Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone, and other papers on Ugaritian thought 9781463213329

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE

GORGIAS UGARITIC STUDIES 1 General Editor N. Wyatt

Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone And Other Papers on Ugaritian Thought

N. WYATT

GORGIAS PRESS 2007

First Gorgias Press Edition, 2007 Copyright © 2007 by Gorgias Press LLC All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC. Published in the United States of America by Gorgias Press LLC, New Jersey ISBN 978-1-59333-716-2 ISSN 1935-388X

GORGIAS PRESS 46 Orris Ave., Piscataway, NJ 08854 USA www.gorgiaspress.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Wyatt, N. (Nick) Word of tree and whisper of stone : and other papers on Ugaritian thought / N. Wyatt. -- 1st Gorgias Press ed. p. cm. -- (Gorgias Ugaritic studies ; 1) Includes bibliographical references (p. ) and index. ISBN-13: 978-1-59333-716-2 1. Ugarit (Extinct city)--Religion. 2. Religious literature, Ugaritic. I. Title. BL1640.W95 2007 299'.26--dc22 2007037828 The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standards. Printed in the United States of America

For Wilfred Watson

TABLE OF CONTENTS Table of Contents...................................................................................................V Preface...................................................................................................................VII Acknowledgments ................................................................................................ IX Abbreviations ........................................................................................................ XI 1 A New Look at Ugaritic Šdmt.............................................................................1 2 The Titles of the Ugaritic Storm-God ..............................................................7 3 The Pruning of the Vine in KTU 1.23 ...........................................................41 4 Understanding Polytheism: Structure and Dynamic in a West Semitic Pantheon ........................................................................................................47 Introduction ..................................................................................................47 The Experience of Polytheism ...................................................................49 The Experience of Divine Images.............................................................57 Polytheism as a Religious Norm ................................................................59 Dynamics of the Pantheon .........................................................................62 Terms for the Pantheon of Ugarit, and Possible Divisions within it...63 The Existence of Demons in a Polytheistic Culture...............................79 The Theory of a “Crisis of Polytheism” ...................................................81 The Problem of the Origins of Monotheism...........................................83 5 Religion at Ugarit: an overview........................................................................85 1 Introduction .........................................................................................85 2 Cosmology............................................................................................87 3 Theology ...............................................................................................93 4 Mythology...........................................................................................106 5 The Royal Ideology of Ugarit..........................................................115 6 Ritual ..................................................................................................119 7 Family Life and its Religious Expression.......................................123 8 Other Religious Manifestations.......................................................125 9 Sickness ...............................................................................................131 10 Death and its Rites ............................................................................133 11 Non-Literary Dimensions in Ugaritian Religion ..........................136 V

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12 Conclusion ...................................................................................141 6 Epic in Ugaritic Literature ..............................................................................143 Introduction ................................................................................................143 Poems concerning Baal .............................................................................145 The Story of Keret .......................................................................................147 The Story of Aqhat .....................................................................................149 Ilimilku’s Motives .......................................................................................150 7 “May Horon Smash Your Head!”: a Curse Formula from Ugarit..........155 8 Word of Tree and Whisper of Stone: El’s Oracle to King Keret (Kirta), and the Problem of the Mechanics of its Utterance ...............167 I Introduction .......................................................................................167 II The Oracle in Keret (Kirta) ................................................................170 III An Oracular Formula in Baal and its Implications for Ugaritian and Biblical Thought .......................................................181 Bibliography of Works Cited.............................................................................193 Index......................................................................................................................227

PREFACE I have Steve Wiggins to thank for the acceptance of this volume not only by Gorgias Press, but in a new monograph series of which I have also been invited to serve as honorary editor. It is the fourth in a series of collections I have made (the others being Wyatt 2005a, 2005b and 2008). In these, as in the present volume, I have sought to bring to a wider readership past papers of mine which I consider to have been important stages in my intellectual development, and which I hope have also offered something of value to scholarship. The present volume is devoted entirely to Ugaritic matters, but in my view shows the relevance of what may appear to many to be a rather arcane discipline, to both biblical and classical scholarship, and through these and their heritage, to the wider field of the history of human culture, with reference to the contribution of the ancient Near East to our own traditions. N. Wyatt London July 2007

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS The author acknowledges with gratitude the generosity of the editors of the following periodicals and publishing houses for permission to reprint various chapters, as follows: Journal of Semitic Studies, chapter 1; Ugarit-Verlag, Münster, chapters 2, 3 and 7; Journal of Higher Criticism, chapter 4; Basil Blackwell, chapter 5; Aula Orientalis, chapter 6; and Koninklijke Brill N. V., chapters 5 and 8.

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ABBREVIATIONS AAAS AB ABRL AEPHE AHw AION AJSL ALASP ALBO ANET AnOr AOAT ASAE AuOr BA BAH BASOR BBVO BDB BJRL BJS BLS BRA BS BVSAWL

Annales Archéologiques Arabes Syriennes Anchor Bible Anchor Bible Reference Library Annuaire de l’Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes (Section des sciences religieuses) W. von Soden Akkadisches Handwörterbuch 3 volumes (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz 1965–81). Annali dell’Istituto Universitario Orientale di Napoli American Journal of Semitic Languages Abhandlungen zur Literatur Alt—Syrien—Palästinas und Mesopotamiens Analecta Lovaniensia Biblica et Orientalia J.B. Pritchard (ed.) Ancient Near Eastern Texts Relating to the Old Testament (Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press 19693 ) Analecta Orientalia Alter Orient und Altes Testament Annales du Service des Antiquités d’Egypte Aula Orientalis Biblical Archaeologist Bibliothèque Archéologique et Historique Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental Research Berliner Beiträge zum Vorderen Orient F. Brown, S.R. Driver and C.A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon 1906). Bulletin of the John Rylands Library Biblical and Judaic Studies from the University of California, San Diego Bible and Literature Studies Beiträge zum Religionsgeschichte des Altertums Biblical Studies Berichte über die Verhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Leipzig. Philologisch-Historische Klasse XI

XII

BZ BZAW CAD CDA CPU

CRRAI CRAIBL CRB CSSA CTA DDD DMOA DUL EPROER FARG FAT FTL GM HALOT HCANE HdO

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE Biblische Zeitschrift Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft I. J. Gelb et al. (eds) The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (Chicago: Chicago Oriental Institute; Glückstadt: J. and J. Augustin Verlag, 1956—). J. Black, A. George and N. Postgate (eds), A Concise Dictionary of Akkadian (SANTAG 5, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2nd corrected imprint, 2000). J.-L. Cunchillos and J.-P. Vita Concordancia de palabras ugaríticas en morfología desplegada. Banco de datos filológicos semíticos noroccidentales (BDFSN). Datos ugaríticos (3 vols, Madrid: CSIC, Institución Fernando el Católico 1995). Comptes Rendus du Rencontre Assyriologique International Comptes Rendus de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres Cahiers de la Revue Biblique Cambridge Studies in Social Anthropology A. Herdner, Corpus des tablettes en cunéiformes alphabétiques découvertes à Ras Shamra-Ugarit de 1929 à 1939 2 volumes (BAH 79, MRS 10, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Geuthner 1963). K. Van der Toorn, B. Becking and P. W. van der Horst (eds) Dictionary of deities and demons in the Bible (Leiden: Brill 1995). 2nd edition 1999. Documenta et Monumenta Orientis Antiqui G. del Olmo Lete and J. Sanmartín, A Dictionary of the Ugaritic Language in the Alphabetic Tradition (ET by W.G.E. Watson, Leiden: Brill, second edition 2004). Études préliminaires aux religions orientales dans l’Empire romain Forschungen zur Anthropologie und Religions-geschichte Forschungen zum Alten Testament Forum Theologicae Linguisticae Göttinger Miszellen L. Koehler and W. Baumgartner Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (rev. W. Baumgartner and J.J. Stamm. ET M.E.J. Richardson Leiden: Brill 1994–2000, 5 vols.). (Studies in the) History and Culture of the Ancient Near East Handbuch der Orientalistik

ABBREVIATIONS HS HSM HSS HUCA IEJ IR JAOS JBL JEOL JNES JNSL JRAS JS JSOTS JSSM KTU

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Horae Soderblomianae Harvard Semitic Monographs Harvard Semitic Studies Hebrew Union College Annual Israel Exploration Journal Iconography of Religions Journal of the American Oriental Society Journal of Biblical Literature Jaarbericht Ex Oriente Lux Journal of Near Eastern Studies Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society Journal des Savants Journal for the Study of the Old Testament Supplements Journal of Semitic Studies Monographs KTU 1 = M. Dietrich, O. Loretz and J. Sanmartín Die keilalphabetischen Texte aus Ugarit (AOAT 24/1, Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag; Kevelaer: Verlag Butzon and Bercker 1976). KTU 2 = The Cuneiform alphabetic texts from Ugarit, Ras Ibn Hani and other places (ALASP 8, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag 1995). KTU (Roman) used for text references. LBA Late Bronze Age LAPO Littératures anciennes du Proche-Orient MARI Mari: Annales des Recherches Interdisciplinaires MÄS Münchner Ägyptologische Studien MCAAS Memoirs of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences MIO Mitteilungen des Instituts für Orientforschungen MRS Mission de Ras Shamra MS Melammu Symposia NABU Nouvelles Assyriologiques Brèves et Utilitaires OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis OTL Old Testament Library OTS Oudtestamentische Studien PIBA Proceedings of the Irish Biblical Association POLO Proche-Orient et Littérature Ougaritique POS Pretoria Oriental Series PRU Palais royal d’Ugarit PRU 2. C. Virolleaud Textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques des archives est, ouest et du petit palais (MRS 7, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Klinksieck 1965).

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PRU 3. J. Nougayrol Textes accadiens et hourrites des archives est, ouest et centrales (MRS 6, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Klinksieck 1955). PRU 4. J. Nougayrol Textes accadiens des archives sud (MRS 9, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Klinksieck 1956). PRU 5. C. Virolleaud Textes en cunéiformes alphabétiques des archives sud, sud-ouest et centrales (MRS 11, Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, Klinksieck 1965). PRU 6. J. Nougayrol Textes en cunéiformes babyloniennes des archives du grand palais et du palais sud d’Ugarit (MRS 12, Paris:Imprimerie Nationale, Klinksieck 1970). RA Revue d’Assyriologie RB Revue Biblique RBL Review of Biblical Literature RdE Revue d’Egyptologie RES Revue des Etudes Sémitiques RHR Revue de l’Histoire des Religions RS Ras Shamra RSO Ras-Shamra—Ougarit SAA State Archives of Assyria SAAS State Archives of Assyria Studies SANTAG SANTAG Arbeiten und Untersuchungen zur Keilschriftkunde SBLRBS SBL Resources for Biblical Study SBLSS SBL Symposium Series SBLWAW SBL Writings from the Ancient World SHCANE Studies in the History and Culture of the Ancient Near East SEÅ Svensk Exegetisk Årsbok SEL Studi Epigrafici e Linguistici SJOT Scandinavian Journal of the Old Testament SMEA Studi Micenei ed Egeo Anatolici SMSR Studi e Materiali di Storia delle Religioni SO Studia Orientalia SPIB Scripta Pontifici Instituti Biblici SS Studi Semitici SSLL Studies in Semitic Languages and Linguistics SSR Studi Storico-Religiosi ST Studia Theologica SVT Supplements to Vetus Testamentum TMO Travaux de la Maison de l’Orient

ABBREVIATIONS UBL UCOP UF UT VT WA WO ZA ZAW ZNW ZRGG

Ugaritisch-biblische Literatur University of Cambridge Oriental Publications Ugarit-Forschungen C. H. Gordon, Ugaritic Textbook (AnOr 38, Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute 1969). Vetus Testamentum World Archaeology Die Welt des Orients Zeitschrift für Assyriologie Zeitschrift für die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft Zeitschrift für Religions- und Geistesgeschichte

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1 A NEW LOOK AT UGARITIC ŠDMT First published in JSS 37 (1992) 149–53. I have become increasingly dissatisfied with the inconclusive position obtaining with regard to the interpretation of the Ugaritic term šdmt, commonly treated as a cognate or Hebrew šdmh (plural šdmwt ), with the assumption that in all instances where this phoneme occurs the same etymon is involved. This may be the case, but must be shown, not assumed, to be so. The term appears twice in the Ugaritic corpus. In KTU 1.2 i 42 we read: šdmt bg[ ]. While the context in which this occurs is clear enough— Baal’s angry outburst against the messengers of Yam restrained forcibly by Anat and Attart—the line is strange enough in context to warn us against too facile a reconstruction. I am prepared to agree tentatively with de Moor’s proposal to complete bg[ ] as * bg[ pn(m)], which he proposes in translating the formula as “the terraces with the vin[es ]”,1 but am reluctant to fill in the adjacent gaps any further. The translation of šdmt by “terraces” or the like does not appear to me to be a happy choice, however, for reasons which will become clear if we consider the other Ugaritic occurrence and some of the Hebrew ones. KTU 1.23.9–11 contain the following tricolon: yzbrnm zbrm gpn yṣmdnn ṣmdm gpn yšql šdmth km gpn

This has the following sense: those who prune the vine pruned him, those who bind the vine bound him,

De Moor 1971, 125; id. 1987, 54. J.C.L. Gibson also has “terraces”—1978, 42, 158; and S. Segert 1986, 218, has “vineyard terraces”. Other translations are as follows: “fields”, Gordon 1977, 72; id. 1969, 488, §2588, also “vinevard(s)”, del Olmo Lete 1981, 175, 627, “fallow fields”, Aistleitner 1964, 50; cf. id. 1974, 505 §2587 (root šdm): “I am sorry”. Many translators take refuge in the damaged state of the text. 1

1

2

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE they caused his šdmt to fall like a vine.2

De Moor took this also to mean “terrace”, the final h having the value of h locale (“on to”).3 However, this then leaves the verb (Š form of ql ) without a direct object. If the verb has an object, as required, šdmt must be it, the h then having the value of a 3rd masculine singular possessive suffix. In this case, it cannot be a terrace, but must be something which can “fall like a vine”.4 Common sense leads us to search for the name of a plant or of part of a plant. There are several words or phrases pertaining to vine cultivation. The meaning of most of them is clear enough. Thus gpn (Hebrew gpn) denotes the whole plant, the vine. Utkl (Hebrew ʾškl ) means a bunch of grapes, the individual fruit being gnb (ʿnb). The product of the grape becomes trš (trš ) which matures into yn ( yyn). (The term ḫmr, pace de Moor,5 does not mean “new wine” or “foaming wine”.) There are two further terms in use, which are commonly taken to be quite independent, but which may in fact be related. The first of these is dm ʿṣm (cf. the expression dm ʿnbym in Deuteronomy 32:14 and Genesis 49:11) commonly translated “blood of grapes”, but perhaps to be understood less graphically as simply “juice of grapes”. The other term is the problematic šdmt (šdmh ). I wonder whether we should not see this as a formation on the root dm, meaning that part of the plant which produces (causes to grow?—a Š-stem formation?) the juice. Since both the individual grapes and their bunches have their own terminology, I propose that šdmt may denote the shoot (“bine”—the French word is “sarment”) from which the bunches grow. (The bine, also called dlt in Ugaritic—see KTU 1.23.25 on Gaster’s understanding—corresponding to *dlyt in Hebrew, is to be distinguished from the tendril by which the bine clings to any supporting structure: this is srq in Hebrew, e.g. in Isaiah 16:8: cf. srqh—read Translation modified in accordance with Wyatt 2002, 327. De Moor 1987, 120; Tsumura 1975, 408: “Mot’s Field”; Cutler and Macdonald 1982, 42: “fields of death” (cf. the Hebrew form below). 4 Cf. Gaster 1946, 51, 56 n. 16: “rotten grape”. At least Gaster recognized the strict equivalence suggested by the parallelism šdmt || gpn. Gaster’s interpretation in 1961, 421 is altogether too free to be useful. Cf. also Caquot et al., 1974, 570 n. j: “vineyard”; so also Driver 1956, 121. 5 De Moor 1971, 75. See the discussion in Lloyd 1990. 2 3

A NEW LOOK AT UGARITIC ŠDMT

3

as masculine singular with suffix?—in Genesis 49:11.) If we now apply this to the interpretation of the two occurrences of the word šdmt in Ugaritic, we have in KTU 1.2 i 43 “the shoots (bines) of the vine(s)”, and in 1.23.10–11 “they caused his shoot(s) (bine[s]) to fall like a vine”. This latter phrase I take to be an allusion to the crawling nature of a vine, which will simply flop over the ground if its lengthy shoots are not controlled with a trellis. The pruners, in cutting off various parts of the plant which are not required, naturally allow these cuttings to fall to the ground. We may consider the Hebrew form šdmh (plural šdmt ), which has to be treated independently, since it may denote exactly the same thing, may have undergone semantic development, and may even cover more than one lexeme, by way of a control on the Ugaritic data. It occurs in clearly viticultural contexts in the following passages: Deuteronomy 32:32 :

ky mgpn sdm gpnm wmšdmt ʿmrh ʿnbmw ʿnby-rwš ʾšklt mrrt lmw

For from the vine of Sodom is their vine, and from the šdmt of Gomorrah: their grapes are grapes of poison, their clusters are made venomous, forsooth.

Isaiah 16:8:

ky šdmwt hšbwn ʾmll gpn šbmh bʿly gwym himw srwqyh For the šdmt of Heshbon is blighted (and) the vine of Sibmah: the rulers of the nations have smashed its tendrils.

To translate šdmt (šdmwt ) in either of these passages as “field” or “terrace” is to lose the semantic link between the parallel terms. In the Isaiah passage it is to be noted that the pointing suggests a feminine singular in -ôt, and this is confirmed both by the singular form gpn following and by the suffix of srwqyh. Furthermore, since the tendrils are also a part of the plant (the Ugaritic equivalent has not thus far been encountered), and belong equally to the šdmt and the gpn, the former cannot in this context be other than part of the plant. Habakkuk 3:17 is a more complex passage in terms of its contextual guidance: ky-tʾnh lʾ-tprḥ

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE wʾyn ybwl bgpnym kḥš mʿsh-zyt wšdmwt lʾ-ʿsh ʾkl gzr mmklh ṣʾn wʾyn bqr brptym For the fig tree will not bear fruit, and there will be no produce on the vines; the growth of the olive will fail, and the šdmwt will not yield food. The sheep will be cut off (internal passive) from the fold, and there will be no cattle in the stalls.

It is not immediately obvious that the same value must be given to šdmh here, since a variety of sources of fruit are mentioned. But perhaps the passage serves to indicate that šdmh is not specific to the vine, but is in fact a more general term for the new growth on any fruit-bearing plant, from which the fruit will blossom and grow. Alternatively we should see an abcb arrangement in the first four lines quoted above, so that within the complex unit gpnm and šdmwt are in synonymous parallelism as in the examples above. The use of the term in Isaiah 37:27 (= 2 Kings 19:26) is at first glance problematic, in that there is in the version in 2 Kings an alternative reading šdph (“a blighted thing”) which may be regarded as satisfactory. But the Isaianic version is equally acceptable, and may be construed entirely in accordance with our findings: hyw ʿsb sdh wyrq dšʾ ḥṣyr ggwt wšdmh lpny qmh They are grass of the open country, and green herbage, plants (growing on) roofs, and new shoots before they have grown tall.

