying to build alliances to create more stable frontier zones to safeguard trade routes and core areas of Assyrian interest in northern Mesopotamia and the Levant. Models II and III could produce different insights supplementing the explanations provided above. Esarhaddon and his close circle sought to use alliances and the stability created to their advantage in the domestic and internal affairs of the Empire. The organizational processes of the Empire oversaw the organization of military campaigns, but under Esarhaddon campaigns were only a last resort. The king avoided campaigning in these regions and instead sought to establish a network of foreign allies and relations contributing to stability and minimal Assyrian military, political and economic expenditure on the Anatolian and Iranian frontiers. This also ensured less power was invested in commanders campaigning far away from the Assyrian heartland.

Bibliography Adalı, S. F. 2011 The Scourge of God: The Umman-manda and Its Significance in the First Millennium BC. SAAS 20. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Allison, G. T. 1971 Essence of Decision: Explaining the Cuban Missile Crisis. Boston: Little, Brown and Company. Allison G. T., and Zelikow, P. 1999 Essence of Decision: Explaining the Cuban Missile Crisis. Second Edition. Longman. Brown, St. C. 1987–1990  Medien (Media). Pp. 619–23 ina RlA 7. Cole, S. W., and Machinist, P. 1998 Letters from Priests to Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal. SAA 13. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. D’Alfonso, L. 2012 Tabal: An Out-group Definition in the First Millennium BC. Pp. 173–94 in Leggo! Studies Presented to Frederick Mario Fales on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, ed. G. B. Lanfranchi, D. Morandi Bonacossi, C. Pappi, and S. Ponchia. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Diakonoff, I. M. 2008 Istoriya Midii ot drevneĭshikh vremen do kontsa IV veka do n.e. 2nd. rev. ed. (prep. by V. A. Jakobson and S. R. Tokhtas’ev). St. Petersburg: St. Petersburg State University. Dubovský, P. 2006 Hezekiah and the Assyrian Spies: Reconstruction of the Neo-Assyrian Services and its Significance for 2 Kings 18–19. Biblica et Orientalia 49. Rome: Editrice Pontificio Istituto Biblico. 2012 King’s Direct Control: Neo-Assyrian Qēpu Officials. Pp.  449–60 in Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008, ed. G. Wilhelm. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2014 Sennacherib’s Invasion of the Levant through the Eyes of Assyrian Intelligence Services. Pp. 249–91 in Sennacherib at the Gates of Jerusalem: Story, History, and Historiography, ed. I. Kalimi and S. Richardson. Leiden: Brill.

322

Selim Ferruh Adalı

Ephʿal, I. 2005 Esarhaddon, Egypt, and Shubria: Politics and Propaganda. JCS 57: 99–111. Fales, F. M. 2012. After Ta’yinat: The New Status of Esarhaddon’s Adê for Assyrian Political History. RA 106: 133–58. Fales, F. M., and Lanfranchi, G. B. 1981 ABL 1237: The Role of the Cimmerians in a Letter to Esarhaddon. East and West 33: 9–33. Glassner, J.-J. 2004 Mesopotamian Chronicles. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Grayson, A. K. 1975 Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. TCS 5. Locust Valley, New York: J. J. Augustin. 1991 Assyria: Sennacherib and Esarhaddon (704–669 B.C.). Pp. 103–41 in The Cambridge Ancient History. Second Edition. Volume III. Part 2. The Assyrian and Babylonian Empires and other States of the Near East, from the Eighth to the Sixth Centuries B.C., ed. J. Boardman, I. E. S. Edwards, N. G. L. Hammond, E. Sollberger, and C. B. F. Walker. New York: Cambridge University Press. 1998 Assyrian Expansion into Anatolia in the Sargonid Age (c. 744–650 BC). Pp. 131–35 in XXXIVème Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale. XXXIV. Uluslararası Assiriyoloji Kongresi. XXXIV. International Assyriological Congress. 6–10/VII/1987 İstanbul. Kongreye Sunulan Bildiriler, ed. H. Erkanal, V. Donbaz, and A. Uğurluoğlu. TTKY 26/3. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Hawkins, J. D. 1993a Melid (Malatya, Arslan Tepe). A. Historisch. Pp. 35–41 in RlA 8. 1993b Mugallu. P. 408 in RlA 8. Holsti, O. R. 2006 Making American Foreign Policy. New York: Routledge. Ivantchik, A. I. 2001 Kimmerier und Skythen. Kulturhistorische und chronologische Probleme der Archäologie der osteuropäischen Steppen und Kaukasiens in vor- und frühskythischer Zeit. Moskau: Paleograph Press. Leichty, E. 2011 The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 BC). RINAP 4. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Levine, L. D. 1974 Geographical Studies in the Neo-Assyrian Zagros: II. Iran 12: 99–124. Mattila, R. 2000 The King’s Magnates: A Study of the Highest Officials of the Neo-Assyrian Empire. SAAS 11. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Project. Medvedskaya, I. N. 2010 Drevnii Iran nakanune Imperii (IX-VI vv. do. n.e). Istoriya Midiiskogo Tsarstva. St. Petersburg: St. Petersburg Centre for Oriental Studies. Melville, S. C. 1999 The Role of Naqia/Zakutu in Sargonid Politics. SAAS 9. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Project. 2004 Neo-Assyrian Royal Women and Male Identity: Status as a Social Tool. JAOS 124: 37–57. Millard, A. 1994 The Eponyms of the Assyrian Empire, 910–612 BC. SAAS 2. Helsinki: The NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project.

The Anatolian and Iranian Frontiers

323

Nissinen, M. 1998 References to Prophecy in Neo-Assyrian Sources. SAAS 7. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Parpola, S. 1983 Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part II: Commentary and Appendices. AOAT 5/2. Kevelaer: Butzon & Bercker, NeukirchenVluyn: Neukirchner Verlag. 1987 The Correspondence of Sargon II, Part I: Letters from Assyria and the West. SAA 1. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. 1993 Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars. SAA 10. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. 1997 Assyrian Prophecies. SAA 9. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Parpola, S., and Watanabe, K. 1988 Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oaths. SAA 2. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Ponchia, S. 2012 Administrators and Administrated in Neo-Assyrian Times. Pp. 213–24 in Organization, Representation, and Symbols of Power in the Ancient Near East. Proceedings of the 54th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Würzburg, 20–25 July 2008, ed. G. Wilhelm. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2014 The Neo-Assyrian Adê Protocol and the Administration of the Empire. Pp. 501–25 in From Sources to History: Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014, ed S. Gaspa, A. Greco, D. Morandi Bonacossi, S. Ponchia, and R. Rollinger. AOAT 412. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Postgate, J. N. 2007 The invisible hierarchy: Assyrian military and civilian administration in the 8th and 7th centuries BC. Pp. 331–61 in The Land of Assur and the Yoke of Assur, ed. J. N. Postgate. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Radner, K. 1999 Traders in the Neo-Assyrian Period. Pp.  101–26 in Trade and Finance in Ancient Mesopotamia: Proceedings of the First MOS Symposium (Leiden 1997), ed. J.  G. Dercksen. Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut te Istanbul. 2006 Provinz. C. Assyrien. Pp. 42–68 in RlA 11. 2011 Sissû. P. 273 in RlA 12. 2014 The Neo-Assyrian Empire. Pp. 101–19 in Imperien und Reiche in der Weltgeschichte: Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche, ed. M. Gehler and R. Rollinger. Wiesbaden : Harrassowitz Verlag. Sagona, A., and Zimansky, P. 2009 Ancient Turkey. London and New York: Routledge. Salvini, M. 2008 Corpus dei testi urartei. Volume I: le iscrizioni su pietra e su roccia. I testi. Roma: CNR. Istituto di Studi sulle Civiltà dell’Egeo del Vicino Oriente. Starr, I. 1990 Queries to the Sungod: Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria. SAA 4. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Stein, J. G. 2008 Foreign Policy decision making: rational, psychological, and nerological models. Pp. 101–16 in Foreign Policy: Theories, Actors, Cases, ed. S. Smith, A. Hadfield, and T. Dunne. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

324

Selim Ferruh Adalı

Svärd, S. 2015 Power and Women in Neo-Assyrian Palaces. SAAS 23. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Waters, M. W. 2000 A Survey of Neo-Elamite History. SAAS 12. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

Finis Assyriae: The Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation? Stefan Zawadzki Poznań

The main topic of our conference: fortune and misfortune, is usually associated with personal fortunes, although it can be related to the changing situations of families, tribes, free and unfree peoples, etc. Misfortune also occurs in the histories of states, with the culminating point being their fall. 1 When a state collapses, it is justified to ask what it means for the main players in the current political scene, but also about the consequences of its fall for its inhabitants, from the elites to the social underclasses. 2 It is reasonable, perhaps even necessary, to ask whether the fall entails only the ending of a certain political entity, and its later reconstruction and further development, or whether the collapse of the state is irreversible. When looking at this question, we can point to the collapse of the Middle Assyrian state in the eleventh and tenth centuries and the rebirth of Assyria at the end of the tenth and ninth century, and its subsequent growth and domination in the eighth and seventh centuries and the fall in the end of seventh century b.c.e. As this cases show, the collapse of political structures was in the first case only temporary, while in the second final. In order to distinguish temporary and final collapses, it seems useful to apply two definitions: that of the state and that of a civilisation. The fall of a state does not necessarily have to entail the collapse of a civilisation, especially if it is not a total collapse, and only a shorter or longer political and economic weakness. On the other hand, the collapse of a civilisation is inconceivable without the prior collapse of state organisation. Both these definitions—state and civilisation—can lead to arguments and ambiguities. It is essential to define both, and the definitions that will be given below will be—I hope—in agreement with a fairly commonly accepted view. State is a system or entity, a governed entity (such as a country) or sub-entity (such as an autonomous territory of a country). It may be further described as: 1.  Since the purpose of this publication is to present my general reflections on the consequences of the fall of Assyria, the references to scholarly research are limited to the necessary minimum related directly to the questions discussed. 2.  On the general approaches, see Tainter 2012 (although the Ancient Near East is treated there only marginally), Yoffee 1988a (presentation of different theories of the collapse) and Yoffee 1988b (discussion of collapse of the Mesopotamian states).

325

326

Stefan Zawadzki •  an organised political community, living under a government; •  a society with complex social hierarchy and organised, institutional government; •  a sovereign political entity, a society living on the territory of a given state.

Civilisation is a society in an advanced state of social development (e.g., with complex political, administrative, legal, and religious organisation). Often the term is used to define a society at a particular time and place. This definition of civilisation is very close to that of a state in an advanced stage of development. The term is used especially when several political organisms which were at an identical, or similar stage of development operated on a given territory at a specific time (e.g., the Minoan civilisation, Greek civilisation, Aztec civilisation, etc.). To make our further considerations clearer, I propose here defining a civilisation as the essential political, legal, administrative and cultural (among this religious) elements of the state which are able to survive its collapse and be adopted by subsequent, often alien political structures, or other “ideologies” loosely associated with political organisms. In other words, a civilization is made up of those elements of culture, political organisation and social forms which do not disappear with the ultimate collapse of a state or political system. So we come here to the fundamental question of whether the fall of Assyria entailed the collapse of the Assyrian empire, 3 or the fall of the Assyrian civilisation. I therefore propose to identify those elements which on the one hand can be regarded as significant for the functioning of the Assyrian state and, at the same time, to detect within them the “core” of Assyrian civilisation. The suggested list, of course, identifies the most important elements: •  the cities as the main centres of administrative, religious and economic

life; •  the palace as the place where the royal/state ideology was shaped, with important participation of religious elements and long tradition of common history; •  strong dependence of intellectual circles on the palace and temple; •  the broad use of writing in the activities of the state administration, the temples and private individuals (at least in the most important centres in the country). I shall not discuss the role of the army and imperial ideology, as the collapse of the state naturally led to their discontinuation.

Cities After the Fall of Assyria The idea that the collapse of the state led to the fall of political, administrative, religious and cultural centres in the great Assyrian cities (Assur, Nineveh, Kalhu, Arbela, Harran) was formulated already by the first generation of researchers and 3.  The question of the reason for the collapse of Assyria were summarized by myself in Zawadzki 1988: 14–22. Many new important studies have been published in the following years: Dalley (ed.) 1998, Kuhrt 1995, Liverani 2001, Machinist 1995, Melville 2009, Yoffee 2011, to mention only the most important.

Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation?

327

has been followed by the next generations of scholars only in slightly nuanced form. However, several renowned scholars questioned the idea of the total fall or disappearance of these centres. It is enough to mention S. Dalley and other scholars who published their studies in the famous book Legacy of Mesopotamia, 4 next, Dalley’s own article of 1993, and A. Kuhrt’s 1995 article about Assyrian cities in the Achaemenid period. The data carefully gathered there showed there were reasons for believing that Kalhu, Nineveh and Arbela did not entirely disappear. Traces of buildings of cultic character were found in them, and there are references to Nineveh in the Neo-Babylonian period. 5 There is evidence that in the Persian period the communication route connecting the western regions of the Persian Empire went through Arbela. The most abundant data comes from the city of Assur, but some scholars stress that in the first period after the fall of the empire it was a small settlement inhabited by poor people. 6 Only in the Arsacid time the city entered a new period of prosperity: the temple of the god Aššur was rebuild and the governor’s palace was uncovered. 7 The discovery of a few texts in Dūr-Katlimmu dated to the very beginning of the rule of Nebuchadnezzar with the formula specific for Assyrian documents was interpreted as evidence for the survival of Assyrian traditions there. 8 These indisputable facts lead to the conclusion that the fall of Assyria was not total; the cities did not, by any means, disappear. The conclusion is that various aspects of the Assyrian civilisation became a part of the cultural heritage of the ancient Near East. Do these arguments constitute sufficient grounds to conclude that the collapse of the state did not signify the end of the Assyrian civilisation? It is obvious that no civilisation disappears entirely in a single blow. In discussing the fall of Assyria, as with any civilisation, the right question is first to ask not whether some elements of the civilisation survived, but whether the main political, administrative and cultural/religious centres survived in such a shape that they were able to continue more or less the roles they had served prior to the collapse of the state. The second question is whether other centres or institutions appeared which took over the “core” of that civilisation threatened with extinction through the collapse of the main bearers of that civilisation. The reply to these questions is unambiguous: none of the centres examined by archaeologists provides data for the idea that they retained their earlier role. There is no evidence that there remained Assyrian administrative traditions, that religious life (cults and rituals) were organised on the basis of the Assyrian tradition and calendar. The material remains in those cities lead to the opposite conclusion: the restored cult buildings were a shadow of the former Assyrian temples. It is highly doubtful that by these modest objects the cult might have continued in the form and scale of imperial Assyria. Although in the city of Assur the gods Aššur, Šerua, Nabû, and Nergal were worshipped many centuries after the fall of Assyria, at least partly according to the cultic calendar of imperial times, 9 undoubtedly the 4.  Dalley (ed.) 1998. 5.  Kuhrt 1995: 249–50. 6.  See for example Andrae 1938: 237–38 and Pedde 2012: 854–55. 7.  See Hauser 2011, esp. 140–41; Pedde 2012: 855. 8.  Postgate 1993 and in the same volume Kühne (archeological context), Brinkman, Röllig, and numerous later commentaries. For the final edition, see Radner 2002, nos. 37–40. 9.  Weidner 1941–1944: 343. For the last edition of the texts, see Beyer 1998: 11–25.

328

Stefan Zawadzki

worship had a local character, 10 incomparable to its imperial character, expressed partly in the royal ideology of that time. The lack of cuneiform texts from Assur after the fall of the state is the best argument for the idea that cult lost its previous form and character, and was rather based on oral memory. In addition, the strong link of Assyrian religion with the state (participation in the shaping of Assyrian imperial ideology) and material dependence of the temples and their personnel on the state was a serious obstacle for the role of the bearers of Assyrian culture. The numerous traces of deliberate destruction and robbery of temples, damage of statues of Assyrian rulers and nobles, especially their faces, ears, and eyes, can be interpreted as conscious symbolic attempts at reducing them to slaves (as that is precisely how Mesopotamian law punished slaves), 11 and leave no room for doubt that a similar fate was met by the Assyrian elite of the time. This means that the flourishing political and cultural centres were destroyed, and if they survived in some form, they were reduced to the role of local settlements whose administrative and cultural functions showed no similarity to their roles prior to the collapse of the state. The fall of Assyria resulted in the destruction of the royal palaces in all the main centres of the country: no royal palace existed later as a centre of administration, not even of local administration. The destruction of the central and a majority of the local administrative centres meant that such important places of the formation and maintaining of the Assyrian cultural, religious, legal and administrative traditions ceased to exist. The conquerors ostentatiously manifested their lack of interest or desire to continue any of these elements of the Assyrian tradition. The symbolic expression of the lack of interest in Assyrian culture is provided by the fate of Ashurbanipal’s library. There are no signs that the conquerors of Nineveh were interested in the collection. Their interest—not only the Medes but also the Babylonians—was limited to looting, revenge on the defeated and the symbolic humiliation of their predecessors. The spiritual output collected in Ashurbanipal’s library did not arouse their interest. It should also be stressed that the inhabitants of the town living there after the fall of Assyria were not interested in, or were not able to use, the knowledge gathered in the collection. This results presumably from the fact that the collection was created and used by a narrow intellectual and partly political elite (kings and the palace entourage) which disappeared with the fall of the city and the state. At the very least, on the territory of Assyria proper no one continued the spiritual traditions. Here, the collapse of the state entailed the fall of the Assyrian civilisation. The situation in the western part of Assyrian territory is less clear. Despite the destruction during the wars of 610–609 b.c.e., Harran without doubt was inhabited and played presumably some administrative and religious functions. However, up to the time of Nabonidus, there are no clear traces of its support by the Babylonian rulers. 12 This creates a doubt if the city retained its role from Assyrian times. Also, the latest excavation in Til Barsip did not provide evidence for the continuation 10.  Cf. the opinion of Fuchs (2013: 7) that after 612 b.c.e. Nineveh “nach der teilweisen Wiederbesiedlung blieb es eine Stadt von lediglich regionaler Bedeutung.” 11.  Zawadzki 2014: 775–76. 12.  This is best demonstrated in the lack of interest in rebuilding the ruined Eḫulḫul, the temple of Sîn, the abandonment of his cult (see the autobiography of Adad-guppi, the mother of Nabonidus) and the restoration of the temple and cult only by Nabonidus.

Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation?

329

of its role from Assyrian times, 13 although due to its location it should have maintained its former functions, especially as the place for economic exchange. The information from Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad/Dūr-Katlimmu seems to stand in opposition to this. The sensational discovery of several tablets dated to the beginning of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar using the Assyrian formula, but with Babylonian dating, 14 has been treated as evidence for the retention of Assyrian traditions. Archaeological research, especially the discovery and finds in the Red House, suggests that this centre was not seriously damaged during the war, and—as Hartmuth Kühne convincingly argues—the city’s elite was also not harmed. 15 This does not mean, though, that the centre retained its former role. Currently available data suggest rather the minimal interest of the new Babylonian suzerain in it. We cannot be sure whether and to what degree Dūr-Katlimmu remained an important administrative centre. The research by Professor Kühne tends to indicate the gradual marginalisation of eastern Syrian Jazira, leading to impoverishment and reducing the inhabited area of Dūr-Katlimmu towards the end of the Chaldean Dynasty and increasing re-nomadisation. 16 Deprived of the support from now Babylonian political centre, Dūr-Katlimmu could not retain the role of bearer of the Assyrian tradition in the long run. It is worth emphasising that the attempts at reviving agriculture in the former Assyrian territory in the Habur region, the subject of research in the recently published article by Jursa and Wagensonner, 17 in the light of the currently known texts can be dated only to the reign of Nabonidus. Written documents and archeological research delivered the arguments for continuity of existence of Guzana. 18 Economically, the western part of the former Assyrian Empire had little significance to Babylonia almost until the end of its existence. Hence the current state of knowledge leads to the conclusion that the collapse of the Assyrian Empire led to the collapse of the major cities, which lost their functions as important centres of Assyrian civilisation. Together with the collapse of the state collapsed the traditions and administrative organisation and the cultic centres, which through their links with the royal ideology took on a specifically Assyrian form. Even if certain Assyrian elements survived, these are isolated, fragmented traces, not reflecting the specifics of Assyrian civilisation. It can be stated without the risk that after the fall of Assyria, the Assyrian territory was no more the bearer of the Assyrian tradition, and that that role undoubtedly fell to Babylonia. It seems that the majority of the intellectual circles living in the royal palaces and the temples in the major cities of the Assyrian Empire were recognised by the 13.  See Bunnens 1997: 28 who stresses quite rightly in his final sentence that Til Barsip “survived the collapse of the Assyrian Empire only to be abandoned, not destroyed, some time in the following period. This is an indication that the local prosperity created by the Assyrian empire was not able to continue without the structures which it put in place.” 14.  Note 8 above. 15. Kühne 2002, idem 2011: 111–12. Cf. already Röllig 1993: 132 who stressed that Dūr-Katlimmu “wahrscheinlich aber in die Auseinandersetzungen zwischen Assyrien und Babylonien nicht direkt einbezogen wurde.” 16.  Kühne 2011: 112. 17.  Jursa and Wagensonner 2014. 18.  Ungnad in Friedrich et al. 1940, nos. 117–20; Novák 2013: 276–77. A new still unpublished text mentioning Guzana was discovered by myself (it is mentioned in Jursa and Wagensonner 2014: 109, n. 3).

330

Stefan Zawadzki

conquerors (quite rightly) as responsible for the royal/state ideology, with growing contempt in the seventh century for the defeated or dependent peoples. It seem highly probable that hatred of Assyria also hit intellectual circles: many of them were killed, enslaved and deported, others lost their material base of existence, i.e., the collapse of the state resulted in the deprivation of intellectual circles of their material basis and a demand for their “products.” The collapse of the state led directly to the end of the role of cuneiform script in public and private life. Without doubt, writing is the bearer of high civilisation, a guarantee of development and the maintenance of tradition. Ancient history provides us with examples where writing failed in that role. The best example is that of Greek history, where the inhabitants adopted writing three times, where the first two attempts: Linear A (in the first half of the second millennium b.c.e., the preGreek civilisation) and Linear B (the second half of the second millennium b.c.e.) fell out of use and were forgotten. Only the third attempt (dated by some scholars to the eleventh century, by most to the end of ninth or eighth century b.c.e.) was successful. The loss of the Linear A and B may be explained by the collapse of states, but the thesis that the collapse of a state leads to the disappearance of writing is clearly absurd. The fundamental reason lay elsewhere. In the case of Linear A and B the most important stage was not reached, namely the use of writing for purposes wider than purely functional, administrative tasks. Both these writing systems were used for exclusively administrative purposes: registers of economic activities made by the administrative institutions. The fact that writing did not go beyond the administrative sphere, restricting its use to the purely institutional (it was not used in private activities most probably because those activities were of marginal significance) was decisive in its disappearance, its extinction in the face of the death of the institutions which used it. Several fundamental conditions are essential for the survival of writing, of which the most important is its emergence beyond the purely economic context and its use by more than a single institution. The fall of such an institution removes the need for the use of writing. This situation occurred twice in Greece in the second millennium b.c.e.. The case of Old-Persian cuneiform writing suggests a different cause for the disappearance of writing as a bearer of civilisation. Invented presumably in the second year of the reign of Darius I, and so in 520 b.c.e., it was used first to write the longest text produced in this writing, namely the Bisoutun Inscription. Later inscriptions were shorter, after which they disappeared before the collapse of the Achaemenid Empire conquered by Alexander the Great. It seems that Old-Persian writing died out for one fundamental reason, although there were others: from the very beginning, it was the “royal script,” created to immortalise the achievements of the Persian kings. In order to ensure the survival of Old Persian cuneiform script, actions needed to be taken in order not to limit its use exclusively to proclaiming royal ideology. It is difficult to assess if Darius and the creators of the script lacked imagination, or if it was a conscious decision of Darius to use the script exclusively for recording royal ideology. The worst possible scenario took place, in which familiarity with the new script was restricted to a very small circle: no larger school was created to guarantee the survival and spread of its knowledge. The disappearance of the use of cuneiform script in the former Assyrian territories is more spectacular than in the above described cases, because it was used in all spheres of public and private life in the Assyrian Empire. Surprisingly, the process

Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation?

331

of disappearance of cuneiform writing was quicker in Assyria proper than in the western part of the Assyrian Empire. This fact leads to two important conclusions, i.e., that the Assyrian civilisation was built, maintained and developed by the power of the state, emanating from two its most important text-making institutions, the palace and temple, located in the core of the state: Assyria proper. Although in the peripheral zone (in broaden sense of the word) the Assyrian institutions and cuneiform were preserved a little longer, there, too, the use of cuneiform writing was marginalised and after some period ceased to exist. The lack of central institutions organising the life of the country led to the weakening of economic life, launched or only accelerated the process of ruralisation and even nomadisation and resulted in the disappearance of the need to draft documents also in the private sphere of life. As shown by Michael Jursa, 19 certain Assyrian administrative solutions (offices) were adopted in Babylonia, but it can be assumed that the Assyrians imposed them only in the seventh century, maybe even towards its end. 20 The adaptation of Assyrian model of administration in Babylonia might be dated after the actions of kings of the Sargonid dynasty directed towards weakening the old aristocracy and promoting homines novi. The new Chaldean dynasty preserved this model because it served well the strengthening of its authority; besides, this was the only contemporary model known to them. The problem to which scholars have devoted a lot of attention recently is the impact of Assyrian cultural heritage on Babylonia after the fall of Assyria. It was demonstrated that scholarly texts with a strong Nineveh tradition have been preserved in Uruk. 21 However, as was stressed by P.-A. Beaulieu, presumably the Babylonian scholars had no problem accepting Assyrian versions of known composition, as they treated them as a part of a common Mesopotamian tradition. The question of the cult of Aššur as Anšar in Uruk is very instructive in this respect. 22 In Assyria, the equation of Aššur with Anšar was to exalt Aššur over Marduk. The cult of Aššur in Uruk lacks this idea, and the tendency to equate him with Anu deprived Aššur of his Assyrian impact. 23 This means that the Urukean Aššur has little in common with the Assyrian Aššur, i.e., the Babylonian scholars separated historical Assyrian Aššur (one can say: reshaped him) into the Urukean non-Assyrian representation. The lack of any clear intellectual Assyrian heritage in the centre of the country and in its capital suggest that, at least till Nabonidus, there was no conscious acceptance of the Assyrian tradition there, at least in public life. It is not easy to answer the question of why this was so, and these few, general remarks do not pretend to offer anything like a full answer. Without doubt, the imperial character of the state not only supported the flow of ideas, but simultaneously built, in a natural manner, barriers. Those conquered states which regained independence with the fall of Assyria (most of them only briefly) had their own traditions, languages, religions and cultures. Despite certain reservations among some researchers, the imperial policies of the last century of the state’s existence are not without significance. On the one hand, the majority of 19.  Jursa 2010: 98. For new attestation of mukīl appāti and the discussion of his function in the Neo-Babylonian period, see Sandowicz and Tarasewicz 2014: 80–81. 20. Matilla 2002. 21.  Beaulieu 2010, esp. 4–6. 22.  Beaulieu 1997; cf. also Frame 1995 (on the policy of the Assyrian suzerain). 23.  Beaulieu 1997: 68.

332

Stefan Zawadzki

deportees were “counted to peoples of Assyria”, on the other, the imperial ideology strengthened the conflicts with a part of the local elites, especially in those areas with a longer tradition of statehood. Both the period of dependence (too short to replace local traditions) as well as the form of that dependence (retaining certain local elements) meant that the Assyrian presence was awkward and not accepted for ideological and emotional reasons. With the exception of Nabonidus, it is difficult to detect pro-Assyrian sentiments in Babylonia; a similar picture emerges from Biblical references. For the majority of the new inhabitants of Assyria and the inhabitants of the territories subject to Assyria, its cultural traditions remained alien. Secondly, neither in the times when the Assyrian state existed, nor later, in its ruin, new ideas/ideologies or religions appeared which were able to absorb part of the Assyrian cultural achievements. Naturally, the comparison to the fate of the Roman Empire arises by itself here, in which Christianity took shape and spread prior to its collapse, which was capable of accepting older traditions: Latin as the language of the religion and of public life, Greek philosophy and Roman law, art and architecture. Thanks to this, the traditions of antiquity became an important part of the spiritual and secular traditions and culture of Europe. Assyria had no such opportunity, and this is why the collapse of the state entailed the fall of Assyrian civilisation. To what extent it was a natural result of a certain development of current societies, and to what extent the Assyrian imperial ideology and practice, erecting unconquerable barriers making the absorption of Assyrian traditions impossible, is a separate question worth detailed investigation.

Bibliography Andrae, W. 1938 Das wiedererstandene Assur. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Verlag. Beaulieu, P.-A. 1997 The Cult of AN.ŠÁR/Aššur in Babylonia after the Fall of the Assyrian Empire. SAAB 11: 55–73. 2010 The Afterlife of Assyrian Scholarship in Hellenistic Babylonia. Pp. 1–18 in Gazing on the Deep: Ancient Near Eastern and Other Studies in Honor of Tzvi Abusch, ed. J. Stackert, B. N. Porter, and D. P. Wright. Bethesda: CDL. Beyer, K. 1998 Die aramäischen Inschriften aus Assur, Hatra und dem übrigen Ostmesopotamien (datiert 44 v. Chr. bis 238 n. Chr.). Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Brinkman, J. A. 1993 Babylonian Influence in the Šēḫ Ḥamad Texts dated under Nebuchadnezzar II. SAAB 7: 133–38. Bunnens, G. 1997 Til Barsip under Assyrian Domination. Pp.  17–28 in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Dalley, S. 1993 Nineveh after 612 BC. AoF 20: 134–47. Dalley, S., ed. 1998 The Legacy of Mesopotamia. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Fall of the Assyrian State, or the Fall of the Assyrian Civilisation?

333

Frame, G. 1995 The Cult of Aššur in Babylonia. Pp. 55–64 in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Friedrich, J., G. R. Meyer, A. Ungnad, and Weidner, E. F. 1940 Die Inschriften vom Tell Halaf: Keilschrifttexte und aramäische Urkunden aus einer assyrischen Provinzhauptstadt. AfO Beih. 6. Berlin: Im Selbstverlage des Herausgebers. Fuchs, A. 2013 Der Fall Ninives. Antike Welt 4: 7. Hauser, S. 2011 Assur und sein Umland in der Arsakidenzeit. Pp. 115–48 in Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land. 5. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 18.-21. Februar 2004 in Berlin, ed. J. Renger. CDOG 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Jursa, M. 2010 Der neubabylonische Hof. Pp.  67–106 in Der Achämenidenhof / The Achaemenid Court. Akten des 2. Internationalen Kolloquiums zum Thema »Vorderasien im Spannungsfeld klassischer und altorientalischer Überlieferungen«, Landgut Castelen bei Basel, 23.–25. Mai 2007, ed. B. Jacobs and R. Rollinger. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Jursa, M. and Wagensonner, K. 2014 The Estates of Šamaš on the Ḫābūr. Pp. 109–30 in Extraction & Control. Studies in Honor of Matthew W. Stolper, ed. M. Kozuh, W. F. M. Henkelman, C. E. Jones, and C. Woods. SAOC 68. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Kuhrt, A. 1995 The Assyrian Heartland in the Achaemenid Period. Pp. 239–54 in Dans les pas des Dix-Mille: Peuples et pays du Proche-Orient vus par un Grec. Actes de la Table Ronde Internationale, Toulouse 3– 4 février 1995, ed. P. Briant. Pallas 43. Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail. Kühne, H. 1993 Vier Spätbabylonische Tontafeln aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad, Ost-Syrien. SAAB 7: 75–107. 2002 Thoughts about Assyria after 612 BC. Pp. 171–75 in Of Pots and Plans. Papers on the Archaeology and History of Mesopotamia and Syria presented to David Oates in Honour of his 75th Birthday, ed. L. al-Galiani Werr, J. Curtis, H. Martin, A. McMahon, J. Oates, and J. Reade, London: Nabu Publications. 2011 Dūr-Katlimmu und die Steppe vor und nach 612 v. Chr. Pp. 101–14 in Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land. 5. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 18.-21. Februar 2004 in Berlin, ed. J. Renger. CDOG 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Liverani, M. 2001 The fall of Assyrian empire: ancient and modern interpretations. Pp. 374–91 in Empires: Perspectives from Archaeology and History, ed. S. E. Alcock, T. N. D’Altroy, K. D. Morrison, and C. M. Sinopoli. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Machinist, P. 1995 The Fall of Assyria in Comparative Ancient Perspective. Pp. 179–95 in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project.