Here the wider range of meaning for šdmh suggested as a possible meaning in Habakkuk 3:17 seems to apply. The final instances of šdmwt in the Hebrew Bible are two references to a feature in the Kidron Valley, immediately outside the city wall of Jerusalem to the east. These occur at 2 Kings 23:4 and Jerermiah 31:40. The former passage has the expression bšdmwt qdrwn, where the pointing also suggests a singular, but LXX reads ™n

A NEW LOOK AT UGARITIC ŠDMT

5

tJ ™mpeurismJ, clearly interpreting the Hebrew to mean a burning-ground.

In Jeremiah 31:39 the text reads wkl-hšrmwt ʿd-nḥl qdrwn, with the Qere šdmwt. The pointing indicates a plural. For these two passages alone, in my view, can a case be made for taking the term to mean “Fields of Mot”6 and having some connection with the cult of the god of death evidently practised in the area down into Hellenistic times.7 And even then, there is a difficulty in simply taking the element šd(h ) as a Hebrew version of Ugaritic šd, since the sibilant changes in Hebrew (sdh ).8 This remains a problem, but one which has no bearing on, and does not weaken my argument with regard to, all the other Ugaritic or Hebrew uses of the word.

As commonly understood in the biblical context, and argued in detail in Lehmann 1983. Cf. also Croatto and Soggin 1962. 7 See J.B. Curtis 1937; Lewis 1989, 145–58; Heider 1985; Day 1989. 8 Day 1989, 40–41. 6

2 THE TITLES OF THE UGARITIC STORM-GOD First published in UF 24 (1992) 403–24. In a thriving cultic and mythological context, it comes as no surprise to find deities given a number of cult titles, reflecting their status, antecedents and theology. More often than not the background to such titles will remain fairly opaque, unless the context is particularly well documented. For all the wealth of information that has been gleaned from the Ugaritic textual and iconographic remains, we cannot claim to know much about the cult or theology of the storm-god. Perhaps the latter aspect has been more thoroughly analysed than the former, which can hardly be said to have had much light thrown on it from our primary sources, the Baal myths of KTU 1.1–6 and the fragments of KTU 1.7–11 and 1.13. While de Moor and others who have espoused the same “seasonal” interpretation of the mythology have indeed offered some very penetrating insights into theological matters, it must be admitted that the comprehensive hermeneutical key they employ has jammed very tightly in the lock, proved nothing concerning the theory,1 and offers no convincing insights into the cult. Given the limited bulk of the Ugaritic texts, and the restricted scope of most of the divine titles employed, the considerable range applied to Baal is remarkable (more than for El, for instance, as well as for all the other deities), and is an indication of the relative importance of the god, which is generally recognized on any interpretation of the texts. Indeed, the only point of contention here is perhaps the relative importance of Baal and El, with scholars divided on whether El is in reality a deus otiosus, deposed and displaced as chief deity in the pantheon by Baal, as argued by M.H. Pope and a small number of others,2 or is not rather the supreme deity, controlFor the most developed forms of the theory, see Gaster 1961 and de Moor 1971, and more recently 1987. For a succinct demolition of de Moor’s argument see Grabbe 1976. See also Smith 1986; Wyatt 1996, 144–55. 2 Pope 1955; Oldenburg 1969. See the reaction of L’Heureux 1979. 1

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ling the macrocosmic universe, with Baal in control of a subordinate sphere, as argued by others.3 I think it fair to say that the honours are at present with the latter scholars, though Pope restated his position before his death.4 Perhaps we may say that the Baal mythology is bound to present Baal himself in the primary role simply in terms of his literary place in the poems, which deal with his destiny, and should not necessarily be taken as a reflection of his overall theological status. That needs to be assessed in conjunction with the rest of the material, both literary, cultic and iconographical. If we take it that the pantheon lists have some broad hierarchical significance, then three of them place El before Baal (KTU 1.47, 1.118, RS 20.24), a fact given cultic application in KTU 1.148 (though this depends in part on restoration), and not only interpose Dagan, but also precede even El by the ancestral god(s) ilib ! 5 Furthermore, what appear to be lists in KTU 1.102 and KTU 1.123 show that priorities in such matters were by no means fixed. The fact remains that the titles accorded to Baal in Ugarit reflect his importance as well as something of his theology. The following list is probably more or less accepted among scholars, though perhaps one or two may be regarded as still open to question. In considering them briefly, I propose to add a further one which has hitherto not been recognized. Figures following the titles indicate frequency, estimated from the data in Whitaker.6 1 aliy(n) While this certainly appears in formulae §§2 and 3, there may be two unrecognized instances in which it appears independently. The first of these is KTU 1.4 iv 43–4, where the final n of the supposed aliy[n] is missing, and is usually restored along with a word-divider (after KTU 1.3 v 32–3). This is towards the end for the line (bʿl appears afterwards, on the edge) and the tablet surface is poor, though without the certainty of lost signs. There is the possibility that the n is not to be restored, in which case we have a title See for instance Petersen and Woodward 1977; Parker 1977; Wyatt 1989. See Pope 1987. 5 On the significance of ilib see most recently Lewis 1989, 56–59. 6 Whitaker 1972. See also Cunchillos and Vita 1995. 3 4

THE TITLES OF THE UGARITIC STORM-GOD

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independent of §2, though I would not press this.7 If we restore the n, then it is an independent use of the first element of §3. The passage is normally read as a bicolon, with three words in each colon: mlkn aliy[n] bʿl tpṭn win d ʿlnh

Our king is Valiant Baal, our ruler, and there is none above him!

I suggest that it may instead be a tricolon, which produces a more elegant stichometry than the above: mlkn aliy[n] bʿl tpṭn win dʿlnh

Our king is Valiant, Baal is our ruler, and there is none above him!

This alternative stichometry is to be entertained even if the new title is not accepted, though it is anomalous in dividing the two parts of the binomial aliyn bʿl between the cola. On the usual bicolonic interpretation, we have two titles of Baal in the first colon—one a binomial—balancing, or rather failing to balance, the single title of the second colon. On my proposal, two titles balance two titles, in cola without verbs, and also have a chiastic structure, the first and fourth (both titles of office carrying a possessive suffix) framing the divided binomial; the pseudo-verbal third colon then summarizes the theological implications of this fourfold naming of Baal: he is supreme. This use of four titles appears elsewhere with reference to Baal (cf. KTU 1.2 i 18–19, 34, 1.5 vi 23–24, 1.6 i 6–7, all with four different titles, and 1.10 iii 32–36, 1.12 i 38–41, involving three titles, discussed below). The same stichometry would also hold true for the second instance, 1.3 v 32–33, which is substantially identical with our present passage (only having the n and lacking the w). It could be argued that this other passage has the n because of scribal carelessness, expecting the much commoner formula aliyn bʿl, just as readily as simply solving the present problem with the provision of the n. But since the independent form is hypothetical, and is part of the following two, we need say no more of it here. If it be rejected, we still have aliyn appearing independently in the poetic division of the binomial, on my understanding of the stichometry. If it be argued that Gordon read aliy b ʿl at KTU 1.5 v 17, Gordon 1969, §1342, though in the text section he read it as aliyn(!)bʿl. A Herdner read aliy bʿl, 1963 i 36 n. 2, but corrected it to aliyn bʿl in the text. KTU 1, 2 simply read it with the n . A textual error seems more probable here than a variant.

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my stichometry presupposes an anomalous shift to a staccato rhythm, it may be countered that this is quite possibly a snatch of a hymn quoted from the cult. 2 aliy qrdm This title, containing the above element without the post-formative n of §3, occurs seven times. There has been some debate concerning the term qrdm, which in this context is generally agreed to be a plural form related to Akkadian qarradu or quradu, meaning “hero” or “warrior”.8 The title is to be translated as “Mightiest (most valiant) of Heroes”, or similarly. Clearly this is an honorific alluding to Baal’s mythological role in overcoming Yam and Mot, the chaotic powers who would irrupt into the world and destroy its stability. Even an acceptance of the etymology cited need not involve a rejection of associations with the term qrdm, “axe”, since this may well be an intentional overtone. As in many ancient Near Eastern cosmologies, the theme of conflict is dominant, which is probably due as much to political ideologies—the perpetual warfare of rival kings—as to cosmological considerations, though the two themes are inseparable.9 3 aliyn b‛l 10 This title occurs sixty-eight times (seventy if §1 be rejected). It is the commonest title of the weather-god after the simple bʿl. Despite early doubts as to the identity of Aliyan Baal and Baal, Kapelrud demonstrated their identity. 11 The first element is usually explained as elative from √lʾy “be

I reexamined this term and the problem of qrdm = “axe”, and proposed a further occurrence of the latter, in Wyatt 1990c. 9 See in particular Wyatt 1990c, and also 1998 = 2005b, 151–89, and literature cited. 10 Kapelrud 1952, 47–50; van Zijl 1972, 341–45; Cooper 1981, 428–31. 11 Virolleaud 1931; id., 1934; Dussaud 1932; id., 1935; Kapelrud 1952, 47–50; van Zijl 1972, 342. The sole reference to aliyn bn bʿl in KTU 1.5 ii 17 is to be explained most satisfactorily as a scribal error, as against the arguments of Eissfeldt 1951, 21 n. 5; Hvidberg 1962, 60; and de Langhe 1945, 34 n. 90. J. Gray’s use of it, 1965, 164, to argue that there was an assimilation of a vegetation deity Baal with the weather god Hadad, is unnecessary. 8

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strong” 12 (cf. §16 below). As with aliy qrdm, the title alludes to Baal’s characteristically violent nature and victory in conflict. It is to be noted that this idea of Baal as the “cosmic policeman”, perhaps creating 13 and certainly maintaining the cosmos against hostile disruptive powers, far outweighs in literary significance his role as storm-god. That is not to be played down, but we are warned against unifunctional views of the gods. We are constitutionally in constant danger of underestimating the complexity and subtlety of polytheistic thought!14 4 il hd This occurs seven times. On hd see §12 below. The identification of hd with Baal is clear from the parallelism of KTU 1.4 vii 35–36, 1.5 i 22–23, ii 22 (restored), iv 6–7, 1.12 i 40–1 and 1.101.1–2. The purpose of the title appears to be prosodic rather than conveying any distinctive theological point. 5 bn il In KTU 1.17 vi 28–29 the following bicolon occurs: ašsprk ʿm bʿl šnt ʿm bn il tspr yrḫm

The form bn may conceivably be construct plural or singular. The parallelism requires the latter sense,15 in spite of claims to the contrary.16 Accordingly, it is to be translated in this way: I shall make you count with Baal the years; with the son of El will you count the months.

Since on purely linguistic grounds plural or singular translations are possible, the issue must be resolved on other grounds. I see the parallelism See del Olmo Lete 1981, 513. Note however the caution of van Zijl 1972, 343, with discussion of other proposals. 13 There has been a lively debate on the issue of whether, or in what sense, Baal is a creatordeity. Cf. Fisher 1965; Wakeman 1973; Clifford 1984; Day 1985; Wyatt, 1985c; Kloos 1986. 14 See now chapter 4. 15 So Driver 1956, 55; de Moor 1987, 238 (he cross-referred to 15, n. 75, where he insisted that Baal is El’s son-in-law—thus implicitly retaining his filial relation with Dagan—see bn dgn ); Aitken 1990, 45. Del Olmo Lete 1981, 377, hedged his bets, allowing either translation. 16 See for instance Caquot 1974, 432; Gibson 1978, 109 (though with n. 4 he allowed the singular as a possibility). 12

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as sufficient reason, but clearly those taking the plural line do not accept the force of this. The real issue may be the matter of parentage of Baal, as recognized by Driver.17 This will be dealt with more fully in §6, but we may here note that my provisional translation18 is consonant with KTU 1.4 iv 47–48, which employs the following formula and appears to allude to Baal: [an] y lyṣḥ tr il abh il mlk dyknnh

In spite of the lack of a dative l before il—and before atr in the following line in this and other occurrences of the plea formula, we should translate this, as is generally agreed, in this fashion: [Groan]ing he cries to Bull El his father, to [E]l the king who begot 19 him.

In this one passage it is certain that it is Baal who is crying out. The same may be true in KTU 1.4 i 4–5, though the language is formulaic,20 and may apply here rather to Kothar, who was summoned in 1.3 vi 1–25. It depends on what we are to make of forty missing lines in between. I do not think that we are to construe the bicolon as meaning that El cries out, though this is grammatically possible.21 Such an interpretation would clash with the contextual point that El is being petitioned. But even were such an Driver 1956, 6 n. 3. Cf. Wyatt 2002, 273: I shall make you number (your) years with Baal: with the son of El you shall number months. 19 The parallel with ab requires the sense of “begetting” for kwn here, and not “establishing”. (Cf. HALOT ii 465, of Hebrew kwn, polel form, sense d),“to create”, following Aistleitner and Gordon, recognized in Job 31:15, where the overtone “procreate” is implicit: h al ōʾ-babbeṭen ʿōśēnî ʿāśā hû Did not he who made me in the womb make him, way ekunennû bāreḥem ʾeḥād and did (not) one create us ( both)? * (*or possibly “did he [not] create us in one womb?”—sc. that of Mother Earth: cf. Job 1:21, 10:9, 10:18–19, 32:14–15; Genesis 2:7 and Wyatt 2005a, 254. The sense is of paternity.) 20 The formula refers to Anat in KTU 1.1 ii 18–19, 1.3 v 10, 35–36, to Kothar in 1.1 iii 5f., as well as perhaps 1.4 i 4–5, and to Shapsh in 1.6 iv l0–11. But its conventional nature can hardly be used to deny El’s paternity of Baal. 21 So for example Gordon 1977, 83. 17 18

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interpretation conceded, the fact would remain that the language treats El as Baal’s father. The only objection to this would be the supposition, expressed by many, that the title bn dgn (§6) means that Baal is not among the sons of El. Before we turn to this issue, there is a further point to make about the expression bn il. Let us consider the following formulations in KTU 1.40 (with reconstructions, occurring in lines 7–8, 16–17, 25, 33–34 and 42–43): ab bn il... dr bn il... mpḫrt bn il .

I am not concerned here with the theological niceties of these expressions,22 but with the significance of the phrase bn il. While the expressions mean literally “Father of the sons of El” (sc. a title of El), “family of the sons of El” and “assembly of the sons of El” respectively, the first is clearly tautologous in Ugaritic just as in English, and is more appropriately translated as “Father of the gods”. The other two are similarly to be translated respectively as “the family of the gods” and “the assembly of the gods”. While the familial image is present, it has become something of a dead metaphor. Perhaps we too often read ancient texts au pied de la lettre, without acknowledging the idiomatic ordinariness of some expressions. I am prepared to accept its literal meaning, that is, as stating that Baal is El’s son, in a mythological passage like KTU 1.17 vi 28–29—and even here we are up against problems of genre as soon as we incautiously use such language23— but would not press it, and am happy to accept a “reduced” sense. This is all the more interesting a prospect for the use of the phrase with regard to kings, such as Keret in KTU 1.16 i 20, ii 48. While on the level of poetic construction we have to balance the terms bn and špḥ, bn il nevertheless does constitute a unity, as is clear from the formulae cited, and just means “god”. Ergo, the possibility that Keret is or is not a god is at issue.24 See Hermann 1960; id., 1982. Cf. the cautions of Parker 1979–80, with regard to classifying the Ugaritic literary texts. (For my hesitation in applying genre categories at all to myth, see Wyatt 2001a = 2005a, 151–88, id. Forthcoming a chapter 7 (also forthcoming in SJOT ). 24 This is of some importance in that when the image of the king as the deity’s son occurs in the biblical tradition, it is all too often dismissed as purely metaphorical. That is, the idea that it may actually be claiming a kind of divinity for the king is not addressed. ( We have become locked in ontological categories of our own which we import into ancient texts). Similarly, the expression benê ʾēlîm occurring in Psalms 29:1 and 89:7 (EVV 6) or benê ʾ elōhîm occurring in Genesis 6:1, 2, Job 2:1 and 38:7, does not mean “angels”—a typical gloss put on it by a 22 23

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In terms of the combination of words to develop more complex ideas, we may say that the lexeme bn is used in relation to another, probably by way of using the idea of sonship as a metaphor of subordination to the other, to express a generic formula, “a member of class x”, where x is the class of which the individual bn x is a member.25 Thus a bn il is a god, just as a ben hann ebiʾîm (lit. “a son of the prophets”, or if n ebiʾîm be taken as an old genitive singular, a “son of a/the prophet”) means simply “member of the genus ‘prophet’”. We may here speak of the “functional” use of bn, in distinction from its familial use. In poetry, of course, which is not bound by the logical constraints of prose—prose also often seems singularly free— the mind may toy with other possibilities, and revive the metaphor, constructing whole families, whole pantheons, out of functional groups. Mythology merely gives the richest scope. 6 bn dgn26 I have considered this title in a previous discussion.27 My conclusion then, which I have seen no reason to change, was that this is not a statement of filiation, but uses bn in the functional sense just discussed, the title having the sense “Rainy One”, or more prosaically, “member of the category ‘rain(y)’”. There is reason to suppose that Baal and Dagan are actually divergent forms of the common Semitic storm-god. If its usual understanding, “son of Dagan”, be retained, we have not only a doublet of another supposed filiation term, ḥtk dgn, for which another explanation is also available and preferable—see §14 below—but a contradiction of both bn il and its correlative tr il abh, discussed at §5 above. If it be objected that Baal and Dagan appear as distinct deities in the pantheon lists KTU 1.47, 1.118 and RS 20.24, then it may be countered that Baal himself appears under a number of apparently distinct hypostases (§7). But Baal and Dagan appear indeed to have become distinct in Ugarit, just as we also discern the process later insistence on a pan-biblical monotheism—but “gods”, ʾēlîm is to be construed not as plural, even of majesty, but as an archaic genitive singular (with the m perhaps as intensive), the precise Hebrew equivalent of Ugaritic bn il . 25 Cf. Cooper 1981, 432 (extended discussion and bibliography 431–41). 26 Kapelrud 1952, 52–56; van Ziji 1972, 337–39. 27 Wyatt 1980. (See however my policy in Wyatt 2002, 59 n. 106.)

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of mergence of Anat with Athtart. All our texts are merely synchronic cross-sectional slices through Ugarit’s religious history, and appear, under their glass cover-slips, to have frozen what in reality was an unceasing process of modifications, amalgamations and differentiations. But nowhere do we have any evidence which independently corroborates Baal’s alleged sonship of Dagan.28 On the other hand, there are numerous expressions of the role of El (ab) and Athirat (qnyt ilm) in the extended metaphor of the pantheon as their children (šbʿm bn atrt, dr bn il ). 7

bʿl 29

By far the commonest designation of the storm-god, this title means “master”, “owner”, “husband” or “lord”. Its application to him is to be inferred from the context, with either the theme of a narrative, as in the Baal cycle, or the use of other epithets in parallel, such as bʿl ||hd, confirming the supposition that this is indeed the deity concerned. But it must not be assumed that it always has this reference. There is certainly no evidence at all from the numerous biblical passages in which the Canaanite cult of Baal is pilloried that it is always a question of the weather-god. The issue has gone by default. But within the restricted area of Ugarit and its dependent territory, there is more likelihood of the title, where not otherwise specified, being applied to the same god, and given the weather-god’s prestige in Ugarit, it is probable that bʿl normally, if not always, denotes him. There is an interesting question which arises from the various pantheon lists. They all list seven Baals, the first distinguished by the genitive ṣpn as bʿl ṣpn, in the Akkadian version (RS 20.24.5) in the extended form dAdad bel ḫuršan ḫazi. There is a partial explanation of this if we consider the provenance of Baal,30 but for the present we may note simply the idea of a single god having multiple forms, perhaps as a figure for his wideranging activities and epiphanies. Since the Akkadian text enumerates them, after the first, as dAdad II–VII, it is clear that they are different forms of the Fontenrose cut the Gordian knot of the problem by identifying Dagan and El: 1957, 277– 79. 29 Kapelrud 1952, 43–47; Cooper 1981, 347–61. 30 See Wyatt 1987a and 1988a for arguments concerning an Indo-European contribution to the person of Baal. There is ample evidence of Indo-European presence in the Near East in the Late Bronze Age, not least in Ugarit, which may even allude to Baal’s Vedic counterpart Indra in the personal name bn idr . 28

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same god, and not merely a group of similar gods. Since bʿl, like bn, may have a functional sense in Ugaritic, as in Hebrew, there always remains the possibility that any individual form “bʿl x” may be quite independent of the multiple manifestations of the storm-god. In most, if not all, such cases, we simply cannot be sure. On the other hand, if Egypt may be used for comparison, there are many “Horus gods”, that is gods with the element ḥr as part of the name, such as the ram-headed god Heryshef ( ḥry-š.f : “the One over his Lake”), whose only real connection with Horus the falcon god is the word-play of ḥr( y) “on” with ḥr(w) “exalted”. Mere phonetic fancy may often lead to profound theological consequences (as with Exodus 3:13). 8

bʿl ugrt

The hesitation expressed in §7 above relates to titles such as this, occurring in KTU 1.41.[42] and 1.46.[16*] (restored), 1.65.10, 1.105.19*, 1.109.1*, 16, 35–36, 1.119.3, 12, and 21–22, where it is most likely that the storm-god is meant. In the asterisked cases the wording is bt bʿl ugrt, which may alternatively be translated as “the temple of Baal (in) Ugarit”, while in 1.109.16 bʿl ugrt is followed immediately by bʿl ḫlb, “Baal of Aleppo”, showing that we are dealing with a city god, who may or may not be the storm-god, though in the case of Ugarit he probably was, given that the latter had a temple there. It appears that in West Semitic usage, bʿl functions rather like dIštar in Akkadian, which may denote goddesses in general, as well as Ishtar herself, and even in her case has many distinct hypostases, such as Ishtar of Niniveh and Ishtar of Arbela. In KTU 1.47 and parallel texts we have seen a number of Baals, who appear to be distinct forms of the god, perhaps for liturgical purposes (cf. KTU 1.65.10). 9

bʿl ṣpn 31

Baal is in this title declared to be the lord or master of the sacred mountain, ṣpn, lying some miles to the north of the city.32 We should note that because Kapelrud 1952, 57–58; van Ziji 1972, 332–36. Van Zijl listed the following as variants, 1972, 332. il ṣpn , occurring in KTU 1.3 iii 29 and iv 19, must be understood in the broader context of the tricolon of 29–30: btk ǵry il ṣpn in the midst of my divine mountain, Saphon,

31 32

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of the significance of the mountain in Ugaritic religious thought—it is apparently deified in its own right in KTU 1.47.15 (restored) = 1.118.14 = RS 20.24.15—we have in this title a statement of Baal’s paramountcy in the region. This is all the more interesting in view of the fact that El is in many respects the chief deity in Ugaritic thought. But perhaps the title should be interpreted not in the sense of implying a contradiction of this proposition, but rather as declaring Baal’s primacy under the overall control of El. It also makes a territorial statement about Baal, implying that he is the foremost of the il ṣpn (KTU 1.47.1, an expression occurring only in this list, and meaning “the gods of Saphon” 33 . While the mountain undoubtedly features within the real geography inhabited by the people of Ugarit, this theological pragmatism cannot be divorced from the over-arching cosmology in which the mountain is so important. We should note that KTU 1.65.10 distinguishes bʿl ṣpn from bʿl ugrt, though if our analysis so far is correct, the two deities were recognized as both aspects of Baal the weather god. 10 gmr hd This apparent title of Baal appears in one instance, in the damaged passage KTU 1.2 i 46. De Moor translates it as “Haddu the champion”,34 Dahood as “Avenger”.35 bqdš bǵr nḥlty bnʿm bgbʿ tliyt

in the sanctuary, the rock of my inheritance, in the delightful place, the hill of victory.

(On reflection, I think that this analysis of the prosody is preferable to that of Wyatt 2002, 78.) bʿl ṣrrt ṣpn , occurring in KTU 1.6 vi 12–13, should be construed in accordance with 1.6 i 16, 57, 62 (bṣrrt ṣpn , without the bʿl ) with 1.4 v 55 (btk ṣrrt ṣpn ) and 1.3 i 21 ( ʿl bʿl bṣrrt ṣpn); these other contexts show that we are dealing with a place where Baal dwells, but not with a title of the god. The same is true for bʿl mrym ṣpn , occurring in KTU 1.3 iv 1, 37–38, 1.4 v 23 and 1.5 i 10–11, where prepositions ʿm , “to”, or b , “from”, show that we are dealing with a place to or from which he performs an action. In none of the three cases is a divine title involved, ṣpn exists independently as a deity in 1.47.15 (restored) = 1.118.14 = RS 20.24.15 ḫuršan ḫazi . See further at §22. 33 On the vocalization of ṣpn and the philological issues surrounding it, see Wyatt 1995a = 2005a, 102–24. Cf. DUL ii 788, ṣapunu . 34 De Moor 1987, 34; cf. id., 1971, 125, 133: “Haddu the Accomplisher”. 35 Dahood 1965–70, ii 49, 51. So also Del Olmo Lete 1981, 173; Gibson 1978, 43. Cf. Gordon 1969, §592; Cooper 1981, 444–45; van Zijl 1972, 346–47.

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11 dmrn This word occurs once or twice: in KTU 1.92.30 it may appear, if the initial d is to be restored, as by de Moor,36 though the context remains too damaged for any certain interpretation; and once in the Baal cycle, in KTU 1.4 vii 39, where the reading is secure, but interpretation has been less so, and it has only with some reluctance been accepted as a title of Baal.37 The whole section is difficult, but for the moment we are concerned simply with the bicolon in 38–39: ib hd 38 m tḫš lm tḫš ntq dmrn

Enemies of Hadd, why do you fear, why do you fear the weapons of dmrn?

The clue to the reference of the term dmrn has been recognized as the divine name Demarous (Δημαρους) occurring in Eusebius’ Praeparatio Evangelica 1.10 (§§15, 19, 21 [37a, 38a, c]).39 In the first of these passages we read that a concubine of Ouranos (Epigeios), who is already pregnant, is given to Dagon (“ός έστι σιτων”) and subsequently bears Demarous. In the second Demarous is said to be the father of Melkathros (sc. Melqart) who is also called Herakles, and is said, in alliance with Ouranos, to have fought Pontos (sc. Yam). In the third a triad of deities, Astarte (sc. Athtart), Zeus Demarous and “Adodos king of (the) gods” (sc. Hadad) are said to rule the country (sc. Phoenicia) with the consent of Kronos.40 Herrmann 1969, 9, 14; he took it to be a title of Baal. De Moor 1985, 228, translated it as “place of perdition”. KTU did not attempt to fill the lacuna. KTU2, 110 confidently read the whole phrase, and in Wyatt 2002, 373 I translated “the Mighty One would possess her (Athtart’s) beauty”. 37 See discussion in Pope 1955, 47 n. 95; Dahood 1965, 483; Astour 1967, 40, 387; Oldenburg 1969, 59 n. 1; de Moor 1971, 166–67; Margalit 1980, 65; Gibson 1978, 65 n. 10; del Olmo Lete 1981, 537. Among these scholars de Moor and Margalit resist the consensus. 38 Omit the t of the text (CTA, KTU) with de Moor 1971, 166, or read it as hdm with Margalit 1980, 63. Driver 1956, 100, interpreted the t as deictic with vocative force, or as an error for d (so also del Olmo Lete 1981, 209), while Gibson 1978, 65, just ignored it. 39 The linking of Demarous with Baal-Hadad was already made by Gruppe, 1887, 360, and linked with the dmrn of KTU 1.14 vii 39 by Cassuto 1949, 65–67; both cited with approval by Pope 1955, 47 n. 95. 40 Gifford 1903, i 41–43. 36

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It is difficult to match the confusing genealogies of Eusebius’ account, based on the account Philo of Byblos had in turn given of Sanchuniaton’s work,41 as it appears to be an adaptation of the Ugaritic and other early Canaanite traditions through a Hesiodic filter. But for present purposes it is clear from the first reference that the genealogy of Demarous appears to make Dagon (sc. the ancient Dagan) his step-father, which on Demarous’ identification with Baal appears to take up a literal, familial understanding of bn dgn, while also allowing for El’s paternity. The reference to Melqart in the second is impossible to square with Albright’s proposal that he is a form of Mot,42 but the allusion to an alliance of Ouranos and Demarous against Pontos, on the supposition that Ouranos and Kronos are differentiated forms in this tradition of El, makes excellent sense of the view I have taken of an ancient combat between El and Yam. 43 The third reference compares directly with nothing we know from Ugarit, but can reasonably and legitimately be harmonized with it by recognizing in Astarte the late form (commonly Atargatis) who is a fusion of Athtart and Anat, a syncrasia already in process in the Ugaritic texts, and in Demarous and Adodos two hypostases of the same deity, viz. dmrn and hd as epithets of Baal, a further example of the sort of differentiation I suppose to have occurred between Dagan and Baal, the three making a triad.44 The association of Demarous with Pontos confirms this identification. While it is clear that the evidence of late writers such as Eusebius must be used with great caution in elucidating Ugaritic problems, the undoubted similarities between the late Demarous and the early Baal make it fairly certain that dmrn is a title of Baal. There remains the question of the meaning of dmrn. A range of options have been explored. Aistleitner took it to be a title of Baal, related to Arabic damara = “annihilate”.45 Driver considered the link with Demarous a Cf. Løkkegaard 1954; Barr 1974–75; Baumgarten 1981. Albright 1957, 307. 43 Wyatt 1987a, 189–90. See Exodus 15:2b, where ʾēl(î ) and ʾ el ōhê ʾābî (read originally ʾēl ʾābî: see Wyatt 1978), show that El, here identified with Yahweh, is the combatant of Yam. The same is true of Psalm 106:21. 44 Oldenburg’s translation of Ζευς Δημαρους και Αδωδος βασιλευς by “Zeus Demarous, even Adodos, the King of the Gods”, (1969, 59—contrast the translation he offered on p. 43!) while correct in its results, seems to me unwarranted, and disguises the fact that Eusebius is specifically referring to a triad, including the preceding Astarte, even if he is expanding a dyad. 45 Aistleitner 1974, §762. 41 42

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possibility, but translated it as “our onset” in his text, relating it to Arabic damara, “intruded”, “broke in”, dammara, “destroyed”. 46 De Moor understood it to be a name for the netherworld, cognate with Arabic damara = “perish” and damar = “perdition”.47 Margalit cited two possibilities, Arabic damara, “perish” and d + mr(n) (< mara < √mwr “move from side to side”): “he that side winds” (introducing a gratuitous serpentine motif ).48 He took dmrn to refer to Mot, who is not a serpent. Gibson took it to be Baal, but offered no etymology.49 Van Zijl translated it as “the strength”, construing it as relative d+ mr, meaning “to strengthen”, but rejected Aistleitner’s connection of it with Demarous.50 Del Olmo Lete, taking it to be a title of Baal, relating to Demarous, and meaning “el Potente”, nevertheless ignored van Zijl’s etymology, preferring Arabic dammara. 51 Caquot et al. accepted the equivalence with Demarous, but explained the Ugaritic title with reference to √dmr (cf. Akkadian and Hebrew zimri, Arabic dimr) meaning “brave”, “hero”.52 The weakness in this seems to lie in the distinction between d and d, and the likelihood that on their etymology we should expect the Greek form to be *Zemarous. Van Zijl’s explanation appears the most likely in my view, and is to be compared to such forms as zeh sinai ( Judges 5:5, Psalm 68:9 [EVV 8]), or El’s title dpid. However, as is common in the choice of cult titles, there may well have been overtones of various word-associations, conscious or otherwise.

Driver 1956, 101, 154 n. 24. De Moor 1971, 167. 48 Margalit 1980, 65. He also compared šmrr in KTU 1.100.4 (Gordon 1969, §1516: < mrr , “venomous”: “a kind of serpent”). DUL ii 830: “poisoning”, “poison”. 49 Gibson 1978, 65, 145. 50 Van Zijl 1972, 151. For this sense of mr(r) see Gordon 1969, §1556. For general treatments of the meanings of mr (r ) see also Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1973, 119–122; Pardee 1978. 51 Del Olmo Lete 1981, 537. 52 Caquot et al . 1974, 217. 46 47

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12 hd , hdd 53 With or without il, this title appears twenty-two times as hd, and twice as hdd. These appear to be variants of one another, though the former may represent a West Semitic form *had(du)54, the latter to be vocalized hadad(u), and representing the Akkadian form adad (sc. Adad). It also appears three times in the form add, presumably a straight transcription of the Akkadian form, in KTU 1.65.9 (il add )55 and KTU 1.70.5, 17.56 All these forms are perhaps best explained as an onomatopoeic formation imitating the sound of thunder.57 The use of this title, in whatever form, may well be a deliberate poetic device to evoke the wider associations of Adad as an international deity, but we need not go so far as Kapelrud in supposing that two distinct gods are being identified in such usage. We are speaking of different cult titles of the same deity. While the text is too damaged for a coherent translation, we have in one fragment the juxtaposition of hdd ( pn hdd: “the face of Had[ad]”?58), ṣ ǵ r hd (“the youth Hadad”, “the young Hadad”59) and zbl bʿl ǵlm (“Prince Baal the young god”60) (KTU 1.9.13, 18, 17, respectively).

Kapelrud 1952, 50–52; van Zijl 1972, 346–51. Corresponding to Addu in the Amarna and some Mari letters. 55 See Xella 1981, 213–14. This form is perhaps a mechanical transcription of dAdad . Cf. Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1975, 524. 56 So Kapelrud 1952, 50. 57 Cf. Arabic hadda , “to thunder”, “crash”, “make a big noise . . . ” ( Pope 1965, 254; van Zijl 1972, 350). 58 ( In Wyatt 2002, 153, I translated this as “... before Hadd...”.) 59 Van Zijl 1972, 347. ( But see now Wyatt 2002, 154 and n. 11. My revised translation is “a youngster of Hadd”, that is, another person independent of the storm-god himself.) 60 The term ǵlm needs further analysis. It is always used, with divine reference, of attendants on the chief deities. With human reference it is used of kings, heirs to the throne, and in the feminine (ǵlmt ) of a figure performing a sacred marriage, where the reference is ritually human but mythologically divine. Cf. also theʿalmâ in Isaiah 7:14. It appears to have associations of youth and (sexual) vigour (cf. BDB’s explanation—761). I have tentatively associated it with ṣelem : Wyatt 1990, 23 = 2005b, 63. (See now Wyatt 2002, 58 n. 99. On p. 154, I translated this as “ Prince Baal [ ] an heir”, implicitly differentiating between Baal and his heir.) 53 54

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13 hmlt It is a new proposal of mine to recognize in some cases of the occurrence of this phoneme a further title of Baal. It is dependent on two factors: a new stichometry for KTU 1.5 vi 23–25 (in which El speaks—we have substantially the same words by Anat [with nrd for ard ] in KTU 1.6 i 6–8) and the recognition of lim (§17 below) as a divine title. We shall leave this latter point till then. As for the former, let us consider the following passage (initially arranged as on the tablet): bʿl mt my lim bn dgn my hmlt atr bʿl nrd arṣ...

This is a well-known crux. Let us cite a few examples of modern translations. The majority view is typified by Coogan’s version: Baal is dead: what will happen to the peoples? Dagon’s son: what will happen to the masses? I will go down into the earth in Baal’s place.61

Caquot read: Baʿal est mort! Que va devenir le peuple du Fils de Dagan? Que va devenir la multitude? Sur les traces de Baʿal, je vais descendre en terre.62

Gaster had: Baal is dead! What will now become of the clan of Dagan’s son? What will now become of the multitudes of Baal’s posterity? I will go down into the earth.63

If the possibility is considered that lim is a divine title, then a spanner is thrown into the works of the passage, which is perhaps not a bad thing, given the problems scholars have obviously faced. I propose the following stichometry and translation: Coogan 1978, 109. Substantially the same line was taken by Jirku; Aistleitner; Clear; del Olmo Lete 1981, 222, Ginsberg, ANET 139; van Zijl 1972, 177. 62 Caquot 1974 i 251. He was followed by Gibson 1978, 73–74. 63 Gaster 1961, 213. De Moor 1971, 190, id., 1987, 81, took the same approach. 61

THE TITLES OF THE UGARITIC STORM-GOD bʿl mt my lim bn dgn my hmlt atr bʿl nrd arṣ

23

Baal is dead! What has become of64 the Potent65, the Rainy One, What of Tempest of the shrine of Baal? I shall descend into the netherworld!

I have construed this as two monocola framing a bicolon, and integrating well with it. Alternatively, on a different stichometry, with the verbal or epithetal mt understood as doing double duty, and with atr taken as a preposition, it may have the following sense: bʿl mt my lim bn dgn my hmlt atr bʿl nrd arṣ

Baal is dead! What has become of the Potent? the Rainy One (is dead)! What has become of Tempest? After Baal I shall descend into the netherworld!