334

Stefan Zawadzki

Mattila, R. 2002 The Chief Singer and Other Late Eponyms. Pp. 159–66 in Of God(s), Trees, Kings, and Scholars. Neo-Assyrian and Related Studies in Honour of Simo Parpola, ed. M. Luukko, S. Svärd, and R. Matilla. StOr 106. Helsinki: Finnish Oriental Society. Melville, S. C. 2009 A New Look at the End of the Assyrian Empire. Pp. 179–201 in Homeland and Exile: Biblical and Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honour of Bustenay Oded, ed. G. Galil, M. Geller, and A. Millard. Vetus Testamentum Supplements 130. Leiden: Brill. Novák, M. 2013 Gōzān and Gūzāna: Anatolians, Aramaeans, and Assyrians in Tell Halaf. Pp. 259– 80 in 100 Jahre archäologische Feldforschungen in Nordost-Syrien – eine Bilanz, ed. D. Bonatz and L. Martin. Schriften der Max Freiherr von Oppenheim-Stiftung 18. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Pedde, F. 2012 The Assyrian Heartland. Pp. 851–66 in A Companion to the Archaeology of the Ancient Near East, ed. D. T. Potts. Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell. Postgate, J. N. 1993 The Four “Neo-Assyrian” Tablets from Šēḫ Ḥamad. SAAB 7: 109–24. Radner, K. 2002 Die neuassyrischen Texte aus Tall Šēḫ Ḥamad. BATSH 6. Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag. Röllig, W. 1993 Zum historischen Einordnung der Texte. SAAB 7: 129–32. Sandowicz, M., and Tarasewicz, R. 2014 Court of Assize at Neo-Babylonian Apšu. RA 108: 71–94. Tainter, J. A. 2003 The Collapse of Complex Societies. 12th ed. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weidner, E. F. 1941–1944  Der Tag des Stadtgottes. AfO 14: 340–42. Yoffee, N. 1988a Orienting Collapse. Pp. 1–19 in The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations, ed. N. Yoffee and G. L. Cowgill. Tucson: The University of Arisona Press. 1988b The Collapse of Ancient Mesopotamian States and Civilizations. Pp. 44–68 in The Collapse of Ancient States and Civilizations, ed. N. Yoffee and G. L. Cowgill. Tucson: The University of Arisona Press. 2011 Zusammenbruch in Assyrien – Zusammenbruch in der Welt. Pp.  95–100 in Assur – Gott, Stadt und Land. 5. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 18.–21. Februar 2004 in Berlin, ed. J. Renger. CDOG 5. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Zawadzki, S. 1988 The Fall of Assyria and Median-Babylonian Relations in Light of the Nabopolassar Chronicle. Poznań: Adam Mickiewicz University Press / Delft: Eburon. 2014 Depicting Hostile Rulers in the Neo-Assyrian Royal Inscriptions. Pp. 767–78 in From Source to History. Studies on Ancient Near Eastern Worlds and Beyond Dedicated to Giovanni Battista Lanfranchi on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday on June 23, 2014, ed. S. Gaspa, A. Greco, D. M. Bonacossi, S. Ponchia, and R. Rollinger. AOAT 412. Münster: Ugarit Verlag.

Fortune and Politics Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e. and His Alliance with Media Kabalan Moukarzel Sofia

In the fifth century b.c.e., Thucydides, in his Historiai, searched in detail the motives (prophasis) and causes (aitia) for the beginning of the Peloponnesian war and the events of the time, in the deeds of the people. 1 The historians investigate these two aspects of the past political and military events, using the method of the ancient author. In 614 near the ruins of Assur, the rulers of Babylonia and Media concluded alliance, which would eventually bring about the fall of the Assyrian empire. Scholars agree about the motive for the creation of this alliance — Assyria being in the state of war with both countries. The particular causes have however been rarely investigated because of the scarce evidence, which does not shed equal light on all participants in the events. The present paper aims at reconsidering the circumstances around the creation of the alliance between the two rulers, and to analyze the possible causes for its conclusion in historical aspect.

1.  The Sources The main source for late-seventh-century political events is a Babylonian Chronicle series tablet BM 21901 (hereafter referred to as the Chronicle), first published in 1923 by C. J. Gadd in transliteration, translation, and cuneiform copy. 2 The text is dated to the Neo-Babylonian period, but its narrative is not the earliest version. As Zawadzki (1988: 120, 143) has shown, the text was reedited soon after 596 during a period of crisis in the Medo-Babylonian relations. The tablet consists of 78 cuneiform lines, 37 of them on the obverse, and 41 lines on the reverse. Some lines are seriously damaged. Three pieces of text’s information are examined here: lines 1–11, where the conquests of the Babylonians along Middle Euphrates are described, lines 11–23, Author’s note: I would like to express my thanks for their help to Maya Vassileva, Associate Professor in New Bulgarian University, Sofia, and to my friend Dimitar Mitov. All dates in this paper are b.c.e. 1.  See Thucydides I 23 6. 2.  Gadd 1923: 31–42 (with a cuneiform copy on Pls. 1–6). See further Wiseman 1956: 54–65 (with a cuneiform copy on Pls. 9–12 and pictures on Pls. 2–3); Grayson 1975: 90–96 (with pictures on Pl. 15); Glassner 2005: 218–24.

335

336

Kabalan Moukarzel

where the campaigns of the Babylonians in Assyria are mentioned, and lines 28–29, where the creation of the anti-Assyrian alliance is stated. Protagonist in the narrative of the source is the founder of the Neo-Babylonian kingdom, Nabopolassar (626–605 b.c.e.). 3 The importance of the Chronicle as a source of information is defined by the lack of any other direct sources regarding the system of military and political decision-making of Neo-Babylonian kings, such as military diaries, correspondence or written reports. As a result, we can not fully evaluate all factors influencing the royal decision making. We can only suppose these factors using the information from the Chronicle, supplemented by other indirect sources of information, whenever possible.

2. The Campaign of 616 b.c.e. In the tenth year of Nabopolassar’s rule (616) Babylonia made its first conquest in the region of Suḫu and Ḫindanu (see Map 1, p. 344). It was motivated by economic factors, such as trade, as well as by the aspiration to control the roads leading to Asia Minor and the iron centers situated there which would provide the necessary resources for Babylonia in the time of war with Assyria. 4 The conquest of both areas was confirmed by the victory at Qablinu in July 616, when the Assyrians and their allies, Mannaeans, were defeated (the Chronicle, ll. 1–6). As shown by the following events in the Chronicle (ll. 6–8), both areas were used as a base for a future campaign against the lands of the Lower Balikh river, which ended with plundering of three towns (see Map 1). The strategic goal of the conquest along the Middle Euphrates was the creation of a base for further campaigns in the lands of northwestern Syria, where the important roads connected Syro-Palestine, Mesopotamia and Anatolia are situated. 5 The following events in September/October 616, however, did not go in the Babylonian interest, as is stated in the Chronicle, lines 10–11 (quoted after Grayson 1975: 91). ina (iti)Tašriti ummāni (kur)Miṣir u ummāni (kur)Aššur arki šar Akkadî(ki) adi (uru)Gablini illikūnimma šar Akkadî(ki) lā ikšudū ana arkišunu iḫḫisū (. . .). In the month of Tishri the army of Egypt and the army of Assyria went after the king of Akkad as far as Gablini but they did not overtake the king of Akkad (so) they withdrew (. . .).

In the battle Nabopolassar succeeded to stop the advance of the Assyro-Egyptian troops, and to retain his power over Suḫu and Ḫindanu (see Map 1). If the goal of the Assyro-Egyptian forces had been to expel the Babylonians from there, then it was not achieved. But was this the only objective of the combined forces?

3. On the reign of Nabopolassar, see Brinkman 1998 and Da Riva 2013: 2–12; for his possible origin from the local elite in Uruk, see Beaulieu 1997: 391–93 and Jursa 2007: 127–32. 4. For the iron deposits and their centers in Asia Minor near to the northwestern Syria, see Maxwell-Hyslop 1966: 151–52, Pl. 20, and for the aims of the campaign, see von Voigtlander 1963: 69–70. 5.  According to Oates (1991: 178), Nabopolassar was probably trying to make minor correction of the Assyro-Babylonian border in his campaign of 616. However, this assumption is doubtful, because clashes took place far from the central Mesopotamia soon after the beginning of his campaign.

Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e.

337

The Chronicle shows that after this second battle near Qablinu, Nabopolassar did not conduct further campaigns against northwestern Syria via Suḫu and Ḫindanu untill 607/6. 6 Therefore the Assyro-Egyptian counterattack aimed also at stopping the Babylonian advance in the Middle Euphrates and it achieved its goal. The information about the Egyptian involvement in the conflict is important. 7 It means that from this moment on another regional force stood against the Babylonian king and his ambitions. A force, which during the reign of Psammetichus I was in a period of cultural and political revival, and whose resources could not be underestimated. 8 Nabopolassar must have been aware of that and he saw clearly the red line drawn in the desert near Qablinu. Whether Assyria and Egypt were officially allies in that moment, or their alliance was concluded later is still unclear. 9 The Egyptian intervention on behalf of Assyria that stopped Babylonian conquests along the Middle Euphrates was an important fact, which influenced the further decisions of the Neo-Babylonian ruler. The first particular cause for the conclusion of the alliance with Media might have lied there as did the reason for the change of the direction of Babylonian campaigns after 616.

3.  The First Campaign of 615 b.c.e. At the end of his tenth year, in Adar (February/March) 615, Nabopolassar launched a march in Assyrian heartland (see Map 1, p.  344). The reason which forced the king to look for revenge was the stopping of his conquests in the Middle Euphrates. The main aim of the campaign was the transfer of war into the lands of Assyria proper. An important motive for this action was not only the military and political situation in the early 615, but also the conviction that a total defeat of Assyria could guarantee the independence of Babylonia. This conviction is attested in a later text BM 55467 (= Gerardi 1986: 34–37), where we find a summary of the historical relations with Assyria from the Babylonian point of view. 10 Some passages in the inscriptions of the Neo-Babylonian king likewise confirm this conviction. 11 6.  The campaign of the Babylonian king in Suḫu and Ḫindanu in 613 was defensive by character and directed against local rebels, see the Chronicle, ll. 31–37. 7.  The Babylonian victories along the Middle Euphrates are seen as reason for Egypt’s intervention and the creation of the alliance between Assyria and Egypt; see von Voigtlander 1963: 71–72, Spalinger 1977: 223–24, Oates 1991: 178–79, Vanderhooft 1999: 28–29. 8.  On the reign of Psammetichus I in Egypt and his foreign policy, see Spalinger 1976, idem 1978. For a review of the problems related with the Egyptian presence in Syro-Palestine area at the end of seventh century, see Vanderhooft 1999: 63–81. 9.  For an earlier date of creation of the alliance, in or before 616, see Spalinger 1977: 224 and for a later date (around 611), see von Voigtlander 1963: 72, 79. 10.  The editor of the text, Gerardi, defines it as a “declaration of war” and states that it is a late copy of an earlier document from the end of the seventh century (Gerardi 1986: 31–34). Lambert (2005: 205–6) and Frahm (2005) consider it a royal letter on account of its literary form, but Frahm has some doubts about its historical authenticity. According to Da Riva (2013: 7), despite its later date, these texts do have historical value. In my opinion, the text can be accepted as a historical source, given its contents and historical context. 11.  For historical allusions to the expulsion of the Assyrians from Babylonia, and the destruction of Assyria, see cylinder inscriptions C 12 17–21 (Da Riva 2013: 59, 62), C 22 i 20–ii 4 (Da Riva 2013: 71), and also C 31/1 i 19–29 (Da Riva 2013: 80–81, 88). Nabopolassar’s inscriptions describe only these two episodes from his war with Assyria, which means that they were of special importance for the king.

338

Kabalan Moukarzel

The first campaign of 615 proved very successful for the Babylonians. The Assyrians were defeated near Madanu in the province of Arrapḫa and suffered severe losses in men and equipment (the Chronicle, ll. 11–15). It is interesting to note that the Assyrian army met the Babylonians in the area of Arrapḫa, but not in central Mesopotamia. This means that these lands must have previously fallen in the hands of the Babylonians. The particular intentions of Nabopolassar during this march remain unclear. 12 The achieved success opened the road for the Babylonians to the north, against a weakened enemy. As is shown in the Chronicle, the Neo-Babylonian king evaluated the importance of the victory and quickly took advantage by attacking Assyria proper.

4. The Second Campaign of 615 b.c.e. The second campaign of 615 was launched only a month after the end of the first one, and its main goal was the capture of the city of Assur, the cultic capital of Assyria (see Map 2, p. 344). The campaign is described in the Chronicle in seven, partly damaged lines 16–22. 13 The campaign was conducted in three stages, whose main events were: the siege of Assur, the Babylonian retreat towards Takritain (Tikrit), and the siege of its fortress by Assyrians. 14 Stage I. The campaign begun in month Iyyar (April/May) after a march along the Tigris river towards Assur (the Chronicle, l. 16). The city was well fortified and Nabopolassar was prepared for a siege, as is stated in line 16. 15 The duration of the siege must have been maximum a month, because the Babylonians attacked Assur, unsuccessfully though, in the next month Siwan (May/June) on a day whose number is not preserved in the text (the Chronicle, l. 17). 16 During the march and the siege, the Assyrian forces did not counteract. A probable reasons for this was the need to equip new army, or operations on some other front. 17 Only after the defeat of Nabopolassar near Assur, Sîn-šarra-iškun directed his army against him and the Babylonians retreated (the Chronicle, l. 17). Stage II. As shown in l. 18 of the Chronicle, Sîn-šarra-iškun came not only for the expulsion of the Babylonians from Assur, but also to defeat them. The Assyrian army pursued the Neo-Babylonian king as far as Takritain, on a distance of 90 km downstream of Assur. The fortress of Tikrit is located on a hill right on the shores of the Tigris and is enclosed by a water trench. The town and its fortress had previously been occupied by the Babylonians, as we have no evidence that they fought a battle when entering it. During his retreat, Nabopolassar and his troops found shelter there (the Chronicle, ll. 18–19). The king decided to stay in Tikrit, because of the fast advance of the Assyrians prevented him from going further on to Babylonia. The Babylonian forces in the fortress were besieged (the Chronicle, ll. 19–20). 12.  Von Voigtlander (1963: 73–74) supposes that a possible intention of the campaign was to test the Assyrian defence and to establish contacts with the Medes. 13.  Wiseman 1956: 56–57; Grayson 1975: 92; Glassner 2005: 220–21. 14.  See also the description of the campaign in Wiseman 1956: 12–13. 15.  The natural advantages of its location on the shores of the Tigris river were instrumental for the strong defenses of the city of Assur (Stronach 1997: 307–8, Fig. 1 A). 16.  Von Voigtlander (1963: 75) dates the event in May 615. 17.  For the Assyrian losses in men, horses, and chariots during the first campaign in 615, see the Chronicle, ll. 13–15.

Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e.

339

Stage III. During the siege, the Assyrians kept attacking the fortress for as long as ten days, but without a success (the Chronicle, ll. 20–21). The victorious counterattack of the Babylonians assured them the victory over the enemies, and the Assyrians retreated (the Chronicle, l. 22). Unfortunately, the text does not give a date of the event in Tikrit, but this must have happened at the end of Siwan (in June), or in the beginning of Tammuz (in July) 615 at the latest. Such a date is not unreasonable. 18 The Chronicle does not mention when the Babylonians retreated after the battle. This was among the hardest and at the same time most impressive battles of the Neo-Babylonian army and its commander-in-chief. The text suggests that Nabopolassar was also besieged together with the Babylonian army in Tikrit (von Voigtlander 1963: 75). Probably that was the most fateful and difficult moment for the ruler, not only during this campaign, but also in his entire reign. This was the first and last case when he was besieged by enemies on the battlefield without possibility of escape. Before, his hardest momentum was the probable loss of control over the capital Babylon for some months in 623/2. 19 Usually similar events led to dethronement of the Babylonian kings, 20 but not in this case, because most of the Babylonian elite supported the king. What happened in 623/2 was more politically than militarily risky, as the ruler had the possibility to retreat from the battlefield. This was not the case in 615. From military point of view, the second campaign of 615 was almost a complete defeat for Neo-Babylonian king. Its main goal—the capture of Assur—was not achieved. The plans of the ruler for this campaign are not known and we could only hypothesize the moment in which they failed. Line 17 of the Chronicle states that despite the assault on the day, unpreserved in the text, Babylonians were unable to capture the city. The defeat under the walls of Assur must have been far more serious than the text suggests. Only serious loses could have prevented the king from giving a battle to the coming Assyrians. We have not direct evidence how Nabopolassar analyzed the results of the second campaign, but the fact that he would not undertake alone further offensive march in Assyrian heartland until the fall of Nineveh in 612 testifies to two things. Firstly, the ruler evaluated the risk of his attack against Assyrian territory without a support as too heavy, and secondly, probably soon after the campaign he took the political decision for an alliance with the Medes.

5. The Alliance with Media Any coalition between two countries in antiquity was the result of a two-stage process. In the first one, diplomatic envoys were used, who had the task to prepare 18.  On the last date mentioned before the siege in Tikrit, see the Chronicle, l. 17. The battle near Assur is dated in Siwan (May/June) and the battle near Tikrit must have taken place not long after this date. 19.  There are no texts from northern Babylonia dated by the Babylonian king between October/ November 623 and July/August 622. This period coincides with parts of third and fourth years of Nabopolassar (Kennedy 1986: 181). One possible explanation could be that Assyrians took control over the capital for some time in 623/2. Similar events took place in southern Babylonia, for instance in the area of Uruk between 623 and 620 (Beaulieu 1997: 381–83). 20.  Cf. the events in 710, when Marduk-apla-iddina II lost control over Babylon to Assyrians lead by Sargon II. The loss of Babylon in this case resulted in lost of the throne and the power over the country. For more details, see Brinkman 1984: 49–52.

340

Kabalan Moukarzel

preliminary variant of the agreement, in the second one, agreements were approved. The meeting of Nabopolassar with Cyaxares in 614 must be seen as the second stage in the creation of the alliance, because of the used expression ana riṣût māt Madāya—“ to help (the country of) Medes”—in the Chronicle (l. 28), among other things, which implies preliminary agreement between the two rulers. We have not direct information about the first stage of the agreement. BM 21901, however, allows some supposition concerning its beginning. Here, line 23 deserves a special attention. It follows the description of the second campaign in 615 and precedes the dividing line for the events of the 12th year of the Babylonian king (614). The damaged line in the end states the Median intervention in the war (Grayson 1975: 92; Glassner 2005: 220–21): 21 ina (iti)Araḫsamni (kur)Madāya ana (kur)Arrapḫu ur[d]amm[a. . .] In the month Marchesvan the Medes went down to Arrapḫu and [. . .].

The march took place October/November of 615 (see Map 1). 22 This is the first mention of the Medians in the Chronicle. The editor of the text described here an action of a country which had not so far attracted his attention. Any war between Media and Assyria before 615 is not mentioned in the Babylonian sources, despite the possibility that it should be synchronous with the war between Babylonia and Assyria. 23 What in this case provoked the interest of the editor? In BM 21901, actions of Babylonia, Assyria, and their allies are described, but not actions undertaken by neutral countries. 24 In the light of this observation, the reference to Median involvement in line 23 requires an explanation. If we accept that it just mentions the next event after the second campaign in 615, it means that an action of a neutral country is described. But such a possiblity would contradict the logic of the Chronicle, where operations of neutral countries are not described and would thus be exceptional. I do not believe that the passage is an exception to narrative scheme of the Chronicle. There is need of another explanation. Probably the editor of the Chronicle had some information on the beginning of the negotiations between his country and Media, which must have started already at the moment described in line 23. This could explain why Median attack in 615 is mentioned before the official conclusion of the alliance with Nabopolassar in 614. The passage not only describes the subsequent event, but also mentions a friendly country, which was still not an ally in this very moment. Such an explanation does not contradict the historical context of the events and clarifies the nature of the mentioning for the Median involvement in line 23. 21.  Zawadzki (1988: 121) proposes a following reconstruction of the original version of the text of line 23: ina (iti)Araḫsamni (m)Ú-ma-kiš-tar šar (kur)Ma-da-a-a u ummāni(me)-šú ana (kur)A-rap-ḫu urdam-ma. The name of the country is replaced here by the name of her king. 22.  Von Voigtlander (1963: 75) dates the event in September 615, and supposes that during this attack the Medes plundered Calah. 23.  The beginning of the Medo-Assyrian war is dated by modern scholars before 615 and is related with the activities of Phraortes. This dating is influenced by information from classical sources, mainly Herodotus I 102–3 and Diodorus II 24.2, 28.1 (Medvedskaya 2010: 162–63; Grantovski 1997: 285; von Voigtlander 1963: 73, n. 15; Wiseman 1956: 13; Gadd 1923: 9). The cuneiform sources are silent about any Medo-Assyrian conflict before 615. 24.  This observation is inspired by a statement of Zawadzki (1988: 119), who pointed out that only three groups of kings are mentioned by their proper personal names in the Babylonian Chronicles. These are: 1. the Assyrian kings and usurpers, 2. the Babylonian kings, and 3. the kings from outside Mesopotamia which were allies of Babylonia.

Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e.

341

The beginning of the first stage of negotiations can be dated with terminus post quem in June/July 615, after the unsuccessful second campaign of Nabopolassar and terminus ante quem in October/November of the same year, when the independent actions of the Medes were mentioned. Von Voigtlander (1963: 74–75) supposes that the first stage of negotiations begun early in 615, after the first campaign of the Babylonian king. This means that she considers Arrapḫa, the area of the march, as a zone for communications with the Medes. 25 Such an early dating of the first stage seems doubtful, because Nabopolassar was not yet defeated in the second campaign of the same year. He would hardly search for an alliance as long as he had success on the battlefield. 26 Besides, a common border was not a prerequisite for contacts between both countries. Zawadzki (1988: 74, 80) suggests the end of 615 as a more acceptable date for the beginning of the negotiations, underlining the importance of the Babylonian defeat near Assur. It is not clear which of the two countries took the initiative for the beginning of the negotiations. The Chronicle in line 28 states that Nabopolassar “came to help the Medes,” while a later text, the Nabonidus’ Babylon Stela, states that the Medes came to help the Babylonian king, and even that they were subjected under his will, by the command of god Marduk — rēṣû iddiššum tappa ušaršiš šar ummān-manda ša māḫiri lā išû ušakniš qibittušu ušālik rēṣūssu “He (Marduk) gave him (Nabopolassar) helpers, a friend he made him acquire and caused the king of Ummānmanda, who is without rival, to obey to his orders (and) to come to his help.” 27 The Chronicle states thus that the Medes summoned the king, while the stela states that he called them. The question will remain open but the possibility that Nabopolassar could be the initiator of the negotiations is very probable. This was not the first foreign-policy act of the Neo-Babylonian ruler. Lines 15–17 of the Chronicle tablet BM 25127 mention that in Adar (February/March) of 625, Nabopolassar returned to Susa the statues of gods, which were captured and brought to Uruk by the Assyrians. 28 The gesture is of cultic character, but had political dimensions because of the moment in which it took place. 29 Towards whom it was directed in the neighbouring country, and what were its results, remains unclear, but around the time an Elamite kingdom with center Susa was rebuild (Briant 2002: 22). An interesting but very fragmentary text CTMMA 2 44 (Lambert 2005: 207–9), can be connected with the situation around Median-Babylonian negotiations and alliance in 615–614. 30 It is a late copy, probably from the second century, and contains 25.  The province of Arrapḫa was situated on the Diyala river, near the main route between Iran and Mesopotamia. It had an important role in enforcing the Assyrian policy in Babylonia (Radner 2006: 51). The fact that this province was attacked by Babylonians and Medes in one and the same year could be explained with the presence of a strong Assyrian garrison there and not only with the communication role of the area. 26. The Chronicle mentions the Median intervention after the second campaign of Nabopolassar in 615, not after the first one. Furthermore, the quick and independent actions of the Neo-Babylonian ruler after his victory near Madanu in the first campaign of 615 is a testimony that he was not searching for allies in this very moment. 27.  See the inscription 3.3a (“Babylon-Stele”) ii 1–8 in Schaudig 2001: 516, 523. 28.  Cf. Grayson 1975: 88, Glassner 2005: 216–17. 29. From 626 year on southern Babylonia, mainly the lands around Nippur and Uruk, became a scene of intensive war between Assyria and the Neo-Babylonian kingdom (Oates 1991: 173–77; von Voigtlander 1963: 18–23; Wiseman 1956: 5–11). For the cuneiform source, see Grayson 1975: 87–90. 30.  The authenticity of this letter is debatable just like the authenticity of the text BM 55467, see n. 10 above. Lambert (2005: 204–5) and Da Riva (2013: 7) accept it as a historical source for the latter

342

Kabalan Moukarzel

a letter from Sîn-šarra-iškun to Nabopolassar in which the Assyrian ruler looked for a reconciliation with his Babylonian colleague, maybe in an attempt to stop the coalition with the Medes. It is not known for sure how Nabopolassar answered to this letter, but the course of events showed that his decision to conclude alliance with Cyaxares was definite. 31 In the 12th year of the Babylonian king, in Ab (July/August) 614, Assur fell as the result of a successful campaign of the Medes in Assyria. 32 As is shown in the Chronicle (l. 29), Nabopolassar and Cyaxares (Umakištar) and their armies met near the destroyed city and concluded officially the alliance, ṭūbta u sulummâ itti aḫāmeš iškunū. 33 The idiomatic phrase meaning, among other things, “establishing of friendship and peace,” is known from different cuneiform sources (AHw: 1057, 1392). The phrase describes conclusion of international treaties (Parpola and Watanabe 1988: xvii-xviii). Examples for its use in relation with the Assyro-Babylonian treaties can be found in the Synchronistic History. 34 The alliance with Media became a reality in the moment when the king suffered two serious strategical failures: he was unable to extend the conquest along the Middle Euphrates, and more importantly — he did not succeed to transfer the war into Assyrian territory. The alliance would become the instrument, which would resolve these two problems. This was the best foreign-policy decision taken by the Babylonian king. The first common operation of Median and Babylonian armies was the crushing of the revolt inspired by Assyria in Suḫu and Ḫindanu in 613. The participation of the Medes in this event is known from the Babylon Stela of Nabonidus, not from the Chronicle, which mentions only the activities of Nabopolassar. The results of this campaign were in favour of the Babylonian king. According to the Chronicle, the armies of the two countries conducted together two decisive battles, at Nineveh in 612, and at Harran in 610, but there is a possibility that more common military years of the Assyrian empire and for its relations with Babylonia. Frahm (2005) has some reservations due to the literary form of the letter and its relation with the activities of the Late Babylonian scholars. In my opinion, the text, maybe a later copy of an earlier document, can be accepted as a historical source because of its historical context, which does not contradict all well known facts of the Assyro-Babylonian relations from 615 to 612. 31.  The textual similarities between CTMMA 2 44 and BM 55467 imply that both documents are part of the literary tradition of royal correspondence (Frahm 2005). Lambert (2005: 206) and after him Frahm (2005) accept the letter CTMMA 2 44 as an answer to BM 55467, but I am not fully convinced because of the fragmentary state of the former text. 32.  According to the Chronicle, Nabopolassar and his army did not participate in the capture of Assur, because they “did not arrive in time for the battle” (ṣaltu ul ikšudū), see the Chronicle, l. 29. Information from a later source, namely the Cyrus’ Cylinder, creates some doubts in the description of this event in the Chronicle. Cyrus’ Cylinder states that after the capture of Babylon in 539, the Achaemenid king returned cult statues captured by the Babylonians to different Mesopotamian cities. Among the cities listed is Assur (K2.1 [Kyros-Zylinder]: 30–32 = Schaudig 2001: 553, 556). If Nabopolassar did not take part in the capture of the cultic capital of Assyria, why were the statues of the gods from the city in Babylon? There are two possible explanations: 1. the Babylonian king participated in the destruction of Assur and cuneiform sources are silent about that, or 2. the Medes gave to the Neo-Babylonian ruler the statues of the gods after their victory. In any case these statues were captured by force, as part of military spoil. 33.  See the Chronicle, l. 29. Through a dynastic marriage the alliance was strengthened, according to the classical sources as Berossus (Burstein 1978: 25–26). 34.  In the Synchronistic History, the phrase has form ṭūbta u sulummâ gamra “perfect friendship and peace” (Parpola and Watanabe 1988: xviii); see for instance Chronicle 21 ii 27–28, iii 18 24–25 (Grayson 1975: 165–67).

Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e.

343

engagements took place. 35 In the battles they would use successfully besieging and offensive operations against the Assyrians in Nineveh, and against the Assyrians and Egyptians in Harran. This testifies to the fact that the operative compatibility of the Medo-Babylonian coalition was well conducted and on a higher level than that of their enemies. Why Egypt did not act actively in support of Assyria between 616 and 610 remains unclear. Egypt undertook active operations only after her enemies came near its main base in northwestern Syria, Karkemiš. There are different opinions about the problem which country in the MedoBabylonian coalition was stronger. 36 I do not think that such debates are relevant, because of the insufficient sources. The mystery here is Media and the particular causes for its, involvement in the war remain unclear. The discrepancies in the information about Media in cuneiform, archaeological and later Greek sources for this period were highlighted by Liverani (2003: 1–5) and they prevent us from better understanding. Media was not a state with a long tradition of centralized government as Assyria, Babylonia or Egypt. The basic source for the Medo-Assyrian war, the Chronicle, did not describe the Median conquests and further plans. The alliance must have been important enough for the two countries, but the source describes the benefits for only one of them. Babylonia used the alliance to achieve the defeat of Assyria, and next, to expand its empire onto the entire northern Mesopotamia and the Middle Euphrates area. The territorial base created in the result of this was further used for campaigns in Asia Minor and northwestern Syria, in the context of the “war for the Assyrian heritage” with Egypt. It must be noted that almost all territories where the forces of both countries acted together remained under Babylonian rule. In local perspective, the alliance secured peaceful borders for Babylonia on the east, which allows the country to direct its forces to the west, toward Syro-Palestine at the end of the seventh century.

6. Conclusion It can be concluded that the Egyptian intervention in 616 and the result of the second campaign of 615 were the two particular causes for the conclusion of the alliance. The Egyptian intervention was the first, but not the main cause for the coalition. Because it did not stop the war with Assyria and did not defeat Babylonia. The defeat comes only in the late spring of 615, when the Babylonian ruler himself was endangered, directly and personally. Of importance here is the meaning of the second campaign for the personal experience of the king: the fortune and misfortune during its course influenced his further decisions and the events that followed. The campaign was a historical example for how the misfortune on the battlefield could lead to fortunate political decisions. The Chronicle states that the next act of the ruler was joint with the Medes, which means that he had learned from the experience of his misfortune. The particular causes for the alliance reviewed do not contradict the information in the sources and fit well in the course of the events. 35.  For a description of the battles mentioned, see the Chronicle, ll. 38–46 and 59–65. For more details on the events, see von Voigtlander 1963: 76–80; Oates 1991: 180–81. For the fall of Nineveh, see Stronach 1997: 313–22. 36.  The opinion that Medes were the stronger partner in the alliance is predominant in the studies (see Zawadzki 1988: 130–31; Medvedskaya 2010: 166–67; von Voigtlander 1963: 74).

344

Kabalan Moukarzel

Maps 1 and 2.  Maps based on https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Near_East_topographic_mapblank.svg (accessed on 27.03.2015).

In historical perspective, Nabopolassar was rather fortunate than unfortunate king. The Chronicles mention that he led around sixteen battles of which he won ten alone, three in coalition with the Medes, he lost one, and participated in other two battles, the result of which is unclear (Moukarzel 2008: 7). He liberated Babylonia, created the Neo-Babylonian empire and his alliance with Media brought him not only fortune in the war, but in the peace also. The Latin proverb Fortuna fortes adiuvat fits well the king and his experience as statesman.

Bibliography Beaulieu, P-A. 1997 The Fourth Year of Hostilities in the Land. BaM 28: 367–94. Briant, P. 2002 From Cyrus to Alexander. A History of the Persian Empire, trans. P. T. Daniels. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns.

Nabopolassar’s Campaigns in 616–615 b.c.e.

345

Brinkman, J. A. 1984 Prelude to Empire: Babylonian Society and Politics, 747–626 B.C. OPBF 7. Philadelphia: University Museum. 1998 Nabopolassar. Pp. 12–16 in RlA 9. Burstein, S. M. 1978 The Babyloniaca of Berossus. SANE 1/5. Malibu: Undena Publications. Da Riva, R. 2013 The Inscriptions of Nabopolassar, Amel-Marduk and Neriglissar. SANER 3. Boston and Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Frahm, E. 2005 On Some Recently Published Late Babylonian Copies of Royal Letters. N.A.B.U. 2005/43. Gadd, C. J. 1923 The Fall of Nineveh: The Newly Discovered Babylonian Chronicle No. 21901 in the British Museum. London: Trustees of the British Museum. Gerardi, P. 1986 Declaring War in Mesopotamia. AfO 33: 30–38. Glassner, J-J. 2005 Mesopotamian Chronicles, ed. B. Foster. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Grantovski, E. 1997 Strany Iranskovo nagoria i iuga Srednei Azii v pervoi polovine I tisachiletia do n.e. Midiiskoe tsarstvo. Avesta. Zoroastrizm. [Russian]. The lands of the Iranian Plateau in the first half of the first millennium BC. Avesta. Zoroastrism. Pp. 261–89 in Istoria Vostoka I. Vostok v drevnosti, ed. V. Jacobson. Istoria Vostoka v shesti tomah. Moskva: Izdatel’stvo Vostochnaya literatura, Russian Academy of Sciences. Grayson, A. K. 1975 Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. TCS 5. Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin Publisher. Jursa, M. 2007 Die Söhne Kudurrus und die Herkunft der neubabylonischen Dynastie. RA 101: 125–36. Kennedy, D. 1986 Documentary Evidence for the Economic Base of Early Neo-Babylonian Society. Part II: A Survey of Babylonian Texts, 626–605 b.c. JCS 38: 172–244. Lambert, W. G. 2005 Historical Literature: No. 44. Letter of Sîn-šarra-iškun to Nabopolassar. Pp. 203–10 in Cuneiform Texts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art II. Literary and Scholastic Texts of the First Millennium b.c., ed. I. Spar and W. G. Lambert. New York: Brepols Publishers. Liverani, M. 2003 The Rise and Fall of Media. Pp. 1–12 in Continuity of Empire (?): Assyria, Media, Persia, ed. G. Lanfranchi, M. Roaf, and R. Rollinger. HANEM 5. Padova: S.a.r.g.o.n. Editrice e Libreria. Maxwell-Hyslop, K. 1966 Assyrian Sources of Iron. A Preliminary Survey of the Historical and Geographical Evidence. Iraq 36: 139–54. Medvedskaya, I. N. 2010 Drevnii Iran nakanune imperii (IX — VI vv.  do n.e). Istoria midiiskava tsarstva [Russian]. Ancient Iran on the eve of empires (9–6 bc). The history of the Median Kingdom. St. Petersburg: Izdatel’stvo Peterburgskoe vostokovedenie.