We have seen from the proposals above that it is usual for scholars to take lim and hmlt as an a, b word-pair, both referring to people: lim is related to Hebrew l eʾum, Akkadian limu.66 For an alternative explanation see below at §17. If we reject the view that lim means “people” in this passage, we are free to explore other possibilities for hmlt. The Hebrew h amullâ appears in Jeremiah 11:16 and Ezekiel 1:24. It is translated by modern versions in the respective passages as follows: “tempest”, “tumult” (RSV), “wind”, “storm” ( JB), “roaring noise”, “crowd” (REB). BDB gives “rainstorm(?)”67 as the primary meaning. Rin thought that as with hamon, the application of the term to people is an extension of the basic sense of noise—crowds being above all talkative! 68 We may propose then that √hml would be a byOr: “Who is . . . ? ” The bicolon looks as though it may have an independent origin from the formula bʿl mt ||ard barṣ . On the liturgical question, to which the response is the acclamation of the divine name, cf. Psalm 24:8, 10. If this is the sense here, then the poet has skilfully interlocked cultic formulations of different genre. This would have less effect in the context of the common interpretation of the bicolon rejected above. 65 For this translation see §17 below. 66 Del Olmo Lete 1981, 570. 67 BDB 242b. (Cf. HALOT i 251a, “(tumultuous) crowd”, while classifying under Arabic √hamala , “rain heavily”). A case of disjointed thinking? See also DUL i 342, referring to this paper. 68 Rin 1963, 27 = 1976 xv. 64

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form of √hmh (< √*hmy), meaning “murmur”, “roar”. Del Olmo Lete linked the Ugaritic and Hebrew terms with Akkadian amelutu, 69 sc. “people”, while W.G.E. Watson has suggested to me orally that the Akkadian cognate is perhaps not this, but ummilu (√[w]amalu) = “disturber”.70 Perhaps the best test of an alternative theory for the usage in KTU 1.5 vi 24 and 1.6 i 7 is to consider other contexts in which the phoneme occurs. Let us therefore consider KTU 1.2 i 18–19 and its repetition at 34–35: tn ilm dtqh dtqyn hmlt tn bʿl wʿnnh bn dgn artm pdh

Gibson understood this as follows: Give up, gods, him whom you protect, him whom you protect, O multitude, give up Baal and his lackeys, the son of Dagan, that I may possess his gold.

This at least preserves the parallelism implicit in ilm, hmlt, but makes the latter term refer to gods. Note too that Gibson translated the two forms dtqlh and dtqyn as having substantially the same syntax. This may be contrasted with del Olmo Lete’s approach: Entregad, dioses, a quien rendís pleitesia, a quien rinden pleitesía las multitudes, entregad a Baʿlu y a sus servidores, al hijo de Daganu de cuyo oro pueda apoderarme.71

In preserving the human reference of hmlt, he construed the two verbs as second person plural and third person plural forms respectively, but thereby introduced a further element into the passage (a tetracolon developed from two constituent bicola) which is unnecessary on Gibson’s approach, and as we shall see, on mine, and is best therefore avoided. I take it to mean this: Give up the god whom you obey, 72

Del Olmo Lete 1981, 542. He referred to AHw 1459a and CAD M, 2, 196: “describing a storm”. 71 Del Olmo Lete 1981, 170. 69 70

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25

the one whom you obey, 73 Tempest! Give up Baal and his Clouds, 74 the Rainy One: I shall seize his gold ! 75

In the case of the first bicolon, we have a perfect match between the parts on chiastic principles—the form is abc:cb—which would be lost on Del Olmo Lete’s different persons of the verb. The second bicolon picks up the initial imperative, then providing two further divine titles, and on the translation above extends the person of the deity to be imprisoned into his associates and the gold which symbolizes his power. The entire structure then looks like this: abc:cb::abd:bef, and contains a further example of four divine names used together: il(m) || hmlt || bʿl || bn dgn

While artm is not the last word, which would have been most elegant, it nevertheless rather satisfyingly mirrors the double imperative, tn, tn. It may be objected that it is not convincing to interpret a feminine noun (whether singular or plural) as an epithet of a god (that is, a male figThe radical is √yq y . Gibson looked to Arabic waqa ( y) = “protect”, 1978, 148, as did Gordon 1969, §1143; I prefer to see the term related to Hebrew √yqh (< √* yq y ) = “obey”. Del Olmo Lete referred to both cognates, 1981, 561. 73 I construe dtqh in the previous colon as d relative with 2nd. pl. G form yqtl , with h 3rd. m. sg. object suffix, and dtqyn in the same way, mutatis mutandis ; n is also a 3rd. m. sg. object suffix, and I take it that it is the phonetic influence of this which has caused the y to be retained with the verb. Both verbs could also be contrued as 3rd. f. sg. or pl. 74 Far better than “retinue” or the like, though this may be alluded to through paronomasia. ʿnn appears to mean “cloud” in KTU 1.10 ii 33. Cf. Hebrew ʿnn, which BDB 778a noted is used “esp. of theophanic cloud (58 t.)”. Cf. HALOT ii 857–58. The clouds are not inanimate, being in effect subordinate manifestations of the god, and numbered as seven in 1.5 v 6–9. 75 Following Gaster 1950, 12; Gordon 1969, §2023; del Olmo Lete 1981, 609. Discussion by Sasson 1972, 437 (§III 97 ). I am uneasy about this, and would be happier if we could detect in pd an equivalent to the mythological figures lurking in ʿnn . Thus “clouds” could be seen as Baal’s possession, which Yam would seize. In the Vedic tradition, clouds are seen as cattle, property par excellence . The seizure of gold is however also perhaps a figure for victory over an enemy. (Cf. Wyatt 2002, 59 [and nn. 104–07 ]: 72

Give up the god whom you obey,

the one whom you obey, Tempest! Give up Baal [and his retinue], the Son of Dagan, whose gold I shall seize!’”)

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ure). If this is felt to be a problem, we may posit an earlier form such as *dhmlt, “the One of the Tempest”, like the *ʾl dʿlm which probably underlies the biblical El Olam. On the first etymology discussed above, we have the application of the same theme to a crowd of people, as opposed to a gathering of clouds, in the expression hmlt arṣ which occurs six times (three of them restorations) in the Baal cycle (e.g. KTU 1.3 iii 28) in parallel to nšm. On Watson’s etymology, we should see two distinct lexemes in Ugaritic. A further instance of hmlt in KTU 1.83.12 is in too broken a context for a decision on its meaning to be taken. 14 ḥtk dgn This epithet occurs once, in KTU 1.10 iii 32–36: ql lbʿl ttnn bšrt il [bšr b]ʿl w bšr ḥtk dgn kibr lbʿl yld wrum lrkb ʿrpt

She spoke to Baal: Receive wonderful tidings, Baal, yea, hear the good news, Ruler 76 of the Rain! For a steer is born to Baal, and a wild bull to the Charioteer of the Clouds!

The double parallelism of the divine titles should be noted here: bʿl || ḥtk dgn, bʿl || rkb ʿrpt

In such an arrangement, we may expect a balance between the parts, so that in effect bʿl= bʿl (obviously), but more informatively, ḥtk dgn = rkb ʿrpt ; that is, there should be some semantic balance between the two terms. This would not be achieved if ḥtk dgn were construed as “Scion of Dagan”—which in any case is not convincing if we reject bn dgn as meaning “Son of Dagan”, discussed above,77 but is achieved if the former title means “Ruler of the Rain”. Indeed it draws attention to the regal element which is implicit in, if not generally recognized of, the corresponding rkb ʿrpt . This puts Baal not merely in the martial sphere, but more particularly in the royal For explanation of this see Wyatt 1980, 378. Even if this translation is unsustainable, the parallelism of ḥtk dgn || rkb ʿrpt invites an interpretation in which the two titles are strictly complementary, that is, share a common semantic field, as on my proposal in this discussion. 76 77

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27

sphere (for which see § 20, and cf. §§18 and 21). The term ḥtk is construed on this understanding as relating to the verb of this form, occurring in Hebrew with the sense of “divide”, “determine”.78 A noun from the same base may occur in KTU 1.108.23, 25, interpreted by de Moor as “sway”79 or “patronage”.80 The occurrence of this term in KTU 1.108 may have a bearing on the problem of the identity of rpu, discussed below (§22). 15

zbl bʿl arṣ81

This title continues the epithet zbl shared with a number of deities, qualified by the intriguing formula bʿl arṣ. It should perhaps be dealt with in two stages. The following gods are given the title zbl : Reshef (once), Yarih (four times), Yam (eleven times) and Baal. The term zbl appears to have the basic sense of exaltation (cf. Hebrew zabal , z ebul , and the tribal name z ebûlun 82), while in the case of Reshef there was no doubt wordplay on the (unassociated? 83) lexeme zbln, “disease”. The title bʿl arṣ , occurring only after zbl , is found on nine occasions. With the exception of KTU 1.3 i 3 and 1.5 vi 10, all the occurrences are within KTU 1.6. So it is never used until Baal’s victory over Yam is assured. Although of course, with the large gaps in the earlier part of the cycle, no final conclusions should be drawn, at least so far as the incidences remaining are concerned, it appears to indicate that the conflict between Baal and Yam is concerned with lordship of the earth, Baal attaining the title after depriving Yam of the right to it. In the case of KTU 1.5 vi 10 it is uttered in the context of a lament, undoubtedly drawn from the cult.84 KTU 1.5 vi 9– Occurring only in the Niphal stem: BDB 367; Daniel 9:24. De Moor 1969, 176. 80 De Moor 1972, ii 26; id., 1987, 189–90. 81 Kapelrud 1952, 60–61; van Zijl 1972, 340. 82 See BDB 259b(, HALOT i 261). 83 Gordon cited two lexemes, 1969, §§815, 816, as did Aistleitner 1974, §878, and del Olmo Lete 1981, 544. To the second meaning, “disease”, cf. Tsevat 1954, 322. 84 I would reject any idea of the wholesale use of the Baal myths as they are narrated in KTU1.1 to 6 within the cult, as envisaged for instance by Gaster and de Moor among recent commentators. But given that the poet(s) are bound to have been dealing in stereotyped language, traditional forms and cultic clichés, it should come as no surprise to find echoes of the cult in odd snatches from time to time. 78 79

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10 is repeated verbatim at 1.6 i 41–43 (mt aliyn bʿl, ḫlq zbl bʿl arṣ ), and the formula clearly belongs with the slight variations of 1.6 iii 2–3 (whm ḥy aliyn bʿl, hm it zbl bʿl arṣ ), 1.6 iii 8–9 = 1.6 iii 20–21 (kḥy aliyn bʿl, kit zbl bʿl arṣ ), and 1.6 iv 4–5 = 15–16 ( iy aliyn bʿl, iy zbl bʿl arṣ) within some liturgical context, presumably a rite of mourning Baal’s death and celebrating his resurrection. These latter passages all deal therefore with the mythological conflict between Baal and Mot. The contexts of both usages, these and that at KTU 1.3 i 3, seem to me to support the view that the overall sense of the conflicts is a cosmological rather than an agricultural one. The fight between the three gods concerns the lordship of the ordinary world of living beings. 16 liy In a number of administrative texts the element liy occurs in strings of personal names, appearing either as a hypocoristic, or in a full form as bn liy . In the absence of other likely candidates, we are justified in understanding liy provisionally as a further title of Baal, cognate with and corresponding to aliy(n) dealt with in §§1–3 above. 17 lim We noted above a problem with the understanding of lim in KTU 1.5 vi 23 and 1.6 i 6. Most scholars have understood it as the equivalent of Hebrew leʾōm, meaning “people”.85 We have seen however (§13 above) that the parallel term hmlt is not to be interpreted in this way. We must of course avoid a circular argument by making each word’s meaning dependent on the other’s, and we intentionally left lim out of account in determining the meaning of hmlt. There is also a plausible alternative for lim. A deity by this name appears in the Mari texts, and it is interpreted by G. Dossin as the Amorite translation of Dagan, which he took to be Sumerian.86 He was wrong on the Driver 1956, 158: in the formula ybmt limm , he interpreted lim as “ruler”, translating the expression as “the sister-in-law of rulers” (55 etc.). 86 Dossin 1950, 49–50. On Lim’s importance at Mari see Dahood 1958, 68. See also Röllig 1968, 126. Lipiński saw Lim as a form of the sun god: 1967, 151–60, cit. Margalit 1980, 134 n. 5. 85

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latter point,87 but the important elements in his argument with which we may agree are firstly the West Semitic nature of the divine name, and secondly his equivalence with Dagan. We have seen above (§6) that Dagan and Baal appear to be divergent forms of the same deity, so that their equivalence in Mari—anticipating for a moment that lim is a title of Baal—is to be expected. Recognition of lim in the Ugaritic texts as an allusion to a deity appears to be to the credit of de Moor,88 though he rejected this explanation of limm, that is, with a further m. Indeed he appears to have changed his mind on the former immediately afterwards.89 I am happy however to accept his initial insight. We cannot discuss lim without some consideration of the formula used of Anat on a number of occasions. This is spelt in various ways: on five occasions it appears as ybmt limm, on one as ymmt limm, and on four is restored in broken contexts.90 While the spelling ybmt has the strongest support, it hardly has a monopoly, and so close are b and m phonetically (plosive and fricative forms of the same voiced labial articulation91) that we may credit either a scribal mishearing on one or more instances, if the texts were dictated, or an etymological equivalence of two terms, to be seen as variants of each other. As to meaning, we have some extraordinary offerings, from “Sister-in-law of Peoples”92 to “Wanton Widow of the Nations”93. The very implausibility of these ought to have encouraged further enquiries. But if lim is a divine title, then it is at least possible that limm is a variant form, and de See Wyatt 1980, 377. De Moor 1969, 183. See also Margalit 1980, 134–35. Margalit plausibly explained the use of lim in KTU 1.5 vi 23, 1.6 i 6 on grounds of alliteration. 89 De Moor 1971, 191, 197 (unexplained in the philological notes), and subsequently in id., 1987, 81–82. 90 See Whitaker 1972, 395. The references in KTU are as follows: ybmt : KTU 1.3 ii 33, 1.4 ii 15–16, 1.10 iii 3, 1.17 vi 19, 25; ymmt : 1.3 iii 12; [ ]: 1.3 iv 22, (CTA 7 ii 13 left blank), 1.10 i 15, 1.101.15–16. (Cf. Cunchillos and Vita 1995, II.1 902–03, 959.) 91 Cf. Ugaritic špš with Hebrew šemeš , Akkadian šamaš , and in spite of the gutturals, the gentilics ʾrm and ʿrb . Løkkegaard, 1953, 226, cautiously cited m and b, meaning “from”. 92 Albright 1938, 19 n. 6, explained the title as “ Progenitress of peoples”. Caquot et al . 1974, e.g. 161, left the formula untranslated in their text, but had a preference for “ le vocabulaire des relations de parenté ”, 91–92. 93 De Moor 1987, 7 and n. 35. In id., 1969, 183 and id., 1971, 97, he decided on “Nubile Widow of the Li’mites”. 87 88

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Moor’s protestation that this is unlikely, when he actually cited the analogue of amrr, is unconvincing.94 The proposal of Obermann 95 and Løkkegaard 96 that ymmt is the primary form―though neither followed it up in this way―allows comparison with Arabic yamamat, “pigeon”, “dove”, with which Sarna in turn 97 compared Hebrew yemimah , name of a daughter of Job in Job 42:14. On the basis of the equivalence of b and m, there is no reason why the same sense should not be discerned in ybmt too. Accordingly, we may interpret Anat’s title as “Dove of Limm”, where the overtones of all bird-language addressed to women are present. Anat is Lim’s (Baal’s) Beloved.98 In addition to this there is the tradition of Anat as a bird, or at any rate as winged. Consider for instance KTU 1.10 ii 10: tšu knp btltʿn[t ]

Virgin Anat lifted up her wing(s),

De Moor 1969, 183. Obermann 1948, 35. 96 Løkkegaard 1953, 226. 97 Sarna 1957, 24, followed by Caquot et al . 1974, 91 n. 1. 98 Cf. de Moor 1972, ii 21 n. 91, writing of the rite in KTU 1.23: It is obvious ... that the two women react to the double meaning of El’s performance: the stick ( penis) will enter the innocent bird (girl, almost universal imagery, e.g. Hebrew yonâ ) ... Note the English phrase “lovey-dovey”(!), and verbs like “billing and cooing”. Girls are commonly birds, chicks, hens, ducks, “(dem)oiselles” etc. I am sure that some political cartoonist has even portrayed Mrs Thatcher as a vulture! A remarkable passage in the Odes of Solomon, 24.1, reads: The Dove fluttered over the head of our Lord Messiah, because he was her Head; and she sang over Him and her voice was heard ... (Charlesworth 1983–85 ii 757) While this is no doubt an allusion to the baptism of Jesus, the feminine nature of the dove almost demands a recognition of a mythological dimension, and it is hard to escape the sense that Anat hovering protectively over Baal lies in the remote past behind the present image. (Cf. too avian imagery in the iconogram of Horus and Horon hovering protectively over the Pharaoh. See chapter 7 below.) 94 95

THE TITLES OF THE UGARITIC STORM-GOD tšu knp wtr bʿp

31

she lifted up her wings and flew away.

There is also the following passage in KTU 1.108.8–9: w ʿnt di dit rḫpt [bšm] rm

And Anat the kite, (read dit ?) the kite hovering in the high heaven.

and the goddess’ words in KTU 1.18 iv 21–22: bn nšrm arḫp ank

between the falcons I shall myself hover.

There is also some circumstantial iconographic evidence.99 So the birdmetaphor of ybmt (variant ymmt ) is consistent with a general conception of the goddess. As for the divine name lim, it is to be construed as a further example of √lʾy , which appeared in aliy(n) (§§1–3) and liy (§16). So lim is to be understood as “powerful” or “potent”, whence my translation as “the Potent”. The additional m (limm instead of lim) may be explained as enclitic, mimation,100 intensive, or plural of majesty.101 18 mlk Three gods, El, Athtar and Baal are all called king, while Yam and Mot have royal qualities, Yam being given coronation titles (KTU 1.1 iv 14–20102) and Mot ruling a city (1.4 viii l0–14 103). Mot is also described as “the king of terrors” in Job 18:14. We seem to have more than a plenitude of potentates. Here we may note that becoming a king is in Baal’s case a corollary of his victory over Yam, and that the need for the palace (sc. temple) is the logical outcome of his declared kingship.

See Yon 1991, 291–93, 329 (fig. 9 c), for the stela of a goddess from Ugarit whose long skirt is in the form of a wing. In the ivory panel from the royal bed, a winged goddess (sc. Athirat?) suckles two sons (sc. Shahar and Shalem as royal gods). See Caquot and Sznycer 1980, pl. xxixb. 100 Gordon 1969, §8.2, claimed that the mimation is defunct in Ugaritic. But surely it survives, for instance, in the title of Mot, bn ilm , to which cf. biblical benê ʾēlîm , where the divine name ( El) is genitive sg.? 101 So Gray 1965, 43, though he saw the term as meaning “prince”. 102 See Wyatt 1985b, 121–25 = 2005b, 18–22. 103 Cf. n. 42. 99

32 19

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE ʿly

This term, of which the familiar biblical and common West Semitic form ʿelyôn is an extension, with post-formative n, appears twice, in KTU 1.16 iii 6, 8. Immediately following nearly forty lines of missing text at the end of 16 ii and the beginning of 1.16 iii, the title appears to come in the context of a rite being performed by an unidentified person (perhaps Ilhu?) to overcome an apparent curse on the land accompanying Keret’s sickness. We can see from the context that the title belongs to Baal: To the earth (may there come) the rain of Baal, to the steppe the rain of the Most High! Pleasant to the earth (would be) the rain of Baal, and to the steppe the rain of the Most High! 104

This appears, like some other formulaic passages in the text, to be a quotation from a liturgy, which would explain why the epithet is found nowhere else in the Baal cycle: that is, it belongs to the liturgical, but not the broader poetic repertoire. 20

rkb ʿrpt105

This title is found sixteen times, ten times in the Baal cycle (KTU 1.1–6), and three in 1.10, once in Aqhat (1.19), and twice in 1.92, which appears to be a fragment of mythology. It seems to be a specifically poetic title, therefore, no doubt used in liturgical contexts—though there is no reason to interpret any of these as such—but not to designate Baal in sacrificial lists.

Gordon 1949, 80; id., 1969, §1855; Kapelrud 1952, 62; Bronner 1968, 101, misconstrued the title, which is followed in both instances by the word n ʿm , as ʿly n ʿm , “the exalted good one”. Cf. van Zijl 1972, 282. (Cf. Wyatt 2002, 231: To the earth let the rain of Baal speak , and to the steppe the rain of the Most High! Pleasant to the earth (would be) the rain of Baal , and to the steppe the rain of the Most High! ) 105 Kapelrud 1952, 61–62. 104

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Two senses have been proposed for the title: “Rider of the Clouds”106 or “Charioteer of the Clouds”107. The precise form rkb gives no certain clue as to which of these is to be preferred, since the basic sense appears to be “to mount and ride”, that is, a mechanical or animal vehicle, or even, in effect, “to climb”108. The nub is whether in the case of the title the riding is of an animal (which is never specified or identified) or of a vehicle drawn by one or more animals. There are two aspects to the problem: whether or not people actually rode animals at the period in history from which the Ugaritic texts date, and the iconographic traditions concerning the storm-god. The answer to the first issue is that they evidently did. We have the internal evidence of the Baal cycle, which describes the preparation of Athirat’s donkey, and Qadesh-and-Amurru lifting the goddess bodily onto the animal’s back (KTU 1.4 iv 1–15). In addition we have numerous illustrations of Athtart riding bareback on a horse, all dating from the Late Bronze. 109 Indeed, illustrations collected by Littauer and Crouwel 110 show that the riding of animals was an ancient art, though horses (equus caballus caballus) appear to have been used in this way only relatively recently. Early horse-remains from the region belong, where identifiable, to other subspecies (the hemippus, equus hemippus, the onager, equus hemionus onager and the ass, equus asinus africanus 111). The earliest “true horse” remains belong to the second millennium, and were apparently introduced from Asia. 112 They 106 Gaster 1961, 161; Cassuto 1970, 59; Driver 1956, 81; Jirku 1962, 24 (“Wolkenreiter”); Gordon 1969, §2331; de Moor 1971, 98 (but see his discussion: “ The divine charioteer [sic] could be designated as rakibu ʿurpati , ‘Driver of the Rain-clouds’ or as rakubu ʿurpati , ‘ Rider on the Rain-clouds’ ...”; cf. the similar ambiguity in id., 1987, 7); Caquot 1974, 74 (“Chevaucheur”); Gibson 1978, 43; Margalit 1980, 37. 107 Aistleitner 1964, 15 (“der auf Wolken Einherfahrende”); del Olmo Lete 1981, 624 (“Auriga”); Xella 1982, 87 (“Auriga”); Wyatt 1980, 378. Cf. Kapelrud 1952, 62 (“Driver”). 108 Cf. the use of the verb by itself in KTU 1.14 ii 21 and 1.14 iv 3, meaning “to climb up to the top of the temple”: Go/he went up to the top of the tower, mount/he mounted up to the summit of the wall. (Wyatt 2002, 188, 198) 109 See Leclant 1960. 110 Littauer and Crouwel 1979. 111 See Littauer and Crouwel 1979, 23–25, 34–35 (early 3rd millennium), 41, 45–46 (later third millennium). 112 Littauer and Crouwel 1979, 56–57.

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are to be associated primarily with the presence of Proto-Indo-Āryans in the region. So far as the iconographic question is concerned, we should look to two traditions with regard to the weather-god. Firstly, we have early representations of a deity identified by Vanel 113 as the Mesopotamian storm-god. Early examples ride either in chariots or stand on the backs of animals, in the earliest cases a lightning-spitting winged lion (also the animal drawing the chariot), and later a bull.114 Examples such as these are dated to the third millennium. This tradition, in which West Semitic and Mesopotamian influences interact upon each other, is quite independent, it would appear, of the Indo-European tradition introduced to the region by the Proto-IndoĀryans of the mid-second millennium.115 We may note that there are clear links between West Semitic Baal and Indra, who is not only clearly attested in the Mittanno-Hittite treaty of the mid-fourteenth century, 116 but is probably to be identified behind the idr appearing in some Ugaritic personal names,117 and if so, is present himself in Ugarit. It follows that there may well be Proto-Indo-Āryan elements in both the mythological and cultic, and in the iconographic traditions of Baal. Indra appears commonly in Vedic tradition as a chariot-rider,118 the Maruts (cf. the maryannu as a military caste, and Baal’s helpers119) being his companions. The organization of the military use of chariots which finds expression in the phrase occurs several times in Keret, tlt sswm mrkbt

charioteers with horse-drawn chariots120

Vanel 1965. (See now Green 2003, 152.) Cf. Vanel 1965, figs. 5 (chariot drawn by lion), 6, 8 (lion), 10, 11 (bull). To fig. 5 cf. Littauer and Crouwel 1979, figs. 13 and 17. 115 On the history of the movement and the choice of the designation “ Proto-Indoaryan” (here “Proto-Indo-Āryan”) see Burrow 1973. 116 See ANET 205–06. 117 As bn idr . Cf. n. 27. 118 E.g. Rigveda 1.52.1, 1.53.9, 1.56.1 etc. 119 See Wyatt 1987b. 120 KTU 1.14 ii 2–3, etc. (Or “charioteers with chariot-horses”: Wyatt 2002, 185 [see n. 38 ad loc.].) 113 114

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and is best construed as indicating by tlt the third member of a team, the archers tnnm, sc. “second men”) being mentioned with them in the description of Keret’s army: tlt mat rbt ḫpt dbl spr tnn dbl hg

a million charioteers, mercenaries without number, archers beyond reckoning.121

The first member of such a team, and in control of it, was a spearwielding warrior, and it is in this guise that I believe Baal was imagined under his title rkb ʿrpt. The argument relies on circumstantial evidence, to be sure, but is clinched by two points. Firstly, a small bronze survives of a pair of deities, a god and a goddess, in a chariot.122 The goddess has a quiver on her back and wears the Atef crown, two features which allow us to identify her with some confidence as Anat.123 It follows that her companion is most probably Baal. Secondly, since in the later period the only animal on which the god stands is a bull—as at Hazor 124—and the bull is never indicated as a theriomorphic metaphor for clouds, it is clear that there is no evidence for this particular epithet meaning riding on an animal, while there is evidence for him riding in a vehicle. The clouds constitute the vehicle. It is possible that we also have the seeds of another iconogram, of great importance in later times, in the designation of Baal’s assistants, Gupanu and Ugaru—most scholars understand them to be a pair125—or assistant Gupan-and-Ugar (“Vine-and Field”?). On the analogy of Qadesh-andAmurru and Kothar-and-Hasis, I see no reason to insist on the duality of

KTU 1.14 ii 36–38 etc. The “million” of the first colon is 100 ¯ 10,000. The tlt (“charioteer”) is the “third” member of the team. (On the philology see Wyatt 2002, 190, nn. 62–64.) 122 See Negbi 1976, pl. 5, fig. 22 (Louvre AO 22265). Negbi took the figure in the Atef crown to be a god. It is rather this figure’s companion who is a god. Cf. Wyatt 1984, 332 (§5). 123 On the iconography of Anat see Wyatt 1984. 124 See Yadin 1975, 84–85. 125 The only clue from the syntax of the text is perhaps atm bštm in KTU 1.3 iv 33, which appears to be second person plural or dual pronoun and verb, and y ʿdbkm in 1.4 viii 17 (tqrb in this passage could be singular, dual or plural). If I am right on the matter of the analogy of other binomials, then each of the m affixes above would need to be construed as enclitic, which is by no means impossible. Against the pairing of the two gods we have the fact of Baal’s seven cloud-companions (n. 69 above). 121

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Gupan-and-Ugar. The point here is that the term ʿnn (see n. 68) is used to designate him (them) on four occasions:126 tn bʿl w ʿnnh bn dgn artm pdh

Give up Baal and his Cloud(s), the Rainy One: I shall seize his gold!127 (KTU 1.2 i 18–19, 35)

lk lk ʿnn ilm

Go, go, Cloud(s) of the god!

w nǵr ʿnn ilm

but take care, Cloud(s) of the god! (KTU 1.4 viii 15)129

(KTU 1.3 iv 32)128

It may mean no more than “assistant” (cf. nn. 128, 129), as seems most likely in KTU 1.4 iv 59, where El protests that he is more than a mere servant of Athirat. But given the use of ʿnn in theophany language in such passages as Exodus 13:21–22, 14:20, 34:5, Job 37:15, and so forth, we are entitled to see the same lexeme in connection with the weather-god. The clouds are to be seen now as companions, now as vehicle for the god. The very chariot is animate and divine. 21 tpṭ The term most usually applied to the Ugaritic sea-god in his poetically paired titles zbl ym, tpṭ nhr is applied to Baal twice in substantial repetitions of the same formula in KTU 1.3 v 32–33 and 1.4 iv 43–44, noted above under §1. In the first two lines of the tricolon, mlkn aliy(n) bʿl tpṭn

Our king is Valiant, Baal is our ruler

the full political content of the term tpṭ is evident in its balance with mlkn in the a b b a structure of the stich. As in its use in early Israel, attested in the One is duplicated (KTU 1.2 i 18, 35). The same designation may occur in 1.10 ii 33, though del Olmo Lete translated the word there as a verb: 1981, 470. 127See n. 75. 128 Wyatt 2002, 82: “Go, go! attendants of the gods!” 129 Wyatt 2002, 113: “But take care, attendants of the god...” 126

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Book of Judges, and in later Carthage, where the Punic term “suffete” (sc. šopeṭ) is frequently translated in Greek and Latin texts by their equivalents for mlk , βασιλευς and rex. The formula partially quoted, together with the attached line and the following bicolon, appears to be a quotation from a hymn to the god. Neither mlk nor tpṭ is used absolutely with Baal, but with the possessive suffix. Other possible and dubious titles 130 There are various expressions in the Ugaritic texts which may be construed as titles of the weather-god, but which remain uncertain. I list them here as being of open status. 2 2 bʿl knp Occurring once in KTU 1.46.6, this apparent divine title was mentioned by Kapelrud in his treatment of Baal’s titles.131 He wondered whether it may relate to Baal’s treatment of the eagles (that is, falcons) in the Aqhat story (KTU 1.19 iii 1–45). There does not seem to me to be any strong reason to link the two, and while Xella translated it as “‘winged’ Baal”,132 Kühne and de Tarragon both treated knp as a toponym.133 On such an interpretation the divine title would have the same formal quality as bʿl ugrt (§8 above). But while “the Lord of Ugarit” may with some confidence be linked with the storm-god who featured so prominently in the city’s mythology and cult, in the case of a city of Kanap(u?), we know nothing of the place but its name, and are hardly in a position to characterize its putative patron deity. 2 3 bʿl mrym ṣpn and bʿl (b)ṣrrt ṣpn While these phrases are commonly translated as “Baal in the heights/recesses of Saphon” or “Baal who dwells in the heights/recesses of Saphon”, it is arguable that in the following instances they strictly mean “the lord of the heights/recesses of Saphon”, that is a double construct and genitive, thus constituting further titles, which would in effect be exten-

Cf. n. 29. Kapelrud 1952, 59. 132 Xella 1981, 56. 133 Kühne 1975, 255; de Tarragon in Caquot et al. 1989, 165. 130 131

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sions, or “superlatives”, versions of bʿl ṣpn (§9 above). The occurrences of the various forms may be classified as follows: KTU 1.3 iv 38, 1.4 v 22, 1.5 i 11, 1.100.9 (all “to”); bʿl mrym ṣpn KTU 1.6 vi 12–13 (“to”); bʿl ṣrrt ṣpn KTU 1.3 i 21–22 (b = “in”) . bʿl (b)ṣrrt ṣpn Their construction may be contrasted with that of bʿl bmrym ṣpn, KTU 1.3 iv 1 (b = “from”)—where Baal is the direct object of a verb (trd ) which is qualified by the adverbial phrase bmrym ṣpn (“of those/him who drove Baal from the heights of Saphon”); and 1.4 iv 19, w bʿl tbʿ mrym ṣpn—where Baal is the subject of a verb (tbʿ ) which is qualified by the same adverbial phrase (“and Baal departed for the heights of Saphon”). In the instances listed above, the adverbial phrase mrym/ṣrrt/ bṣrrt ṣpn may indeed be construed as qualifying the verb of movement of which Baal is the indirect object, but may equally be taken as a second construct and genitive (in the case of bṣrrt ṣpn, bʿl would be absolute) as suggested. If this suggestion were accepted, we should envisage perhaps a hymnodic formula, used in addressing the specific form of the deity bʿl ṣpn (for a ritual usage see the occurrence at KTU 1.100.9), which has been taken over as a poetic formula when movement to Saphon is understood, so that it would still have something of the adverbial force of the usual translations. 24 rpu Who is the deity designated by this title in text KTU 1.108? There is no consensus and the evidence is such that no firm conclusion can be reached. Among many proposals, Parker considered him to be an autonomous deity, “Rapiu”,134 others have identified him with El,135 while de Moor took him to be Baal in his healing role, thus providing a further epithet—indeed, a fur-

Parker 1972. On p. 104 he toyed with the equation Rapiu = Mot, but reached no decision. Cf. Pope 1977, 170–71, for an identity with Molek . Heider also discussed this option, 1985, 118–23. 135 See Parker 1972, 98 n. 15 for references (Virolleaud, Gese, Fisher, Blau and Greenfield). 134

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ther hypostasis—of the storm-god.136 If we accepted the last view, mlk ʿlm, the epithet of Rapiu in KTU 1.108.1, would be yet another title. 25 hdr‛y In KTU 1.108.2–3 we have the following intriguing bicolon: il ytb bʿttrt il tpẓ bhdrʿy

B. Margulis (Margalit) proposed137 that there was a reference here to two toponyms from Transjordan, Ashtarot and Edrei, cities of Og king of Bashan.138 This view was challenged by C. L’Heureux139 and J.C. de Moor,140 who saw an allusion to Athtart (ʿttrt ) in the first colon, and to “Hadd the shepherd” in the second, thus constituting a further title. However, de Moor later changed his mind, and in 1987 141 he followed Margalit’s line. This view may now be regarded as vindicated.142 We may therefore translate the bicolon as follows: The god enthroned in Athtarat, the god who rules in Edrei.143

It is therefore not a title after all.

De Moor 1987, 187 n. 1. Contrast id., 1969, 175–76, where in his translation he appeared to distinguish the two deities: the god who is sitting with Haddu, the Shepherd who sings and plays ... but in his commentary suggested that “it is possible that he represents the chthonic aspect of Baal”. Cf. Margalit 1989, 251–60, who in analysing Danil’s epithets mt rpi and mt hrnmy concluded that the former is a toponym (“ Man of [= from] Rapiʾu ” ), while the latter involves a further epithet of Baal, sc. “Rainmaker” (√hr [r ] + my). The latter proposal in particular is very attractive, and prompts the suggestion that, pace Margalit, mt rpi is in synonymous parallelism with mt hrnmy , and therefore also designates Baal. ( However, Annus’ 1999 explanation is to be preferred.) 137 Margulis 1970. 138 Deuteronomy 1:4, 3:1, 10; Numbers 21:33, Joshua 12:4, 13:12, 31, 19:37. 139 L’Heureux 1979, 172–74. 140 De Moor 1976, 326; id., 1972 ii 25 n. 105. 141 De Moor 1987, 187. 142See discussion in Heider 1985, 118–23. 143 Wyatt 2002, 395. See also Wyatt forthcoming. 136

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Given the ingenuity of scholars and the continued trickle of textual discoveries from both Ras Shamra and Ras Ibn Hani, the discussion above has certainly not exhausted all the possibilities of epithets of the storm-god, but I believe it has covered all those for which a prima facie case exists on the evidence so far available. It has deliberately refrained from any attempt to incorporate extraneous material. While Ugarit was particularly open to outside influences by virtue of its geopolitical and mercantile situation, we are nevertheless able to catch a relatively cohesive and comprehensive glimpse of its religious structures. With the extensive range of known epithets of Baal and the myths concerning him, we are now in a position to outline a theology. Its most striking feature is the sheer comprehensiveness of Baal’s nature. Those studies which try to limit his role to an aspect of the local climate are essentially reductionist, and fail to give a serious account of the complexity of the mythological structures and the scope of the epithetal repertoire.

3 THE PRUNING OF THE VINE IN KTU 1.23 First published in UF 24 (1992) 425–7. Shortly before the interesting erotic activities begin in KTU 1.23, we read in lines 8–11 that: Mt-w-Šr sat enthroned, in his hand the staff of bereavement, in his hand the staff of widowhood. The vine-pruners prune him, the vine-binder bind him; they cause his shoots to fall like a vine 1.

In an earlier discussion2 I suggested that the figure described in the first tricolon above be identified with El, whose appearance here is in marked contrast to, and antithetical anticipation of, his outburst of sexual activity in the narrative that follows. The following tricolon has generally been interpreted as descriptive of the figure just mentioned, however his identity is understood. It is therefore supposed to perpetuate the image of fertility. Thanks to some very interesting observations of H. Eilberg-Schwarz, in his recent book The Savage in Judaism,3 I believe we are now in a position to revise our assessment of the latter tricolon, and indeed virtually to reverse its supposed meaning. In so far as it alludes to some ritual action per-

1

Cf. my slightly modified translation in Wyatt 2002, 326–27:

The lord and master sat enthroned, in his hand the staff of sterility, in his hand the staff of widowhood. Those who prune the vine pruned him, those who bind the vine bound him; they let his tendril fall like a vine.

2 3

Wyatt 1977. Eilberg-Schwarz 1990.