346

Kabalan Moukarzel

Moukarzel, K. 2008 Obrazat na Nabopalasar spored svedeniyata na klinopisnite izvori [Bulgarian]. The Image of Nabopolassar according to the information from the cuneiform sources. Istoria 1: 1–14. Oates, J. 1991 The fall of Assyria (635–609 B.C.). Pp. 162–93 in The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 3/2: The Assyrian and Babylonian Empires and the other States of the Near East, from the Eight to the Sixth Centuries b.c., 2nd ed., ed. J. Boardman et al. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Parpola, S., and Watanabe, K. 1988 Neo-Assyrian Treaties and Loyalty Oathes. SAA 2. Helsinki: Helsinki University Press. Radner, K. 2006 Provinz. C. Assyrien. Pp. 42–68 in RlA 11. Schaudig, H. 2001 Die Inschriften Nabonids von Babylon und Kyros’ des Großen samt den in ihrem Umfeld entstandenen Tendenzschriften: Textausgabe und Grammatik. AOAT 256. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Spalinger, A. 1976 Psammetichus, King of Egypt: I. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 13: 133–47. 1977 Egypt and Babylonia: A Survey (c. 620 B.C.–550 b.c.). Studien zur Altägyptischen Kultur 5, 221–44. 1978 Psammetichus, King of Egypt: II. Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt 15: 49–57. Stronach, D. 1997 Notes on the Fall of Nineveh. Pp. 307–24 in Assyria 1995. Proceedings of the 10th Anniversary Symposium of the Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, Helsinki, September 7–11, 1995, ed. S. Parpola and R. M. Whiting. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Vanderhooft, D. 1999 The Neo-Babylonian Empire and Babylon in the Latter Prophets. HSM 59. Atlanta, Georgia: Scholars Press. Voigtlander, E. N. von 1963 A Survey of Neo-Babylonian History. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Michigan. Wiseman, D. 1956 Chronicles of Chaldaean Kings (626–556 B.C.) in the British Museum. London: The Trustees of the British Museum. Zawadzki, S. 1988 The Fall of Assyria and Median-Babylonian Relations in Light of the Nabopolassar Chronicle. Seria Historia Nr 149. Poznań and Delft: Adam Mickiewicz University Press and Eburon.

More about the Crisis in Uruk Radosław Tarasewicz poznań

In 2012 Kristin Kleber published the article in which she identified—on the basis of letters from the Eanna officials—a drought in south Babylonia from the first to the third year of Cambyses’ reign (528–526 b.c.e.), with its peak in the second and third year. This resulted in a shortage of barley for provisions for the temples’ personnel, an increase in prices and famine. As K. Kleber based her observations on documents relating to agriculture, it seems useful to see whether a similar phenomenon might be observed in documents on the animal husbandry. Because agriculture and animal husbandry were the two main strongly interrelated branches of the Mesopotamian economy, the appearance of the phenomenon in both branches is likely, but needs to be verified. This is an objective of this article. The observations are based on the documents from the Eanna-Archive dated to the period from the accession to the fourth year of Cambyses, i.e., for a period of five consecutive years. The documents may be divided into the following groups. The first group comprises eighteen court documents concerning mainly the theft of Eanna’s animals: Text

Subject

Texts from the Accesion Year YOS 7 96a 28.IX.Camb 0

The case of Nabû-mukīn-apli/Aḫu-līšir (the herdsman of cattle) who is obligated to explain the reason for a missing account relating to the carcasses of 19 cows that died in an epidemic (šibṭu).

Texts from the First Year YOS 7 118b 25.I.Camb 1

The case of Nergal-aḫu-iddin/Nabû-aḫḫē-bulliṭ//Aṣûšu-namir who is accused of the theft of one ewe. To settle the matter in his favour, he has to bring Bānīa/Aḫḫē-iddin before the assembly, who—as he claims—gave the ewe to him. Otherwise the penalty will be thirty-fold.

TCL 13 147c 30.III.Camb 1

The case of Anu-zēr-šubši/Bāni-zēri and Ša-pî-Anu/Ipria who are accused of the theft of one ewe; the verdict of the assembly is a thirty-fold penalty for one ewe.

YOS 7 111 13.V.Camb 1

Gimillu/Innin-šumu-ibni and Ardia/Nanā-uṣalli guarantee to deliver some men that were accused of the illegal slaughter of four Eanna’s ewes branded with a star.

Texts from the Second Year Spar 1972 no. 2 The case of Aḫu-iddin/Bēl-uballiṭ who is accused (by Šum-iddin/Libluṭ) of the theft 2.IV.Camb 2 of two marked ewes from the herd of Mukīn-apli/Innin-lip-uṣur, the herdsman of the Lady of Uruk. Aḫu-iddin explained that he received the two ewes from Mukīnapli and they in fact belonged to him.

347

348

Radosław Tarasewicz Text

Subject

Figulla 1951 12.VII.Camb 2

The trial record concerning the theft and killing of two ducks by Aḫu-iddin/Nabûkāṣir, Anu-aḫḫē-bulliṭ/Nabû-kāṣir, Nanā-aḫu-iddin/Nanā-ēreš, Aḫu-iddin/Kīnā and Nanā-iddin and Ištar-zēr-ibni who dig the canal; the verdict is thirty-fold penalty for each duck.

YOS 7 128d 13.VII.Camb 2

The case of Bēlšunu/Nūrēa, an oblate, who is accused of unlawfully leading away and slaughtering a ewe.

YOS 7 125e [x.x].Camb 2

The case of Kāṣir/Nabû-balāssu-iqbi and Nabû-uballiṭ who are accused of the theft of a cow. To settle the matter in their favour they have to bring a guarantor who can confirm their words.

Texts from the Third Year YOS 7 159f 24.IV.Camb 3

The case of Lâbâši/Kunā who is accused of the theft of a marked cow from the herd under responsibility of Bazuzu/Šamaš-šum-ukīn, the herdsman of cattle of Lady of Uruk. The latter one is accuser who made a declaration before the royal’s judge and an Aramaic? scribe.

YOS 7 141g 10.V.Camb 3

The theft of an unknown number of animals during the period from the first to the third year of Cambyses; a thirty-fold penalty for each proven theft of a sheep.

YOS 7 149 19.VI.Camb 3

The text concerns the loss of a cow from the Eanna herd and the search conducted in the citizens’ houses that proves the theft and the killing of a cow.

BM 114648 9.VII.Camb 3

The case of Nabû-balāssu-iqbi/Kīṣir-Nabû who is accused of the theft of an Eanna cow. He swears an oath that he did not take the cow, however, he promises to bring and brand a cow from his property.

BM 113408 3.VIII.Camb 3

Nādin/Zababa-ēreš, a herdsman of Lady of Uruk, explains the losses of 25 cows in two consecutive years.

YOS 7 146h 22.X.Camb 3

The case of Anu-šarra-uṣur/Innin-šumu-iddin who fled but earlier stole a ḫuṭarustaff, and using it (as a symbol of power) took sheep and goats. Captured and handcuffed, he regained his freedom, escaping from the person who captured him, and for the second time was released for a bribe of 10 shekels of silver.

YOS 7 140i 3.XI.Camb 3

The case of Bēl-iqīša/Ṣillā who is accused of the theft of ten sheep from the Eanna herd. The penalty is thirty-fold.

YOS 7 161j 12.XII.Camb 3

The trial record concerning the case described in YOS 7 140.

TCL 13 163 [x.x].Camb 3

Evidence given by a group of Eanna fishermen regarding the unlawful fishing and theft of the fish by fishermen from out of town.

Texts from the Fourth Year OIP 122 39 26.IV.Camb 4?

The case of Šamšia who is accused of the theft of six kids (?) and seven ewes.

a.  Kozuh 2014: 190–92. b.  Weszeli 2007: 573–74. c.  San Nicolò 1932: 339–41, Kleber 2008: 21. d.  Joannès 1997: 281, Ragen 2006: 453–57, Holtz 2009: 269–70, 298–99, Kozuh 2014: 135, 140, 193, 202–3, 214. e.  Weszeli 2007: 574–76. f.  Von Bolla 1941: 117–20, Kleber 2008: 72, Holtz 2009: 277–78, Kozuh 2014: 140. g.  Kozuh 2014: 148. h.  Kleber 2007: 30–31. i.  Kozuh 2014: 149–51. j.  Kozuh 2014: 150–51.

More about the Crisis in Uruk

349

Out of those documents, ten are related to sheep, six to cattle and two to ducks and fish (Figulla 1951 and TCL 13 163). In this dossier two texts (BM 113408 and BM 114648) are unpublished. 1 The distribution of these documents is interesting: Camb 0 – one text Camb 1 – three texts Camb 2 – four texts Camb 3 – nine texts Camb 4 – one text

In the second group we have twenty-three “tabular sacrifice records” (discussed recently by S. Zawadzki and M. Kozuh). 2 YOS 7 138 3 (8.V. Camb 3) and BM 113415 4 (15.V. Camb 3) relate to deliveries of quite large number of skins, which are at the disposal of the rab būli and three herdsmen. The third group of documents deals with obligations to deliver sheep for the offerings and for the kings to Abānu for designated period under the punishment of the king or Gubāru. 5Additionally two documents dated to the third year of Cambyses, although not related to animals, shed some light on the crisis. The first, BM 113363 (10.IV. Camb 3), concerns the theft of the Holy Staff of the Lady of Uruk, and the second, BIN 1 169 6 (17.IX. Camb 0), the recruitment of oblates for the safeguarding of the city.

Analysis Accession Year of Cambyses YOS 7 96 is dated to the accession year of Cambyses and deserves our special attention. It provides highly important information which might explain to some degree the causes of the shortage of animals in the Eanna temple in the years under discussion. Nabû-mukīn-apli/Aḫu-līšir, the herdsman of the cattle of the Lady of Uruk, was accused of not informing the temple authorities about what he had done with carcasses of the cattle which died during the epidemic (šibṭu). Nabû-mukīnapli denies the accusation and indicates the persons who received the carcasses for agreed prices but claims that despite that, they never paid what they owed. In further parts of the document, the accused claims that, apart from those mentioned earlier, Šamaš-ēṭer, the canal inspector (gugallu), as well as another person unlawfully (ina šigilti) took possession of three carcasses and seven ox hides. Nabûmukīn-apli assumes guaranty that the veracity of his testimony is to be confirmed by the individuals mentioned in the text (pu-ut lúmu-kin-nu-tu šá lúérin.me šá pagra-nu a-na kù.babbar ù ši-gil-tu4 ina šuii-šú-nu! iš-šu-ú mdag-du-ibila na-ši). It is interesting that the recipients of the carcasses are described using the term erín. meš, which most likely means temple workers. It is worth noting that in Uruk there was an epidemic among the cattle. The recipients of carcasses (doing this legally and illegally) were people known to the 1.  The texts are cited with the kind permission of the Trustees of the British Museum. 2.  Zawadzki 2014: 432–37 and Kozuh 2014: 197–200. 3.  Kozuh 2014: 207–8. 4.  Kozuh 2014: 208. 5.  The texts were recently discussed by M. Kozuh (2014: 196–214). 6.  Pirngruber 2013: 72.

350

Radosław Tarasewicz

temple authorities (otherwise their identification in the text by their first names does not make sense). The illegal seizure of the carcasses and the lack of payment on the part of all the people mentioned, including the gugallu, who held a fairly important position in the temple economy, make it reasonable to suggest that their actions may have been connected with difficulties in supplying food. This conclusion is supported by five “tabular sacrifice records” which suggest severe shortfalls in sheep which might also be connected with a crisis. Table 1 puts together the evidence on 43 dead animals designated for guqqû offerings as well as 11 for sattukku. Table 1.  Distribution of the offering sheep in Camb 0 according to the tabular sacrifice records Text

Date

YOS 1 47

VII Camb 0

BM 114534 VIII Camb 0

sattukku

dead

guqqû

dead

210

 3

156

13

127

 0

116

 8

YBC 3979a

X Camb 0

177

 3

177

14

AnOr 8 65

XI Camb 0

177

 5

127

11

Total:

 8 43

a.  Robbins 1996, Tab. 3.

First Year The three documents relating to the theft of sheep are dated to the first year. There are also six “tabular sacrifice records” where the shortfalls in sheep are especially high, i.e., 58 sheep in the guqqû column and 36 sheep including the sattukku. It is worth noting that this data refers only to a six-month period, hence the actual shortfalls were, without doubt, significantly higher. Table 2.  Distribution of the offering sheep in Camb 1 according to the tabular sacrifice records Text YBC 3958

Date

sattukku

dead

guqqû

dead

I Camb 1

202

 0

143

 3

YBC 3968b

II Camb 1

153

 0

120

 6

YBC 3964

IV Camb 1

219

 4

139

13

a

c

TCL 13 148 V Camb 1

159

 9

123

14

YBC 3976d

VIII Camb 1

210

20

 77

12

YOS 1 48

X Camb 1

175

 3

122

Total: a.  Robbins 1996: 86. b.  Robbins 1996, Tab. 3. c. Ibid. d. Ibid.

36

10 58

More about the Crisis in Uruk

351

Second Year In the following, second year, there are three cases of the theft of sheep and one case of the theft of ducks. Four “tabular sacrifice records” document a shortfall of 25 sheep in the guqqû offering and a single sheep in the sattukku offering. The sudden reduction of losses indicate the establishing of special, effective supervision of the site (presumably the fattening house), where the sheep were gathered for offering in the immediate future. The losses concern only four months, 1/3 of a year, and were most likely somewhat lower than in the previous year, but—as M. Kozuh mentioned—the difficulties in supplying the temple were influenced by the presence of Cambyses in Abānu and the temple’s duty to provide the king and his entourage with meat, 7 what is confirmed by five documents. Table 3.  Distribution of the offering sheep in Camb 2 according to the tabular sacrifice records sattukku

dead

guqqû

dead

YBC 3977a

Text

II Camb 2

Date

109

0

112

 6

b

SAKF 162

IV Camb 2

112

0

 94

 5

c

YBC 3959

V Camb 2

139

1

121

10

YBC 3960d

VIII Camb 2

124

0

134

 4

1

Total:

25

a.  Robbins 1996, Tab. 3. b. Ibid. c. Ibid. d. Ibid.

Third Year According to K. Kleber the crisis peaked in third year, when the lack of supplies led to deaths by famine. In that year, there is the largest number of documents mentioning theft, of which as many as four concern the theft of cattle – animals of much greater nutritional value than sheep. There are also six “tabular sacrifice records” dated to this year, but in the opinion of S. Zawadzki the losses among animals in the guqqû offering forced the temple to limit deliveries from further afield to a minimum (usually, the number of animals in the guqqû groups was a little lower than the number of animals in the sattukku group); it is a fact that in two lists, there are separate columns for sattukku and guqqû offerings, and there was a limit to one sheep per day for guqqû. In the remaining four lists, the figures are given together, which S. Zawadzki interprets as a temporary resignation (until the beginning of the fourth year, when the crisis came to an end) from sending sheep further afield, finding the cause of that decision in the high losses in the previous three years (Camb 0–2). 8

7.  Kozuh 2014: 205; cf. Kleber 2008: 85–97. 8.  Zawadzki 2014: 436.

352

Radosław Tarasewicz Table 4.  Distribution of the offering sheep in Camb 3 according to the tabular sacrifice records Text

Date

sattukku

dead

guqqû

dead

NCBT 1028

IV Camb 3

303

 0

 0

0

YBC 3962

V Camb 3

244

 4

30

0

AnOr 8 69

VI Camb 3

258

 1

32

0

YBC 3966

VII Camb 3

YOS 1 49

X Camb 3

AnOr 8 72

XII Camb 3

a

b

c

352

 1

 0

0

259+x

 3

 0

0

 5

 0

728

14

Total:

0 0

a.  Robbins 1996, Tab. 3. b. Ibid. c. Ibid.

Two documents testify to the loss of control, or even helplessness, of the temple. According to YOS 7 141, if witnesses appear or an individual who proves the crimes, the penalty for each stolen sheep will be thirty-fold. In other words, the temple is convinced that over a three-year period animals were being routinely stolen from the temple herds, but it is impossible to prove who was responsible for it. From the unpublished document BM 113408 it is known that in the month of araḫsamna, in the first year of Cambyses, part of 25 branded cattle disappeared from the herd of Nādinu, the herdsman, but until araḫsamna in the third year, the question of the disappearance is not resolved. It should be noted also that Gimillu/Inanna-šumibni, a well-known širku, and probably the most well-known criminal of Neo-Babylonian times, plays a part in this document. A group of documents dated to the second and third year indicate the serious threat to the regularity of offerings. 9 These texts record oaths taken by the herdsmen that they would fulfill their duty in terms of care for the herd, or herds, supplying offerings at the specified times. It is true that some of them (AnOr 8 67, GCCI 2 120, YOS 7 123) clearly concern supplying the king and his entourage in Abānu, whereas others refer to deliveries to Uruk for cultic purposes. The fact of engagement of the highest authority, via the threat of a punishment from the king or Gubāru, the governor, the highest representative of Persian administration in the province, best illustrates the uncertainty whether persons are fulfilling their duties and the fears of the continuity of offerings. The figures quoted are not small: •  BM 114557 10 (I Camb 2) refers to 150 sheep, •  TCL 13 162 (V Camb 3) refers to delivery of 355 kalūmu lambs in a brief period of one month from the document being drawn up, •  YOS 7 160 (V Camb 3) refers to shepherds’ promise under oath to supply 200 kalūmu lambs to tašrītu, and an additional 100 kalūmu lambs to araḫsamnu. 9.  Kozuh 2013: 54. 10.  Sandowicz 2012 no. O.126, Kozuh 2014: 198, 200, 205 and 2013: 54.

More about the Crisis in Uruk

353

Two texts, YOS 7 138 and BM 113415, written on the 8th and 15th of abu, third year respectively, display a certain connection with economic difficulties. According to BM 113415, three shepherds are to deliver 600 tanned skins and ḫaliṣanu skins (the second term is not fully clear) within two weeks. A similar situation appears in YOS 7 138 the rab būli must deliver 1000 tanned skins and ḫaliṣanu skins of the best quality (babanūtu) received by him from the hands of herdsmen within one month. However, an unknown number of skins is still due from him (elat rēḫi ša ina muhhīšu). Accordingly, the information from BM 113415 that the skins are ina dīktu ša ṣēni ša ina pānišu, “from the allowable losses of sheep, which are in his disposal,” relates to the stipulations of the contract (YOS 6 155) in which losses of 10% accepted, on condition of providing the skins of dead animals. There is no information about the number of the herd that had been reduced and whether the losses were incurred during a few months or over the whole year. However, in light of the number of sheep estimated by M. Kozuh at around 74,000 to 90,000 animals, 11 while earlier the number of 150,000 sheep was suggested, 12 the losses given in both documents were rather a small percentage of the whole. However, the fact of such documents being drawn up, unknown from the other periods, containing promises to supply hides in a short period suggests that the administration considered the shortages as severe (albeit within acceptable norms) and suspected the shepherds of illegal sales. The order to rapidly supply hides was to limit the impact of those shortages. Finally, it is worth mentioning two other texts, BM 113363, written on the 10th of duʾzu, and YOS 7 146 13, written on the 22nd day of abu, i.e., almost exactly one month after the first one. Both documents concern the theft of a huṭāru-staff by the shepherds, a staff which evidently gave the owner the right to make decisions concerning the temple animals. The two thefts of a huṭāru-staff within the space of a month show the extremely tense situation in the temple.

Conclusion The presented data from Uruk create, in my view, a coherent whole and indicate that there was the crisis related to the two most important areas of the economy, i.e., cereal production and animal husbandry. The idea that the crisis might have begun already in the first year appears in the article by Kristin Kleber, but both the documents cited by her come from Borsippa and Sippar. The idea that the crisis begun in the first year, or even in the accession year of Cambyses, a conclusion put forward by Stefan Zawadzki solely on the basis of the “tabular sacrifice records” from Uruk, is reflected in the other texts analysed here. The problems with guaranteeing the smooth flow of supplies of animals for offerings and the difficulties in estimating and proving the losses were the most important symptoms of the crisis. All of this is supported by BIN 1 169 (17.IX. Camb 0) that concerns the recruitment of oblates for the safeguarding of the city. The reason to write BIN 1 169 was “the perennial lack of manpower that Eanna suffered from” as noted by 11.  Kozuh 2013: 53, n. 4. 12.  San Nicolò 1948: 285. 13.  Kleber 2007: 30–32.

354

Radosław Tarasewicz

R. Pirngruber. 14 But the real reason may well be the problem with safeguarding of the temple’s property due to the increasing discontent of the Urukeans. The scale of losses through theft must have been high, and the temple clearly had a problem with controlling the situation. Those committing the crimes did so in an extreme situation, most likely in the face of a lack of food supplies or even hunger, in the hope that their crimes would not be judged harshly. 14.  Pirngruber 2013: 71.

Bibliography Bolla, S. von 1941 Drei Diebstahlsfälle von Tempeleigentum in Uruk. ArOr 12: 113–20. Contenau, G. 1929 Contrats néo-babyloniens, vol 2: Achéménides et Séleucides. TCL 13. Paris: Geuthner. Clay, A. T. 1915 Miscellaneous Inscriptions in the Yale Babylonian Collection. YOS 1. New Haven: Yale University Press. Dougherty, R.P. 1920 Records from Erech, Time of Nabonidus (555–538 B.C.). YOS 6. New Haven: Yale University Press. 1933 Archives from Erech: Neo-Babylonian and Persian Periods. GCCI 2. New Haven and London: Yale University Press and Oxford University Press. Figulla, H. H. 1951 Lawsuit Concerning a Sacrilegious Theft at Erech. Iraq 13: 95–101. Holtz, S. 2009 The Neo-Babylonian Court Procedure. CM 38. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Joannès, F. 1997 La situation de la Babylonie dans l’Empire perse. Pp. 279–86 in Recherches récentes sur l’Empire achémenide, ed. M.-F. Boussac and J Pouilloux. Topoi Suppl. 1. Lyon: Maison de l’Orient. Keiser, C.E. 1917 Letters and Contracts from Erech Written in the Neo-Babylonian Period. BIN 1. New Haven and London: Yale University Press and Oxford University Press. Kleber, K. 2007 Zum Meineid und zu seiner Bestrafung in Babylonien. ZABR 13: 23–38. 2008 Tempel und Palast: Die Beziehungen zwischen dem König und dem Eanna-Tempel im spätbabylonischen Uruk. AOAT 358. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. 2012 Famine in Babylonia. A microhistorical approach to an agricultural crisis in 528–526 BC. ZA 102: 219–44. Kozuh, M. 2013 Ritual failure in the business records of Mesopotamian temples. Pp. 51–62 in: Ritual Failure: Archaeological Perspectives, ed. V. G. Koutrafouri and J. Sanders. Leiden: Sidestone Press. 2014 The Sacrificial Economy: Assessors, Contractors, and Thieves in the Management of Sacrificial Sheep at the Eanna Temple of Uruk (ca. 625–520 B.C.). EANEC 3. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Oberhuber, K. 1960 Sumerische und akkadische Keilschriftdenkmäler des Archäologischen Museums zu Florenz. Innsbrucker Beiträge zur Kulturwissenschaft Sonderheft 8. Innsbruck: Schprachwissenschaftliche Institut der Universität Innsbruck.

More about the Crisis in Uruk

355

Pirngruber, R. 2013 Police forces in first millennium BC Babylonia and beyond. Kaskal 10: 69–87. Pohl, P. A. 1933 Neubabylonische Rechtsurkunden aus den Berliner Staatlichen Museen I. AnOr 8. Roma. Ragen, A. 2006 The Neo-Babylonian širku: A Social History. Ph.D. dissertation. Harvard University. Sandowicz, M. 2012 Oaths and Curses: A Study in Neo- and Late Babylonian Legal Formulary. AOAT 398. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. San Nicolò, M. 1932 Parerga Babylonica VII. Der § 8 des Gesetzbuches Ḫammurapis in den neubabylonischen Urkunden. ArOr 4: 327–44. 1948 Materialien zur Viehwirtschaft in den neubabylonischen Tempeln I. OrNS 17: 273–93. Spar, I. 1972 Studies in Neo-Babylonian Economic and Legal Texts. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Minnesota. Tremayne, A. 1925 Records from Erech, Time of Cyrus and Cambyses (538–521 B.C.). YOS 7. New Haven: Yale University Press. Weisberg, D. B. 2003 Neo-Babylonian Texts in the Oriental Institute Collection. OIP 122. Chicago: The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Weszeli, M. 2007 Zur Bedeutung von uškû und uškûtu. Pp. 561–77 in Festschrift für Hermann Hunger zum 65. Geburtstag, gewidmet von seinen Freunden, Kollegen und Schülern, ed. M. Köhbach, S. Procházka, G. J. Selz, and R. Lohlker. WZKM 97. Wien. Zawadzki, S. 2014 “If you have sheep, you have all you need”. Sheep Husbandry and Wool in the Economy of the Neo- Babylonian Ebabbar Temple at Sippar. Pp.  428–52 in: Wool Economy in the Ancient Near East and the Aegean: From the Beginnings of Sheep Husbandry to Institutional Textile Industry, ed. C. Breniquet and C. Michel. Oxford and Philadelphia: Oxbow Books.

Part 5

God and Temple

Don’t Insult Inana! Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency in the Light of New Textual Sources Jana Matuszak Tübingen

The didactic Sumerian literary compositions associated with the Edubbaʾa—the school dialogues, the debates between women, the “diatribes,” and the texts more directly reflecting the daily routine of the Sumerian “school”—as well as the Sumerian proverbs and the texts traditionally termed “wisdom literature” are commonly described as being remarkably secular in outlook. 1 The late Bendt Alster (1997 I: xviii), for instance, spoke of a “completely secular attitude toward social behavior” in the Sumerian proverbs and admonitional texts, while Konrad Volk arrived at a similar conclusion with regard to the so-called Edubbaʾa texts. 2 Although this observation generally holds true for many of the above-mentioned texts, it fails to account for several exceptions, including the role which Nissaba and Enki, in particular, play in the doxologies of the school dialogues, 3 the common comparison of both parents and teachers to the personal god, 4 certain Sumerian Author’s note:  I would like to express my gratitude to Konrad Volk for discussing this paper with me, and to Joshua Bowen for correcting my English. All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own. 1.  Sumerian proverbs are quoted according to Alster 1997. Lines from compositions which have not yet been edited comprehensively are generally quoted after one representative, ideally published, manuscript; the line count is inevitably provisional. However, since the majority of the so-called Edubbaʾa texts remain unpublished, quoting the unpublished sources is unavoidable. In this case, CDLI numbers will be provided for the reader’s convenience. Thanks to the generosity of the curators of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, all unpublished manuscripts pertaining to Two Women A or B quoted in this paper have been collated, and copies have been prepared by the present author. They will be published as part of my dissertation on literary debates between women. The tablets pertaining to the Martin Schøyen Collection are quoted by kind permission of the owner; they will be published in J. Matuszak and K. Volk, Sumerian Literary Texts in the Schøyen Collection I. With the Collaboration of A. R. George, C. Mittermayer, L. Vacín and A. Westenholz.” Bethesda, MD: CDL Press.  2.  See Alster 1991/1992: 7 and 1997: xviii et passim, and Volk 2000: 10–11 (with n. 55), 25. 3.  zà-mim-doxologies are found in Dialogue 2: 232 (de n - ki l u g a l ki u mu m- ma z à - mi m “Enki, lord of the place of learning, be praise!,” quoted after UET 6/2 154 rev. 12), Dialogue 3: 192 (dn i s s a b a zà-mim “Nissaba be praise!,” quoted after UET 6/2 151 rev. 7) and Dialogue 4: 74 (n i n me - n i - d a me nu-sá -a dnissaba z à - m i m; “The lady whose me cannot be rivaled, Nissaba, be praise!,” quoted after 3N-T 333 [unpublished], left edge ii 1–2; also compare ETCSL 5.1.3 [checked January 2014] and the translation in Black et al. 2004: 280). For more complete renderings of the endings of Dialogues 2 and 3 compare n. 30. 4.  Compare, for instance, Schooldays: 82–83: š u d ù i - ri - š a4-a n a m i - ri - ta r- ra / d i ĝ i r a d - d a zu e-ne-bi-da šu z i h u - m u - r a - ĝ á - ĝ á - n e “The prayer I have said for you, the fate I have decided for you — may your (personal) god and your father jointly set it right for you” (see Kramer 1949: 204; the different reading of l. 83 follows N 4331 [unpublished; P277470] rev. 3′, Ni 4567 [ISET 2 82] rev. 12,

359

360

Jana Matuszak

proverbs, and large sections of “wisdom texts,” such as the Instructions of UrNinurta, the Old Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom, and Man and His God 5—all of which emphasize the importance of a humble and submissive god-fearing way of life. In fact, it would be rather surprising for a society, in which the divine sphere is so intricately interwoven with the mundane, and in which the gods are constantly called upon as judges, that the gods would have had little or no say in questions of morality, manners, and conduct. With this in mind, I would like to draw attention to a hitherto largely unknown Old Babylonian literary composition, which deals with the grave consequences of the overbearing misbehavior of an unnamed—and thus paradigmatic—woman. Its best-preserved manuscript, the prism W(eld-)B(lundell) 169, housed in the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, was published in hand copy, partial transliteration, and translation in 1923 by Stephen Langdon in OECT 1 13–16. 6 Since then, it has received rather mixed attention, but has neither been comprehensively studied nor edited, although six duplicates have since been identified, some only recently. 7 In the following, I will refer to it by its incipit, Ka hulu-a (The Evil Mouth). This highly complex composition falls into two stylistically very different parts, which are, however, intricately linked. The first part consists of six stanzas of about ten lines each, containing gross insults against a woman, which are reminiscent of the ones used in the Emesal dialogues between women. The text is, however, written in Emegir throughout, suggesting a male—but likewise anonymous—speaker. Charges include the wickedness of the heart and mouth, a worthless vagina resulting in non-nubility, greediness, boastfulness, clumsiness, immature behavior, haughtiness, impertinence, libel, laziness, curiosity, ugliness, and a poor family background. Apart from the taunts clearly directed against a woman, all the genderneutral insults can also be found almost verbatim in the Edubbaʾa dialogues between men. One moral failure is singled out, however: falseness (lul). It appears in the center of the refrain concluding each stanza, and constitutes the tertium comparationis, which links the woman to an un-named deity (diĝir). 8 While it is strange Ni 9902 [ISET 1 195] rev. 5, 3N-T 901, 54 [SLFNi. 45] obv. 6, and SLTNi. 119 rev. 6); Instructions of Šuruppak: 266–70: e nim am a- za e nim diĝ ir - za ka - š è n a m- b í - i b - d a b5- b é - e n / a ma du tu - à [ m] lú m u-un-ù-dú / ab- ba diĝ ir - r a- à[m (x)] m u- un - d a d a g - g e / a b - b a d i ĝ i r- à m [e ] n i m- ma - n i z i da / na -de5 a b-b a- šè ĝ e ssalsal4 hé - e m - ši- ia-AK “Do not take the word of your mother (and) the word of your (personal) god into (your) mouth! A mother is (like) Utu, who gives birth to man. A father is (like) a god, he makes [x] shine. A father is (like) a god, his words are just. You should heed the instructions of a father!”; Old Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom: 76–77: [e n i m a b - b a - z u - g e n 7 e n i m d i ĝ i r- z u - g e n7 ĝe] ss alsal4 hé-em - ši-AK / e nim am a- zu- g e n7 e nim d i ĝ i r- [ z u ] - g e n7 ĝ e s s a lsal4 h é - e m- š i-AK “You should heed [the words of your father (and) the words of your (personal) god alike!] / You should heed the words of your mother (and) the words of your (personal) god alike!”; and, inversely, Man and His God 98: di ĝir-ĝu10 ze4- e aia uug u6- ĝ u10- m e - e n ig i- ĝ u10 h é - ⸢ š i ⸣-[. . .-íl?] “My god, you are my father who begot me, [lift up?] my face to you!” 5.  For the Instructions of Šuruppak, see Alster 2005: 31–220 (the lines quoted here are from the Standard Version, pp. 56–175); for the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta, see Alster 2005: 227–40; for the Old Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom, see Alster 2005: 241–64; and for Man and His God, see Kramer 1955 (for the line count compare ETCSL). 6.  Images can be found on http://cdli.ucla.edu (P368428); Langdon’s copy is often inaccurate. 7.  A comprehensive edition of the text, including copies of the newly identified duplicates, is being prepared by the present author. 8.  d iĝir UR- b i s á - à m l u l - l a a - n a UR- b i n u - m e - e n; quoted from WB 169 (OECT 1 13) i 10 et passim (the readings are based on the various variants recorded in the duplicates). The line is beset with difficulties and requires detailed discussion, wherefore the reader is referred to the forthcoming edition.

Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency

361

that a mortal woman should be compared to a deity in the first place, it is stranger still that it should be on purely negative grounds, implying there exists a deity as wicked as the woman against whom the invective is directed. The question of to whom that could refer is soon implicitly answered in the text, as the second part of the composition consists mainly of a hymnic enumeration of temples of Inana, all of them specified as her é-éš-dam’s. The list is framed by a rather difficult short bridge passage leading to the final part of the text, which contains elaborate praise of Nissaba. The structure of the text can thus be outlined as follows: 1–52 Six stanzas containing insults against an anonymous woman, ending in a refrain in which she is implicitly compared to an un-named deity 53–55 Bridge 56–89 Hymnic list of 17 shrines of Inana designated as é-éš-dam 90–91a Repetition of bridge 92–96 Praise of Nissaba

In the final section of praise, the patron goddess of the Edubbaʾa is being extolled for having soothed Inana’s wrath, which apparently had been provoked by a severe insult: Ka hulu-a 92–96: 9 dumu-munus ki-en-gi ki-uri-ke4 . . . d nissaba dumu-munus an kù-ga ušbar den-líl-lá / enim bala-bala sa6-sa6 d inana dumu gal-zu dsuen-na in dugud ĝar-ra sila kúr-ra in-ku4 d inana in-se27 dnissaba zà-mim Daughter of Sumer and Akkad, . . . Nissaba, daughter of holy An, mother-in-law of Enlil, who makes conversations pleasant 10 — Inana, the wise daughter of Suen, who had been severely insulted, had taken to a strange path. (For having) soothed Inana, Nissaba be praise!