41

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formed before the hieros gamos takes place between El and his wives, it is to be understood as in some way preparatory to what ensues. Running against the stream of modern studies of circumcision, which have tended to look for edifying, spiritual meanings behind the Jewish rite, far removed from any “pagan” associations and “fertility cult” elements, Eilberg-Schwarz argued cogently for the rite’s overwhelming concern with fecundity, 4 a view with which I have concurred in previous discussions. 5 One of his sharpest observations was that “the removal of the foreskin symbolically readies the organ for reproduction”. 6 He then explored the meaning of circumcision imagery as applied in biblical passages to plants. Young fruit trees are referred to as “uncircumcised” (e.g. Leviticus 19:23), a remarkable figure, whose purpose is to prevent farmers from overstraining immature fruit trees by demanding maximal yield before the tree is capable of producing it.7 The reverse of this imagery is that when the first “legitimate” fruit is taken from the tree, or it is pruned in preparation for a fruitful harvest, it is understood to be “circumcised”: “cutting away the foreskin is like pruning a fruit tree”.8 It should be remembered in the context that Ugaritic uses the term “tree” (ʿṣ) to denote the vine in the phrase “the blood of trees” (dm ʿṣm), meaning the juice of (grapes from) vines. 9 The vine, Eilberg-Schwarz noted,10 is also classified as a tree in Judges 9:13, Joel 1:12, 2:22 and Ezekiel 15:2 and 6. “We know”, he observed, “that Israelites regularly pruned at least one kind of fruit ‘tree’ in order to maximize its yield”.11 While we are

Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 141–48. See Wyatt 1990a = 2005a, 55–71, and chapter 2 above. In the latter study I proposed that circumcision in the Vorlage of Genesis 34 may be symbolically connected with, and understood as a substitute for, human sacrifice. 6 Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 148. 7 Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 152. 8 Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 152. 9 Read or restored at KTU 1.4 iii 44, iv 38, vi 59, 1.5 iv 16, 1.17 vi 6. 10 Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 151. 11 Eilberg-Schwarz 1990, 151. 4 5

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insufficiently informed about Canaanite (or Ugaritian) circumcision rites12 and their symbolism (see further below), I submit that the association of ideas between circumcision and fruit-production in Israel and Judah, as attested in the Bible, is probably not an innovation, but part of the traditional metaphorical furniture of the West Semitic languages, and suggests the possibility that the pruning imagery of the passage cited above is also a figure for circumcision, and that El himself is to be understood as undergoing the rite in preparation for his subsequent marriage. If this be accepted, it provides an incidental confirmation of my proposal13 that the curious personage Mt-wŠr is to be identified with El, rather than Mot14 or some similar figure. El as childless is an “uncircumcised tree”, an “unpruned vine”, and the pruning rite symbolizes his initiation into a state of fecundity. In Wyatt 1977 I translated the Ugaritic expression as “the all too mortal lord”. Perhaps a revision may be offered. The first term may be rendered simply “the husband”, understanding mt to be metu 15 rather than *mawtu > mōtu,16 which suggests the alternative overall sense, “the lord and master”, an expression used humorously in English of a husband. The goddesses address El as mt (sc. metu) below in l. 40. If we understand El’s title in this manner, and in the ritual context of circumcision, we should also reconsider the significance of the following description of him. It still allows puns and double-entendres between the staff the god holds at this point and both the staff he later throws away, perhaps the arrow he shoots at the bird, and certainly his own “staff”, that is, his penis. Uncircumcised, he is infertile. What is about to be “pruned” is an

I take it as axiomatic that the Canaanites performed circumcision. The Philistines alone are singled out as “uncircumcised” in biblical allusions (e.g. 2 Samuel 1:20, || “Philistines”, and cf. 1 Samuel 18:25–27. On the Horites of Shechem see chapter 2. On the evidence of KTU 1.24, a text with Hurrian aspects, for the practice in Ugarit see Allan 1999.) 13 Wyatt 1977. 14 Thus Tsumura 1973, 407–08. Cf. de Moor 1987, 120. Del Olmo Lete 1981, 441, left the phrase untranslated. Cutler and Macdonald 192, 40, remarked on the other hand that “there is no reason why mt should not simply mean ‘death’ here”. Cf. Gaster 1961, “Death and Rot”. This represents a change of view from his 1946 article. 15 Cf. Gaster 1946, 51, 56 n. 9. 16 I am happy to recognize a wordplay here too, in the light of my discussion in chapter 2: in the story in Genesis 34 the point is the symbolic equivalence of death and circumcision. 12

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infertile plant, transparently a metaphor for his penis,17 which after the ritual he will address to its proper function. In addressing El as “husband” in l. 40, the goddesses also refer to his “staff”, ḫṭ, and perhaps significantly, the word is used in synonymous parallelism with mṭ : O husband, husband! Lowered is your staff (ḫṭ ), drooping the rod (mṭ ) of your penis/hand ( yd )18

The term mṭ is no doubt selected because of its assonance with mt “husband”, but also plays cleverly on the association of ideas that the “rod” (“sceptre”) is a phallus, the epitome of a husband. The Hebrew equivalent, maṭṭeh, has a sociological meaning in addition to its phytological meaning, as “tribe”. Furthermore, in Ezekiel 19:11–14 it is used of the branches of a vine, in addition to possible overtones of rule, as suggested by (the glossed?) ʾel šibṭê mōš elîm of v. 11. Whether either sense was present in the Ugaritic word, we cannot of course tell with certainty, but it is a reasonable supposition. A final point is the matter of circumcision at Ugarit. We have so far no further evidence of the performance of the rite, so that such an interpretation for the present text is a matter of inference from the context.19 If it was an age-old practice universally performed, we should not expect to have any mention of it in the genres of texts which survive, except by way of incidental reference. The reason for its constant appearance in biblical texts lies not so much in an obsession with phallic imagery in the context, as on its important secondary symbolism, as a mark of covenant membership. The only substantial argument that the Canaanites did not practise circumcision is based on the common reading of Genesis 34. But I have argued20 not only Gaster 1946, 59, though he does not proceed to the conclusion that circumcision is involved, thinking rather in terms of castration. This would isolate the vine-pruning from any ritual context in connection with the ensuing marriage. 18 The term yd must surely play on the double senses of “hand” and “penis” (cf. Wyatt 2002, 331 n. 40). Note that the expression is construct, mṭ ydk, though with the former nuance we might expect “the rod in your hand”. Again, the wordplay cleverly evokes the ritual scene. We may suppose that the initiant into circumcision holds his penis in his hand at the beginning of the rite. 19 Though see now Allan 1999, noted above. 20 Wyatt 1990. 17

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that the “Hivites” (= Horites) did practise the rite, but that they were not in any case Canaanites. Whether the Ugaritians were Canaanites is another problem! (See chapter 4, n. 1 below).

4 UNDERSTANDING POLYTHEISM: STRUCTURE AND DYNAMIC IN A WEST SEMITIC PANTHEON

First published in JHC 5 (1998) 24–63.

INTRODUCTION While our record of religious life in the Late Bronze Age city of Ugarit is far from complete, it is immeasurably richer in many ways than our direct information concerning religious life in Iron Age Palestine. It allows the correction of many of the wilful distortions of “Canaanite”1 religious life put out by biblical propagandists, which are still unfortunately taken at face value by many scholars. In the following, I shall attempt a more considered Ugarit is not itself strictly Canaanite, in that, as A.F. Rainey 1963, 43–45, 1965, 102–25 has observed, “Canaanites” are regarded as foreigners in the Ugaritic texts. Be that as it may, the religion of Ugarit is in many respects part of a continuum with not only the “Canaanite” cultures to the south, but also with that of Iron Age Palestine beyond. Biblical tradition and Ugaritic tradition are alike familiar with the sacral traditions of the Hauran (KTU 1.108.2–3, Deuteronomy 3:10–11, for instance), while Shamak (Lake Hule) features in Ugaritic myths (KTU 1.10 ii 9, 12, and possibly 1.17 vi 23 and 1.92), and biblical theology is heavily indebted to the tradition witnessed in the Ugaritic texts. Having said this, the Ugaritic texts are not the “open sesame” to every biblical problem, any more than the Dead Sea scrolls are. At first sight the Hebrew Bible gives us much more useful information about serious theological matters than any other ancient documentation. It certainly appears to be the most selfconscious and reflective. It is when attempts are made to reconcile the written accounts with either the recoverable history of the region, or even the archaeological record, that the trouble really starts. It becomes evident that the biblical documents are not only almost “sectarian” in the bias against different estimates of what constitutes good religious practice, but that they are in their present state from a fairly late period (which is increasingly lowered in recent estimates into the post-exilic period), so that it becomes primarily a series of documents for the elucidation of the late period, rather than what they purport to be, or at any rate are commonly understood to be, historical records of earlier practice.

1

47

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approach to it, on the presupposition that any culture’s religious beliefs are authentic within the culture, and that judgmental posturing by observers is simply an inappropriate response. A pantheon of deities, even while it may broadly symbolize a cultural impact of the “transcendent”, at the same time represents a pluralistic response to various pressures impinging on a society. We can distinguish, for example, its social constituents, such as the presence of different groups maintaining a distinctive identity, for instance the Hurrian population of Bronze Age Ugarit. Also of undoubted significance would be its relations with adjacent cultures, for instance Ugarit’s sensitive diplomatic relations with both the great powers of the day, Egypt and Hatti, and no doubt until its demise with Mittanni as well. Finally its own peculiar history, with different ethnic constituents in the past, even if now more or less homogeneously merged with other groups, would have brought religious traditions from outside, subsequently incorporated into the larger whole. Thus Dagan and Baal are often regarded as Amorite imports into the Ugaritic pantheon, the former conceivably identified at least partially with El.2 While at first glance the evidence of the Ugaritian3 pantheon, like others from the ancient Near East, looks pretty disorganized, we may be sure that this is a result of the fragmentary state of the surviving evidence and of the elementary state of our understanding of it rather than an intrinsic chaos.4 Discerning order in surviving records, however, is likely to defy all but the most determined efforts, and to remain at best provisional. Del Olmo Lete’s analyses of the appearance of sub-groups in the various ritual texts, while undoubtedly useful as a first stage in comprehension, is as much indicative of difficulties to be overcome as a solution to any preliminary See Fontenrose 1957, del Olmo Lete 1992, 56 n. 77 = 1999, 74 n. 78. Contrast my (earlier) estimate, Wyatt 1980, though this has not found favour. See also Healey 1995. The matter of the relation of Dagan to both El and Baal remains problematic. 3 By “Ugaritian” I refer to the cultural and ethnic group in Ugarit who evidently spoke and wrote in Ugaritic (the linguistic term), and whose pantheon may be distinguished from the Hurrian and Akkadian god-lists which may be constructed from the surviving evidence. 4 The most detailed and productive analysis offered so far is that of del Olmo Lete 1992, 35– 65 = 1999, 43–86. See also de Moor 1970; Mullen 1979; Healey 1985; Korpel 1990, 269–73; Handy 1994 and Wyatt 1996, 323–30. 2

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problems. It invites such further questions as the applicability of neuroscience to the issue, in which the relative frequency of the use of divine names, in terms not of their survival in different texts, but frequency of use in rituals, might be explained in terms of the habituation of the community through this means to the subliminal symbolic messages divine names, and their concepts the gods, would communicate throughout the rituallyengaged community, thus reinforcing ideological or moral values, bonding different social groups, maintaining hierarchy, and so forth. Any useful work in these areas lies in the future, however; it has barely begun in the broader field of linguistics.5 I want to ask more answerable questions, here, however. Two problems are immediately apparent when we examine Ugaritian or any other polytheistic religion: firstly the relativity that is inherent in the compartmentalization of “deity” into separate units, and secondly the tendency to concretize them, so that some kind of identity is felt to exist between the deity and its cult-image. We have from the start to try to rid ourselves of instinctive feelings of aversion, superiority or scorn, which may be engendered by the convention of our own culture, that monotheism is somehow inherently superior to or more moral than polytheism as a conceptual form; or that “idolatry” is somehow inherently evil. These prejudices are deeply embedded not only in the western religious tradition, but also in the philosophical tradition. I submit that ridding ourselves of such spurious reactions not only must, but can be done on both counts; with a little imagination and willingness to suspend disbelief, we can learn to apprehend in our imagination the vitality of each archaic experience, since in important respects they are more natural,6 by which I mean more psychologically plausible, than our highly conceptualized alternatives, especially if we consider minds developing religious awareness for the first time, without philosophical presuppositions.

THE EXPERIENCE OF POLYTHEISM Let us deal with the matter of relativity first. It becomes a problem only when we have a monotheistic and philosophical agenda to serve, based on an essentially conceptual approach. But this is the procedure of the theologian, not of the believer and experiencer in the context of the experience. 5 6

The bold attempt of Jaynes 1976 deserves mention. On the intrinsic “naturalness” of religious experience and thought see Boyer 1994.

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To insist on a perceived relativity as some kind of disqualification of the reality is to put the cart before the horse, the intellectual reflection before the emotional and spiritual experience.7 It is hard to imagine how the universe developed as a conceptual form except by way of the development of many particularisms, and the belated recognition that they imply something beyond themselves. It is also an argument based on a false premiss. It is like saying that one person’s integrity is devalued because there are other people in the world. Polytheistic deities are not concepts of a greater or lesser degree of rational legitimacy, or philosophical realities which being infinite, cannot be conceived as plural in number, or being demonstrably finite, cannot be divine (the basis of Anselm’s ontological argument). They are essentially persons encountered in the religious response to life. Just as the devout monotheist may experience God in a numinous place or situation, and will then use the cultural norm to interpret it as one and the same at all times and in all places, so the polytheist will experience a divine presence conditioned by his or her acculturation, and will then use the cultural norm to interpret it as now one, now many, in different times and places. We may take as axiomatic the necessity of a personal approach to the external world, that is an approach ruled by a disposition to the personal, in the early development of the human mind. There is an intrinsic tendency to anthropomorphize, and this developed as a survival strategy,8 and has remained useful ever since. It is therefore entirely natural that early religious experience developed in a pluralistic manner. W. Schmidt’s attempt to reconstruct a primordial Ur-Monotheismus,9 however attractive to the modern As an analogy we may compare it with the question of drawing cosmological conclusions from common-sense observation and reason. The one tells us that the earth is flat, the other that it is spherical. The one tells us that sun and moon are both the same size, smaller than the earth at similar distances up in the sky, and revolve round the earth; the other that they are vastly different in size from each other and the earth, are at hugely different distances, and that while one revolves round the earth, the earth revolves round the other. 8 Guthrie 1993. 9 W. Schmidt 1912, 1931, 1934, Ringgren 1947 and Eissfeldt 1951, all attempted to see Ugaritic religion in similar vein. See remarks in Handy 1994, 69–70 and nn. 12 and 13. Ringgren’s somewhat caustic remarks (1947, 7) about “evolutionism” look very out-of-date today, for it is precisely the new understanding of the development of the human mind among 7

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reader, must be judged a failure in the light of recent palaeo-psychological work. It is in our nature to think in this way. Even the Christian, Jew or Muslim (whose appeal to revelation might appear to exempt them from older psychological patterns) will experience God in culturally conditioned form, and the authenticity of the experience will be determined ultimately by peer-group pressure. The one person believed to reveal himself10 in different contexts in a monotheistic mindset will tend in a polytheistic context to be experienced as different personalities, such and such a god habitually revealing himself (that is, being experienced) in this situation, and such and such a goddess revealing herself in another. There would even be a tendency not merely for certain types of deity to be predictable as to their preferred loci of manifestation, but for specific deities to become associated with particular spots.11 Deities who by repute were powerful in one locality or situation might by virtue of their prestige, mediated through popular report and poetic account,12 attain an altogether larger distribution, because in a new situation the report might predispose the explanation of the new experience on the old norm; more practically, the divine image mediating ex-

evolutionary psychologists and palaeoanthropologists which promises us serious advances in enquiries into the origins of religion. (And see now Clark 2006.) Any attempt at explanations of early religious ideas which ignores the insights of these other disciplines is amateur. We certainly should not take a religious explanation, as offered for instance by various passages in the Bible, as a serious account, for the authors’ motives are partisan and propagandistic, and are designed to reinforce a prejudice rather than clarify thinking. For an assessment of the fundamental importance of Darwin and evolutionary theory for the social as much as the zoological and physical sciences, see Dennett 1995. 10 The feminist may experience God as “herself”. In polytheism however there is a genderspecific option. The sex of a deity may depend on the gender of a noun. While it is impossible to delve so far back into linguistic prehistory, the two-gender form of many languages may owe something to the intrinsic anthropomorphism detected by Guthrie 1993. That is, there may be a disposition to allocate gender to nouns on the basis of a preconceived anthropomorphic choice. 11 Cf. the classic loci of appearances of the Virgin in Christian tradition. The prestige of a given cult generates pilgrimage fashions and local cults. Economic interests are aroused, and in no time there is a thriving business. 12 Word of mouth carrying their repute as memes throughout a cultural zone.

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traordinary power might be stolen or otherwise acquired by another culture.13 There is perhaps a case, viewed superficially, for the hypostatization theory. It could be argued, for instance, that the treatment of deities as children of El and Athirat is merely a figurative, preconceptual way of saying that they are extensions of an originally unitary principle (Athirat as El’s daughter can be accorded the same treatment). But a better explanation for language of this kind is surely that it attempts to systematize, and to bring together into a coherent whole beings who were originally quite distinct. This is easily verified, for the gods of the Ugaritic pantheon are clearly of quite varied origins, some being traceable back to Egyptian, Sumerian and even Indo-European origins. It is in the nature of the Ur-Monotheismus claim that it is unverifiable (and unfalsifiable) because it simply depends on prehistoric data, where there is no language record. Having said this, hypostatization undoubtedly does feature in religion, and the pantheon we view in the Ugaritic texts is varied both in its antecedents and in its various descendants, and reflects both centripetal and centrifugal processes.14 Polytheism thus provides appropriate contexts in which to have the experience required or expected. A form of natural psychotherapy appears to operate, and you go to the deity who will answer your particular need. If a given deity, appearing say at a spring or sacred tree, drew people in large numbers to the spot out of veneration or need, a settlement might well grow around the place, the deity becoming the local patron. Indeed, religious history abounds in stories which serve as aetiological foundationmyths, narrating how a city was founded when a deity revealed that such and such a sign would appear to mark the spot. Many specialized deities 13 A

striking mediaeval instance of this process is the stealing of the image of Sainte Foy by the clerics of Conques (Aveyron). The taking away of divine images as booty by victorious armies (such as from ancient Ur or Babylon, or Jerusalem in its various sackings) may have been as much to appropriate the repository of divine power of the enemy as to show the power of one’s own gods over him. (Deity and image in such procedures are inseparable.) 14 Ringgren 1947, 74–79, cited KTU 1.65 as an example of hypostatic forms, and went on to consider Ugaritic references to the wisdom of El, and Pidray, Taliy and Arsiy as hypostases of Baal (“originally nothing but functions of Baal”). Their prehistory is more complex than this allows.

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would have originated, we may surmise, as the spiritual (and therefore personal) powers which were believed to reveal themselves in the appropriate phenomenon, as for instance Reshef as god of pestilence, he being the very deification of pestilence, or Anat as goddess of war, she being as it were the personification of the lack of restraint experienced in battle. But when they appear in the historical record, such deities are never simply the manifestation of this function or that. Experienced as persons, they develop personalities and may combine a number of traits or “functions”, becoming the more rounded as persons the more popular they are, thus reflecting the collective psychological input of their devotees. I have spoken of people evoking deities for specific functions. What of the idea of deities who reveal themselves, unannounced and unprepared for? Here too we cannot simply retreat into theology and state as axiomatic that a god (or more probably in such discourse, God) reveals himself. We must recognize that such events do not really happen unsolicited, but only to a person already in some way predisposed (as Moses or Muhammad) to hear and see things which tradition then describes in terms of a selfrevelation by God. It may be biographical details, the quality of a place; somehow or other a sense of the numinous is aroused which theology then interprets.15 That is, some psychological reality actually triggers off the apparently spontaneous revelation.16 To call the event a “revelation” is in effect to accord a certain theological dignity to it in retrospect, to accept that it is authentic and significant beyond its historical incidence. It is already to accord it a mythic status.17 What we see as historically significant in the case of a few important paradigmatic figures will have happened a thousand

For the classic analysis see Otto 1950. Thus Moses, Jesus, Paul and Muhammad, to say nothing of the shadowy figures behind the “canonical” prophets of the Hebrew Bible, or other cultic personnel throughout the ancient world, were evidently already in a highly receptive state, whether on grounds of personality or biography, to the revelations subsequently experienced. And if we are reliant upon literary tradition rather than history, for we have only the literary records on which to rely, this is in no way diminished. The very survival of heroic traditions of this kind demonstrates the mental processing at work, if only on the part of purveyors of tradition, and the need to have such paradigm figures as the focus of attention, and as mediators between lesser mortals and the gods. 17 It thus transcends the historically particular dimension, and becomes mythical, and paradigmatic. The traditions about Moses, Jesus and Muhammad are all treated in this way. 15 16

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times over in unsung or unrecorded situations, known only to the immediate circle of the subject. We do see tendencies towards something more unitary by way of religious focus in particular historical situations, and this appears in Ugarit as elsewhere to have exhibited itself in two classic ways, through the medium of hierarchy, and the growth of henotheism. Hierarchy is probably a universal feature of human societies. A truly egalitarian society is hard to imagine, given human nature. Certainly by the time of the rise of civilization,18 with the development of agriculture and permanent settlement, we must surely think in terms of some sort of chief person, almost certainly a man,19 who through personal prestige, and perhaps physical force, controlled each local community. From the mid-third millennium, building on a long prehistory of dominant groups and dominant men within these groups, we have the formal institution of kingship, validated and reinforced by complex symbolic, ritual and even theological claims. Since it is entirely natural that the pantheon would broadly reflect the structures of human society, we see, wherever we look, more or less hierarchical divine structures, with a chief god who is represented as father of the other gods, and of human beings too, who is often represented as king of the gods. Handy’s (1994, p. 65) presentation of the pantheon as a bureaucracy assumes a hierarchical structure. His observation that the Ugaritian pantheon is bound to be represented in bureaucratic form on account of the interests of the priesthood who preserved the texts merely demonstrates what may be regarded as the first rule of divine representation, that it reflects human thought-structures.20 All the interrelationships of the deities in the Ugaritic mythological texts presuppose hierarchy, and a number of levels in which “higher” deities instruct “lower” deities. The various mythological struggles that take place seem always to be restricted to any one level I use the term in the conventional sense of the rise of urbanism. No value judgment is involved. We should certainly avoid the once fashionable term “savage” for non-urban cultures. 19 The idea of a primordial matriarchy is a figment of wishful thinking, despite the efforts of such scholars as M. Gimbutas to present it as archaeologically plausible. “Matriarchy” does appear to exist in baboon and chimpanzee societies, however. 20 We put into God’s mouth the thoughts of our own minds. 18

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in the hierarchy, though we also find evidence of role-reversal and interrank tension, as in the case of Anat’s relation with El. The clearest example of henotheism in Ugarit is a passage, possibly cited from a hymn, in the body of the Baal mythology, occurring at KTU 1.3 v 30–4 and 1.4 iv 43–6: Our king is Valiant, Baal is our lord: and there is none above him! We should all bring his chalice, we should all bring his cup.

At first reading this may appear to support the old theory of the deposition of El by Baal, who allegedly usurped both his position and his wife, as supposedly attested in the Hebrew Bible. This position is now however no longer tenable.21 The immediate sequel to both occurrences of this passage at once sets it in a broader context: Baal deserves a palace (sc. a temple) on account of his rank as vanquisher of Yam and thus king among the gods. But he does not have one, and representations must be made on his behalf to El, who is the ultimate authority, and evidently the final arbiter of divine as well as human destinies. So Baal is described in terms which suggest a supreme god, and yet is not one. This is the literary and liturgical phenomenon of henotheism, for it is in cultic contexts that it occurs (rather than discursive theological ones). It is frequently described as “Hofstil ” (“courtly style”). It attributes to the deity being hymned or invoked such attributes as we might expect of a deity conceived in monotheistic terms, yet found in polytheistic contexts. As a stylistic trait it is common in ancient near eastern hymnody. We should be cautious in attributing too much theological content to it in terms of constructing larger arguments than the context will bear. The presence of a deity may reveal itself in surprising ways. Consider for instance the following interesting observation of Bruno Bettelheim: [The child] strikes the door that has slammed on him... he punishes the door because he is certain that the door slammed deliberately, out of evil intention... To the child, there is no clear line separating objects 21 This

argument is presented by Pope 1955, id. 1987, and Oldenburg 1969. For the counterarguments see L’Heureux 1979. See also Smith 1994, i 117–31; Herrmann 1995, cols. 525– 26, and Wyatt 2002, 51 n. 59 for rejections of the deposition theory, which centres mostly on the very damaged text at KTU 1.1 col. v.

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE from living things; and whatever has life has life very much like our own. If we do not understand what rocks and trees and animals have to tell us, the reason is that we are not sufficiently attuned to them.22

This observation may be compared with Guthrie’s (1993, p. 39) to the effect that animism is a strategy among other non-human creatures too.23 Bettleheim’s observation does not describe merely childish reactions to external events, but echoes what was probably a universal reaction, surviving still in the cry “Why me?”! The psychological processing at work here is in my view strictly comparable to our present concern. We may compare too the need that is evidently widely held by people, whenever any disaster, natural or otherwise, occurs, to seek not merely an explanation, but someone to blame. We even use the ancient religious term “scapegoat” if it is felt that the process is being carried too far, or some minor person in the organization concerned has taken the rap while people in command, who ought to accept ultimate responsibility, get away with it. What is happening here is an instinctive process of attributing personality to non-personal things. We give female names to ships, and until the feminists turned the tables, American hurricanes were given girls’ names. Rather than seeing these merely as a quaint or picturesque ways of describing things, there is reason to think that it is a distinctively human way of looking at the world. A graphic example is the list of abstractions which are represented in Hesiod’s Theogony as begotten of prior abstractions, a complex genealogy linking all aspects of the metaphysical world. It is easy to dismiss these as dead metaphors, examples of poetic license, or even as examples of primitive religion, now happily outgrown. The degree to which the irrational still controls many features of modern life, notably in politics, should warn us not to crow too soon that we are emancipated from such “primitive” thought.24 Bettelheim 1976 (1986 imprint), 46. Guthrie is using the term “animism” in a broader sense than Tylor, though he weaves his discussion round Tylor’s animistic theory. 24 The term “irrational” should not be used of any aspect of behaviour that defies reason. As our understanding of psychology advances, many seemingly irrational processes are demonstrated to be strictly purposive or explicable. These are in particular such aspects of experience as are commonly called telepathic, parapsychological and so on. There is a huge range 22 23

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Another element in the formation of a pantheon is probably a tendency in ancient cultures to think not in terms of the individual, so dear to all our values, but rather in terms of the clan, the small social unit, seen almost as a single organism. Thus the impression we have of fragmentation and lack of coherent structure in a pantheon would seem to the participant in an ancient belief-system a serious misreading of the situation. Our failure to recognize and appreciate the inner dynamics of a pantheon is a function of our failure to understand the structures of the society or societies which developed it. In this respect Handy’s study must be judged a useful exercise.

THE EXPERIENCE OF DIVINE IMAGES We have seen that there is a universal human tendency to attribute personality to inanimate and even immaterial objects. We have just seen this in conceptual terms. It is also the case in more basic, behavioural terms. The use of images to mediate the divine is extremely widespread in human history, and I doubt if aniconism has anywhere been an original norm, even if it has developed in some special circumstances.25 The only possible instance

of mental and bodily processes as yet only partially understood. I use the term “irrational”, as in this sentence, to denote those areas of thought and behaviour where the rational and conscious structures of life, such as morality, or the use of modern medical or other technological skill, conflict with the much older folk-beliefs and instinctive forces that can well up. Thus the darker features of Nazi genocidal practice, or the deep hatreds leading to the viciousness of the Yugoslav wars are irrational, in that they conflict with the very ethical foundations of all the belief-systems involved. The measure of irrationality is bad faith! There is also a deliberate (even if unconsciously motivated) turning from mature participation in a culture to the revival of its past, observed in the romantic German intellectual tradition outlined by Noll 1994, also typified in contemporary “New Age” thought. (Cf. the revival of Olympian religion in Greece in the twenty-first century!) But irrational though these may seem, they represent an emotional recidivism akin to the basic pattern outlined above, and are at least not generally pursued in bad faith. 25 An interesting case is the question of, or perhaps the extent of, Jewish aniconism. In an interesting discussion of the problem, Mettinger (1994) appealed among other source materials to the supposed aniconic form of Amun postulated by Wainwright 1928. Unfortunately this hypothesis had already been disproved by Doresse 1971–79 and van der Plas 1987. Where aniconism has developed, it undoubtedly serves as a special instance of iconism, since the absence of the deity is itself a strikingly visual phenomenon, as in “hollow” Jain statues, or conspicuously empty divine thrones.

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from Ugarit is the vacant stone throne RS 90.1,26 but there is no means of telling whether it was intended to represent an “aniconic presence” of a deity, or was actually used for a portable image (unlikely, perhaps, in view of its substantial size: it is 130 cm high), or even had any religious significance at all. It may well have been a royal throne. The throne itself would evidently carry symbolic value,27 but we can hardly press it into service of the hypothesis under discussion. Ugarit otherwise offers no evidence of aniconism. If the divine power experienced is regarded in personal terms, and is at the same time an abstraction, it has been normal for devotees to give human form not merely in verbal but also in concrete terms, as a focus of attention.28 Precious metals have been used, and even if a statue of a deity is made of wood or clay, a covering or fitments of gold, silver, lapis lazuli and ivory is frequently used. While in the field of art history the power of an image has long been recognized and valued by critics, the same has not been the case among theologians. So the iconoclastic outbursts of the Hebrew prophets are often represented as the emergence of true religion and the death-knell of old, false beliefs. The debates that have raged on such matters have nothing to teach us about human religiosity, since they are merely the propaganda of one perspective. The sad feature of too much contemporary scholarship is to have mistaken the old propaganda as the Yon 1991, 350 fig. 1b. This throne, perhaps significantly, has a high back-rest (nḫt ), which is plausibly to be understood against the background I sketched in Wyatt 2002, 50 n. 56, 92 nn. 91, 92. But this could constitute an ideological rather than iconographic meaning. 28 Theriomorphic form, as in the use of bull-images, is rare in the Ugaritic repertoire. A bronze bull has been discovered (fig. 5 in Schaeffer 1966, 9) which may be compared with bulls from Tyre and Hazor. Schaeffer interpreted this as El, but I would distinguish its iconography from the aurochs of fig. 10 (Tyre), which is more likely to be El. Baal is evidently imagined in bovine form in KTU 1.5 v 17–21, perhaps in 1.9.11, and in 1.10 iii and 13.21– 36, where he may be envisaged as both anthropomorphous and bovine, while El is conventionally given the title tr il, “Bull El”, which also occurs in Hosea 8:6 (see NEB), and evidently refers to the “calf” images of Samaria, and perhaps those of Dan and Bethel in 1 Kings 12. For discussion of these Israelite instances see Wyatt 1992 = 2005a, 72–91. The “Devourers” of KTU 1.12 appear to be caprid in form, and we encounter a mare-goddess in KTU 1.100, while Yam is draconian and Athtar apparently leonine (KTU 1.24.30: see Wyatt 2002, 339 n. 21). 26 27

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substance of the reality. But it is in the nature of religious beliefs that you cannot falsify them, for they do not have a direct correspondence to the real world, being rather a complex symbolic game designed to help people deal with the real world. The picture of the Jews surviving through the most unlikely and adverse historical circumstances is a measure not of their faith and its intrinsic truth, but rather of the tenacity of any faith, the ultimate function of which is survival.

POLYTHEISM AS A RELIGIOUS NORM If religion develops in the manner which I have outlined above—a position which remains to some extent hypothetical—then we should not expect any deliberate, logical thinking to go into the constitution of a pantheon, any more than we should expect it to underlie monotheism. We may even propose a principle, that the nature of deity in a given society is a function of the sociology of that society. That is, it is the nature of the structure and dynamics of a social group which will determine the formation of a pantheon or its narrowing down to a sole deity.29 But the forces which determine the origins and early development these features in a society are not illogical, nor even prelogical in Lévy-Bruhl’s sense. I think “intuitive” is a better term to use. The whole business is above all symbolic, and symbols operate most powerfully and effectively when the business is carried on unconsciously. The human mind is an immensely powerful machine, but it does not operate solely at the level of conscious ratiocination and logic, however much we might like to think that this is the case.30 It is as well to remember that much of the mind’s activity in the course of our everyday Thus the emergence of Jewish or Islamic monotheism is more a function of the centralization of power and its self-assertion against rival power-claims, and a symbol for it, than any “logical” extension of theological insights. They come later, as rationalization and substantiation of the symbol. The intellectualization cannot of course be divorced from the organic process of which it is an integral part. 30 It is arguable that the very discipline of theology, by concentration on logical structures, cannot hope to recover the basis for its own subject-matter, so long as it adheres to logical categories, as a system of conscious thinking. For the foundations surely lie deep within the unconscious, in a dimension of the mind altogether more neurological. On the other hand, theology is a classic form of rationalization (in the sense of auto-justification), which then parades itself, through the convenient ambiguity of language, as rationalization (in the sense of giving a reasoned, rational account). If this sounds rather dismissive, let any theologian give an account of someone else’s theology! 29

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life as animals is carried on subliminally and unconsciously. It could not be otherwise. We cannot be conscious of every little stratagem that is required even to survive the day, with thousands of signals given out by our fellows communicating complex messages, warning, threatening, begging, demanding, advising, and expressing deference or dominance appropriate to every social context, many of these being communicated by bodily gestures not even accompanying speech, and when doing so modifying, reinforcing or even belying the speech. Even the environment “communicates” with us, as we judge distances, speeds, colour signals, animal signals, the implications of noises we hear, all without even being conscious of the fact. All this processing of sensory data is carried on at a social level, and also at an environmental level, in relation to animals and plants, sun, wind and rain, day and night, season after season. All this is carried on at an unconscious level, a fact we can appreciate as soon as we realize that all the other animal species around us are doing the same thing. This is nature at work, and we are part of it. And yet human societies are radically different from all other forms of life, not because any of this is, or can be, denied, but because on top of our complex animal behaviour is superimposed a million years of hominid culture, with its own complex games and strategies, and the more recent deposit of Homo sapiens sapiens, with speech, in which we not only use symbols, but invent them, and out of them construct and imagine ever more complex worlds. Worlds, for the first time, in the evolution of life on earth, with meaning. For we cannot just live biologically. We live in part in opposition to nature, alienated from the world,31 and aware, as no other creatures are aware, that we shall die, and that life is an unceasing struggle against disease and war, famine and drought, involving perpetual oppositions between wealth and poverty, power and oppression, good and evil. How, in such a bleak world, can we find not only meaning and solace, but beauty and fulfilment? For without these, the growing awareness of our mortality and the futility of human endeavour can lead only to despair. The first thing in the external world which begins to take shape in infantile consciousness (and consciousness at a very shallow level) is the shape of its mother’s face. This is deeply imprinted in incipient conscious31

See Berger 1973, 13–37.

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ness, and remains with us to our graves. The man in the moon, the shapes of clouds, the smiling sun, all around is a world which we personify. We do it in the modern world even while we smile at its simplicity. Our ancestors did it in deadly earnest, and probably entirely unconsciously, for how can you come to terms with a blind force of nature? How do you accept the rage of the storm, the power of the sea, the promise of bounty in soil and live-stock and its withholding? In all places and times human societies have seen deities in nature. And gods and goddesses, by their very nature, are essentially human personalities imposed upon and recognized in the natural world. There are of course monsters aplenty, and animal deities, and great wild abstractions, but the common feature of them all is an imagined human mind, for it is felt that they can thus somehow communicate with people. The social pattern in the pantheon which grows up in every culture is by and large modelled on the social pattern of the imagining community. We never see a pantheon except in an advanced, highly developed stage. Behind each historical one lies an immense prehistory of which we can say virtually nothing. Informed comment becomes possible when we compare the panthea of neighbouring peoples, and of those speaking cognate languages. If we find deities with foreign names in a pantheon, we can postulate the way in which such and such a deity came to join the new group. If the same divine names, or those with the same etymological basis, appear in several different groups of a common linguistic background, we can begin to reconstruct—at least in a tentative manner—the process of development and diffusion.32 This will always remain hypothetical and provisional, however, since each new piece of evidence may modify or disprove earlier conclusions.