The lines quoted above leave little doubt that Inana felt mocked by the behavior of the woman. Phraseological similarities with laments (the taking of a hostile or strange path) even suggest that Inana had abandoned the aforementioned shrines in her fury. If this interpretation of the hymnic litany of é-éš-dam’s proves to be correct, it would indeed testify to the grave consequences of the woman’s misbehavior for the whole cosmos. Why is it, though, that the moral failures of a mere mortal woman could cause such great anger in Inana? A comparison of the character traits and habits of both the woman and Inana shows a remarkable degree of convergence — the only difference being that the woman is accused of offenses Inana herself frequently boasts of. Thus, haughtiness, libel, defamation, falseness, loitering, and prostitution seem to be totally acceptable when committed by Inana, while in Ka hulu-a they are said to shake the cosmic 9.  WB 169 (OECT 1 16) iv 14–18. Line 93 needs to be collated afresh, but in all likelihood started with another epithet of Nissaba. 10.  In view of the fact that Nissaba is praised for soothing Inana, the relatively unspecific expression “making conversations pleasant” in this context probably denotes mediation.

362

Jana Matuszak

order if practiced by a mortal. 11 Though it is not altogether inconceivable that the unfathomable ways of deities are beyond human concepts of moral conduct, it is still remarkable that the woman is compared to a goddess and not to her peers, as is the usual practice in Sumerian debates between scribes, musicians, or women. The reason for Inana’s wrath, along with the intended moral of the entire composition, lies, however, in the basic difference between humans and deities. It is utter hubris to behave in ways in which only Inana is allowed to behave; she is incomparable, even among the gods. Numerous compositions testify to this, to the extent that it has become a veritable topos. To quote just a few examples: Refrain of Inana D 12 inana nin me šár-ra-me-en diĝir nu-mu-e-da-sá Inana, you are the mistress of all me, no god can compete with you! d

Inana C 256 13 ze-e4 nam-diĝir-zu a-ba e-d[a-sá] Who can compete with your divinity? Inana F 3 and 33 14 ur!-ra dìm-me-er UR mu-da-sá-a Could one single god ever compete with me?

How is it, then, that a mortal woman might dare to encroach upon her prerogative? In fact, the whole text, bearing the overall structure of a song (divisions into stanzas, a litany of temples, and the final section of praise) can, in a way, be read as a hymn indirectly extolling Inana’s uniqueness. It is made clear that, contrary to the mockingly suggestive comparison in the refrain, the woman certainly cannot rival Inana. Though Ka hulu-a differs in this respect from the two known diatribes against men edited by Sjöberg in 1972—in them there is practically no reference to the divine sphere—it clearly shares their didactic motives. 15 Thus, the invective is not really directed against the imaginary, paradigmatic “fool,” but aimed at a general audience, who is encouraged to reform and do better than the “fool.” Since all we know for sure about the Sitz im Leben of both Ka hulu-a and the dialogues between women is that they were copied by schoolboys, these didactic compositions might have been devised in order to demonstrate to these students the picture of a woman suitable for marriage. Although the concept of the overbearing misconduct of a woman being judged a sin against Inana is thus far unique in the (yet to be precisely defined) corpus of Edubbaʾa literature, it agrees with certain Sumerian proverbs found in the Old Babylonian collections. In fact, there is one quite productive proverb type which has been overlooked when writing about the allegedly “completely secular attitude toward social behavior.” Proverbs of the type “X is an abomination to god Y” are scattered among the different collections, but are particularly frequent in proverb collections 3 and 26. While William Hallo in his study “Biblical Abominations and 11.  For a more detailed comparison of habits and character traits shared by the woman and Inana, see the forthcoming edition by the present author. 12.  See Behrens 1998. 13.  See Sjöberg 1975. 14.  See Römer 1969 and 2001: 149–58. 15.  Diatribe A, however, ends with a zà-mim-doxology to Nissaba mentioning Lugalbanda(?), Ninurta, and Ninmada; see HS 1606 (TMH NF 3 42) vii 25′–26′.

Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency

363

Sumerian Taboos” (1985 [2010]) argued that there is no “visible rationale for the invocation of a particular deity” (p. 599), I would maintain that this is not completely arbitrary, and that certain gods deal with certain offenses against common decency. For instance, Suen is called upon for actions involving boats, while Ninurta and Utu are invoked as divine judges and preservers of justice: SP 25.13 lú má diri-ga lú má gaba in-ru-gú níĝ-káb di-dè? níĝ-ge17 dsuen-na-kam

(If) a man sailing downstream encounters a man (whose) boat is travelling upstream, an inspection is an abomination to Suen. YBC 7351 16 di-ku5 níĝ-gi-na hulu-a áš á zi-da bala-e ibila tur-ra / é ad-da-na-ka / íb-ta-an-sar-re níĝ-ge17 dnin-urta-ke4

A judge who perverts justice, a curse which turns to the righteous party, a first-born (heir) who chases the younger (brothers) out of the patrimony— (these are) abominations to Ninurta.

Some proverbs of this kind, however, seem simply to deal with good manners. Consider, for example, the following proverb: 17 SP 3.8 ⸢šu!⸣ nu-luh-ha kaš ì-dé-a uš7 du11-ga ĝirì nu-siga18-a giri17 te(-en)-na 18 {te-ĝá} sahar nu-ge4-a eme AK an-bar7 an-díl nu-ĝá-ĝá níĝ-ge17 dutu-kam

Pouring out beer without washing one’s hands, Spitting 19 without trampling 20 (on it), Sneezing without covering it (with) dust, “Doing the tongue” 21 at noon without providing shade — (these are) abominations to Utu.

16.  This proverb is also, with some variants, included in proverb collection 26 (SP 26 Sec. A 4): á š á zi-ga ba la-e-di-⸢x⸣-[x] / ibila é ad- da- [na- t a] / s a r- ra n í ĝ - g e17 dn i n - u rta - [ k e4] “Cursing with violence, (and) chasing the heir out of the patrimony are abominations to Ninurta.” In the version from Ur (UET 6/2 259), Utu is substituted for Ninurta. This convergence of responsibilities might be explained by the fact that, while Utu generally is the divine judge par excellence, Ninurta, as the foremost son of Enlil, is called upon in the special case of inheritance matters. 17.  Compare also the Instructions of Šuruppak 40: š u - z u ú š - à m n a - d i - n i - i b - s u - s u // qa-at-ka ru-šá-a la ta-bal-⸢lal⸣ “Do not mix (drugs?) when your hands are filthy.” 18. giri17 t e- na- ĝ u10 is listed in the g i r i17-section of Uguĝu (ll. 82–92, MSL 9: 54–55) between giri17 há b-ĝu10, literally “my stinking nose” (l. 85), and [i m g i r i17]- ĝ u10 (l. 87), literally “rain of my nose,” hence it probably denotes nasal mucus. 19.  According to Attinger (1993: 750–53 sub 5.3.201), u š7/11 d u11 is most often rendered by kišpū vel sim. Other than uš11, u š7 is only rarely translated by illâtu or imtu ‘saliva’. There seems to be a semantic connection, however, perhaps best rendered by the English idiom ‘to spit venom’. In this context, ‘spitting’ seems to be appropriate translation. 20.  See Cooper 1972 and Sjöberg 1970: 89–90. 21.  See Alster 1997: 377 and also Attinger 2005: 222 sub 5.88 for possible translations of eme AK. In this context, it might mean ‘kissing’.

364

Jana Matuszak

SP 3.161 is even more general in tone: šu nu-luh-ha ka-e tùm-da níĝ-ge 17 -gaàm, which Alster (1997: 107) aptly translates as “Putting unwashed hands in one’s mouth is disgusting” (emphasis added). Here the indecent behavior is not declared an abomination to a specific deity, but simply characterized as bad manners. Interestingly, though, Ninurta 22 is the deity who figures most prominently in this type of proverb, while Inana is only rarely invoked. There is, however, one proverb that is of special interest against the backdrop of didactic texts, setting a standard for ideal housewives such as Ka hulu-a or the Emesal dialogues between women: SP 3.171 im šu-rin-na sèr-ra indà al-⸢tùm?-mu⸣ níĝ-ge17 dinana-ka

To [put?] bread into the oven while singing is an abomination to Inana.

Since baking bread—a typical activity of women—as such cannot be abominable to Inana, it is probably the singing—here taken as a sign of idleness—that angers her. This would be in agreement with the moral code condemning laziness, which was set by the aforementioned compositions. Thus, we encounter here Inana as an authority for household affairs, which should be kept in mind for the following discussion. As a matter of fact, the concept of certain types of criminals falling under the remit of a certain deity seems to go back to Early Dynastic times: compare the “litany” in IAS 248 rev. 10′–11′: PA.LUL (= lú-lul ? ) UD-⸢kam⸣ / nu-zuh UD-⸢kam⸣, which lists both the liar? and the thief as matters of concern for UD, who, according to Krebernik, could either be Utu, or An in UD.GAL.NUN orthography. 23 While it is conceivable that Utu, the divine judge, should look after proper criminals (like false witnesses and thieves), it seems to emerge from an—albeit small—number of texts (with Ka hulu-a as the prime example) that the misconduct of women seems to fall into the province of Inana and Nissaba. Thus, both Nissaba and Inana are mentioned in the doxology of MS 2865 (d nissaba zà-mim d inana a-rá-zu ⸢mahàm⸣ “Nissaba be praise — Inana, your ways are august!”), a hitherto unknown text, for which I have yet to find any duplicates, but which I plan to study in more detail. This composition, written in Emegir just like Ka hulu-a, also seems to contain insults against a woman. For instance, lines like rev. 8: téš nu-tuku-e nin é-a-gen 7 mi-ni-in-AK “She has no shame, she’s acting as if she were the mistress of the house” employ topoi well known from Ka hulu-a or the Dialogue Between Two Women B/Dialogue 5. Similar to the comparison of the woman with Inana in Ka hulu-a, the “august ways” of Inana, which are mentioned in the doxology of MS 2865 quoted above, are compared with the haughty ways of the wicked woman addressed here: ka sun 7 -na a-rá-na ga-bí-ib-du 11 -du 11 “The arrogant mouth — I will make them (i.e., everyone?) speak of her ways!” (obv. 2). What follows after this announcement is a list of insults or accusations, beginning with ka háb-ba-ni nu-du 10 -ga “Her foul mouth is not good” (obv. 3), which is immediately reminiscent of the opening phrase of Ka hulu-a: ka hulu-a nu-túm nu-sá-a “The evil mouth is inappropriate, it is without rival (or: it is not coequal)!” In this respect it, is worth 22.  Compare also the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta and Mayer’s (1992) edition of Ninurta als Helfer in der Not. This prayer—among others—testifies to the fact that Ninurta continued to act as preserver of justice and protector of the disadvantaged well into the first millennium. 23.  See Krebernik 1998: 321 with n. 804 and Lämmerhirt 2010: 266 with n. 102.

Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency

365

noting that also Ka hulu-a (l. 5) contains volitives expressing the speaker’s intention to make public the wickedness of the un-named woman against whom the invective is directed, just as the speaker in hymns proclaims his wish to exhort a certain deity or king. Thus, the so-called diatribes can be compared to hymns on a structural level (see also n. 31 below). In yet another Emesal dialogue dubbed Two Women A, we find a further reference to Inana. Here one rival advises the other: ga-ša-an-an-na-ra zí-ba-ni-ib “Be pleasing to Inana!” 24 The immediate context unfortunately is broken, but the locative -ni- probably refers to the alehouse (é kaš-a-ka) in the previous line, 25 which is said to be frequented by the goddess herself, when compared to this extract from Inana I (ll. 16–22, emphasis added): 26 é kaš-a-ka tuš-a-ĝu10-ne nu-nus-ĝen sul giri17 zal-la me-e-ĝen-[na] ki du14! ⸢gub⸣-ba-ĝu10-[ne] munus dìm-ma tìl-la me-e-ĝen-[na] ká éš-dam-ma-ka tuš-a-ĝu10-[ne] kar-ke4 mu-lu mu!?(NU) 27 zu me-e-ĝen-[na] mu-tin-na gu5-li-ni munus-e ma-la-ga When I’m sitting in the alehouse, I’m a woman, I’m a proud young man. When I’m witnessing (lit., standing at the place of) a quarrel, I’m the one who revives the weak. When I’m sitting in the gate of the tavern, I’m a prostitute who knows the penis. A man’s friend, a girlfriend to the woman.

While it cannot be excluded—due to the often sarcastic nature of these dialogues— that “Be pleasing to Inana!” constitutes a sneering remark rather than a serious piece of advice, it would agree with admonitions found in contemporary compositions such as Man and his God (ll. 1–9), 28 the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta, and the 24.  Preserved in CBS 9863 (unpublished; P265166) rev. 6, N 3503 (unpublished; P278532) ii 6′, and CBS 7910 (unpublished; P262873) rev. 6′; apparently omitted in UM 29–13–561 (unpublished; P255497). 25.  Line reconstructed from CBS 9863 rev. 5, N 3505 obv. ii 6′–7′, UM 29–13–561 obv. 13′–14′, and CBS 7910 rev. 4′–5′: é k a š - a - k a p i h u - a d é - a s a d è - r a - a b - t à - g e - n e “In the alehouse, (where beer) is poured into jugs, may they sound the strings for you!” Charges listed in the section preserved in these manuscripts include lack of care for her husband and libel — topoi well known from the better-preserved dialogue Two Women B. 26.  See Cohen 1975: 605–9. 27.  Given the improbability of Inana as a prostitute who does not “know” the penis, the emendation could be justified by the parallel in SBH 56 obv. 51 (see Volk 1989: 196). Since the Akkadian translation there reads [. . .] harimtum raʾīmtum anāku[ma] “I am the beloved prostitute,” it is not altogether improbable that mu (ES) stands for ĝ è š (EG) ‘penis’. However, Volk (1989: 220) in his commentary to Urú àm-ma-ir-ra-bi 21 l. 26 (= SBH 56 obv. 51) points out that in Nabnītu IVa both nu (l. 109/292) and mu (l. 117/300) are equated with zikarum ‘man’, ‘male’; hence ‘penis’ (as a pars pro toto) could be synonymous with ‘man’. Alternatively, NU could be an unorthographic spelling for nú, since ‘to sleep’ can have sexual connotations. This would agree with the variant munus lú nú zu in the Old Babylonian forerunner H 2 K xxviii 18 to Urú àm-ma-ir-ra-bi 21 l. 26 (Volk 1989: 40). As all variants discussed here are roughly in the same semantic spectrum, however, the meaning of the line can be regarded as more or less established. 28.  1l ú-l u7 na m - m ah diĝ ir - r a- na zi- dè - e š- š è h é - e m- me / 2ĝ u ru š - e e n i m d i ĝ i r- ra - n a k ù ge-eš hé-em -i-i / 3k alam si? sá- a ùĝ dúr - r u- na - b i g u - g e n7 h a - b a - s i - i l - e / [. . .] / 8KA i - s i - i š ĝál -la-ni š à diĝ ir - r a- na hé - e m - huĝ - e / 9lú- lu7 d i ĝ i r- d a n u - me - a ú g u7 l a - b a -AK- e “1A man

366

Jana Matuszak

Old Babylonian Counsels of Wisdom. The latter appears to start by contrasting the righteous and the wicked, before proceeding to admonitions advising a prudent and especially humble way of life, but the fragmentary state of the text does not allow for a definite structural synopsis. Similarly, the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta begin— after a mytho-historical introduction concerning Ur-Ninurta’s installation in Nippur by Ninurta—with an elaborate comparison between the god-fearing man, who will be rewarded for his piety during his lifetime (ll. 19–29), and his exact opposite, who will accordingly be punished for his lack of reverence for the gods (ll. 30–36). The text then goes on to give advice on agricultural matters (ll. 38–63), and ends by stressing once more the importance of submissiveness, both to the gods and to one’s superiors (ll. 65–71). Interestingly, the first two parts are labeled as á áĝ-ĝá engar-[ra-kam ?] “instructions of a farmer” (l. 64) and á áĝ-ĝá diĝir-ra-kam “instructions of a god” (l. 37) respectively — the god is very likely to be Ninurta. The structure of the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta can thus be outlined as follows: I 1–18 II 19–29 30–36 37 III 38–63 64 IV 65–71

Installation of Ur-Ninurta in Nippur by Ninurta Rewarding life of a pious man Punishment for the unfaithful man á áĝ-ĝá diĝir-ra-kam “instructions of a god” Advice on agricultural matters á áĝ-ĝá engar-[ra-kam?] “instructions [of ?] a farmer” Importance of submissiveness

In this regard, it might be of interest that one manuscript of Two Women B, SLTNi. 135, has na-de 5 d ninurta “advice of Ninurta” written underneath the final double ruling marking the end of the composition. Since it is an ordinary Type III tablet, it seems rather unlikely that this refers to the so-called Farmer’s Instructions (Civil 1994), especially since in antiquity this composition would have been known by its incipit u 4 ul uru 4 ru or its respective variants, and not its concluding subscript na de 5 -ga d nin-urta dumu d en-líl-lá-ke 4 / d nin-urta engar zi d en-líl-lá zà-mim-zu d u 10 -ga-àm “Instructions of Ninurta, son of Enlil. Ninurta, reliable farmer of Enlil, your praise is sweet!” 29 Moreover, Two Women B ends with a scene at court, where one of the women appeals to a judge, hoping to attain a just verdict against her slandering rival. Nowhere in the whole composition is there any mention of agriculture. Therefore, I would like to propose that na-de 5 d ninurta might allude to Ninurta’s role as preserver of justice, which was also prevalent in the proverbs of the type níĝ 2 -ge 17 d nin-urta-kam “such and such is an abomination to Ninurta.” Ultimately, Two Women B constitutes ex negativo a catalogue of which skills an ideal woman should master and how she should behave, or a combination of a specification of requirements and a moral code, if you will. Thus, the “advice of Ninurta” could in fact consist of warning women not to behave like the protagonists in the dialogue. Likewise, the paradigmatic evil woman in Ka hulu-a was supposed to serve as a deterrent — hence the implicit warning: don’t insult Inana! should truly proclaim the exaltedness of his (personal) god. / 2A young man should chastely praise the words of his (personal) god, / 3the people living in the orderly? land (of Sumer) should unravel them like a thread. / [. . .] / 8May his sorrowful words assuage the heart of his (personal) god. / 9A man without a (personal) god does not subsist.” (For the hapax ú gu7 AK s. Attinger 2005: 256 sub 5.491.) 29.  It is remarkable, however, that the Farmer’s Instructions—unlike the Instructions of Šuruppak, for instance—twice occur in the context of dialogues and Edubbaʾa compositions in the literary catalogues, compare N2 53 (Kramer 1942: 16), and U2 35 (Kramer 1961: 172 and Charpin 1986: 457).

Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency

367

To summarize, we have seen that the subscript na de 5 d nin-urta in one manuscript of Two Women B links the composition both to contemporary proverbs of the kind “X is an abomination to Ninurta,” and to admonitional literature such as the Instructions of Ur-Ninurta. In this respect, it might also be of interest that Two Women B and the Instructions of Šuruppak occur both on MS 3176/1 (unpublished; P274469). This multi-column (Type I) tablet contains the Curse of Agade (i 1–v 19), Two Women B (v 20–viii 14′), the Instructions of Šuruppak (ix 1′–xiii 22), and Inana and Ebih (xiv 1–xvi 22) — that is, compositions focusing on Inana, as well as moralizing didactic texts. Besides, MS 2367/1 (P251593), an unpublished excerpt tablet (Type III), combines Inana C ll. 1–16 with Ka hulu-a ll. 1–4, emphasizing both the connection to Inana, and (perhaps) highlighting the hymnic characteristics of Ka hulu-a. Furthermore, we recall that Ka hulu-a could also, in a way, be described as a literary embellishment of the proverb type “X is an abomination to god Y,” inasmuch as the overbearing (and thus blasphemous) misconduct of the woman is an abomination to, or rather a sin against, Inana. Together with Nissaba (who is also watching over the upbringing of schoolboys, thus forming a link to the other Edubbaʾa dialogues), Inana somehow seems to be called upon when it comes to the education of young women. While this is only hinted at in the quoted proverb chiding idleness whilst baking bread, MS 2865, and the very fragmentary debate between Two Women A, Ka hulu-a offers the answer as to why Inana, herself often portrayed as the exemplary ki-sikil, the impetuous and willful “young girl,” should appear side by side with wise Nissaba in didactic and moralistic texts originating in the Edubbaʾa. It is her prerogative to behave in the way she does, and she fulfills a cosmic role in doing so, whereas similar behavior by a mortal is regarded as an infringement upon Inana’s rights, and hence has to meet divine retribution by Nissaba. This is, however, so far unique: in Two Women B, where references to the divine sphere are largely absent, the women appeal to a judge who is a mortal just like them, while the quarrels between schoolboys are usually resolved by the teacher — and not a god. 30 The difference between Ka hulu-a and the debates between women or members of the Edubbaʾa therefore seems to lie in the nature of the text: far from being a dialogue between human beings, it shares, as mentioned, certain formal characteristics with hymns, linking the mundane with the divine on yet another level. 31 The setting of a moral standard for women could hence be achieved 30. In Dialogue 3: 190–2 (quoted after TMH NF 3 42 vii 21′–23′ and UET 6/2 151 24–26, see Römer 1988) it is the ummia (d u14 m ú mĝ ir ì- ni- ì- sa6 ù mde n - ki - ma - a n - š ú m e - n e - b i - d a / u m- mi - a d i i n ne-en-dab5-bé / dn i s a b a z à - m i m “(Because) in the quarrel between Ĝiriniʾisa and Enkimanšum the school master has pronounced their verdict, Nissaba be praise!”) and in Dialogue 2: 229–32 (quoted after UET 6/2 154 rev. 9–12) the ugula (d u14 k i um um - ma - ka g e4- me - a - a š - ⸢ e - n e⸣ / i g i u g u l a - š è b a an-ĝar-ra / ⸢ugula nam ⸣ - da6 in- ⸢ hur ⸣ di- bi bí- i n - d a b5- b a / ⸢d⸣e n - ki! l u g a l k i u mu m- ma z à mim “Because the supervisor has noted the offense (and) pronounced the verdict concerning the fellow students, who had quarreled at the place of learning in the presence of the supervisor, Enki, the lord of the place of learning, be praise!”). 31.  In this respect, also compare Diatribe B rev. ii 6′: me n - g a r- d u10 s è r k ù - z u mu - ti l n a m- ma h [zu . . .], which Sjöberg (1972: 109) translates as “Engardu, your holy song is finished, [your] greatness [is no more].” Contrary to the widely attested b a - t i l “it is finished,” however, m u - t i l has to be analyzed as a 1st sg.: “I have finished” — a smug assertion of the speaker, who is sure of the devastating effect his apparently song-like invective has had on his victim. For structural similarities between hymns and “diatribes,” see p. 365 above and, in more detail, Matuszak (in preparation).

368

Jana Matuszak

in two different ways, represented by two different literary genres: largely secular Emesal dialogues between women on the one hand, where the mortal woman herself sets the benchmark for “womanhood” (nam-munus), and compositions like Ka hulu-a (and MS 2865) on the other hand, uttered by a male speaker in Emegir, whose hymn-like form allows for connections to the divine sphere. Both dialogues and monologues have one feature in common, however: the ideal woman is defined ex negativo, which may serve as an explanation for why in Ka hulu-a Inana seems to serve as an “anti-role model” at best. The complex connections between the compositions discussed here can be visualized in the following chart:

Thus, the general picture evolves that the gods did have a say in questions of morality, manners, and conduct 32 — although this is, as of yet, for some reason more pronounced in didactic texts dealing with women. In any case, I hope that I was able to demonstrate that the encouragement to lead one’s life in humble reverence to the gods, which seems to be predominant in the “wisdom literature” of the Old Babylonian period, was not restricted to scattered proverbs and admonitional texts, but also figures quite prominently in at least part of the didactic and moralistic literature associated with the Edubbaʾa.

32.  This result, incidentally, ties in nicely with the observations of Fechner (2015: 40–42) on the development of moral concepts within the Sumero-Akkadian proverbial literature. She highlighted the fact that a stronger emphasis on pious and god-fearing submissiveness is characteristic for the Old Babylonian period when compared to the more secular Early Dynastic admonitional and proverbial compositions and the more pessimistic “wisdom literature” of the first millennium.

Divine Retribution for Offense against Common Decency

369

Bibliography Alster, B. 1991/1992  Early Dynastic Proverbs and other Contributions to the Study of Literary Texts from Abū Ṣalābīkh. AfO 38/39: 1–51. 1997 Proverbs of Ancient Sumer. The World’s Earliest Proverb Collections. 2 vols. Bethesda: CDL. 2005 Wisdom of Ancient Sumer. Bethesda: CDL. Attinger, P. 1993 Eléments de linguistique sumérienne: La construction de du11/e/di “dire”. OBO Sonderband. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoek und Ruprecht. 2005 A propos de AK « faire » I–II. ZA 95: 46–64 and 208–75. Behrens, H. 1998 Die Ninegalla-Hymne: die Wohnungnahme Inannas in Nippur in altbabylonischer Zeit. FAOS 21. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Biggs, R. D. 1974 Inscriptions from Tell Abū Ṣalābīkh. OIP 99. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Black, J., Cunningham, G., Robson, E., and Zólyomi, G. 2004 The Literature of Ancient Sumer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Charpin, D. 1986 Le clergé d’Ur au siècle d’Hammurabi (XIXe–XVIIIe siècles avant J.-C.). Geneva: Droz. Civil, M. 1994 The Farmer’s Instructions: A Sumerian Agricultural Manual. AuOr Suppl. 5. Sabadell and Barcelona: Editorial Ausa. Cohen, M. E. 1975 The Incantation-Hymn: Incantation or Hymn? JAOS 95: 592–611. Cooper, J. S. 1972 gìr-KIN “to stamp out, trample”. RA 66: 81–83. Çiğ, M., Kızılyay, H., and Kramer, S. N. 1969 Sumer edebî tablet ve parçaları / Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul, Part 1. TTKY 6/13. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Fechner, J. 2015 Moral Concepts within the Sumero-Akkadian Proverbial Literature: Origins, Developments and Tendencies. Pp. 17–60 in Concepts éthiques et moraux de l’Antiquité au XVIe siècle : approches multiculturelles et interdisciplinaires, ed. Marie-Sol Ortola. Aliento: Échanges sapientiels en Méditerrannée 6. Nancy: PUN — Éditions Universitaires de Lorraine. Gadd C. J., and Kramer, S. N. 1966 Literary and Religious Texts, Second Part. UET 6/2. London: British Museum Press. Hallo, W. W. 1985 [2010]  Biblical Abominations and Sumerian Taboos. Pp.  589–606 in The World’s Oldest Literature: Studies in Sumerian Belles-Lettres, ed. W. W. Hallo. CHANE 35. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Heimerdinger, J. W. 1979 Sumerian Literary Fragments from Nippur. OPBF 4. Philadelphia: The University Museum, Philadelphia. Kramer, S. N. 1942 The Oldest Literary Catalogue: A Sumerian List of Literary Compositions Compiled about 2000 B.C. BASOR 88: 10–19.

370

Jana Matuszak

1944 Sumerian Literary Texts from Nippur in the Museum of the Ancient Orient at Istanbul. AASOR 23. New Haven: American School of Oriental Research. 1949 Schooldays: A Sumerian Composition Relating to the Education of a Scribe. JAOS 69: 199–215. 1955 “Man and His God”: A Sumerian Variation on the “Job” Motif. Pp. 170–82 in Wisdom in Israel and in the Ancient Near East Presented to Professor Harold Henry Rowley M. A., D. D., Theol. D., F. B. A. by the Society for Old Testament Study in Association with the Editorial Board of Vetus Testamentum in Celebration of His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, 24 March 1955, ed. M. Noth and D. Winton Thomas. Leiden: Brill. 1961 New Literary Catalogue from Ur. RA 55: 169–76. 1976 Sumer edebî tablet ve parçaları / Sumerian Literary Tablets and Fragments in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul, Part 2. TTKY 6/13a. Ankara: Türk Tarih Kurumu Basımevi. Krebernik, M. 1998 Die Texte aus Fāra und Tell Abū Ṣalābīḫ. Pp. 237–427 in Mesopotamien: SpäturukZeit und frühdynastische Zeit. Annäherungen 1, ed. J. Bauer, R. K. Englund, and M. Krebernik. OBO 160/1. Fribourg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Lämmerhirt, K. 2010 Wahrheit und Trug: Untersuchungen zur altorientalischen Begriffsgeschichte. AOAT 348. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Kramer, S. N, and Bernhardt, I. 1961 Sumerische literarische Texte aus Nippur, vol. 1: Mythen, Epen, Weisheitsliteratur und andere Literaturgattungen. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Landsberger, B., and Civil, M. 1967 The Series ḪAR-ra = ḫubullu. Tablet XV and related texts. MSL 9. Roma: Pontificium Instititutum Biblicum. Langdon, S. 1923 The H. Weld-Blundell Collection in the Ashmolean Museum, vol. I: Sumerian and Semitic Religious and Historical Texts. OECT 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Matuszak, J. in preparation  Ka hulu-a: Der böse Mund. Ein sumerisches Lehrstück über die Konsequenzen des frevlerischen Verhaltens einer Frau. Mayer, W. R. 1992 Ein Hymnus auf Ninurta als Helfer in der Not. OrNS 61: 17–57. Reisner, G. A. 1896 Sumerisch-babylonische Hymnen nach Thontafeln griechischer Zeit. Mitteilungen aus den orientalischen Sammlungen 10. Berlin: Speeman. Römer, W. H. P. 1969 Eine sumerische Hymne mit Selbstlob Inannas. OrNS 38: 97–114. 1988 Aus einem Schulstreitgespräch in sumerischer Sprache. UF 20: 233–45. 2001 Hymnen und Klagelieder in sumerischer Sprache. AOAT 276. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Sjöberg, Å. 1970 Beiträge zum sumerischen Wörterbuch. OrNS 39: 75–98. 1972 “He Is a Good Seed of a Dog” and “Engardu, the Fool”. JCS 24: 107–19. 1975 in-nin-ša3-gur4-ra: A Hymn to the Goddess Inanna by the en-Priestess Enḫeduanna. ZA 65: 161–253. Volk, K. 1989 Die Balaĝ-Komposition úru àm-ma-ir-ra-bi: Rekonstruktion und Bearbeitung der Tafeln 18 (19′ff.), 19, 20 und 21 der späten, kanonischen Version. FAOS 18. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. 2000 Edubbaʾa und Edubbaʾa-Literatur: Rätsel und Lösungen. ZA 90: 1–30.

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana Evelyne Koubková Prague

Introduction The Myth (or Epic) of Etana 1 is an Akkadian text preserved in several versions, namely from the Old Babylonian (ca. 18th – 16th century b.c.e.), Middle Assyrian (ca. 15th – 11th century b.c.e.) and Neo-Assyrian periods (ca. 10th – 7th century b.c.e.), the last of which represents a copy of the so-called Standard Babylonian version stemming from the Kassite period (ca. 15th – 12th century b.c.e.). All the versions are rather fragmentary, and the placing of some fragments is still disputed. Even the actual length of the whole text is not known, since the end has not come down to us. Therefore, it is not possible to judge the older versions without taking consideration of the Standard Babylonian version. Apart from that, there is another problem that goes with interpretation of this myth. The text seems to consist of two separate stories. Even though they eventually become related to each other, the connection seems relatively loose. Michael Haul says this about it: Ein wesentliches und bis heute ungelöstes problem in der Interpretation des Etana-Epos stellt seine zweigliedrige Gestalt dar. Die Erzählung von Etana, der von den Göttern als erster König unter den Menschen eingesetzt wird, um die Kontinuität seiner Dynastie ringen muss und zu diesem Zweck schliesslich zur Ištar im Himmel emporfliegt, klammert die Erzählung von Schlange und Adler ein, in der Schlange und Adler gemeinsam in einer Euphratpappel wohnen und eine Jagdgemeinschaft bilden, die vom Adler hinterlistig ausgenutzt wird, bis der Adler letzlich seinerseits überwunden und zur Strafe in eine Grube geworfen wird. Die missliche Lage des Adlers liefert die Begründung dafür, warum der Adler nach seiner Rettung durch Etana zum Himmel emporträgt. Sie verbindet so beide Erzählungen miteinander. Ansonsten jedoch scheinen sie gänzlich unmotiviert nebeneinander zu stehen. Oder entsprach ihrer Zusammenfügung eine tiefere mythische Bedeutung, die uns entgangen ist? (Haul 2000: 49) Author’s note:  The first version of this paper appeared at a student conference of religious studies in Kutná Hora, Czech Republic. I would like to thank Lukáš Brychta, Barbora Sojková and Martin Pehal for their encouragement and Alexandre Loktionov for correcting my English. 1.  Using these terms is not unified, not only in this particular case. It is possible to encounter a Myth, an Epic, and even a Legend of Etana. Sometimes even one and the same author uses more than one of the terms as can be seen in the name of Michael Haul’s monography: Das Etana-Epos: Ein Mythos von der Himmelfahrt des Königs von Kiš. I will be working with the term myth in this article, since I regard definition of epic very much dependent on ancient Greek tradition. The text I am concerned with here does not resemble the Homeric epics in many ways and I do not know about anything in Mesopotamian sources which would justify this kind of classification.

371

372

Evelyne Koubková

As concerns previous interpretations of the myth, I have not found any of them really satisfactory (see Haul 2000: 64–74 for an overview). Several suggestions have been made, some of them repeatedly cited, as for instance S. Parpola’s (1993: 195–99) alegorical explanation of Etana’s flight in terms of a soul’s mystical ascent. Another example is represented by H. Freydank’s (1971) view of the eagle and the snake as totemic symbols. There is also a number of exhaustive studies of parallel stories to the myth found in fairytales, in the Alexander Romance (Bios Alexandrú tú Makedonos), or in an episode of the 12th book of Aelianus Claudius’ On the Nature of Animals (Peri zoón idiotétos) (Prosecký 2010: 344–47). Although I find all the folkloristic and other parallels very interesting, I do not think it is possible to base any interpretation of the myth principally on them. In my view, the main problem which every interpretation has to address is joining the two parts together, as already mentioned. Therefore, I find it necessary to treat the story as one whole, in which every part has its own meaningful place. Only then is it possible to understand the connection between those parts of the myth which do not seem properly related. So far, I have found the most convincing interpretations coming from scholars using a structuralistic method, namely G. S. Kirk (1970) and, following him, M. Haul (2000). However, both only delineated the approach which should be pursued much further in order to get into depth. In his short text devoted to the myth in question, G. S. Kirk focuses on a simple up-down opposition which he, nevertheless, elaborates in a very interesting way. M. Haul included only one chapter of interpretation in his edition of the Myth of Etana in which he combines structuralist analysis with some features of Mesopotamian understanding of the cosmos. In this paper, I will try to develop a similar line of thought and interpret the Myth of Etana as a coherent whole instead of two disparate stories. My aim is to show that it is possible to interpret the myth on the basis of its own constituents. By taking a structuralist stance, I will join together elements which have been considered separate, showing their function also in light of other sources related to the figure of Etana. Nevertheless, it is not my aim to base my interpretation of the myth on external sources. I believe that there is never only one plausible interpretation of a myth and therefore I do not claim to be definitive. My analysis is neither exhaustive, nor the only right one. Even inhabitants of ancient Mesopotamia could have perceived different meanings of the story, depending on evolution of ideas over time as well as personal inclinations. Eventually, various meanings could have emerged; some of them staying latent, others developing fully. However, it remains beyond our capabilities to recognize such delicacies, at least with regard to the fragmentary state of the myth’s older versions. At the same time, we do not have at our disposal any information on context of the myth’s telling.

The Story 2 At the beginning of the myth, the gods lay down the foundations of human civilization. First of all, the goddess Ištar searches for a ruler of mankind whose insignia 2.  I would like to stress that in the following section I present my subjective understanding of this text. There is no objective description, followed by a subjective interpretation as an overlay, simply because it is not possible. As regards the text editions used, the article is based mainly on M. Haul (2000)

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana

373

still lie in heaven. The Standard Babylonian version differs by adding several extra lines preceding this introduction, dealing with the gods founding the city of Kiš. Apparently, Etana is chosen by the gods to become king, or in the latest version specifically the king of Kiš. The Old Babylonian version probably mentions an illness called laḫbu which prevents Etana’s wife from bearing children. 3 A fragmentary section follows which depicts Etana’s wife having a dream about a plant of birth, šammu ša alādi, which could help her. Etana therefore sets out to bring it to her. 4 Afterwards the text moves suddenly to a story of an eagle and a snake living at the top and at the roots of a tree, respectively. They swear an oath of mutual help, and promise not to harm each other or their families. Consequently, they both look after their offspring in their nests and share food. 5 However, one day the eagle breaks the oath and devours the snake’s young. When the snake comes back to his empty nest, he cries out for help to the sungod Šamaš who governs justice in the world. The god’s instructions are as follows: the snake is supposed to go to a specific place where he finds a bull’s carcass and hides himself inside. Then birds of prey will fly down to eat from it, including the malevolent eagle. This will allow the snake to catch the eagle’s wings, cut them off 6 from his body, rip off his feathers, and throw him down into a pit where the bird will await certain death of hunger and thirst. Everything happens as the god said, despite the eagle’s pleas. The snake cannot divert the god’s decision once it is made as it would turn against him. So the desperate eagle again asks Šamaš for help. The god cannot reverse his own decision anymore, but he promises to send a human to help. At this point, the two stories finally join together as the man sent by Šamaš is nobody else than Etana. In response to his prayers, the hero obtains instructions (either through a dream or directly from the god) and finds the eagle in the pit. The text does not tell anything more about the snake and further follows only the common adventure of Etana and the eagle. Etana takes care of the bird who gets strength again and his wings and feathers recover. In return, Etana asks the eagle to help him find the plant of birth which he now deserves. At first the eagle unsuccessfully searches for it on his own, and then carries Etana to heaven. As far as we can judge from the preserved tablets, they perform two journeys together. 7 At first, with corrections made by J. Kinnier Wilson (2007) taken into account. References to individual tablets and lines are made according to M. Haul’s (2000) edition of the Standard Babylonian version, if I do not indicate otherwise. Treatment of the Sumerian King List is based on the classic edition by T. Jacobsen (1939) and more recent contributions made by C. Wilcke (1988) and P. Steinkeller (2003). All translations are my own, but necessarily based on the existing editions. Finally, in references to cylinder seals I use the publication by R. M. Boehmer (1965). 3.  This reconstruction, based on Kinnier Wilson (1985: 6, 43), is not universally accepted. Arguments against this view can be found in Haul (2000: 11; 124). 4.  Kinnier Wilson (2007: 15–20) assigns this fragment to the Old Babylonian version. Earlier it was assumed to belong to the Standard Babylonian version. 5.  This is the development of the story described according to the Standard Babylonian version. On the other hand, in older versions only the snake brings food to the eagle and his young. So the unequal relationship is not harmonious from the very beginning and afterwards it only escalates. 6. The snake is said, literally, to cut off the wings. The verb used is nakāsu, or more precisely nukkusu ‘to cut off, to separate’ (see CAD N/1: 178). It is not entirely clear how the serpent managed to defeat the eagle. 7.  There were many disputes concerning the succession of individual flights, but these have been mostly resolved. See Haul 2000: 15–23.

374

Evelyne Koubková

Etana becomes frightened during the flight and wants to return. The eagle drops him several times and catches him again. Then Etana has a dream which is interpreted by the eagle in a positive way. Therefore they take off again. This time they get to the highest heaven, go through the gates of the seven highest gods and finally see a goddess sitting on a throne and flanked by lions. There is no doubt among scholars that this must be Ištar, who is even mentioned in previous passages (see Horowitz 1998: 58). Unfortunately, this is the last scene preserved and there is no way to find out how much text is absent at the end.

Etana’s Flight One of the central motifs of the myth is Etana’s flight, or flights, to heaven. Its importance can be infered from the amount of space devoted to the scene and the great detail in which it is depicted. During both flights the eagle asks Etana repeatedly what he can see below. In reply, the hero describes the earth and the sea observed from a growing distance. The motif of a man flying on an eagle can also be found on Akkadian cylinder seals (see Boehmer 1965: 122–23) which testifies to its great antiquity (if one accepts the motif ’s connection to the myth). 8 It is quite possible that the story, or at least the motif of the flight, was current in oral lore before it became fixed in script. Even so, written sources such as the so-called Sumerian King List attest the name of Etana in connection with his flight to heaven from very early on. 9 Last but not least, the name of Etana could also be interpreted as “the one ascending to heaven” (see Prosecký 2010: 337, n. 2). The aim of the flight seems clear from preserved portions of the text. Etana asks the eagle for help with finding the plant of birth, šammu ša alādi, as soon as they first meet, and the eagle promises to do so. In an earlier, rather fragmentary, passage, Etana’s wife dreams about the plant but she is unable to tell where to find it. When the eagle recovers, he tries to find it on his own and when he does not succeed, he brings Etana to heaven in order to search for it together. However, it is not at all evident what kind of plant it is and why it is to be found in heaven. A parallel from the Epic of Gilgameš which is often pointed out does not fit the context exactly. Gilgameš strives to gain immortality or even endless youth, while Etana, as it seems, longs for offspring. In a prayer to Šamaš, he says (G14–16 II 138–40): idnamma šamma ša alādi Give me the plant of birth! kullimannima šamma ša alādi Show me the plant of birth, piltī 10 usuḫma šuma šuknanni remove my shame, create for me a name (i.e., offspring)!

8.  According to S. Dalley (2000: 189), it is the only reliably identified mythological motif in glyptics. 9. Lines 16–19 of the Sumerian King List refer to Etana as follows: e - t a - n a s i p a l ú a n - š è b a-e11-dè l ú kur- k ur m u- un- g i- na lug al- àm m u 1,560 (var. 1,500 ?) ì - a5. “Etana, a shepherd, the one who ascended to heaven, who consolidated all lands, became king and reigned 1,560 (var. 1,500 ?) years.” The oldest version of the Sumerian King List discovered so far stems from the Ur III period (see Steinkeller 2003). 10.  I render this word following Haul (2000) and Novotny (2001). On the other hand, Kinnier Wilson (1985) has biltu. Nevertheless, there is just a slight difference in meaning; piltu meaning ‘shame’, biltu ‘burden’ (Novotny 2001).

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana

375

Another character often compared with Etana is Adapa, who even does not long for any plant. He is directly presented with the bread and water of life which he refuses on Ea’s advice in the supposition that it is the bread and water of death. Adapa sets off to heaven because he is summoned by the gods for breaking the wing of the south wind, whereas Gilgameš does not hesitate to dive deep into the sea to get the plant, according to instructions from the flood hero, Ūta-napišti. However, in the case of Etana, there is no apparent reason to search for the plant in heaven, let alone with the help of an eagle. The very last preserved scene of the myth depicts Etana meeting the goddess Ištar in the highest heaven. As the eagle has spoken about flying to Ištar before, her identification in the last scene seems certain. The goddess has already been encountered before in the myth, but in a totally different context. She has not been mentioned as possessing any plant which would help beget children. At the beginning of the myth, it was Ištar who was searching for a king.

King Etana The importance of begetting offspring rises significantly since Etana is king and needs a successor. According to some scholars, he is the first king or at least the first king after the flood. In my opinion, he is above all an archetypal king, regardless of his place in the succession. Moreover, in the Standard Babylonian version, Etana is called the king of Kiš. This connection can be traced to older times as well, thanks to the Sumerian King List. As is widely known, the title of the king of Kiš, lugal kiš, was in itself very prestigious. 11 However, there is a generally held assumption that Etana becomes king immediately at the beginning of the myth. To me, this seems problematic since in the prologue one can clearly see that the precative is used (A I 6–7): [šarr]u lū rē’ûšin[a. . .] Let the ⸢king⸣ be their shepherd [. . .] [Et]ana lū i⸢tin⸣šina e[. . .] Let Etana be their house builder [. . .]

Therefore, it is not at all necessary to regard Etana’s becoming a king as finished already at the beginning of the myth. On the contrary, the prologue only indicates the line of thought which should be followed throughout the rest of the text. Further support for this point can be found in the following lines, which would otherwise be rather confusing (A I 13–16): l[ā] iškunū ⸢šarra⸣ [. . .] They have not established a king (so far). ina ūmīšuma [lā kaṣrat kubšu mēnu] In those days [no headdress, no crown was was bound] u ḫaṭṭu uqnâ [lā ṣaprat] and scepter [was not inlaid] with lapis lazuli. lā banā kibrāti ištēniš [  parakku] No [dais] was built anywhere (!).

11.  Kiš was not among the oldest city states in Mesopotamia, but it gained importance around the middle of the third millenium when its rulers began to interfere with surrounding territories. Different rulers of other local dynasties were striving to achieve the possibility of using the title of the king of Kish. Later on, it was used by the dynasty of Akkad which claimed to be a legitimate successor of the pre-Sargonian dynasty from Kiš. Sargon of Akkad was even said to have served as a waiter to Ur-Zababa, the king of Kiš, before he became ruler himself (see for example Hruška 2002: 88–89).

376

Evelyne Koubková

If one accepts the idea that Etana did not become king at the beginning of the myth, or at least not fully yet, a new way of reading the text emerges. In the prologue, Ištar searches for a king and Etana is apparently chosen as the suitable candidate. At the end of the preserved text, Etana gets to the highest heaven where he meets a goddess seated on a throne with lions at her feet, undoubtedly to be identified with Ištar as well. From this I would infer that only at the end does the hero obtain his royal insignia. Until that moment, these were lying in heaven in front of the god Anu, as we are told, and it is precisely to this place that Etana goes. Therefore, one level of the myth presents Etana’s transition into a new mode of existence, namely to the state of being king. This cannot happen in an instant. It is therefore quite possible that exactly this transition, or maybe even the rite of enthronement, is meant on the 12th line of the first tablet of the Standard Babylonian version. Right before the line cited above, which states that the gods have not established the king yet, some kind of celebration appears to be established. Cited here is the corresponding passage from the Old Babylonian version, in which it is more reliably preserved (OV I i 5–6): isinnam ana nišī išimū šarram lā iškunū kalu nišī epiātim

They established a festival for people. (But) they have not (yet) installed a king for all people.

Consequently, the gods have established a celebration, although the king is not yet ready to fulfil his role. According to this supposition, Etana’s flight could be regarded as a dangerous quest which he has to accomplish in order to become a legitimate king. It is not at all easy and so cannot be completed at the first try. Etana becomes discouraged when he loses sight of the earth. The office of a king is first of all a mediatory function, since it links the world of gods and the world of men. When Etana stops feeling firm ground under his feet, he suddenly feels incapable of the mediation and wants to return. However, on the second occasion he manages to fulfil his function and reaches the highest heaven, where he faces the goddess Ištar in all her majesty. There is good reason for him to wake up frightened from a dream that foretells the scene. Yet the eagle interprets the dream positively and on that account they set out to heaven for the second time. A lot of suggestions have been made to resolve the end of the Myth of Etana, both arguing for the hero’s success and to the contrary. The name of Etana’s son Balīḫ, mentioned in the Sumerian King List, 12 has often been used as an argument for a positive outcome. Nevertheless, not only is this text generally highly dubious (see Wilcke 1988), but even the name of the son is at the same time a name of a river in Mesopotamia. Therefore, I would not take this argument into serious consideration. On the other hand, the opposite opinion can be found mostly in older literature, where authors assumed a different succession of the text’s fragments. According to that expectation, Etana meets Ištar already at the end of his first flight, whereas the other flight ends with him falling down. Other suggestions as to why Etana’s quest should fail are based on the myth’s parallels with the Epic of Gilgameš and the Myth of Adapa which I do not regard as appropriate (as already noted on p. 375 above). First of all, inevitable objections arise against taking whatever parallel from 12.  Etana’s son is mentioned in lines 20–22 of the Sumerian King List: b a - l i - i h d u mu e - ta - n a ke4 mu 400 (var. 410) ì - a5. “Balīḫ, son of Etana, reigned 400 (var. 410) years.”

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana

377

other myths, epics, or even from the Sumerian King List as a reliable explanation in itself. Instead of external evidence, I prefer to inquire into the myth and its internal structure despite the text’s fragmentary state. In my view, the aim of Etana’s journey is not only the acquisition of the plant of birth. Begetting offspring is inherently related to establishing the king of mankind, which represents the story’s frame. At the beginning of the text, the royal insignia lie in heaven in front of the highest god Anu and Ištar searches for a king; at the end Etana reaches Anu’s heaven and faces Ištar. I suppose that at this point he obtains the insignia and the royal office is finally established. The acquisition of the plant of birth is just another facet of the same process which can also be depicted through Etana obtaining the insignia and becoming king. It depends only on the perspective we take in viewing the whole story. As the character of Etana primarily mediates between gods and men, as best portrayed in his flight to heaven, his goal consists on the one hand of a godly blessing of his office and on the other hand of a totally human begetting of a child. It is easy to imagine that in the unpreserved end of the myth Etana is crowned in heaven and when he comes back home, he finds his wife pregnant or even with a newborn baby in her hands. After all, this would be incredibly close to the folkloristic parallels (see Haul 2000: 75–90). In general, even if one does not accept this suggestion, I incline towards the story having a positive outcome – not out of the external parallels but because it follows from its internal structure.

The Eagle and the Snake At this point, it could easily seem that I have already elaborated on all the essential elements of the myth. Nevertheless, to keep my declared intention it is necessary now to turn to the story of the eagle and the snake. At least the fact that it covers about a third of the preserved text and that it appears steadily in all the available versions indicates that no analysis of the myth can overlook it. Apparently, it is more than an interesting insertion to capture the audience’s attention. G. S. Kirk says: At first sight the structure looks clumsy and incoherent. In particular the episode of the eagle and the snake (which, judging by the scale of the surviving portions, must have been a conspicuous part of the whole) seems extraneous to the main purpose of the myth, to be dragged in merely as one of several possible ways of showing how Shamash makes the eagle available for Etana’s journey. [. . .] Yet its close association over so long a period with the story of Etana’s quest suggests some significant bearing upon it. (Kirk 1970: 186)

In the following section, I will pursue two goals. Firstly, the story of the eagle and the snake must be shown as interconnected with the other parts of the myth which are usually considered principal. At the same time, I will try to point out a specific meaning borne by this part of the myth so that the episode appears essential to the whole. A point of contact between Etana’s quest and the animals’ struggle can be identified with the character of the eagle, who figures in both parts of the myth since he accompanies Etana on his journey. Furthermore, the eagle seems to be a more stable character in comparison to the snake. On Akkadian cylinder seals showing a man flying on an eagle (see p. 374 above), the snake is, quite surprisingly, substituted by

378

Evelyne Koubková

a dog or a lion. In most cases the man and the bird appear above rural scenery, two quadrupeds being placed below them. The seal closest to the myth bears number 701. It portrays a tree on top of which sits an eagle with a little animal in his talons (usually interpreted as a cub which he is about to devour). Under the tree there are two quadrupeds, one of them leaning on the trunk with his forelegs. There is not one seal with the so called Etana-motif capturing a snake. Taking into account the time distance between the cylinder seals and the oldest preserved textual sources, it is no wonder that the material underwent some substantial changes. A practical reason could also have played a role, as the snake is not so easily depicted in glyptics. Besides, several versions of the story might have been circulating in the oral lore. As M. Haul (2000: 82) notes, variability of the eagle’s opponent is also very common in folkloristic parallels to the Myth of Etana. 13 Therefore I will now focus on the eagle as the more significant character and the connecting point between individual episodes.

Symbolism of the Eagle Already in 1936 Reginald Campbell Thompson referred to an interesting context related to symbolism of the eagle in ancient Mesopotamia. In his overview of minerals documented in Akkadian sources he listed a so-called aban erî, literally the stone of conceiving or of pregnancy. The verb erû, which can in its basic stem bear both of these meanings, is at the same time homonymous with a noun erû which means an eagle. This fact alone would naturally not represent any argument in itself. However, evidence of so-called eagle stones, or aetites, which were supposed to help against miscarriage and facilitate birth, makes it much more interesting. The eagle stones are well attested from Europe at least from the first until the 18th century a.d. Maybe it is no accident that aetites were sometimes also called pregnant stones, if we take into consideration the possibility of multiple translation of aban erî both as the stone of conceiving or of pregnancy and the stone of an eagle, eagle stone. The stone is a genuinely existing mineral, more precisely a geode, which rattles when shaken because it is hollow with another smaller stone inside. The reason for associating this kind of stone with pregnancy is therefore apparent (see Stol 2000: 51). However, a question arises: why is it associated with the eagle? In fact, authors of ancient Greece and Rome had a couple of answers at hand. For example, Plinius 14 presents even three different causes. According to him, the eagle stones are found in eagles’ nests, while on another occasion the eagle hen is said to be unable to lay eggs without such a stone, and at another time still the colour of the stone is claimed to resemble the colour of the eagle’s tail. In contrast, I suggest a much less complicated answer. In my view, a long forgotten word-play might be behind that connection. 13.  Still, the snake’s substitution seems striking. G. S. Kirk (1970: 128) notices that both the snake and the lion (or in other authors’ interpretations, other kind of quadruped) take the same structural position connected to the earth, or even to holes in the earth, but I do not find his analysis satisfying. In this context, I would like to point out a metaphorical name for snake found in the Epic of Gilgameš XI vi 314: nēšu ša qaqqari “lion of the earth” (see George 2003: 722–23). The depictions on seals could have mirrored this metaphorical term if it was common enough. 14.  Naturalis historia X 12, XXXVI 149, and XXXVII 187. Cited according to Barb 1950: 316–17, n.6. Other evidence of eagle stones is found in Theophrastos, De Lapidibus V and in Dioscorides, Materia Medica V (cited by Harris 2009: 47, 54).

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana

379

After all, it is widely known how many word-plays one can find in Akkadian, at the level of both speech and script alike. Even if we did not believe in the direct connection between aetites and Mesopotamian aban erî as suggested, the fact that the Akkadian word erû can be equivocal and that both of these meanings could have played a part in the term aban erî is alone worth considering. Already R. C. Thompson has recognized the possibility of employing this feature of the eagle’s symbolism in interpreting the Myth of Etana. However, as far as I know, nobody has taken his suggestion into further consideration of the myth yet. Strictly speaking, that feature is not at all unfamiliar to the context. On the contrary, I have already elaborated on the aim of Etana’s flight to heaven which is to obtain the plant of birth, šammu ša alādi. Its name is derived from the verb (w)alādum, to give birth. So the eagle, whose name can, according to my hypothesis, associate with the verb erû, to conceive or to be pregnant, becomes a mediator on the way to obtaining the plant of birth. The eagle therefore connects both parts of the myth not only on the narrative level, but also on the symbolic level.

The Broken Oath The eagle and the snake, who swear an oath confirming their friendship, do not really have a harmonious relationship in the older versions of the myth. From the very beginning, there is a remarkable inequality, since the eagle constantly consumes prey which is being brought by the snake. The situation only escalates when the eagle devours the snake’s young and lets his partner suffer that horrible loss. On the other hand, the Standard Babylonian version begins with mutual concord. The animals alternate in bringing prey, which is always eaten by both of them, as well as their young. This harmony is then suddenly broken by the eagle, despite the fact that one of his offspring, called atra ḫasīsa, the clever one, warns him against it. However, the heart of the quarrel concerns the young in all the versions. This brings us back to the symbolism of birth mentioned earlier (see pp.  378–79), as well as to the problem of reproduction more generally. The episode depicts relations between animals which are intentionally shown with sharpened contrasts. The eagle is up, the snake is down, the eagle flies whereas the snake crawls. On top of that, in earlier versions the snake hunts, but only the eagle consumes. A clear binary opposition is also readily apparent in the glyptic material, where the eagle can be seen up in the air or on top of a tree whereas the quadruped, probably the snake’s substitute (see pp. 377–78 above), is bound to stay on earth. Here he cannot do anything more than lean on the trunk with his front paws. Not only do the eagle and the serpent represent absolute opposites in many ways, but they also do not manage to keep their oath. They eat each other’s young while people struggle just to have any. The inherently disharmonious relationship in the animal world provokes a divine intervention, and so the eagle is thrown as low as possible, to a dark pit which is directly opposite to the sky where he used to fly around. Moreover, he is rid of his wings and feathers, completely disabled from rising into the air again. 15 Due to his malevolent deed, the eagle represents the wild15.  Removal of the eagle’s wings and feathers represents total humiliation resembling Ištar’s descent to the underworld, when she is rid of all her clothes and adornments.

380

Evelyne Koubková

est and the most chaotic forces of nature. The only one who can help him out of the pit and heal him is Etana, the king of men who rules the earthly order. However, the healing simultaneously means the eagle’s taming. Only in a domesticated state can he be helpful to Etana’s quest. In this way, the help becomes mutual. It is not only the eagle who is healed, but the whole relationship between the natural and the human world undergoes a healing process. It is a new, well done contract, in contrast to the broken oath between the eagle and the snake. The human hero heals and tames the eagle so that the latter can take Etana to heaven. Only with his help can Etana find the plant which represents pregnancy, birth, and sexuality in general; something that fits rather more into the animal world. Nevertheless, this animal-like feature of human beings is essential for their very existence. Above (see p. 377), I mentioned acquiring the plant of birth in terms of a human need in contrast to another level of meaning, connected to the divine sphere. However, in the context of contact between the human and the natural world, one has to notice that in the myth, the animals bear young without any problem. It is indeed their very nature, whereas human desire to get control does not work in this case. When Etana and his wife face serious problems with begetting offspring, at first the hero prays to the sungod. Since neither sacrifice nor prayer makes any difference, he tries to look for the plant of birth himself, but without success. Finally, the god’s advice sends him to the animal world, and so he finds and helps the eagle who can become the right mediator on the journey for the plant. By healing the eagle and using his help, Etana succeeds in incorporating the animal-like traits into the human order. The scene of Etana meeting the eagle represents a healing process both literally and metaphorically. When Etana finds the eagle in the dark pit, the animal is totally helpless, without wings and feathers. In that moment the eagle strongly resembles an unborn child, and Etana helps him to be born. According to the text of the Old Babylonian version, the healing lasts seven months until Etana takes the eagle out of the pit in the eighth (OV I vi 1′–2′): [q]āssu iṣba⸢t⸣am sebet w[arḫī] He was holding his hand for seven months [s]amnam warḫam ušēteqa šutassu In the eighth month he let (him) get out of the pit.

Likewise, it is possible to interpret this passage as strongly infused with birth symbolism in the case of the more fragmentary Middle Assyrian version. 16 Even though seven months do not correspond to the common length of pregnancy, it is sometimes used to describe a period from the moment when pregnancy becomes apparent until birth. Moreover, counting months is often synonymous with gestation (see Stol 2000: 17–26). If we accept this interpretation, Etana assists at the eagle’s rebirth. It has been shown by some anthropological studies that in many cultures healers of a particular illness are initiated into the capability of healing it by undergoing the illness themselves first (see for example Turner 1967: 362). It is therefore possible to say that the eagle gains the capability of helping others with pregnancy and birth thanks to the fact that he was himself healed by Etana. This brings us back to the possibility 16.  This interpretation is proposed by Dalley (2000: 197) in her way of translating the passage, without adding many comments. The suggestion is also treated by Kinnier Wilson (2007: 22), who finally prefers to understand the numbers preserved in that fragmentary passage of the Middle Assyrian version as units of measure indicating how much the eagle’s wings grow during the healing.

Fortune and Misfortune of the Eagle in the Myth of Etana

381

that the symbolism of the eagle was connected to birth symbolism, as I suggested in the discussion of eagle stones (see p. 378 above). Therefore, one level of the myth can consist of an explanation of this symbolic function of eagles. As Etana helped the eagle, the eagle will be capable of helping others. Last but not least, the mutual help of Etana and the eagle is based on a kind of contract which can be considered contrasting with the broken oath between animals. This fact supports my conclusion that these different worlds, or better to say different areas of the world, need each other mutually. The earthly order constructed by men cannot function on its own; it is always dependent upon external influences. It is essential to maintaining relationships based on mutuality with both the gods and nature.

Conclusion In this paper, I have tried to treat the Myth of Etana as one coherent whole, where every part has its place and contributes to that whole in a specific way. However, this undertaking is necessarily limited by the fragmentary state of sources, so it is quite possible that a good portion of meaning has passed unnoticed. My main concern here was to show the episode of the eagle and the snake as meaningful, connected to the other parts, and essential for understanding the whole myth. I pointed out a possible feature of the eagle’s symbolism in his connection to birth and pregnancy, which is at the same time one of the fundamental topics of the myth. In this light, the eagle seems to be an ideal mediator on the way to obtaining the plant of birth. There are three basic spheres operating in the myth, namely the godly, the human, and the animal. Only their harmonious interconnections enable the human order to function properly. That includes the establishment of kingship, which creates a frame for the whole myth. Etana has to deal with the animal-like features of human life first, which is represented by healing the helpless eagle, thrown into a pit. The scene of healing contains clear birth symbolism, which adds a new level of aetiological meaning, since the myth now explains the eagle’s healing symbolism encountered in other contexts. Only then can Etana obtain the plant of birth, which means that he can beget a child, and therefore a royal successor. This fundamental interconnection of the two main topics; begetting offspring and becoming a king, suggests that when Etana reaches the highest heaven, the gods will crown him as the king of humankind. Despite all obstacles and fear, he finally manages to complete the journey and thereby proves his capability of mediating between the different spheres. Now, he can rule the earthly, human order. This, however, always needs to stay in mutual contact with both the godly and the natural sphere.

Bibliography Barb, A. A. 1950 The Eagle-Stone. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 13: 316–18. Boehmer, R. M. 1965 Die Entwicklung der Glyptik während der Akkad-Zeit. Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie, Ergänzungsbände zur ZA, Neue Folge 4. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

382

Evelyne Koubková

Dalley, S. 2000 Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh and Others. Rev. ed. Oxford World’s Classics. New York: Oxford University Press. Freydank, H. 1971 Die Tierfabel im Etana-Mythus: Ein Deutungsversuch. MIO 17: 1–13. George, A. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. 2 vols. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Harris, N. E. 2009 The Idea of Lapidary Medicine: Its Circulation and Practical Applications in Medieval and Early Modern England: 1000–1750. Ph.D. dissertation. Graduate School, New Brunswick. Haul, M. 2000 Das Etana-Epos: Ein Mythos von der Himmelfahrt des Königs von Kiš. GAAL 1. Göttingen: Seminar für Keilschriftforschung der Universität Göttingen. Horowitz, W. 1998 Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography. MC 8. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Hruška, B. 2002 Když království sestoupilo z nebes: Nové výklady akkadského Eposu o Etanovi. Religio 10: 85–94. Jacobsen, T. 1939 The Sumerian King List. Chicago and Illinois: University of Chicago Press. Kinnier Wilson, J. V. 1985 The Legend of Etana: A New Edition. Warminster: Aris & Phillips. 2007 Studia Etanaica: New Texts and Discussions. AOAT 338. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Kirk, G. S. 1970 Myth: Its Meaning and Functions in Ancient and Other Cultures. Cambridge, Berkeley, and Los Angeles: Cambridge University Press / University of California Press. Novotny, J. R. 2001 The Standard Babylonian Etana Epic: Cuneiform Text, Transliteration, Score, Glossary, Indices and Sign List. SAACT 2. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Parpola, S. 1993 The Assyrian Tree of Life: Tracing the Origins of Jewish Monotheism and Greek Philosophy. JNES 52: 161–208. Prosecký, J. 2010 Slova do hlíny vepsaná. Edice Orient 9. Praha: Academia. Steinkeller, P. 2003 An Ur III Manuscript of the Sumerian King List. Pp. 267–92 in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke, ed. W. Sallaberger, K. Volk, and A. Zgoll. OBC 14. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Stol, M. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx Publications. Thompson, R. C. 1936 A Dictionary of Assyrian Chemistry and Geology. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Turner, V. 1967 The Forest of Symbols. Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press. Wilcke, C. 1988 Die Sumerische Königsliste und erzählte Vergangenheit. Pp.  113–140 in Vergangenheit in mündlicher Überlieferung, ed. J. Ungern–Sternberg and H. Reinau. Colloquium Rauricum 1. Stuttgart: Springer Fachmedien Wiesbaden.

Within the Ekur: Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay Jerusalem

1. Introduction From a private collection comes an unprovenanced fragment [H. 13 cm, W. 9.5 cm, Th. 2 cm] 1 consisting of the upper right hand portion of a tablet originally containing six columns, of which only three are now partially preserved on either side. The text is composed in Sumerian and dates to no later than the Early Old Babylonian period. The a preformative in two main verbal clauses in the imperfective (marû) characterizes the language as northern Sumerian, 2 and the fact that it also deals with the Ekur and the Kiur argues for Nippur as the origin of the composition(s). Due to the many lacunae, the narrative on the obverse is largely irretrievable but ostensibly treats of Ninurta. The reverse, however, has fared better and provides a substantial amount of connected text; although the identification of its genre (or genres) remains conjectural, it includes part of what may be a cult song concerning the Ekur and the Kiur in which it is now possible to identify a literary topos linked to Nintur mythology. Heretofore unrecognized as such, this topos is found in just one other Sumerian composition. This instance of intertextuality also highlights the flexibility of a topos which, while deployed in two broadly similar contexts, retains its distinctiveness in each. In the preserved lower portion of the first two columns of the reverse, two sections are clearly set off from the rest of the text by a space followed by a line with the phrase ki-du-du é-kur-ra-kam (rev. i 1′) and ki-du-du ki-ùr-ra-kam (rev. ii 18′), respectively. The first of these two sections preserves twenty-three consecutive lines and is thus the most complete part of the entire tablet that survives. What preceded the ki-du-du é-kur-ra in the first column is now completely lost. The ki-du-du kiùr-ra in the second column is followed by seven lines of text, continuing with two lines on the bottom edge. It is preceded by a clearly hymnic composition, of which seventeen lines (rev. ii 1′–17′) are preserved, extolling the Kiur. These three parts will be considered in three separate sections. Each section will feature the text in transliteration, a translation, and textual notes with commentary. 1.  Photographs of the fragment are courtesy of Jean-Michel de Tarragon, O.P., to whom our thanks. 2.  Jagersma 2010: 546–48, §24.5.3.

383

384

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

2.  Rev. i 1′–23′ 2.1.  Text and Translation [top portion of column broken] [space]   1′ ki-du-du é-kur-r[a-ka]m ⸢dag⸣? ⸢iri⸣? dù-a ĝeš dù gi henbur-a ⸢iri?⸣ ul zag-è / d+en-líl-lá-ka anše nu-mu-un-ku4-ku4 5′ kun anše mu-un-lá d nin-tur5 nu-mu-un-ug5-ge kišib ki nu-mu-un-ra-ra d nin-tur5 ug5-ga-r[a] ĝeš 10′ nú nu-mu-na-gub-[bu?] gidim ninda sig10-ge5-ra saĝ-ki nu-⸢mu⸣-⸢na⸣-⸢x⸣ saĝ a tu5-a sig9 nu-mu-un-dú[b(-bé?)] 15′ sig9 dúb-ba umbin kíĝ-ĝá-bi iri bar-šè al-tùm lú ú-zú-ge dúr ki nu-mu-un-ĝá-ĝá 20′ saĝ šu nu-sikil-e munus a-sag nu-mu-un-dé-e lú-ùlu ki kíĝ-gá nu-mu-un-ku4-ku4   1′ This is the cultic space of the Ekur.   2′–5′ Into the dwelling?, a built-up city?, wooded with fresh reeds, the primeval city?, the foremost one of Enlil, the donkey does not enter: the tail of the donkey dangles here within.  6′–11′ Nintur does not die here within, the land is not sealed here within! For a dead Nintur no bed is set up here within; for a spirit receiving funerary offerings the cultic rites are not . . . . 12′–17′ One who has bathed will not have matted hair here within. A shearing of matted hair is brought outside the city. 18′–23′ An unclean man will not sit down here within. One not keeping (her) hands pure, a woman under taboo will not pass through here within. A(n ordinary) person in search will not enter here within.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

385

2.2.  Textual notes and commentary After an opening copular phrase which functions much like a heading, there follows a series of bicolons ostensibly in synonymous parallelism. It is this parallelism which has guided the translation in cases where one colon (usually the latter of the two) is obscure. Because the top half (and left two-thirds) of the reverse of the tablet is missing, it cannot be determined how the last colon (rev. i 22′–23′) fits it: it is either the first half of another bicolon continuing at the top of the now missing upper second column, or it actually ends the section as the third member of a concluding tricolon. Arguing for the latter, perhaps, is the verbal form nu-mu-un-ku4-ku4 “(he) will not enter in here,” which echoes the first finite verbal form of the section (rev. i 4′) and would thus form a nice inclusio. A triadic structure, furthermore, is similarly evident in the second composition (rev. ii 1′–17′) discussed below (§3.2). This section is largely made up of negative statements, the verbal forms of which are marked by cislocality through use of the ventive prefix combined with the local prefix -n(i)- which thus serve to anchor the whole section firmly to the locative argument of ll. 2′–3′. The point of view, therefore, is from within this very space. Access to this space is regulated: it is into this space that the donkey and variously described persons do not venture and wherein certain actions do not occur. 1′  The first preserved line of our text, like its parallel ki-du-du ki-ùr-ra-kam further on in rev. ii 18′, begins after the space of one register. The meaning (and the reading?) of ki-du-du is uncertain. What connection it may have to the ki-dudu kid(d)udû found in later texts along with ki-du-di, or with the ki-du-du11 in an Ur III incantation 3 cannot be decided here. It is found as a Sumerogram in an Old Babylonian mathematical text from Susa, but there is no consensus regarding its meaning. 4 For the later texts (Standard Babylonian), the term is glossed ‘ritual performance’, 5 a meaning not deemed wholly appropriate in this context. Though a meaning “Ritualplatz” 6 was discarded early on, 7 it would work well for both occurrences of the word in our text since what follows in each case is not ostensibly about ritual, but about a space and (here in the Ekur) those whose access to it is barred. One could perhaps argue that the meaning ‘ritual performance’ developed by metonymy and is secondary, the place having given its name to what happened there. These two copular phrases, in which é-kur and ki-ùr have been interpreted as epexegetical genitives of the head noun ki-du-du, would thus serve to introduce and delineate the space that is the locus of what follows. 2′–3′  This first bicolon is a lyrical description of the Ekur; it features a locative argument and it is referenced by the local prefix -n(i)- in probably every verbal form (except one) in the series of bicolons and concluding tricolon which follow. Uncertainties in the reading of certain signs render the translation of the first colon (2′) highly conjectural. The two signs at the beginning of the line are damaged; the first is quite tentatively read dag šubtum. 8 In A Praise Poem of Išme-Dagan 3.  Van Dijk and Geller 2003: 15, l. 24; 18 ad 24. 4.  See Høyrup 2002: 89–90, n. 119 and Friberg 2007: 330. 5.  CAD K s.v. 6.  Unger 1931: 246, l. 14 (AO 6555, the “Esagila” Tablet). 7.  Weissbach 1933: 275. 8.  Also possible, though more difficult contextually, is ég. In these compositions there is a discernible triadic structure (as will be highlighted further on). Just as three epithets follow ki-du-du ki-ùrra-kam in rev. ii 19′–20′, one would perhaps expect much the same here after ki-du-du è-kur-ra-kam.

386

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

(Išme-Dagan A + V) Segment A 150, it is used in reference to the Ekur. The second sign is provisionally read iri, a designation for the Ekur that is picked up again in the following colon. Here it is qualified as dù-a ‘well-built, fortified’. 9 The meaning of ĝeš dù 10 is difficult to ascertain; it is perhaps best understood as a right-headed noun-participle compound with the meaning ‘tree-planting’ and designating a wooded plot. It appears to function as the head noun of gi henbura ‘tender reeds’. Though these last signs might instead be read gi-dù-a tarbaṣu, a type of reed enclosure, or kikkišu ‘reed fence/wall’, a reading gi henbur-a has been preferred in the context of iri ul (l. 3′)—both of which are found together in a composition having close associations with our own, as will be discussed presently. In the second colon (l. 3′), the epithet iri ul is translated “primeval city” after the Akkadian āl ṣiātim. In A Hymn to Nibru and Išme-Dagan (Išme-Dagan C) 13, the shrine of Nippur (èš nibruki) is called iri ul me hal-ha “the primeval city which allots the me”; see me ur4-u[r4] in rev. ii 2′ of our text. Moreover, iri ul can be said of actual cities such as Nippur, Uruk, and Sippar. 11 In context, this translation is probably better than ālum elûm “high-lying city,” as it is glossed in OBGT v 16′ (MSL 4: 117). 12 Thus qualified by ul ‘primeval’, it evokes a type of paradise, the paradisiacal realm of Enlil. This bicolon is reminiscent of a similar line from The Temple Hymns, found in the third hymn (ll. 39–46), extolling “the House of Ninlil in Nibru”: iri? ul ĝeš-gi gi úš gi henbur-(a) sig7-ga “Primeval city, a reed bed of fine uššu reeds and tender reeds” (l. 41). 13 The three elements ĝeš-gi(-a) gi úš gi henbur, moreover, occur together as a literary trope also in compositions such as Enki and the World Order 275; Nanna-Suen’s Journey to Nibru 335, 344; Lugalbanda and the Anzud Bird 299, 365; The Lament for Sumer and Urim 602; Ninurta’s Journey to Eridug (Ninurta B) A 18; A balbale to Ninurta (Ninurta F) 27, to name but a few. 4′–5′  The next bicolon has the feel of a topos, the sense of which, however, for now remains elusive. On one hand, the significance of a donkey not breaching this cultic space (l. 4′) is not apparent. 14 On the other, if the second colon (l. 5′) has been correctly translated, 15 the image it captures, nonetheless, resists decryption. Read in synonymous parallelism with the foregoing colon, the depiction of its tail dangling in (or being tied 16 within) the Ekur, though rather contradictory, must serve to stress the donkey’s lack of free range there. Clearly what was once obvious in context is now but a cryptic allusion. 17 9. For iri dù-a, see Römer 1965: 275 ad 32. 10.  The reading ĝešgag sikkatu seems to be excluded. 11.  For all references, see Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969: 58–59 ad 41. 12.  Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969: 76–77 ad 119. What is denoted by iri ul is a matter of some speculation: “l’univers embryonnaire” (van Dijk) and “the Netherworld” (Jacobsen); Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969: 58, n. 18. 13.  Temple Hymns 3: 41 (Sjöberg and Bergmann 1969: 19). The beginning of this line is preserved only in Text E = CBS 14229 (PBS 13 16) where, unfortunately, the reading iri is equally uncertain. The reading gi henbur-a is found in Text B (CBS 19767). 14.  It is indeed interesting in this regard—and in light of the following lines (6′–7′) regarding Nintur—that the donkey is (later) associated with the baby-snatching Lamaštu as her distinctive animal; see Green 1994: 247a and 253b (§3.11) 15.  Though it might be possible to read the first sign as máš, thus máš anše būlu ‘herd of cattle’ or ‘wild animals’, such a reading would appear to create more interpretive problems. 16.  lal = šuqallulu ‘to hang loose, dangle’ or tarāṣu ‘to tether’. 17.  The motif of the “invasive tails” of foxes is found in The Cursing of Agade 256–57, where they are said to brush (ùr) against the cultic spaces (the uzga place). While the image occurs in a portion of

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

387

6′–8′  This bicolon features what now can be identified as a literary topos featuring the goddess Nintur. This rather obscure topos may well have been traditionally connected to Enlil/Ekur mythology. It is found in a slightly different form in Enlil in the Ekur (den-líl sud-rá-šè, a.k.a. Enlil A) 125, where it is likewise embedded in a section of negative statements—there, however, detailing Enlil’s regulation of specific activities regarding animal fecundity and propagation. A comparison of our version and that of Enlil A 125 is revealing:

nin-tur5 nu-mu-un-ug5-ge kišib ki nu-mu-un-ra-ra d

Enlil A nin-tur5 nu-ug5-ge saĝ ĝeš nu-ra-ra d

Aside from the (explicit) verbal affixation lacking in Enlil A, the main difference is in the nominal portion 18 of the expression (phrasal verb) in the second colon; indeed, though both are peculiarly similar in sound and structure, their meanings are fundamentally different. While in Enlil A the two verbs form a nice synonymous parallelism, in our text the parallel is not so immediately obvious. One might speculate, perhaps, that the second colon of our version represents something of a lectio difficilior and, as such, is more original to this topos. The phrase dnin-tur5 nu-mu-un-ug5-ge can be understood in three different ways. (1) dnin-tur5 can be construed as the intransitive subject of the imperfective (marû), in which case the -e suffix represents -ed + ∅; 19 this is the translation tentatively proposed above. A strong argument in favor of this interpretation is to be found in l. 9′ in which dnin-tur5 is quite naturally construed as the head noun in dnin-tur5 ug5-ga-ra and translated “for dead/killed Nintur.” It could be objected, however, that if Nintur does not die (as ll. 6′–7′ would affirm), there should then be no dead Nintur (see the discussion of ll. 9′–12′ below). (2) dnin-tur5 can be analyzed as a vocative, in which case the verbal form would be suffixed with the second person singular -en expressing the transitive subject in the imperfective inflection; it would then be translated, “Nintur, you do not kill / let die here within.” (3) dnin-tur5 could also be parsed as a casus pendens, in which case the -e suffixed to the verbal form would express the third person singular human agent; the resulting translation would then be, “Nintur, she does not kill / let die here within!” In any event, the noun dnin-tur5 20 itself probably should not be construed as the agent (transitive subject) of the verbal clause, since it lacks the ergative case marker -e; as such, one would expect (in this period) either dnin-tur5-re or dnin-tur5-e. Indeed, in the over eighty occurrences of Nintur in the various compositions furnished by ETCSL, the text (256–71) which bears other affinities to our own, there it is a decidedly negative one. Nonetheless, one wonders whether the mention of an animal’s tail in connection with a sacred space in these two texts is entirely coincidental. 18.  There can be little doubt that the sign in our text is to be read kišib(3)(MES/DUB). There are OB texts in which ŠID is similarly written and an argument could be made that saĝ5(ŠID) ki is syllabic for saĝ ĝeš. While other syllabic readings are present in our text, this one, however, must be excluded in a text in which both saĝ and ĝeš are each attested more than once. Because kišib – ra ‘to strike/roll the seal’ probably does not belong to the category of phrasal verbs, that is, those in which the nominal element gets as close to the verb as possible, and which together produce a unitary (perhaps “idiomatic”?) meaning (see Jagersma 2010: 310), the intervening oblique object ki should not constitute a problem for the grammar. Note the similarly formed expression dúr ki – ĝar in l. 19′. 19. The d is ignored in the writing, as is often the case with syllable-final consonants in this text. 20.  Compelling evidence that the name spelled dnin-TU has an -r auslaut (hence, dnin-tur5) has been presented by Krebernik 1997: 506b–507a (§3.31); see also Cavigneaux and Krebernik 2001: 507b.

388

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

virtually every time she is the agent of a clause, the name is marked accordingly. 21 In light of this, therefore, it is telling that in the latest score edition of Enlil A, 22 not one manuscript (of the five that preserve her name) writes dnin-tur5 with the ergative case marker. 23 So far, there is no support in the mythology—outside of these two compositions—related to Nintur either as dying / being killed or as killing. Indeed, though she is apparently depicted at the end of Atra-ḫasīs as charged with limiting population growth after the flood (whose destruction she laments) by means of various expedients, none of them involves direct killing 24. Whether she is described as not dying or not killing, that Nintur is thus evoked/ invoked in the Ekur is not wholly unique to these two compositions. It is precisely within the Ekur that the names Nintur, along with Nin-ù-tud, and Nin-dùb-bad, are conferred by Enlil in the syncretistic composition Enlil and Sud, Version B 11 (see Version A 152): d nin-tur5-re nin ù-tud nin dùb bad mu-še21 ⸢mu⸣-[ni]-in-sa4

He gave her the name Nintur, “the Lady Who Gives Birth,” “the Lady Who Opens the Knees.” 25

In what appears to be an instance of intertextuality, one can discern an allusion in our topos to the names associated with life that were conferred in this very place. These compositions may very well be in dialogue by means of a word-play of sorts between the name nin-utud and the affirmation dnin-tur5 nu-mu-un-ug5-ge. Thus, the composer of our text is not referring to some hitherto unknown mythologem of 21.  By contrast, however, in the theophoric element of the prevalent personal name Ur-dNin-tu in Ur III administrative texts (predominantly from Umma, a few from Ĝirsu) brought together in the CDLI, it would appear that the r-Auslaut is almost never expressed. Quite common is the formula ki ur-dnintu-ta; see also ki ur-dnin-tu-ka ì-ĝál, igi ur-dnin-tu-šè, and the transitive subject ur-dnin-tu-ke4. In the same place and time, nonetheless, ur-dnin-tu-ra is attested in a handful of texts; note also (from Ur III Ĝirsu) ugula ur dnin-tu-ra? and geme dnin-tu-ra, alongside ki lú-dnin-tu-ta. Clearly, these and particularly the writing conventions in expressions such as ki PN dumu ur-dnin-tu-ta (Ur III Ĝirsu) and mu PN dumu ur-dnin-tu-šè (Ur III Umma) are not meant to convey syntax fully. 22.  Attinger 2014: 44. 23.  In his commentary on this couplet in the first edition of the Enlil A, Falkenstein (1959: 73 ad 124) had expressed some ambivalence regarding treatment of the unmarked (or Ø-marked) name: “[d]ie . . . Zeile kann nur übersetzt werden ‘Nintu tötet nicht, schlägt nicht tot’ oder ‘Nintu wird nicht getötet, nicht totgeschlagen.’ ” 24.  At the behest of Enlil, besides infertile women and the different classes of tabooed woman who do not give birth, Enki calls also for the existence of Pāšittu, the demonic baby-snatcher, to be provided (apparently) by Nintur; III vi 41 – vii 8 (Lambert and Millard 1999: 101–3). In the composition Enki and Ninmah 52–110, the bad fates which Ninmah decrees for humans all involve various disabilities—most, if not all, of which preclude starting a family; none of which, however, is life-threatening. 25. This translation largely follows ETCSL. The Sumerian text has been taken from Version B (Sb 12361, an OB copy from Susa). Difficult for this translation, however, is the form dnin-tur5-re. The ETCSL translation appears to treat it as an absolutive, following Version A (VAT 01352, also OB Susa) in which the form is dnin-tur5, which is what one would expect in this construction. One wonders whether d nin-tur5-re is not indeed what it appears to be, namely, marked with the ergative case and therefore the agent, and so to be translated: “Nintur conferred upon her (Sud/Ninlil) the names ‘the Lady Who Gives Birth’, ‘the Lady Who Opens the Knees’.” At least in Version B, therefore, Nintur would be portrayed as acting at the behest of Enlil—precisely as she is said to do in Enlil A 124–30! Such a scenario would lend even greater support for the case of intertextuality.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

389

Nintur as being killed or killing, a role that would now be suspended in the Ekur. Rather, in what could be a bold use of litotes, he may instead be (re-)affirming her name/role as “birth-giver” by denying its opposite. 26 As such, she might represent a type of dnin-tin-ug5-ga / dnin-ti-la-ug5-ga. This topos, furthermore, could have been (re)deployed in a composition like Enlil A, by attraction to a list describing the parturition of select animals (Enlil A 124–130), an activity ultimately made possible by Enlil himself; there, however, it is coupled with a clearly synonymous statement. In that composition, moreover, there is a compelling case for understanding Nintur as the intransitive subject in the topos. At the head of that particular list, she would thus have to be understood as a personification of birthing, rather than simply and solely as a/the goddess: “ ‘Birthing (Personified)’ does not die.” In our own text, too, it is difficult to escape the conclusion that such is similarly the case: Nintur here represents life/the womb in general. 27 The phrase kišib ki nu-mu-un-ra-ra has been read intransitively, literally “the seal is not rolled over the ground in here.” Alternatively, here again, the phrase is susceptible to a transitive reading: “you do (she does) not hit/roll the seal over the ground in here.” 28 In either case, that the ground is “not sealed” may indicate that the Ekur is a place where the ground is productive—though, indeed, quite the opposite may be inferred, namely that it is not to be subject to transformative or invasive human activity (see perhaps in this connection Job 38:14). The reference to a seal, furthermore, may very well also be a nod to Nintur’s syncretistic connection to Nisaba/Ezina and thus to the scribal arts. 29 Indeed, further on in the aforementioned composition Enlil and Sud (Version A 157–58), Enlil decrees: lú dam sig10-ga-ĝu10 mu-un-ù-tud kug dnisaba-ke4 ézina dézina mú zi ki-en-gi-ra hé-em

d

May my beautiful wife to whom pure Nisaba gave birth be Grain/Ezina, the growing grain/Ezina, the life of Sumer!

There appears in this line a studied fusion of the roles of Nisaba and Ezina, roles which are being conferred upon Sud/Ninlil in the Ekur—much as the name/role Nintur, Nin-ù-tud, and Nin-dùb-bad had been (in Enlil and Sud, Version B 11, quoted above). Moreover, it is probably Nintur’s connection with Nisaba, securing her link to the arts, that allows Šulgi to boast that he is dnin-tur5 gal-zu níĝnam-ma “a Nintur, wise/skillful in (or knowledgeable of) whatever” (Šulgi E 16, see 26.  Perhaps it should not be ruled out that yet another word-play is involved. It is not difficult to imagine that the second element in nin-tur5 (for which the meaning ‘birth-hut’ was argued by Jacobsen [1973: 277–81]), could have been popularly understood as having to do with ‘being ill’ (also tur5). In this case, the affirmation that “Nintur does not die” would entail a conscious pun on the name. 27.  This has already been argued for Nintur on both philological as well as iconographic grounds by Jacobsen (1973: 289–81). Indeed, dnin-tur5 is called šassūru in the Atra-ḫasīs epic (see Jacobsen 1973: 280 with n. 21, 297). This identification may be complete if, as Cavigneaux and Krebernik (2001: 507b; see also Krebernik 1997: 506b–7, §3.31) propose, the name nin-tur5 is understood as a reinterpretation of šag4-tùr šassūru “womb,” the first syllable of which was felt to derive from šen, Emesal for nin. 28.  In the transitive construction, the absence of the non-human direct-object marker -b- would not be entirely unusual in the imperfective inflection (Jagersma 2010: 364–66, §15.2.4). In either construction, the ventive mu- would preclude the oblique object non-human prefix -b(i)- directly before the base (ibid.: 509–11, §22.4); the local prefix -n(i)- ‘in’ appears instead. 29.  See also Frymer-Kensky 1992: 20.

390

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

also C 97). In essence, Šulgi is calling himself what today might be termed a Muse. It is quite relevant for our understanding and interpretation of Nintur that in these Šulgi texts, too, her name is used more as a common noun than as a proper one. 30 Our couplet, therefore, represents a literary topos likely meant to evoke Nintur’s various identities/roles (broadly understood) linked to the Ekur. It is thus deployed here and in Enlil in the Ekur 124–30—in contexts, that is, affirming life, fertility, and birthing, and where what that means in a particular instance is spelled out in succeeding lines. In our composition the topos, then, grounds and sets the stage for the ensuing affirmations, each of which identifies “death-related” activities and individuals to be excluded from a place where Nintur does not die, where she (the life-source) holds sway. 9′–12′  This bicolon either continues and develops the topos or marks the transition from mythologem to broad regulations regarding access to the Ekur. It seems to have to do generally with practices tied to the cult of the dead, namely, lamentation and funerary rites. Unsurprisingly, however, it poses not a few problems of interpretation. The translation is based on the assumption that dnin-tur5 in l. 6′ of the previous bicolon represents the intransitive subject. The non-finite verbal form ug5-ga in l. 9′ is a past participle and it is marked as dative. If recent analysis 31 is correct, the older lexical distinction between a plural stem ug7/ug5 and a singular stem úš begins to give way sometime in the Old Babylonian period to one whereby ug5 tends to be used in the sense ‘to kill’ and úš is reserved for the meaning ‘to die’. 32 As mentioned above, ug5-ga-ra is perhaps more naturally read with dnin-tur5 as its head noun. In the translation proposed it is parsed as a passive participle, thus “dead/slain Nintur.” It could also be parsed as active and translated “for killer Nintur” or “for Nintur who lets die.” In this case, this colon would affirm, again using litotes, that Nintur is one who gives life and not one who kills. While this might perhaps make sense with reference to the bed of a goddess set up in a temple, the second member of the bicolon would argue instead for the bed of a dead person/ entity. The alternative would be to construe ug5-ga-ra as headless, ‘one who has died / been killed’. As a consequence, this would entail treating dnin-tur5 as either a vocative or as a casus pendens. Thus understood, furthermore, and taken together with the parallel colon (ll. 11′–12′), Nintur herself would be described as not performing funerary rites within the Ekur. Unfortunately, the verbal form offers few clues since what sign, if any, comes after gub cannot be determined due to damage on the edge of the tablet at the end of l. 10′. Again, the restoration in the break is based on the contention that Nintur is, in fact, not the agent in these couplets. The recurring presence of the local prefix -n(i)- in the verbal forms of this entire section, moreover, would lead us to expect it here as well, though unexpressed in the writing. In any event, it is quite unlikely a question of barring the body of a dead person from the temple (as if it were a modern mortuary!). It is more likely that dnin-tur5 ug5-ga is to be interpreted in light of gidim in the following colon where it is also marked with the dative case and closely parallel. Thus, if it is true that “remem30.  Other examples exist of the use of a proper name as a common noun; to take just one, Maecenas with the meaning ‘patron, benefactor’. 31.  Attinger 2011. We thank Prof. Attinger for drawing our attention to his study. 32.  While assessing the earlier evidence differently, Foxvog (2014: 119) asserts that “by OB ug7 is used for all contexts.”

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

391

brance of the dead in Sumer would . . . first and foremost have been a visualized practice (‘Bildpraxis’)” whereby “[o]riginally gidim could have referred to a statue or figurine that gained meaning in the context of mortuary practices,” 33 it may very well be that gidim served as the physical representation of (the) dnin-tur5 ug5-ga. One further consideration might be indulged at this point. Is it altogether inconceivable that in this text the finite verbal form ug5 might still have retained its use as a plural base—not, indeed, a plurality of persons (excluded by the singular dative prefix in the verb), but rather a plurality of events? 34 There is one wellknown example in the literature where the use of ug5-ga in apposition to a singular noun/name is found in the context of lamentation; it comes at the end of Dumuzid’s Dream: ddumu-zid ug5-ga šir3-kal-⸢kal⸣-[àm] “a šir kal-kal for dead Dumuzid.” Might the use of ug5 in such contexts refer to the “recurring death(s)” of the deity/ entity in question or, if one prefer, of the “recurringly dead” deity/entity? This could arguably fit the current context. The text, in effect, would thus be prohibiting lamentation rites (for a “recurring death” – a “recurringly dead” deity/entity) within the temple. Put another way, commemoration of the “annual dying” of some god or other entity would have had no place within the Ekur. The prohibition of lamentation, then, would also nicely segue into the next prohibition, which regards mourning rites. The expression gidim ninda sig10-ge5 in l. 11 finds echo in Gilgameš, Enkidu, and the Netherworld (Version A, from Nibru, Urim, and elsewhere) 292, where Gilgameš inquires of Enkidu concerning the fate of the dead. Among those who met violent or gruesome deaths (287A–297), he asks if he has seen gidim lú ninda sig10-ge5 nu-tuku the spirit of him who has no funerary offerings.

Such a one is reduced to eating the crumbs and scraps that are thrown into the streets—instead of the usual fare that is implied. While the term saĝ-ki, loaned into Akkadian as sakkû and glossed (quite broadly) ‘rites’, 35 is found primarily in administrative texts already in the Ur III period, the expression ki saĝ-ki is found in literary texts qualifying the assembly of the gods where Gilgameš goes upon his death (The Death of Gilgameš, Me-Turan F: 7, 101). It also is said of the Arali, where Ur-Namma is brought after his death (Ur-Namma A 62). Clearly related to death and the “other world,” such rites have no place in a realm where death and anything related to it are not allowed. 13′–17′  This bicolon apparently deals with a particular feature of mourning, namely, unkempt or matted hair. Not only linked to death, it may have also implied a state of uncleanliness and, as such, could serve as a transition to the final tricolon that follows. 33.  Vogel 2013: 431. 34.  Jagersma 2010: 316. 35.  See already OB Sag A i 29 (MSL SS 1: 18). There is an é saĝ-ki recorded in OB Kagal 53 (MSL 13: 68). For later lexical attestation, see Erimḫuš VI 10 (MSL 17: 81—in a group with saĝ-me = mēsū and šu-luh = šuluḫḫu) and Izi C iii 12 (MSL 13: 177). The expression may have taken on a metonymic meaning in saĝ-ki = puḫrum, saĝ-ki-gal-gal = MIN ra-bi-ti in Sag B 38–39 (MSL SS 1: 29). It may be, however, that this latter usage of saĝ-ki derives from its meaning pūtu ‘forehead, front’ and serves as “une expression métaphorique de la volonté impérieuse, de l’autorité qui inspire le respect” (Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi 2000: 39–40).

392

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

In line 13′, the designation saĝ a tu5-a constitutes the agent of this colon and initiates a series various types whose access to the Ekur is precluded. Since included among these are a lú ú-zúg (l. 18′), a saĝ šu nu-sikil-e, a munus a-sag (ll. 20′– 21′), and a lú-ùlu (l. 22′), it seems that saĝ is simply to be translated ‘one, a person’. Even though ‘a bathed head’ could make sense in the context of matted hair (see l. 14′), the context of saĝ a tu5-a in The Cursing of Agade (Old Babylonian version) 16 makes it relatively clear that saĝ is to be understood as a pars pro toto 36. In both contexts, furthermore, it is quite possible that saĝ (a tu5-a) more precisely indicates some type of devotee or temple-goer. 37 The expression si – dúb in l. 14′ is quite obscure. Not much sense can be made of an expression such as ‘to strike the horn’ in this context. A very tentative approach is to read the nominal element as sig9, understood as a syllabic writing for síg/siki. This interpretation is based on a bilingual incantation which, though quite late, seems to provide the only clue to a meaning acceptable in context. The expression occurs in non-finite forms in a list of materia magica: da ak-a á ak-a umbin ak-a síg dúb síg dúb-ba : gulībāt šaḫāti gulībāt zumri liqit ṣupri uplu malû 38 shavings of the armpits, shavings of the body, nail clippings, lice, matted hair.

Clearly, the context is one involving hair and nails, namely, things that grow from the body, that can and do become dirty, and that can be removed by being cut. While the connection between ‘lice’ and ‘matted hair’ is clear enough, unclear, however, is the relation between siki dúb and siki dúb-ba—assuming, indeed, that the Sumerian text is even remotely reliable. 39 Perhaps siki dúb, corresponding in the Akkadian text to uplu ‘louse’, is a type of kenning used for the insect instead of the expected uh; thus a louse is ‘one striking the hair’ and, therefore, siki dúb-ba is ‘stricken hair’. Rendering siki dúb-ba, the Akkadian term malû is used to refer to the way in which hair is worn as a sign of mourning 40 as, for example, Gilgameš will do after Enkidu’s death: ⸢u šū⸣ arkīka ušaššâ malâ pagaršu [And] he, after you (are gone) he will have himself bear the matted hair of mourning. 41 36.  See G. Farber 2005: 110–11. 37.  Contrast translations such as “die gebadeten Menschen” (Falkenstein 1965: 79) and “ceux qui se sont baignés” (Attinger 1984: 99) with looser translations making explicit the “religious” connotation of the expression: “those bathed for the holidays” (ETCSL 2.01.5) and “(celebrants with) rinsed heads” (Jacobsen 1987: 361, with the note, “Washing the hair was a necessity for being ritually clean for the festival”). 38.  ASKT 86–87, no. xi 63; Borger 1969: 6, attested in three manuscripts. 39.  The same pair síg dúb síg dúb-ba is attested earlier in ll. 24–25 of the incantation in one of two manuscripts preserving these lines, where it is corresponds, instead, to ra’ībtu ratītu (ASKT 82–83, Borger 1969: 4). The conjectured translations offered in the CAD (s.vv.) are based on the occurrence of these words in other contexts where they involve some nervous disorder with motor symptoms such as shaking head, hands, and feet. It is significant that the other manuscript preserves, doubtlessly more correctly, [...] gìr dúb-dúb. If one can venture an explanation for the síg dúb síg dúb-ba : raʾībtu ratītu, it might be that the consonance and assonance of the Akkadian attracted the similarly alliterative Sumerian. 40.  See CAD M/1 s.v., b, c. 41. SB Epic of Gilgameš VII 146 (VIII 90); George 2003: 642–43 (656–57).

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

393

In the terminative phrase iri bar-šè “outside the city, to the city outskirts” in l. 17′ it is possible that iri refers to the Ekur itself, as ll. 2′–3′ might suggest, instead of to Nippur. If the foregoing analysis is correct, however, the reason for removal of the hair to outside the city may indeed be a measure to stem the contagion of pediculosis, in which case “outside the city” means simply “outside Nippur.” 18′–23′  As they stand, these remaining lines form a tricolon, bringing together three different categories of individuals whose access to the Ekur is denied. The term lú ú-zúg in l. 18′, loaned into Akkadian as (m)usukku, is glossed in the CAD s.v. as an ‘unclean man, person under a (temporary) taboo’. 42 In l. 19′ he is said not to (be allowed to) sit on the ground—or, more simply, to sit down—in the Ekur. The rather uncommon expression dúr ki – ĝar is also found in Nanna L 35 where it is translated “reside” (Sjöberg 1973: 34; ETCSL 4.13.12). The noun formed from it (dúr-ki-ĝar) is found in The Cursing of Agade 13, where it has been quite precisely translated “ein (fest) auf die Erde gesetzter Sitz,” “ein fest gegründeter Wohnsitz” (Falkenstein 1965: 79). In this context, however, a more general translation has been preferred. It is significant in this connection that in his campaign to cleanse Lagaš in preparation for the construction of Ninĝirsu’s temple, Gudea has the ùzug-ga expelled from the city altogether (Cyl. A 13: 14–15, Statue B 3: 15 – 4: 4). 43 To this lú ú-zúg corresponds the munus a-sag in l. 21′ of the following colon. Clearly, a-sag is a phonetic spelling for azag(KUG.AN) asakku ‘a taboo’. She is, therefore, a ‘tabooed woman’. Between the lú ú-zúg and the munus a-sag there is named a saĝ šu nu-sikil-e (l. 20′). It is unclear whether this person is to be distinguished from the munus a-sag (compare the saĝ a tu5-a in l. 13′), or whether the two designations are in apposition and describe just one type of unfit woman who is being excluded from this cultic space along with the lú ú-zúg. Discernible triadic structures elsewhere in these compositions might argue for the latter. In any event, the nature of the taboo which leads to the munus a-sag’s exclusion is not spelled out for us; it may, however, be inferred from her characterization as, or association with, saĝ šu nu-sikil-e (understood here as the imperfective participle with its characteristic -ed morpheme), 44 ‘one not keeping the hands clean’. Perhaps a very faint and indirect light can be shed at least on the source of the woman’s uncleanliness from practices attested in Standard Babylonian medical incantations containing the mannam lušpur formula. There one finds two types of unclean women placed in connection with hand-washing: the musukkatu—the feminine counterpart of the lú ú-zúg musukku encountered above 45—and the urruštu. As far as can be determined, these motifs are not attested in earlier (Old Assyrian, Old Babylonian, and Middle Babylonian) congeners. One coming from an incantation for eye ailments can be considered representative: 42.  In the ePSD Ú.KA is read múzug. For an exhaustive treatment of the lexical evidence and a discussion of the meaning and usage of term (lú)ú-zúg, see Behrens 1978: 150–59. Note that lú-umbinna = mu-su-uk-ka-nu-um on p. 151, taken from Lambert’s (1960: 300) reading of OB Lu Rec. B v 27, is a ghost entry; it is corrected in MSL 12: 243 and ad loc. (p. 184). 43.  In Statue B the lú uzug5(KA×Ú) is expelled along with, among others, a munus kíĝ dug4-ga; see discussion at l. 22′. 44.  Compare a participle similarly used as an attributive verbal adjective of saĝ in saĝ a tu5-a, l. 13′. 45. Any connection between munus azag asakku and munus ú-zúg musukkatu cannot be discussed here; the terms may simply have been employed in free variation.

394

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay liššâni tallī[ši]na ḫulālu karpatīšina (karpatūšina) uqnû ebbu lisappâni mê ajabba tâmti rapašte ša ḫarištu la ūridu ana libbi musukkatu la imsû qātīša 46 Let (the two daughters of Anu) take their tallu containers, ḫulālu stone, their pots, shining lapis lazuli, and draw from the water of the Aiabba, the vast sea, into which no ḫarištu has descended, a musukkatu has not washed her hands.

In another group of incantations for diseases of the mouth and teeth (referred to as bū’šānu), it is instead the urruštu who must not have washed her hands in the water that is used in the ritual, while the musukkatu must not have washed her “rags” 47 in it: liḫbânimma mê ídulaja tâmate rapašt[e] ašar urruštu la imsû qātīša musukka[t]u la imsû lubārīša 48 let them draw the waters of the Ulaya, the vast body of water, where the urruštu has not washed her hands, the musukkatu has not washed her rags.”

In Standard/Neo-Babylonian omen texts it is an approaching ḫarīmtum ‘prostitute’ who is qualified a musukkatu. However, it is apparent that it is not her prostitution which makes her so since a preceding omen refers to prostitutes (in the plural) without the designation: DIŠ ḫa-ri-ma-a-tum ana IGI-šú KUR [ÁŠ] DIŠ ḫa-rim-tum mu-suk-ka-tum ana IGI-šú NU KUR ÁŠ UBUR-šá TAG-ma pa-šír 49 If prostitutes (come up) to him, he will reach (his) goal. If a musukkatum prostitute (comes up) to him, he will not reach (his) goal: if he touches her breast, (this is) dispelled.

Because various texts speak of the use of “milk of a musukkatu,” 50 it is reasonable to assume that at least in those instances she was a puerpera. Thus, it may be inferred that a saĝ šu nu-sikil-e (munus a-sag), was in a temporary state of ritual uncleanliness which was likely incurred by her specifically after childbirth and probably also during the menses. 51 It remains to be seen whether the uncleanliness (and taboo) might have been lifted with a simple rite of hand-washing. Both the context and the fact that munus a-sag lacks an overt ergative marker argue for an intransitive verb denoting some type of movement (expressed negatively) in(to) this cultic space. The verb dé, usually translated ‘to pour’, clearly presents a difficulty. Though admittedly of very limited value for retrieving its range of 46.  BAM 510 iii 1–2; see W. Farber 1990: 311–16, for this and the following incantation. 47.  Here “rags” likely refers to some type of sanitary napkin used during the menses. 48.  BAM 543 iii 70′–72′; see also BAM 533 84–86, 29 r. 25′–27′ (28 r. 7′–9′). 49.  Funck 3: 25–26; see Köcher and Oppenheim 1957–1958: 76. See also KAR.KID mu-su-ka-t[i] Sm. 332: 18 over against SAL mu-suk-ka-t[e] K.8927: 7′ (ibid.: 75 and 77 respectively)—neither of which has its apodosis preserved. 50.  For various references, see CAD M/2 s.v. musukku b (p. 239b). 51.  See also Stol 2000: 205; Leick 1994: 94, 218–19; Geller 1990: 111–12 with n. 31; van der Toorn 1989: 348 and 1985: 31, 42–43.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

395

meanings in our text, there are, nonetheless, late attestations of a verb dé used as an intransitive verb of motion in a way quite suitable to this context. In an Emesal bilingual Šuila (Seleucid Uruk), 52 dé is rendered bâʾu: a-nun-na-ke4-e-ne niĝin-na-bi ní-bi ha-ra-an-dé!(MURUB4) 53-e : anunaki napḫaršunu palḫiš ibaʾūka

d

All the Anunaki fearfully enter in before you.

It is similarly difficult to evaluate the evidence offered by the later lexical (and bilingual) attestations of de(2) = alāku. See, for example, Aa IV/3 153′ (DÉ) a-la-ku [šá MEŠ(?)]; 54 in light of Proto-Aa AO 23996 (OB) ii 23 di-i DI alākum, 55 it may be that dé and di are orthographic variants. Furthermore, if the editor’s restoration in the break is correct 56 (and the Seleucid text just cited would appear to corroborate it), this could indicate that the verbal form in our own text is, in fact, plural: nu-muun-dé-eš “(they) will not pass through within.” 57 In ll. 22′–23′, finally, is found yet another obscurely (for us) defined category of persons to whom, along with the previous two categories of persons, access to this cultic space is barred. As mentioned above, due to the loss of the top portion of the second column of the reverse, it is not known whether this list continued on or ended here. In any event, whether by chance or by design, this last category, perhaps intentionally general, rounds off the short list with a perfect inclusio. It is uncertain whether the past participle in l. 22′ has been correctly rendered ki kíĝ-ĝá, namely, the past participle of the phrasal verb ki – kíĝ ašra šeʾû ‘to look 52.  AO 6461 (TCL 6 43) obv. 11–12; see Thureau-Dangin 1921: 70–71, 108–11, and Linssen 2004: 197–200. 53.  Though read dé, the sign is murub4 in the copy. Since, however, the Neo-Assyrian forms of murub4 and dé are extremely similar, there can be little doubt that the latter is intended. Indeed, “die Zeichen DÉ und MURUB4 werden im 1. Jt. v. Chr. häufig verwechselt (vgl. Maul, Herzberuhigungsklagen, S. 146). Die beiden Zeichen gelten als Varianten zueinander” (Shibata, forthcoming, text no. 1). For this text, Shibata suggests an otherwise unattested expression ní-bi – dé which he interprets “ ‘ihre Ehrfurcht (dir) eingießen’, nach dem Kontext ‘sich (vor dir) fürchten’ ” and considers the Akkadian palḫiš bâʾu “ehrfürchtig kommen” a free translation (Shibata, ib.). While he knows of no other example of dé = bâʾu, he notes the expression a – dé “to pour water,” translated mê šubūʾu in bilingual texts, citing Thompson, CT 17, Pl. 32, rev. 3–4 and Borger, JCS 21, 8, l. 79 (Shibata, ib.) and wonders whether dé = bâʾu results from them. One could argue, however, that in translating a – dé as mê šubūʾu (instead of the expected šaqû) and particularly in rendering dé as bâʾu in this Šuila, the ancient translators actually give evidence of a distinct meaning/usage for dé (or of a distinct verb altogether), one that now finds more ancient attestation in our text. Naturally, the fact that these late texts are separated from ours by over a millennium renders any such evidence hardly probative (if even useful at all!). Lastly, since bâʾu normally translates dib, one wonders what, if any, relationship there might be between dé and dib. For the Šuila, at least, Shibata (ib.) floats the possibility that dé is an unorthographic writing for dib = bâʾu. 54.  MSL 14: 382. 55.  Secondary Branches of Proto-Ea and Proto-Aa, No. 13; MSL 14: 134. Corroboration for the use of di alāku may be found, for example, in the proverb collections; for specific instances, see the glossary entry in Alster 1997: 506 (vol. 2). 56.  It should be noted that CAD A/1 s.v. alāku (lexical section, p. 300b) had instead reconstructed [EME.SAL], likely based on Aa IV/2 143′ (MSL 14: 376) ([de-e D]I) [a-la]-ku EME.SAL; see also Emesal Voc. III i 2–3 (MSL 4: 27) [di.di] DU KI.MIN (= alāku) marû, [d]i DU KI.MIN hamṭû. 57.  What relation, if any, our verb dé has with du on one hand and dé ‘to pour’ on the other hand, cannot be pursued here. If, however, dé ‘to pour’ and dé ‘to go, pass through’ are in fact one and the same verb and not simply homonyms (or homographs), it is tempting to conjecture a semantic development for dé somewhat similar to that of the Latin versare ‘to turn (tr.)’, in Late Latin ‘to pour’, and its middle form versari ‘to dwell, be (in a place)’.

396

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

for, search for (a place)’, 58 or whether it represents instead a syllabic writing for kíg-kíĝ-ĝá, from kíg-kíĝ šiteʾû ‘to look everywhere, to seek for a purpose’. In either case, it is equally unclear if the participle is passive, ‘sought after’ (= ‘criminal’?), 59 or active, ‘seeker’. The translation provisionally adopted here reads ki kíĝ-ĝá as an active past participle. What is being sought is not immediately evident. Judging from the uses of šiteʾû (CAD Š/2 s.v. šeʾû) the connotations can range from a ‘search with evil intent (as in sorcery)’, to the ‘search of the inexpert’, to the ‘assiduous search after the gods or their manifestations on the part of the reverent’. Whatever the case here, it clearly renders a person unfit in some cultic way. Barring its use as a technical term, it may be that the ‘seeker’, being a lú-ùlu, is uncommitted and not a devotee (of Enlil) and, therefore, inadmissible. It is to be noted that in Statue B 3: 15 – 4: 4, a munus kíĝ dug4-ga is also last on a list of (apparently) four types, beginning (as here) with a lú uzug5-ga, who are banished by Gudea from Lagaš as he purifies the city for the construction Ninĝirsu’s temple. The translations which have been proposed for kíĝ dug4-ga are decidedly unsuited to our context. 60 It is tempting to read Statue B’s kíĝ dug4-ga simply as a periphrasis for ki kiĝ-ĝá (or ki-kíĝ-ĝá). In the foregoing tricolon (ll. 18′–23′) it is likely, then, that three categories of people are barred from the Ekur through contact expressed by three verbs of movement: sitting, moving about, entering. What emerges is a studied use of verbs expressing varying degrees of “engagement” with the cultic space, from greatest (sitting) to least (entering). Articulated with these three verbs are equally studied descriptions of three types of unfit individuals—man, woman, human—deliberately vague and broad enough to cover all types. The merisms thus created convey the idea, therefore, that any and all contact with this cultic space is denied to anyone who for whatever reason is unsuitable. This is quite reminiscent of similar strategies used at the very beginning of biblical Psalm 1 which features three types of progressive movement/involvement (only in reverse order) of the just man among the three categories of evildoers in three different settings: ‫אשׁרי־האישׁ אשׁר לא הלך בעצת רשׁעים‬ ‫ובדרך חטאים לא עמד‬ ‫ובמושׁב לצים לא ישׁב‬ Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers. (RSV)

In view of these considerations, it seems clear that this list is not meant so much to serve as a guide for temple stewards as it is to “celebrate” the inviolability of the cultic space of the Ekur. The genre, therefore, appears to be one of hymnic praise, not of mere temple regulations. 58.  See Volk 1995: 145, ki – kíĝ(-kíĝ) ‘(einen Ort auf-)suchen’. 59.  It is unlikely that ki kíĝ-ĝá is a locative argument, ‘the sought-after place’ to which a lú-ulù is denied access. 60.  Translations range from ‘femmes en travail’ (Lambert and Tournay 1950: 311 and n. 37) to simply ‘a woman doing work’ (Edzard 1997: 32). Attinger (1993: 588–89, §598) entertains the faint possibility that instead of kíĝ dug4-ga, the expression might perhaps be read saga11 dug4-ga ‘les estropiées’(?). In light of our text, however, the expression is doubtlessly kíĝ dug4-ga, and it has to do with someone ‘seeking’, not ‘working’ or ‘in labor’.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

397

3.  Rev. ii 1′–17′ 3.1.  Text and translation [top portion of column broken]   1′ a ⸢pa?⸣ ⸢x⸣ [ ] ⸢me?⸣ ur4-u[r4 ] nu-mu-ni-⸢x⸣ [ ] ⸢x⸣ KID saĝ-dù  5′ nam-lú-ùlu-kam ki-ùr ki gal d en-líl-lá-kam dur-an-ki ki nam-tar-re-⸢da⸣ ki-tuš mah diĝir-re-e-ne-kam íd 10′ idigna a ù-ba / ĝál-la-àm an hé-ĝál šegx(IM.A) hé-ĝál-àm ki ú šim-e / hi-li du8-du8-àm ki érim hul gig / lú ⸢nu⸣-mu-⸢un⸣-ak-e zag ki-ùr-ra urin kug-ga-àm 15′ saĝ ud-sakar é-kur kug-ge-dam itid-da ud-sakar-ra àm-da-ab-kug-ge-ne   1′–3′   4′–9′ 10′–12′ 13′–14′ 15′  17′

. . . , concentrating the diving powers . . . will not . . . here within. It is . . ., the begetter of humanity! It is the Kiur, the great place of Enlil, the Bond-of-Sky-andEarth, the place of determining destinies! It is the great dwelling of the gods! It is the Tigris that is in its cresting water! It is the sky that is abundant with abundance of/and rain! It is ground that is luxuriantly decked out with greenery! It is the place in which no one does wickedness or hatred, the borders of the Kiur, the pure standards! The beginning of the moon/month is for purifying the Ekur. Monthly, at the new moon, they will purify it!

3.2.  Textual Notes and Commentary Coming between the two partially preserved ki-du-du sections and, unfortunately, after a long break, is a hymnic composition consisting largely of ejaculatory copular phrases extolling the Kiur. Though drawn from stock imagery, these phrases are not haphazardly strung together, but are part of a keenly crafted structure. The composition concludes with what appears to be a laconic rubric specifying when it is to be purified. 1′–3′  These lines feature one of three finite verbal forms (the others are in ll. 13′ and 17′) which punctuate this section. The expression me ur4-ur4 ‘gathering up the me’ in l. 2′ appears elsewhere to be a prerogative/epithet either of a goddess,

398

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

as of Inana in Išme-Dagan K 3, and of Ninisina in Ninisina A 4; or of a throne, in Išme-Dagan A + V Segment A 93, Išme-Dagan B 43, and perhaps Ibbi-Suen E 9. 4′–9′  These lines form a tricolon made up of copular phrases describing the Kiur and they exhibit a deliberate pattern. Each consists of a nomen regens and a nomen rectum; the nomen rectum is in ascending order: from humanity, to Enlil, to the gods. In so doing, the composer gives lyric expression to the position of Enlil, popularly “Lord Air,” as occupying the realm between sky and earth according to the mythology of Nippur! In this cosmically central position is also collocated, naturally, the Kiur, to which all attention is now shifted. For sag-dù, see A Prayer for Samsu-iluna (Samsu-iluna B) 24 dmarduk diĝir saĝ dù-zu (Falkenstein 1949: 222–23 ad 24) and A Praise Poem of Enlil-bāni (Enlilbāni A) 147–148 dnu-dím-mud diĝir saĝ dù-zu (Kapp 1955: 87 ad 147), where it is translated ‘Erzeuger’. 10′–12′  Unlike the three previous genitival copular phrases, these three consist of short, stock similes (at least ídidigna a ù-ba ĝál-la-àm is well-known from Gudea Cyl. A 28: 13). By means of this three-part merism, the consummate skill of the poet is set in prominent relief. Each simile involves an essential life-giving source, without which life is inconceivable: river, sky, land—and each at its most bounteous! 13′–14′  These lines contain three concluding affirmations regarding the Kiur. The mention of ki in l. 13′ picks up from the last of the preceding similes. Here, it functions as a relative noun “where,” though the relative clause is not nominalized. 61 Breaking the scheme of the previous two tricolons is this lone ethical affirmation. The substantive érim raggum ‘wrongdoing, violence’ lacks the determinative níĝ; see e-ri-im NE.RU = raggum OB Diri Nippur 7: 14 (MSL 15: 30). 62 Thus, this “place” is life-giving in two ways: it possess what it takes to sustain life and it lacks any human threat to that life. While the exact nature of the hul gig ‘hatred’ that is envisaged in this line is not evident, at least in Akkadian contexts it can also refer specifically to “hate magic.” 63 This line, furthermore, can be seen as an echo of Lipit-Eštar’s pursuit of justice extolled in a poem praising him (Lipit-Eštar B), ll. 25–39—specifically in a subsection (33–37) in which he is described as keeping in check evildoers, beginning with the lú érim. It may be of some pertinence that the poem goes on to pay homage to Lipit-Eštar, telling him (41–42) nibruki-šè dub-sar-re-men é-kur-re é den-líl-lá-šè dli-pí-it-eš4-tár saĝ ús-bi za-e-me-en You are Nippur’s very own tablet writer, Of the Ekur, Enlil’s temple, Lipit-Eštar, you are its very own attendant!

Though it is somewhat unclear what feature the zag in l. 14′ designates, it is assumed that what is being described are the Kiur’s borders/limits (pāṭu, miṣru), marked off by pure standards which thereby create a space surrounding the Kiur that is sealed off from the profane. 64 61.  This is quite common in nominalized clauses with a finite form of the verb ak; see Jagersma 2010: 593–94, §27.3.6. 62.  For the circumlocution níĝ-érim – ak, see Attinger 1993: 630, §695. 63.  See CAD Z, s.v. zērūtum ‘hatred’. 64.  These standards are, in fact, “protectors”; Wiggermann 1992: 70–72. That they likely served as a separation technique aimed at enclosing a cultically suitable space can be deduced from their ritual

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

399

15′–17′  The assertion of purity regarding the boundaries (and by synecdoche the entire area) in the previous line prepares for this final bicolon which bears the hallmark of a ritual rubric. That it is not intended as such, however, but as a doxological conclusion to the hymn might perhaps be deduced from its vagueness and complete lack of any description of the means, etc., of purification. The time designation itid-da ud sakar-ra in l. 16′ is found as a privileged moment for ritual enactments; see, for example, Gudea Cyl. A 10: 17; Iddin-Dagan a 27; Inana E 48, 52. The agent expressed in the third person plural suffix -enē in this imperfective transitive verb in l. 17′ is now unfortunately lost. At the level of sound and language play, the composer reserves for us somewhat of a gem in this piece. In what could be described as a variation on anadiplosis, beginning with l. 9′ each successive phrase repeats a word or syllable from the one preceding it. If we include near matches, the rhetorical device is even more extensively employed. Some of the rich complexity might be rendered schematically as follows: l.   6′ l.   8′ l.   9′ l. 10′ l. 11 l. 12 l. 13′ l. 14′ l. 15′ l. 16′ l. 17′

ki ki ki ki -reki /diĝ/ -re/dig/ ĝál ĝál ĝál ki hi-li ki hul zag ki kug saĝ ud-sakar kur -da- ud-sakar -da- kug

kug

All this is in counterpoint with the repetition of the copular endings (along with words in which the sounds ma/am/an/ stand out): ll. 5′ -kam ll. 7′ -kam ll. 9′ -kam

ll. 10′ -am ll. 11′ -am ll. 12′ -am

Finally, and climactically, ll. 12′–13′ and 14′–15′ form closely rhyming pairs featuring an exquisite display of assonance blending with consonance. In both ll. 12′ and 13′ the consonants k, m, h, and l, combined with the predominance of close vowels i and u, give way to the open vowel a at the end; in both ll. 14′–15′ predominate the vowels u and a and the consonants s/z, g/ĝ/k, and r.

4.  Rev. ii 18′–27′ 4.1.  Text and translation [space] 18′ ki-du-du ki-ùr-ra-kam du6 kug ki kug ki nam tar-re 20′ an den-líl-lá-kam é saĝ dili ki mu-pàd-dè-da use (attested in later texts) where, significantly for this context, they are “clearly related in function to injunctions regarding purification of the ritual site”; Caplice 1967: 30 ad 15′.

400

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay dili den-ki dili dnin-ki dili den-šár 25′ dili dnin-šár Bottom edge dili den-bùluĝ 27′ dili dnin-bùluĝ 18′–20′ 21′–27′

This is the cultic space of the Kiur! The holy hill, the pure place, the place determining destinies of An and Enlil it is! The House of the Noble Ones, the place that continues to be selected by Noble Enki Noble Ninki Noble Enšar Noble Ninšar Noble Enbuluĝ Noble Ninbuluĝ

4.2.  Textual Notes and Commentary Set off from what precedes it by the space of a register, the remaining portion of the second column of the reverse contains the latter of the two preserved kidu-du sections, the ki-du-du ki-ùr-ra. As in rev. i 1′, a copular phrase appears to designate a space that is the subject of what follows. Beyond that, however, the two ki-du-du bear little resemblance in content. 19′–20′ This cultic space is described in three epithets and, as in the opening lines of the ki-du-du é-kur-ra (i 2′–3′), it is said to belong to Enlil. The reference to it as the ki nam tar is quite in line with what is known Enlil/Ekur mythology. See, for example, Enlil and Sud, Version A 34–39; see also Enlil and Ninlil 54–58: en-líl ki-ùr-ra im-ma-ni-in-dib-bé en-líl ki-ùr-ra dib-dib-bé-da-né diĝir gal-gal ninnu-ne-ne diĝir nam tar-ra umin-ne-ne d en-líl ki-ùr-ra im-ma-ni-in-dab5-bé-ne d d

Enlil was walking in the Kiur. While Enlil was walking about in the Kiur, the fifty great gods, the seven gods deciding destinies seized Enlil in the Kiur.

21′–27′  George (1993: 138–139, §956) notes that the é saĝ dili was a ziqqurat dedicated to Enlil and that, at least in a Neo-Babylonian inscription, it was located in the kisal-mah of the Ekur. 65 He translates it “House of Secrets.” 66 It is 65. There is an é saĝ-dili du6-kug-ga that receives an offering in the offering list CBS 15405 rev. 18′ (Rīm-Sîn I 9.7.31); reference courtesy of J. Peterson. 66. Sag-Tablet, Recension B (MB) 51–54 translates saĝ dili edû ‘renowned one’, ēdēnû ‘solitary one’, gitmalum ‘noble one, perfect one’, and pirištum ‘secret matter’.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

401

to be noted, however, that the epithet AŠ precedes each name in the ensuing list of primordial gods which appear in their typical male-female binarity (ll. 22′–27′). Context would suggest, therefore, that saĝ dili indeed refers to them and that each, in turn, is designated accordingly as dili. At least in Akkadian contexts gitmālum ‘noble’, which glosses Sumerian AŠ (read dili and rum, see CAD G s.v.) is a poetic epithet of the gods. The verbal form is analyzed as a nominalized imperfective (-ed-a). It is unlikely that it is to be understood as defectively expressing the copula (for -ed-àm). It seems, rather, that the names that follow in ll. 22′–27′ are genitives functioning as implicit agents in a type of “dumu-tuda-ana” construction. 67

Afterword Fittingly for this occasion, our text ends with the primordial gods of the Sumerian pantheon. So, from Sumerian pantheon to Sumerology’s “pantheon”! If Šulgi can have his composers say of him that he is a Nintur, then the authors may be allowed to express their gratitude to Professors Piotr Steinkeller and Piotr Michałowski, for being today’s Ninturs, for their “solidly based knowledge,” as one translation has it, 68 and for their hard work and generosity in placing this knowledge at the disposal of all. 67.  At least in the case of past participles this is not uncommon; see Jagersma 2010: 151, 648–49 and Foxvog 2014: 43. 68.  Šulgi C 102, ETCSL t.2.4.2.03.

Bibliography Unless otherwise indicated, all citations of Sumerian works are taken from ETCSL; the translations, of both the Sumerian as well as the Akkadian texts, however, are our own. Alster, B. 1997 Proverbs of Ancient Sumer: The World’s Earliest Proverb Collection. 2 vols. Bethesda: CDL. Attinger, P. 1984 Remarques à propos de la “Malédiction d’Accad.” RA 78: 99–121. 1993 Éléments de linguistique sumérienne: La construction de du11/e/di “dire.” OBO Sonderband. Fribourg: Éditions Universitaires / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. 2011 /ug/ versus uš2. N.A.B.U. 2011/06. 2014 Enlil A (4.5.1). Accessed April 30, 2015 at http://www.iaw.unibe.ch/unibe/ philhist/ifaw/content/e246526/e255000/e274658/e274665/e379923/e497554/ EnlilA5.5.1.pdf. Behrens, H. 1978 Enlil und Ninlil: Ein sumerischer Mythos aus Nippur. StPohl SM 8. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Biblico. Borger, R. 1969 Die erste Teiltafel der zi–pà – Beschwörungen (ASKT 11). Pp. 1–22 in lišān mitḫurti: Festschrift Wolfram Freiherr von Soden zum 19.VI.1968 gewidmet von Schülern und Mitarbeitern, ed. W. Röllig. AOAT 1. Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon & Bercker / Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag des Erziehungsvereins.

402

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

Caplice, R. 1967 Namburbi Texts in the British Museum. II. OrNS 36: 1–38. Cavigneaux, A., and Al-Rawi, F. N. H. 2000 Gilgameš et la mort: Textes de Tell Haddad VI avec un appendice sur les textes funéraires sumériens. CM 19. Groningen: Styx. Cavigneaux, A., and Krebernik, M. 2001 Nin-tur. Pp. 507–8 in RlA 9. Edzard, D. O. 1997 Gudea and His Dynasty. RIME 3/1. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Falkenstein, A. 1949 Ein Sumerisches Kultlied auf Samsu’iluna. ArOr 17: 212–26. 1959–1960  Sumerische Götterlieder, I. Teil. Abhandlungen der Heidelberger Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil.-hist. Kl., Jahrgang 1959, 1. Abh. Heidelberg: Carl Winter Universitäts-Verlag. 1965 Fluch über Akkade. ZA 57: 43–124. Farber, G. 2005 saĝ as pars pro toto for “Person” and “Dead Body.” Pp. 108–15 in “An Experienced Scribe Who Neglects Nothing”: Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Jacob Klein, ed. Y. Sefati, P. Artzi, Ch. Cohen, B. L. Eichler, and V. A. Hurowitz. Bethesda: CDL. Farber, W. 1990 mannam lušpur ana enkidu: Some New Thoughts about an Old Motif. JNES 49: 299–321. Foxvog, D. A. 2014 Introduction to Sumerian Grammar. Accessed April 30, 2015 at http://home.comcast.net/~foxvog/Grammar.pdf. Friberg, J. 2007 A Remarkable Collection of Babylonian Mathematical Texts. Manuscripts in the Schøyen Collection: Cuneiform Texts 1. New York: Springer. Frymer-Kensky, T. 1992 In the Wake of the Goddesses: Women, Culture, and the Biblical Transformation of Pagan Myth. New York: The Free Press. Geller, M. J. 1990 Taboo in Mesopotamia. JCS 42: 105–17. George, A. R. 1993 House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia. MC 5. Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. 2003 The Babylonian Gilgameš Epic: Introduction, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts. Vol. 1. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Green, A. 1994 Mischwesen. B. Pp. 246–64 in RlA 8. Høyrup, J. 2002 Lengths, Widths, Surfaces: A Portrait of Old Babylonian Algebra and Its Kin. New York: Springer. Jacobsen, T. 1973 Notes on Nintur. OrNS 42: 274–98. 1987 The Harps that Once. . . : Sumerian Poetry in Translation. New Haven: Yale University Press. Jagersma, A. H. 2010 A Descriptive Grammar of Sumerian. Ph.D. dissertation. Leiden University. Accessed April 30, 2015 at http://hdl.handle.net/1887/16107.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

403

Kapp, A. 1955 Ein Lied auf Enlilbāni von Isin. ZA 51: 76–87. Köcher, F. 1980 Die babylonische-assyrische Medizin in Texten und Untersuchungen, Band 6. Keilschrifttexte aus Ninive 2. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Köcher, F., and Oppenheim, A. L. 1957–1958  The Old-Babylonian Omen Text VAT 7525. AfO 18: 62–77. Krebernik, M. 1997 Muttergöttin. A. I. In Mesopotamien. Pp. 502–16 in RlA 8. Lambert, W. G. 1960 Babylonian Wisdom Literature. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lambert, M., and Tourney, R. 1950 Corrections au Cylinder A de Gudea. ArOr 18: 304–20. Lambert, W. G., and Millard, A. R. 1999 Atra-ḫasīs: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. Reprinted, Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns. Leick G. 1994 Sex and Eroticism in Mesopotamian Literature. London: Routledge. Linssen, M. J. H. 2004 The Cults of Uruk and Babylon: The Temple Ritual Texts as Evidence for Hellenistic Cult Practice. CM 25. Groningen: Styx, Leiden: Brill. Römer, W. H. P. 1965 Sumerische ‘Königshymnen’ der Isin-Zeit. DMOA 13. Leiden: Brill. Shibata, D. forthcoming  Die Šu’ila-Gebete im Emesal. Heidelberger Emesal-Studien 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Sjöberg, Å. W. 1973 Miscellaneous Sumerian Hymns. ZA 63: 1–55. Sjöberg, Å. W., and Bergmann, E. 1969 The Collection of the Sumerian Temple Hymns. TCS 3. Locust Valley, NY: J. J. Augustin. Stol, M. 2000 Birth in Babylonia and the Bible: Its Mediterranean Setting. CM 14. Groningen: Styx. Thureau-Dangin, F. 1921 Rituels accadiens. Paris: Éditions Ernest Leroux. Toorn, K. van der 1985 Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 22. Assen and Maastricht: Van Gorcum. 1989 La pureté rituelle au Proche-Orient ancien. Revue de l’histoire des religions 14: 339–56. Unger, E. 1931 Babylon: die heilige Stadt nach der Beschreibung der Babylonier. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. van Dijk, J. J. and Geller, M. 2003 Ur III Incantations from the Frau Professor Hilprecht-Collection, Jena. TMH 6. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Vogel, H. 2013 Death and Burial. Pp.  419–34 in The Sumerian World, ed. H. Crawford. London: Routledge. Volk, K. 1995 Inanna und Šukaletuda: Zur historisch-politischen Deutung eines sumerischen Literaturwerkes. SANTAG 3. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag.

404

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

Weissbach, F. H. 1933 Review of Babylon die heilige Stadt nach der Beschreibung der Babylonier, by E. Unger. ZA 41: 255–87. Wiggermann, F. A. M. 1992 Mesopotamian Protective Spirits: The Ritual Texts. CM 1. Groningen: Styx.

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

Photo no. 1: reverse.

405

406

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

Photo no. 2: rev. right edge

Photo no. 3: rev. ii top

Sitz im Leben for a Literary Topos Regarding Nintur

Photo no. 4: rev. ii middle

407

408

Mark A. Avila, Marcel Sigrist, and Uri Gabbay

Photo no. 5: rev. ii bottom

Photo no. 6: rev. bottom edge

Some Remarks on the Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times Bernhard Schneider Innsbruck

Introduction The topic of “Fortune and Misfortune” is in an obvious way connected with the Post-Kassite period. 1 This paper will deal with the material and inscriptional evidence from the Ekur of Nippur concerning mainly the period from the Second Dynasty of Isin until the Second Dynasty of the Sealand. It is associated with rather turbulent times in Babylonia. Misfortune corresponds to several raids of Elamites in the 12th century b.c.e., leading eventually to the exile of the statue of Marduk (Paulus 2014a: 76). Its recovery by Nebuchadnezzar I (ca. 1126–1105 b.c.e.) could be seen as fortunate. After raids of Suteans and Arameans in the first half of the 11th century, the reconstruction of temples in Babylonia is indicated through inscriptions during the reign of Simbar-Šipak (ca. 1026–1009 b.c.e.) (cf. B.3.1.1 [RIMB 2: 71–73]; Grayson 1975: 180–83; Glassner 2004: 285–87). 2

Overview 3 Nippur lies about 160 km to the southeast of Baghdad. It is situated on the fringes of the ʿAfej marshland. The Ekur of Nippur can be found on the “Temple Mound” to the northeast of the site (Gibson et al 1999: 547, Fig. 1). 4 The temple dedicated to Enlil is a main sanctuary from the mid-third millennium b.c.e. onwards (Sallaberger 1997). After a period of neglect during the later part of the First Dynasty of Babylon the position of the city is strengthened again with the rise of the importance of Enlil during the Kassite period. Eventually Nippur becomes one of the “residential cities” of the Kassite rulers alongside Akkad, Babylon, DurKurigalzu, and Ur (Sassmannshausen 2001: 152–56; Brinkman 2004: 287 n. 26; Authors note:  This article has to be considered a work-in-progress report of the ongoing Ph.D. project concerning the construction history of the Ekur of Nippur at the University of Innsbruck. Research was partly financed by a Ph.D. stipend (2011–2013) and a travel scholarship (2012) granted by the University of Innsbruck. The author wants to thank the editors for their useful suggestions. The English was considerably improved by A. Kubiak and K. Watanabe. 1.  Dates given are following Brinkman 1968. 2. Renovations at Nippur and to some scale also at Sippar are mentioned in secondary sources (B.3.1.1 [RIMB 2: 71–73]; Woods 2004: 41, n. 19). 3.  For a more detailed overview of the archaeology of Nippur see Gibson et al. 1999. 4.  The main Tell was called Bint el-Amir ‘daughter of the prince’ by the Arabs.

409

410

Bernhard Schneider

Paulus 2014a: 80–81). This situation seems to be unchanged until Nebuchadnezzar I and it is the aim of the present author to shed some light on the time following the reign of this king.

History of Research First large scale excavations were undertaken by the University of Pennsylvania between 1889 and 1900, 5 though publication was largely limited to popular accounts (Peters 1897; Hilprecht 1903a; idem 1903b; idem 1904), with the exception of the work self-published by C. S. Fisher (1905/1906), architect of the fourth expedition. 6 After World War II the excavations were reopened by the “Joint Expedition” of the University Museum, Philadelphia, and the Oriental Institute, Chicago, with its efforts partly concentrated on a structure situated to the northeast of the ziggurat at the so-called Enlil Temple or Temple of Enlil (McCown and Haines 1967: 29–30). 7 Armstrong’s unpublished dissertation (1989) concentrated on the archaeology of Nippur during the Post-Kassite period, following Brinkman’s political history of the period (1968). 8 This paper aims to add some information to the archaeological evidence of the Ekur from the time of the Isin II Dynasty until about the Second Sealand Dynasty.

Dating through Excavated Objects from the Ekur The “Kassite” level of the Ekur as defined by the excavators ends in a last phase of renovation with Nebuchadnezzar I (ca. 1126–1105 b.c.e.) as terminus post quem. 9 Bricks with the king’s inscription were found by the “Joint Expedition” in and around the Enlil Temple. 10 Additionally, on Fisher’s section, a kudurru from the time of Nebuchadnezzar I is depicted as lying horizontally below the level of the “Ur-Ninib” pavement (Fisher 1905/1906: Pl. 17). 11

5.  The mostly unpublished documentation of the late 19th century excavations is stored nowadays in the “Nippur-Archive” of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Philadelphia. I was kindly provided access by Alex Pezzati (archivist) during a research trip 2008 which was financed through a research scholarship granted by the University of Innsbruck. This material of documentation is the basis for my ongoing Ph.D. studies about the construction history of the Ekur temple of Nippur. The “Nippur Archive” designations are given as for example “NE 1/1” for “Near East Box 1/File 1.” 6.  It comprised a two parted publication; a planned third part was prevented by H. V. Hilprecht, as Fisher took the side of Peters during the so-called “Peters-Hilprecht controversy” (Hilprecht 1908). Nevertheless some plates of the third part, which would have concerned the excavations on the Temple Mound, were included in the work of Fisher 1905/1906, as the Fisher section of Pl. 17. Due to this controversy, which led eventually to the resignation of Hilprecht in 1911, a planned fifth expedition of Pennsylvania, designated to the Ekur proper, was not realized. 7. The excavators used the shortcut “EN” for designations of loci and levels. The term “Enlil Temple” is used throughout this article as synonymous with this structure, excavated from 1948 to 1950. For the choice of this designation see McCown and Haines 1967: 29–30. 8.  A summary of the archaeology of the Ekur is given by Armstrong (1989: 193–206). 9.  The excavators reported no break in continuity from the Kassite period until Nebuchadnezzar I (McCown and Haines 1967: 27). 10.  McCown and Haines 1967: 13–14, 17 and Brinkman 1968: 113, n. 624. 11.  Architect H. V. Geere, who was involved in the creation of the section in 1900, arrived at Nippur about a week after the kudurru was found in February 1896. See n. 42.

Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times

411

Further Evidence from the Mounds of Nippur and Beyond McGuire Gibson (1993: 6) reports that during constructions of the expedition house on the Westmound of Nippur, an inscribed duck shaped weight (9 N 99 = IM 71204) was brought to light. 12 It contains an inscription mentioning Napšamenni “chief of the seers and high priest of Enlil” (Brinkman 1968: 122 with n. 709; Gibson 1993: 6; Lambert 1995: 136–37) under Marduk-šāpik-zēri (ca. 1082–1070 b.c.e.) who served also during the reign of Marduk-nādin-aḫḫē (ca. 1100–1083 b.c.e.). 13 It was found on Dec. 3, 1964 to the southeast of the Chicago expedition house site at Nippur “in a mud mortar pit within a thick and extensive ash layer” (Brinkman 1968: 134 n. 794). 14 Brinkman carefully suggested that there is a possibility that this ash layer might be connected with the sack of Nippur by Arameans and Sutians (ibid.). 15 Adad-apla-iddina (ca. 1069–1048 b.c.e.) had to repair the dūru, the ‘inner fortification wall’ of Babylon Imgur-Enlil (B.2.8.1: 3 [RIMB 2: 51]). According to a small truncated cone found at Khorsabad, 16 he also repaired the šalḫu ‘outer city wall’ of Nippur called Nimit-Marduk (Oppert 1870: 28; Brinkman 1968: 140, n. 846; B.2.8.6: 5–8 [RIMB 2: 57]). 17 An inscription, preserved through later copies from the time of Simbar-Šipak (ca. 1026–1009 b.c.e.), provides information about a throne for Enlil in the Ekurigigal, 18 made by Nebuchadnezzar I. The throne was stolen by Arameans and Sutians in the time of Adad-apla-iddina and brought back by an Assyrian via the city of Assur to Nippur. 19 In his time Simbar-Šipak was concerned with the reconstruction of the Ekur and the building of a throne out of special (mēsu-)wood and (ṣāriru-)gold (B.3.1.1: 20–24 [RIMB 2: 73]). 20

Archaeological Evidence This fast survey through the Ekur will concentrate on three parts of interest: a) the Enlil Temple situated alongside the northeast of the ziggurat, furthermore b) 12.  See also Biggs 1969: 16, no. 56 and B.2.7.2001 (RIMB 2: 48–49). 13.  HS 157 is a text that dates between the second and fifth year of Marduk-nādin-aḫḫē according to Bernhardt (1976: 13).The text is a garment inventory brought from Babylon to Nippur by Napšamenni (Brinkman 1968: 122). 14.  “A meter or so to the east of the expedition house” (Gibson 1993: 6), see also idem 1992: 47–48. 15.  See also Armstrong 1989: 199 n. 69. 16.  I cannot avoid a remark here that the story of bringing this cone to Assyria falls again into a phase of misfortune for Babylonia. The campaigns of Sargon II or Sennacherib come into the mind immediately. 17.  According to my knowledge, this seems to be the first explicit mention of a šalḫu in Babylonia as part of double-defense structures more famously known from later times. The need for a better protection against an extended mobility of any attackers led to the modernization of city walls. It is possible that the idea was imported from Assyria. A šalḫu of Aššur is mentioned already in the inscription of Enlilnērārī (A.0.74: 3 [RIMA 1: 118]). 18.  Following Hurowitz (1997: 41) it is the place of Enlil’s “seat of power.” 19.  A text from the tenth year of Adad-apla-iddina (HS 156) comes from Nippur (Bernhardt 1976: 13). If inscriptions ceased to be written from the time of the attack on, then this would indicate a date later in his reign. Already again during the first year of Nabû-šumu-libūr (ca. 1034–1027 b.c.e.) a nîšakku ‘dignitary’ of the Ekur is mentioned in BM 139424 rev. 13 (Paulus 2014b: 615). 20.  According to Fuchs (2011: 261) the influence of his dynasty reached again the eastern Tigris region.

412

Bernhard Schneider

the documented part of the courtyard to the Southeast of the ziggurat followed by c) the eastern corner of the ziggurat.

(a)  Enlil Temple Looking at the evidence of the Enlil Temple to the northeast of the ziggurat, the older “Kassite” building was mostly reused, with at least partly rebuilt walls (McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 20/1). During the Post-Kassite period two main rooms (13 and 18) 21 could have been reached via two separate entrances and antechambers 14 and 17 from the street (20) to the southwest. The two main units communicated via room 10 in which the rest of a reed door was preserved. 22 Each part consisted of a long room with bent-axis and a structure designated by the excavators as “altar” situated on its long end. The one found in room 13 was preserved better and it was more elaborated than the other one. 23 The “altar” was an enclosed burning place (McCown and Haines 1967: 31). Mud mortar and mudbrick filling over it were affected by multiple intense fires. 24 The excavators distinguished between five phases of construction (ibid., 14 and Pl. 24). At least part of the last phases (phase 4–5) of raising the level of this structure could also be connected with a higher level of use. 25 This is indicated by the filled up door-socket box at the main entrance (room 14). A single post-Kassite “nipple-based cup” was found in the filling. The box was covered by a fragment of a stone relief which could have served as door-socket for a higher level (McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 32/1; Armstrong 1989: 195–96). The door leading to room 17 cuts through the center of a buttress of the mudbrick wall separating room 17 and street 20 (McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 22). During the excavations the remains of two levels of a sill were identified. The lower sill was sloping from a level of about 50 cm over the “lower” Kassite (EN III) pavement (ibid., Pl. 16). Considering the level of the sill it could be possible to connect it with the gutter in street 20. 26 It is the suggestion of the author that the door leading from street 20 to room 17 was not incorporated into the original plan of the first Kassite foundation. 27 An even later phase of use is indicated by a higher sill about 38 cm over the lower one, though the excavators could not trace a floor connected to it (ibid.). 28 21.  Room 18 was partly cut by the excavations of 1889–1900 (McCown and Haines 1967: 15). 22.  Unfortunately a later pit disturbed room 10. 23.  This and the fact that the entrance via room 14 was designed with a stepped decoration point to room 13 as the main one of the building. 24.  The excavators excluded “purification by fire” (McCown and Haines 1967: 31) as the traces were showing repeated affection of fire with the biggest heat at the central part of the platform. This leads me to reconstruct a ritual of hot coals brought to this installation from some source of fire. This source could have been the installation designated as “hearth” (ibid., 15 and Pl. 23A) by the excavators also to be found in room 13. 25.  Part of the older kisû ‘baked brick socket’ could have been used as a border pavement around three sides of the building at this higher level. The final phase of this “altar” very likely postdates the reign of Nebuchadnezzar according to Armstrong (1989: 194). 26.  This seems to be shown incorrectly in the isometric sketch (McCown and Haines 1967: Pl. 23B). The gutter is running around the north corner of the ziggurat to street 20 and turning again at the south corner of the Enlil Temple to street 22 running northeast (McCown and Haines 1967: Pl. 22). 27.  The original Kassite foundation falls probably into the time of Kurigalzu I as it is possibly this king (not Kurigalzu II following Clayden 1996: 109–21) whose burnt bricks for the Ekurigibar(r)a were preserved in later structures. 28.  In locus 15 a higher sill leading to the northwest might be also connected to this later phase even though a physical connection to the Enlil Temple is not preserved. In street 20 the evidence was already cut and removed by the trench of the excavations at the end of the 19th century. Tunnels dug during the same time possibly disturbed the strata around locus 15 as well.

Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times

413

Post-Kassite Cultic Vessels Some 50 crude pottery saucers were deposited “in filling” behind and around the “altar” of room 13. The vessels consisted mostly of small bowls of “usual ware” with usually buff slip (McCown and Haines 1967: 78). None of the rims were exactly circular or level (McCown 1952: 171; McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 28/4, 5, 7, 8; Pl. 32/2). 29 According to the excavators some of the vessels resembled seashells. Traces of sooting indicate that some of them were used as lamps. 30 At the North Temple a number of vessels were recovered from a well (see also next page). The excavators compared four “crude saucers” with Enlil Temple examples (McCown and Haines 1967: Pl. 28/4, 5). The documentation of 1894 indicates that such pottery was not just restricted to room 13 of the Enlil Temple. The young architect J. A. Meyer, Jr. writes in his diary on Sunday, August 19: “Of the objects sketched, (. . .) rude cup and shallow bowl cup came from the level below the Melisiha pavement. (. . .) The crude clay cups seem to be common all around the temple, and may have been used by devotees to bring some votive offering.” 31 Additionally, the entry in the object catalogue of Meyer on August 19, 1894 depicts a number of these vessels (Fig. 1) found within the temple below the “Assurbanipal pavement” (i.e., the uppermost pavement on Fig. 2). 32 Meyer’s description is given as follows: 33 Fig. 1, a. “Rude pottery cups, about 3 ½’’ [=8,89 cm] in diameter found in different places – in the earth under the Melisiha (?) pavement E.S.E. of the ziggurat, between the walls of the S.W. water conduit of the Ziggurat etc. Very rudely made by hand with no flat bottom but with the ridge of clay just as it had been left when the lump was pinched off the mass. Height abt. 2′’.” Fig. 2, b. “Larger vessel, of the same character as the last described. 5 ½’’ [=13,97 cm] diameter, 2 5/8′’ [=6,67 cm] high. Flat bottom but all rudely made. Found E. S. E. of the Ziggurat under Melisiha (?) pavement.”

Objects sketched on Fig. 1 were put into Box 1 by Meyer. 34 The direction “E.S.E of the Ziggurat” points towards the space on the outside of the Enlil Temple near the eastern corner of the ziggurat. Among the vessels of the 1889–1900 expeditions now stored in Philadelphia there are several pieces to be identified as belonging to the same general type of 29.  The exact height of this deposit is not indicated by the excavators. The designation in the “filling” behind the “altar” stands for a deposit with the height of 1.5 m which was possibly intentionally raised (McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 19). It is not clear if this filling also closed the access to the stairs leading to room 19 towards the northwest of the structure. Neither can it be stated with certainty if it should be connected with the end of the installation itself or with an earlier phase. Therefore the Donald McCown excavation records of 1948–1950 have to be consulted. These records are missing according to McGuire Gibson (personal communication). 30.  McCown and Haines 1967, description of Pl. 28/3–4. 31.  University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology archive “NE 7/2.” 32.  Hilprecht (1893–1896, No. 82) misread the name on brick inscription as “Melisiha” or “MiliShikhu,” which most probably was caused by an archaizing script. He corrected it to “Assur-ban-apal” after a stay in Constantinople in the year of 1894. For further information see Clayden and Schneider 2015. 33.  University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology archive “NE 7/3” is a Xerox copy. 34.  It seems that Meyer’s box numbers are independent from box numbers indicated by Haynes in his reports.

414

Bernhard Schneider

Fig. 1.  Scan with tracing by B. Schneider of (a) “rude pottery cups” and (b) a “larger vessel” from the “Object catalogue of J. A. Meyer” preserved as a Xerox copy (NE 7/3). Courtesy of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. This copy was kindly provided by Alex Pezzati (archivist).

pottery. 35 With the available documentation at hand it is safe to say that the majority of them came from the Ekur temple proper. An example of another type of vessel (2 P 49) was recovered from the same level in room 13 (McCown and Haines 1967, Pl. 28/12). The shape of the vessel resembles a chalice-like incense burner as used in modern times. It was pointed out by Armstrong (1989: 187–88) that such “crude dishes” (4P 299–301) 36 were also recovered from the North Temple well (see previous page). The bricks of Nebuchadnezzar I connected with the pavement of room 13 give a secure terminus post quem for the deposit of these vessels. 37 It indicates a date roughly around 1100 b.c.e. or later also for vessels of the same kind recovered from the rest of the Ekur. 38

(b)  Ziggurat Courtyard 39 During the excavations of 1889–1900 a sequence of three brick pavements was documented within the courtyard to the southeast of the ziggurat (Fig. 2). 40 This 35.  After a preliminary survey through the Penn Museum Online Collection (http://www.penn.museum/collections/, accessed on 30 March 2015), 23 such vessels from the 1889–1900 excavations could be identified through photo. They are: B10232A, B10241A, B10242A, B10243A, B10245A, B10247A, B10248A, B10249A, B10250A, B10251A, B10253A, B10255A, B10256A, B10257A, B10258A, B10258B, B10259A, B10260A, B10327A, B10329A, B10331A, B10332A, B10333A. As the photographing process at the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology is ongoing, it is expected that the total number of identified vessels will increase. 36.  A typing error occurred as Armstrong (1989: 188, n. 36) writes “4P 299–310.” 37.  Two bricks of Nebuchadnezzar I were found in connection with a 41 cm deep “sump pit” opening into this pavement through two narrow slits (McCown and Haines 1967: 14). 38.  More precise dating would be possible, if the exact horizontal and vertical position of the vessels was known. The bricks with inscription of Assurbanipal found in level II of the Enlil Temple (B.6.32.16 [RIMB 2: 221–22]) provide a terminus ante quem. The earliest known major construction work within the Ekur was conducted by Esarhaddon (B.6.31.12: 29–32, 13–14 [RIMB 2: 177–81) during the first millennium b.c.e. See also Clayden and Schneider 2015. 39.  A more detailed description of the situation within the ziggurat courtyard is undertaken by the author in his Ph.D. research. 40.  A better documented part of these pavements is found near the gate in the southeastern wall of the courtyard.

Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times

415

is also shown on a section through the courtyard to the southeast of the ziggurat by C. S. Fisher (1905/1906, Pl. 17). 41 The first and uppermost pavement was designated as “Assurbanipal pavement” by the excavators and “Assur-ban-Apal level” on the Fisher section (ibid.). 42 The second pavement was ascribed to “Kadash-manTurgu” and the third and lowest to Ur-Ninurta (ibid.). 43 A “boundary stone” of Nebuchadnezzar I is depicted on the section. 44 It can be recognized due to its shape and it is depicted lying below the level of the lowest of the pavements to the southeast of the ziggurat. Fisher shifted the horizontal position of objects. 45 According to the original report of Haynes from 1896 it was found “on the northwestern side of the ziggurat.” 46 The level of the third courtyard pavement was connected by Fisher (ibid.) with the “Kassite” street floor with gutter around the Enlil Temple (McCown and Haines 1967: Pl. 22). 47 Following the peculiarities of the Fisher section the kudurru of Nebukadnezzar I was found to the northwest of the ziggurat as stated by Haynes. It was buried below the level of a continuation of the gutter, running along street 20 and turning around the north corner of the ziggurat to the southwest. The second pavement to the southeast of the ziggurat is therefore to be dated relatively later than the gutter. Most of the inscribed stone vase fragments were reported to be found below this pavement during the early part of the third campaign (1893/1894). 48

(c)  East Corner of Ziggurat 49 A small space in front of the northeastern lateral staircase of “Kassite” times was preserved unexcavated in 1894. 50 A brick pavement sloping to the gutter in street 20 was connected by the excavators with the lateral staircase. The deposit 41.  The section (Fisher 1905/1906, Pl. 17) bears the signature of Fisher. Part of the credit (measurements) should also go to H. V. Geere who was in Nippur for several days in February 1896 and again in October 1899 until May 1900. He handed over his notes to Fisher sometime after 1900. See also n. 11. 42.  Even though no single brick of Assurbanipal was found to be incorporated into the pavement itself, the evidence of a later rubble layer with brick fragments with inscriptions of this king (then read as “Melisiha” through Hilprecht) lead the excavators to this interpretation. See also Clayden and Schneider 2015. 43.  No stamped brick of Kadašman-Turgu was found within this pavement or anywhere else at the Ekur. Instead a single reused brick of Ur-Ninurta was reported by Haynes as coming from this pavement. The name was then transcribed as “Ur-Ninib.” However a single bead of lapis lazuli with a dedicatory inscription by Kadašman-Turgu was discovered (Schneider 2015: 166–67; idem, 2016: 54–62). 44.  UM 29–20–1. 45.  This is stated on the section itself (Fisher 1905/1906: Pl. 17). 46.  Haynes’ report of February 8 from the year 1896 in the archive of the University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. 47.  EN level III was “Kassite” following the excavators (McCown and Haines 1967: 1–33). 48.  They are also depicted on the “Fisher section” below the second pavement and described as “vase fragments” (Fisher 1905/1906: Pl. 17). 49.  A paper about the first millennium parts of the eastern corner of the ziggurat was presented by the author at the fourth Broadening Horizons Conference, Torino 2011. Due to new understanding gained in the course of the Ph.D. project the planned publication of the article was postponed as a revision is necessary. Furthermore the MA thesis of the author was about the first millennium remains of the ziggurat of Nippur (Schneider 2010). A publication of both works is planned. 50.  A brick of Kadašman-Enlil (I/II?) was reported to have been found near the eastern corner of the ziggurat on the southeast face where the staircase was built-on (McCown and Haines 1967: 19 and Pl. 14C, 19). For the “Kassite” phases of the Ekur see Schneider (2015: 166–67; idem, 2016: 54–62).

416

Bernhard Schneider

Fig. 2.  The three preserved courtyard pavements to the southeast of the ziggurat. A copy of this photo is preserved in the “Schriftlicher Nachlass,” HSN 4687:1. Courtesy of the Hilprecht-Sammlung, Jena.Access kindly granted by M. Krebernik custodian of the “Frau Professor Hilprecht-Sammlung” in Jena. The photo is preserved in the “Schriftliche Nachlass” and was used in the publications of Hilprecht (1903a: Fig. 26; idem 1904, Fig. 27).

over the bitumen covering the pavement was described by J. A. Meyer as “earth evidently deposited by the action of water.” 51 It can be described as layers accumulated by wind and weather which are composed of blown in sand alternating with fine layers of silt found also in other excavated parts of Nippur. 52 At a later time mudbrick material was put over this rather unstable deposit probably to preserve access to the lateral staircase which could have been reused from a higher level. 53 At even later times a wall of burnt brick was built connecting the southeastern and northeastern façade also closing the space of the lateral staircase. 54

Interpretation The position of the kudurru of Nebuchadnezzar I below the pavement level in combination with the report of the plundering of the temple preserved in SimbarŠipak’s inscription suggests that the location of the object might tell us more than the obvious. It could be seen as an example of a hoard zZburied in times of an anticipated attack. 55 This way the kudurru was preserved, with just slight damages on its base, until its rediscovery in 1896. 51.  A transcript copy of this journal bears the archive designation NE 7/12. 52.  See n. 58. 53.  No further description was given about this material. Unpublished photos in Philadelphia show also mud brick fragments and broken burnt bricks were incorporated into this mass. 54.  Five of these courses were still preserved in 1948–1950 (McCown and Haines 1967: Pl. 21G). Sadly no further documentation is available of the adjoining strata. The architect Meyer found the eastern corner of the ziggurat already excavated down to its foundations. 55.  The importance of such ”hoards” was pointed out by Piotr Bieliński at the opening session of the 60 Rencontre Assyriologique International, Warsaw. Ironically, the curse formula of the kudurru forbids exactly such a treatment (Paulus 2014b: 496). For what I would call a “collector’s hoard” of objects from different epochs originally coming from the Ekur temple and found to the southeast of the temple mound, see Clayden 2011.

Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times

417

Table 1.  Summary of three different parts within the Ekur with post-Kassite evidence Enlil Temple (EN)

Ziggurat courtyard

Ziggurat, East corner

Phasea 1 Filling up of the EN level III door-socket box in room 14 connected with possible filling up of EN III rooms

Clay filling containing vase fragments over layers accumulated by wind and weather

Clay filling over layers accumulated by wind and weather

Phase 2

Possible reuse of the “altar” in room 13 from a higher level. Stone relief fragment on door-socket box serves as new door-socket from a higher level in room 14. Higher sill in secondary entrance to room 17

Pavement of burnt bricks (29.2 × 29.2 × 6.3 cm) without inscriptions, same level as southeast gate pavementb

Surface of clay filling on same general level as courtyard pavement.

later

Walls and strata cut by “Neo-Assyrian” EN Layers accumulated by level II foundation wind and weather

Closing wall of burnt bricks

a.  The numbering of the phases has to be seen as preliminary due to the work-in-progress status of the Ph.D. project of the author concerning the construction history of the Ekur. b.  Fisher 1905/1906: Pl. 17.

After considering the archaeological evidence, it is possible that the higher sill at the Enlil Temple and the second courtyard pavement to the southeast of the ziggurat belong to the renovation of Simbar-Šipak (B.3.1.1: 2–24 [RIMB 2: 73]). 56 According to the inspiring paper by Hurowitz (1997), Marduk the “supreme god” was set on a newly erected throne. However, if Enlil’s old throne had come back with the rest of the loot via Assur, it would be still free for the main god of Nippur. As already summarized by Armstrong (1989: 224–31) a kudurru fragment of Nabû-mukīn-apli (c. 979–944 b.c.e.) which most probably comes from Nippur is an indicator of a small scale occupation of the site at least during the early part of the tenth century b.c.e. 57 The Ekur was a functioning institution until a time when it was not possible anymore to keep the pavement of the ziggurat courtyard free from accumulations formed by wind and weather. 58 A great part of the site might have been uninhabited during this time as indicated by the excavations. 59 After about a hundred year gap in written sources, a kudurru from the time of Marduk-zakīršumi (c. 854–819 b.c.e.) informs us that the šandabakku office was again occupied at Nippur (Paulus 2014b: 666–72). The accumulation of wind blown material could have possibly happened sometime during the late tenth or early ninth century b.c.e. During the excavations led by McGuire Gibson in the 1970′s the Westmound (WA) 56.  Under Nabû-šumu-libūr temple offices are again attested at Nippur, which suggests a comparably fast recovery after the raid. See also n. 19. 57.  CBS 13873: see Brinkman and Brinkman 1972: Paulus 2014b: 637. 58.  The accumulations in the so-called “column” of the Ekur preserve such layers below the Assurbanipal pavement until today. On similarly accumulated debris see Armstrong (1989: 25, 198 and n. 66, 230; Cole 1996: 15–16 and n. 64). It was not possible for the author to get access to the unpublished source (Diane E. Taylor manuscript “Ekur”) cited by Armstrong (1989: 198, n. 66). See also Brandt 1990: Armstrong and Brandt 1994. 59.  If one looks at photos of Nippur from the last century, the spread of sand dunes is very irregular and covers just some parts of the site.

418

Bernhard Schneider

was still to a large degree covered by sand dunes, while until the late 1980s the main part of the dunes was gradually wandering off (Gibson 1992: 33; 2006: xix– xx). 60 The seventh-century levels in area WC–2 show that a similar accumulation could occur even in comparably prosperous times (Armstrong 1989: 232).

Conclusion The current state of archaeological evidence of the Ekur of Nippur makes it difficult to separate all the different construction periods and phases. Multiple renovations within a comparably short time and the nature of the disintegrating mudbricks are just some of the factors which contribute to that problem. With luck, several burnt brick pavements preserved in a short vertical distance provide a general framework of the construction history. Already the reuse of a single pavement creates problems to the archaeologist if no contemporary brick with inscription could be recovered. A complete repaving would be hard to recognize in the archaeological record. The fact that the system of documentation of an excavation during the late 19th and early 20th century cannot compete with today’s standards should not prevent us from looking at the old notes again and trying to understand them. 60.  For the environment of Nippur and the sand dunes, see Brandt 1990.

Bibliography Armstrong, J. A. 1989 The Archaeology of Nippur from the Decline of the Kassite Kingdom until the Rise of the Neo-Babylonian Empire. Ph.D. dissertation. University of Chicago. Armstrong, J. A. and Brandt, M. C. 1994 Ancient Dunes at Nippur. Pp. 255–63 in Cinquante-deux reflexions sur le Proche-Orient ancien offertes en hommage à Leon De Meyer, ed. H. Gasche, M. Tanret, C. Janssen, and A. Degraeve. MHEO 2. Leuven: Peeters. Bernhardt, I. 1976 Sozialökonomische Texte und Rechtsurkunden aus Nippur zur Kassitenzeit. Texte und Materialien der Frau Professor Hilprecht-Sammlung Vorderasiatischer Altertümer im Eigentum der Friedrich-Schiller Universität Jena, Neue Folge 5. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Biggs, R. D. 1969 II. The Ninth Season (1964/65). Pp.  9–16 in Cuneiform Texts from Nippur: The Eighth and Ninth Seasons, ed. G. Buccellati and R. D. Biggs. AS 17. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Brandt, M. C. 1990 Nippur: Building an Environmental Model. JNES 49: 67–73. Brinkman, J. A. 1968 A Political History of Post-Kassite Babylonia (1158–722 B.C.). Rome: Pontificium Institutum Biblicum. 2004 Administration and Society in Kassite Babylonia. JAOS 124: 283–304. Brinkman, J. A., and Brinkman, M. E. 1972 A Tenth-Century Kudurru Fragment. ZA 62: 91–98.

Archaeology of the Ekur of Nippur during Post-Kassite Times

419

Clayden, T. 1996 Kurigalzu I and the Restoration of Babylonia. Iraq 58: 109–21. 2011 The Nippur ‘hoard’. Al-Rāfidān 32: 1–56. Clayden, T., and Schneider, B. 2015 Assurbanipal and the Ziggurat at Nippur. Kaskal 12: 1–37. Cole, S. W. 1996 Nippur in Late Assyrian Times (c. 755–612 BC). SAAS 4. Helsinki: The Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project. Fisher, C. S. 1905/1906  Excavations at Nippur. 2 vols. Philadelphia: Babylonian Expedition of the University of Pennsylvania. Frame, G. 1995 Rulers of Babylonia: From the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of Assyrian Domination (1157–612 BC). RIMB 2. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Fuchs, A. 2011 Das Osttigrisgebiet von Agum II. bis zu Dareios I. (ca. 1500 bis 500 v. Chr.). Pp. 229– 329 in Between the Cultures: The Central Tigris Region From the 3rd to the 1st Millennium BC. Papers Read at the Symposium at Heidelberg, January 22nd–24th, 2009, ed. P. A. Miglus and S. Mühl. HSAO 14. Heidelberg: Heidelberger Orientverlag. Gibson, McG. 1992 Patterns of Occupation at Nippur. Pp.  33–54 in Nippur at the Centennial. Papers Read at the 35e Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Philadelphia, 1988, ed. M. deJong Ellis. OPSNKF 14. Philadelphia: University Museum. 1993 Introduction. Pp. 1–9 in Nippur III: Kassite Buildings in Area WC-1, ed. R. L. Zettler. OIP 111. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. 2006 Preface. Pp. xix–xxii in Nippur V: The Early Dynastic to Akkadian Transition. The Area WF Sounding at Nippur, ed. A. McMahon. OIP 129. Chicago: Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. Gibson, McG., Hansen, D. P., and Zettler, R. L. 1999 Nippur B. Archäologisch. Pp. 546–65 in RlA 9. Glassner, J. J. 2004 Mesopotamian Chronicles. WAW 19. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature. Grayson, A. K. 1975 Assyrian and Babylonian Chronicles. TCS 5. Locust Valley, New York: J. J. Augustin. 1987 Assyrian Rulers of the Third and Second Millennia BC (to 1115 BC). RIMA 1. Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press. Hilprecht, H. V. 1893–1896  Old Babylonian Inscriptions Chiefly from Nippur. BE I/1–2. Philadelphia: D. Anson Partridge. 1903a Ausgrabungen der Universität von Pennsylvania im Bêl-Tempel zu Nippur. Leipzig: J. C. Hinrichs’sche Buchhandlung. 1903b Explorations in Bible Lands during the 19th Century. Philadelphia: A. J. Holman and Company. 1904 In the Temple of Bêl at Nippur. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania. 1908 The so-called Peters-Hilprecht Controversy. Philadelphia: A. J. Holman and Company. Hurowitz, V. A. 1997 Reading a Votive Inscription: Simbar-Shipak and the Ellilification of Marduk. RA 91: 39–47.

420

Bernhard Schneider

Lambert, W. G. 1995 An Inscribed Weight. Pp. 135–38 in Immigration and Emigration within the Ancient Near East: Festschrift E. Lipiński, ed. K. Van Lerberghe and A. Schoors. OLA 65. Leuven: Peeters Publishers and Department of Oriental Studies. McCown, D. E. 1952 Excavations at Nippur, 1948–50. JNES 11: 169–76. McCown, D. E., and Haines, R. C. 1967 Nippur I: Temple of Enlil, Scribal Quarter, and Soundings. Excavations of the Joint Expedition to Nippur of the University Museum of Philadelphia and the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago. OIP 78. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Oppert, J. 1870 Les inscriptions de Dour-Sarkayan (Khorsabad) provenant des fouilles de M. V. Place. Paris: Imprimerie Impériale. Paulus, S. 2014a Babylonien in der 2. Hälfte des 2. Jts. v. Chr. – (K)ein Imperium? Ein Überblick über Geschichte und Struktur des mittelbabylonischen Reiches (ca. 1500–1000 B.C.). Pp. 65–100 in Imperien und Reiche in der Weltgeschichte: Epochenübergreifende und globalhistorische Vergleiche, ed. M. Gehler and R. Rollinger. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. 2014b Die babylonischen Kudurru-Inschriften von der kassitischen bis zur frühneubabylonischen Zeit: Untersucht unter besonderer Berücksichtigung gesellschafts- und rechtshistorischer Fragestellungen. AOAT 51. Münster: Ugarit Verlag. Peters, J. P. 1897 Nippur or Explorations and Adventures on the Euphrates–The Narrative of the University of Pennsylvania Expedition to Babylonia in the Years 1888–1890. 2 vols. New York and London: G. P. Putnam’s Sons. Sallaberger, W. 1997 Nippur als religiöses Zentrum Mesopotamiens im historischen Wandel. Pp. 147–68 in Die Orientalische Stadt: Kontinuität, Wandel, Bruch. 1. Internationales Colloquium der Deutschen Orient-Gesellschaft, 9.–10. Mai 1996 im Halle/Saale, ed. G. Wilhelm. CDOG 1. Saarbrücken: Saarbrücker Druckerei und Verlag. Sassmannshausen, L. 2001 Beiträge zur Verwaltung und Gesellschaft Babyloniens in der Kassitenzeit. BagF 21. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern. Schneider, B. 2010 Die Baukörper der Ziqqurrat von Nippur im 1. Jahrtausend vor Christus–Beitrag zur Archäologie des É . K U R in Nippur. MA dissertation. Leopold-Franzens-Universität Innsbruck. 2015 An inscribed bead with a votive inscription of Kadašman-Turgu (L-29–449). N.A.B.U. 2015/99: 166–67. 2016 Remarks on the Archaeology of the Kassite Ekur of Nippur, including some Lapis Lazuli Findings in Context. Cultural & Material Contacts in the Ancient Near East: Movements of People, Objects, and Ideas. Proceedings of the International Workshop 1–2 December 2014, Torino. Edited by E. Foietta et al. Florence: apice libri. Woods, C. E. 2004 The Sun-God Tablet of Nabû-apla-iddina Revisited. JCS 56: 23–103.

Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

In this book are presented papers on the main theme of the meeting, “Fortune and Misfortune in the Ancient Near East.” The 31 essays are organized into 5 sections: (1) plenary presenations on “What Is Fortune? What Is Misfortune?”; (2) humanity and fortune/misfortune and luck, with discussion of specific examples; (3) additional papers on definitions of fortune and misfortune; (4) the effects on city and state; and (5) God and temple.

Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale at Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

In the week between July 21 and 25, 2014, the University of Warsaw hosted more than three hundred Assyriologists from all over the world. In the course of five days, nearly 150 papers were read in three (and sometimes four) parallel sessions. Many of them were delivered within the framework of nine thematic workshops. The publication of most of these panels is underway, in separate volumes. As is usually the case, the academic sessions were accompanied by many opportunities for social interaction among the participants, and there was time to enjoy the historical and cultural benefits of Warsaw. Special honor was accorded to two American Assyriologists whose origins can be traced to Warsaw, Piotr Michalowski and Piotr Steinkeller, and a special session to recognize their contributions to the study of ancient Mesopotamia was organized.

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST

DR EWNOWSK A SA NDOW ICZ

Eisenbrauns

POB 275 Winona Lake, IN 46590 www.eisenbrauns.com

EISENBRAUNS

FORTUNE and MISFORTUNE in the ANCIENT NEAR EAST Proceedings of the 60th Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale Warsaw, 21–25 July 2014

EDITED BY DREWNOWSKA AND SANDOWICZ