A good example is provided by the gods of the various panthea of communities speaking Indo-European languages. Similar deities, linked now by name, now by mythology, occur from Ireland to Bengal. The old Vedic sky-god Dyaus appears in Greek form as Zeus, in Roman form as Iuppiter ( Jupiter: cf. Sanskrit Dyaus Pitar) and as Germanic Tiw (also Tyr). It is even possible that the name underlies the Hebrew divine name Yahweh (< Yahu), by way of Indo-European influence in the Near East in the Middle Bronze. The epithetal form yw occurring at Ugarit in KTU 1.1 iv 14 is perhaps cognate with this. See Wyatt 1989a, 21– 25, id. 2002, 48 n. 51. 32

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DYNAMICS OF THE PANTHEON Certain deities appear in several Semitic panthea, as indicated in the table. Their diffusion may have happened in historical times, but in some instances at least we have reason to think that they formed a basic, protoSemitic pantheon. “Proto-Semitic” being a linguistic term, we are speaking essentially in linguistic terms, and the diffusion strictly represents the dispersion of language rather than people. However, the “Amorite migrations” from the third millennium, being a slow process of settlement in Mesopotamia by an expanding and mobile population from the northwest was no doubt typical of actual population movements accompanying the spread of language. The fact that certain deities are not attested in certain contexts is as eloquent as the presence of others. It indicates that a rigid system was lacking, that local considerations determined which gods were most prominent. Indeed, while conventional listings by function are intended to give an overview, they are unsatisfactory in that the “functions” we tend to wish to accord to the deities, “the god of this, the goddess of that”, are frequently ones we have imposed with systematization, or at best priesthoods have so done when trying to make sense of an apparent confusion. Many deities perform several functions, or one function in one location, but a different one elsewhere. In some cases the name itself immediately identifies a function, such as Shamash, whose name in all the Semitic languages means “sun”. However he is particularly involved in the maintenance of justice and law in Mesopotamia. The sun is not the main function, but a symbol of all the greater superstructures which developed from prehistoric times. Even the gender of the name tells us something about a prehistorical process, since in some languages the word is feminine. Nergal appears to be the equivalent of both Mot (Death) and Reshef (Plague) in Ugarit, but like Reshef is also the planet Mars. There is a constant tendency in the active cult of a particular deity to accord him or her universal powers, the phenomenon we call henotheism, as noted above, and this tendency is also found with the god Yahweh. Such a process is probably an early stage in the development of a monotheistic system, though in most cases it does not move to its logical conclusion. It would be entirely wrong here to think of a universal tendency, frozen in its tracks at various stages of development in the several instances that are, and certainly not as an “advance”, if by this we mean leading towards a greater

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acceptability to modern susceptibilities. As for “function”, we do well never simply to equate the deities with the apparent function suggested by the name, for the names, even where they can be explained, invariably serve as symbols, and are intended (or have the effect of so doing, for this is not a purposive, conscious processing of data) to work on the basis of the association of ideas. Thus the fashionable treatment of (so many!) near eastern deities as “fertility gods” or “mother goddesses” tells us very little about the deities, and a great deal about simplistic or prejudiced assessments by modern minds. In the case of the Ugaritian goddesses Anat and Athtart such an assessment is wide of the mark. In the hierarchy of divine power in Ugarit, Baal, as king among the gods (KTU 1.3 v 32–4 = 1.4 iv 43–6), serves to mediate El’s supreme power at a practical level; he is the patron of the city (KTU 1.119)33 and of the king;34 he wards off the forces of chaos (KTU 1.2 iv, 1.6 vi); he has a soteriological function (KTU 1.12), and also brings fertilizing rain to the land. And these are just the roles he plays in the small repertoire of surviving texts. We may be sure that in all probability some devotees at least experienced an intense, emotionally satisfying relationship with him in terms of personal “religious experience”, though no evidence of this is found apart from personal names. We see therefore that Baal is far more than a mere “fertility god”, whatever that description is supposed to mean. He is a figure with a rich mythology, fully involved in the management of cosmos, city, capital and throne, and yet remains transcendent, glorious and worthy of hymns (KTU 1.101). He is in short not unlike Iron Age Yahweh.35

TERMS FOR THE PANTHEON OF UGARIT, AND POSSIBLE DIVISIONS WITHIN IT The following expressions occur, evidently denoting all or some of the Ugaritian deities. They do not all necessarily have the same status as formal designations, because they sometimes emerge out of the exigencies of prosody, We cannot be entirely certain that bʿl ugrt denotes the same god as the Baal (Hadd) of the Chaoskampf tradition, but it is a reasonable surmise. 34 Wyatt 1998 = 2005b, 151–89. 35 Part of the shrillness of the anti-Baal rhetoric of the Hebrew Bible is perhaps in part due to the similarity in character of the two gods. Very often it is a matter of theological nuance that distinguishes the two. On the substantial debt of Yahweh-theology to that of Baal see Day 1985 and de Moor 1997. 33

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where one expression in poetry needs to be balanced by another. Perhaps incipient differentiation of different groups is to be understood, though without commentary to this effect, we may only draw the most tentative conclusions. In KTU 1.65.1–3, for example, three of the following designations (§§1, 10, 13) occur, preceding the invocation of a number of individual deities. The liturgical context precludes the taking of this as some attempt at classification of different sub-groups—no copula is used, which might be construed as linking distinct sets—and the lines are best understood as a condensed tricolon made up entirely of vocatives.36 But their occurrence in poetry, the classic medium of authoritative religious discourse in Ugarit, could no doubt generate a new terminology out of serendipity, and thus allow further refinement in the conceptualization of the pantheon.37 In the case of groups in which the name of a specific deity in the genitive follows the construct of the group-term. The list below is given in alphabetical order, and no particular hierarchy is to be inferred except when this is explicit in a formula. 1) il bn il (KTU 1.65.1): “the gods of the pantheon”. I think that this is the sense to be understood at KTU 1.65.1, notwithstanding my remarks at §7 below. But it is evidently the pantheon as subordinate to El himself, and presumably excluding him, if the logic of the term is to be followed up. Thus the filial sense is implicit in the term, and corresponds to the šbʿm bn atrt (§§8, 19 below), El and Athirat being the parents of all the deities. 2) ilm 38 (KTU 1.1 iv 6 and passim in all categories of tablet): “(the) gods”, or perhaps “deities”, since it undoubtedly covers goddesses too in See the layout of my translation, Wyatt 2002, 363–65. It is as well to recollect at all times that any given text reflects a theological reality only at the time of composition. Inertia and tradition would mean that all beliefs and practices had a certain life-span, but religion was in fact always changing over the generations. Even “tradition” has no fixity. On the other hand there is a remarkable persistence of broad motifs and symbolic forms, as in the case of the Chaoskampf which despite all the variations can be traced through a literature spanning nearly four thousand years, and an iconography that persists to this day. (See Wyatt 1998 = 2005b, 151–89.) 38 This is the usual plural of il used in the generic sense. The form ilhm also appears (CPU ii 1. 218–19 gives nineteen instances). The feminine forms ilt (singular) and ilht (plural) are also found. 36 37

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many instances. The masculine form will have been used to cover both genders in this and other instances. 3) ilm arṣ (KTU 1.19 iii 6!, [21,] 35): “chthonian gods”, probably to be identified with the deities called ilnym 39 in §6. 4) ilm rbm (KTU 4.149.1): “the great gods”, in a list of jars, probably of wine (cf. ll. 10, 14) the first one being for “the temple(s) of the great gods”. This may denote Baal and Dagan, whose temples lie on the acropolis. “The great gods” are in any event probably a group of major deities rather than the whole pantheon. 5) il ṣpn (KTU 1.47.1): “the gods of Saphon”. This term is inclusive, since it embraces El himself as well as all the deities of the pantheon. The term ṣpn, “Saphon”, appears to serve in KTU 1.47.15 and parallels as what I have called an “umbrella deity”. As well as denoting the deified sacred mountain itself, it surely includes all the inhabitants of the mountain, that is, all the gods of the pantheon. We shall revert below to the incidence of both terms in KTU 1.47. 6) ilnym (KTU 1.3 iv 35 etc.): “divinities”. Cf. §3. 7) bn il ([KTU 1.40.16, 24]): this term occurs in the expression ab bn il (references given), denoting El as “the father of the pantheon” as well as constituting part of formulae §§8–12. It should perhaps be translated in two ways, depending on context. As a functional use of the term bn, it means “members of the class ‘god’”, sc. “divine beings”, or collectively “pantheon”. When the mythological aspect is foremost, and it is the filial relation of the gods to El that is at issue, then “sons of El” is the appropriate meaning. See also my remarks on KTU 1.65.1 (§1 above). De Moor’s (1970, 224) classification of them as “the son- or daughter-type” is in my view not entirely helpful when numbers of gods are being considered (as also in §§8– 12, [14], 17 and 19), because we do not know for certain the constitution of such groups. Are they all the deities other than El and Athirat? If so, then many of the “great gods”, and presumably gods from various sources, would be included. Such terminology is for purposes of classification, and does not necessarily presuppose any serious degree of subordination, beyond the formal one of being under the ultimate control of the primal divine couple. 8) bn atrt (KTU 1.3 iv 48, v 4 etc.): “the sons of Athirat” (or, “children...”: cf. §18). Note also the expressions atrt wbnh and ilt w ṣbrt ary !h (both The form ilnm found at KTU 1.19 i 10, read as the equivalent of ilnym by some, is rather to be understood as “terebinth”. See Wyatt 2002, 291 and n. 183. 39

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KTU 1.3 v 36, 1.4 i [6]): “Athirat and her sons || the goddess and the band of her kinsmen”. These offspring of Athirat are destroyed by Baal at KTU 1.6 v 1–4 (see Wyatt 2002, 140 and nn. 102–3) and are no doubt to be identified with Mot’s brothers of KTU 1.6 vi 10–11, 14–5. These references must explain Athirat’s own anxiety as expressed at KTU 1.4 ii 24–6, and are perhaps also to be linked to Anat’s victims at KTU 1.3 iii 38–46.40 We see in such allusions material analogous to the mythologica of Hesiod’s Theogony, fulfilling every aspiration of Guthrie (1993), but extremely difficult to present in any systematic manner, perhaps because much of it was elaborated in an ad hoc fashion, and was never formally related to other similar ad hoc constructions.41 9) bn qdš (KTU 1.17 i 13 etc., all passages in the opening scene in Aqhat): “the holy ones”. Again this may be construed with two nuances: either as the generic use of bn with an abstract quality, “holiness”; or mythologically, meaning “the sons of the Holy One”. The term qdš may denote El at KTU 1.2 iii 20, i 21 and 38, and certainly does at KTU 1.16 i 11, 22 [ii 49] (binomial lṭpn wqdš )42. 10) dr il (KTU 1.15 iii 19, 1.41.16 = [1.87.17–8]43): “the family of El”. 11) dr bn il (KTU 1.65.2): “family of the gods”. 12) dr dt šmm (KTU 1.10 i 5): “the generation(s) of heaven”. 13) kbkbm (KTU 1.19 iv 24, 31 etc., in both mythic and “epic” texts): “stars”. There are a number of passages where “stars” are mentioned, and may, but need not, have a divine reverence. See for example Pughat’s epithet ydʿt hlk kbkbm, “she who knows the courses of the stars” (KTU 1.19 ii 3 etc.). The f. form kbkbt (KTU 1.92.28) probably denotes “star (goddesses)”. Cf. Wyatt (2002, 373 n. 25). The expression ilm kbkbm, “the star On these enemies, to be compared with the traditional foes of Ninurta, see Wyatt 2005c, 705-7. 41 On the other hand, the disorder we often discern in ancient texts may often be an instance of our failure to comprehend the intended structure. For a useful example with regard to Leviticus 18–20 see Carmichael 1997. 42 Binger’s recent championing of the old sense of a goddess “Qudshu” (1997, 56–60) is an attempt to turn the clock back. See Wiggins 1991. 43 CPU ’s reference (ii 1, 619) to this expression as occurring in KTU 1.176.16, together with pḫr bʿl , is erroneous. 40

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gods”, occurring at KTU 1.43.3, is also to be noted. Since stars were widely regarded as divine in the ancient world, it should come as no surprise to find evidence in Ugarit. We know that the sun (Shapsh, and perhaps Athirat and Rahmay)44, the moon (Yarih, and perhaps originally El)45, Venus (Athtart and Athtar) and Mars (Reshef ) were members of the Ugaritic pantheon, but no evidence allowing us to identify any others has been found.46 14) mpḫrt bn il (KTU 1.40.42, and restored in several other lines of this text, 1.65.3): “the assembly of the gods”. It qualifies the pantheon in terms of the legal-political overtones of the epithetal mpḫrt, strictly a participial form, meaning presumably “the assembled ones” or something similar.47 It also contrasts with the following usage, where ilm is generic, in highlighting the authority of El, who instructs the gods to meet. 15) pḫr ilm (KTU 1.47.29 = 1.118.28,48 1.148.9): “the assembly of the gods”. The usage, particularly clear in the pantheon lists, indicates the group of gods as a unity, like il ṣpn, though this collective term is distinguished in KTU 1.47.1, where it heads the entire list. The occurrence at KTU 1.148.9 has the assembly receive a ram, and in a sequence surrounded by other individual deities who are presumably all members of the pḫr ilm. Perhaps the term is useful when there is a need to be comprehensive, but not all the gods can realistically be given. It may be to avoid inadvertent omissions, which might be felt to be dangerous. However, its specific use in KTU 1.47 and parallels, in distinction from other sub-groups, evidently shows that in some cases at least it has a narrower reference. 16) pḫr bʿl (KTU 1.39.7, 1.41.16, 1. 87.18, 176.17 ? 49): “the assembly of Baal”. As a group distinct from §§14–15, this group may comprise the seven Baals of KTU 1.47.5–11 = 1.118.4–10 = RS 20.24.4–10. See the evidence of KTU 1.23, discussed in Wyatt 2002, 333 n. 50. This is suggested by KTU 1.12 i 15–17, where amt yrḫ and amt atrt are in parallel. 46 If the latter is solar, as KTU 1.23 suggests (and the theogonic traditions here are cognate), then we may expect that Yarih (“Moon”) appears here as a form of El, who is evidently the father of the Devourers. It is El who laughs at the news of the pregnancy in lines 12–13. 47 Cf. Gordon 1969, §§19.2036–37. Under the former entry ( pḫyr) Gordon suggested that in the expression pḫyr bth (KTU 4.258.3) it means “members of a household” (citing Syriac puḥrā, Arabic fuḫr and Akkadian puḫru). 48 Cf. the parallel Akkadian text at RS 20.24.28, dpuḫur ilâni m. 49 CPU ii 1, 1676 lists KTU 1.176.17, but this does not correspond to the text (= RIH 78/26) in KTU 2. 44 45

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17) pḫr kkbm || dr dt šmm (KTU 1.10 i 4): evidently a combination of the terms of §§11 and 13. 18) pḫr mʿd (KTU 1.2 i 14–31, 6 times, only in this passage): “convocation of the Council”. This term, it is clear from the narrative context, denotes the members of the pantheon in a formal assembly. They have met to feast (sc. participate in an act of sacrifice), and Yam uses the opportunity to challenge El to deliver Baal to him, presumably on the assumption that the demand will have the greater weight in this formal context. The expression evokes the motif of the divine council as a forensic medium for the operation of the divine will, and is widely attested throughout the ancient near east (Wyatt 1996b, 338–47). 19) šbʿm bn atrt ( KTU 1.4 vi 46): “the seventy sons of Athirat”, or perhaps “the seventy children...”, 50 though with the general emphasis on sons as giving prestige (here to a fecund mother), the former probably captures the right nuance. Cf. §7. 20) šmym (KTU 1.19 iv 24, 30): “the heavenly ones”, an epithetal form of šmm, “heaven(s)”.51 21) špḥ lṭpn (KTU 1.16 ii 43–4): “the offspring of the Wise One... ”. Used of the gods in this passage, which is to be compared to KTU 1.16 i 22–3, where the expression špḥ lṭpn wqdš is used of Keret as a divine king. I have left out of account here some further sub-groups identifiable in forms that appear as though names of individual deities in KTU 1.47. Many of these usages occur in a very limited repertoire, particularly when confined to poetry, and are evidently constructed in part to fulfil the requirements of parallelism. This feature alone should indicate that we must be cautious about too much systematization in our analysis. Of course poets spoke with authority, and their formulae might well become the standard theological categories of later ages. But when such poetic formulations are not paralleled in the usage of ritual texts, we should see them primarily as prosodic and liturgical embellishments rather than theologically distinct forms, whatever might have happened later had the city not been destroyed. In the background of the Ugaritians’ minds there was no doubt a convicSee now my discussion of this formula in Wyatt 2006. Šmm appears as a deity, paired with arṣ , in KTU 1.47.12 = 1.118.11 = RS 20.24.11 didim ù idim .

50 51

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tion of a universe populated by spirits, many of whom remained unknown by name, and who would be propitiated in such expressions as pḫr ilm, designed to avoid any offence by inadvertent omission. For cult was essentially a diplomatic encounter, a negotiation, between the inhabitants of the visible and invisible worlds. The first thing to notice in these usages is their comprehensive nature, even when they may have denoted only a part of the pantheon. By this I mean that they evoke an underlying sense of unity, not in the sense of any deliberate movement towards monotheism, but rather in the sense that the pantheon is a cohesive, cooperative association of supernatural powers, who may be described as working broadly in concert. It is brought out particularly clear in the expression il ṣpn, “the gods of Saphon”, since as we have seen this includes El himself. This point is perhaps worth emphasizing in view of Handy’s view, for instance, that tensions between deities somehow represents a kind of malfunctioning, following his bureaucratic model for understanding the workings of the pantheon. I think that this misreads such tensions. It is in the nature of life that certain competing realities are in tension, such as good and evil, life and death. This is after all how human beings experience the world. As I see it, the purpose of such tensions, of which the myth of conflict, the struggle between Baal and Yam is the most graphic and developed example, is precisely to work out and resolve in narrative terms such anomies and problems as were experienced in the real world. This has always been the way in which problems are resolved, short of actually resorting to violence. The strongest impression emerging from this rather overstated variety of terms is the simple sense of redundancy, as though different emotional rather than theological motivations led to the emphasis now on one feature, such as their collectivity and cooperation ( pḫr, mpḫrt ), now on another, such as their clan identity (bn, dr). Such distinctions as appear to be made, as for instance between a “Baal group” and an “El group”, is better seen as one sub-division which is subsumed within the larger group. Some classification appears to have been intended, however, and de Moor (1970) made a number of useful observations. Firstly, chthonian gods, apart from Reshef, are absent from offering lists, though they may feature in poetry or are the objects of attention in exorcisms and for other

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magical52 purposes. Secondly, he noted the following types (1970, 224–25), classified by function, though I am reluctant to accord all these groups the same formal status, partly because we have no evidence that the Ugaritians classified them in this way, and in many cases we are quite unacquainted with their roles: a) b) c) d) e) f) g) h) i) j)

the father god (ab, ab wilm, dgn, ḥtk); the mother-goddess (um ilm,53 atrt); the son- or daughter-type (bn il, bn qdš, bt, ḥtk dgn 54); deities governing meteorological phenomena and fertility (il add, il hd, il ḫš, il ḫš add, arṣy, bʿl, hd, hdd, ṭly, pdry); goddesses of love, possibly also of war (nkl ?, ʿnt, ʿttrt 55); goddesses of conception and childbirth (the ktrt and their individual names—KTU 1.24); gods of arts and crafts (ilš, ktr [wḫss]); deities responsible for diseases (mtm rb[m], iltm ḫnqtm, ršp); deities of death and the netherworld (ilm arṣ, ilnym, ḥrn, mt, mt wšr, nhr[m], rpu, rpum, tmq);56 deities belonging to specific social classes (ilt asrm, ršp ṣbi[m]);

I am reluctant to distinguish magic and religion in any absolute sense, as it is sometimes done (e.g. still by del Olmo Lete 1992, 70 = 1999, 91, with reference to the exticispy text KTU 1.127). After all, one man’s religion is another’s magic, and the latter term is widely used more for polemical purposes rather than disinterested study or open enquiry. Perhaps if magic is to be distinguished from religion at all it is on the basis of its tendency to be secretive and private, concerned more with personal than public interests, and not infrequently with a degree of malevolence. But an exorcism text like KTU 1.169 is by no means to be classed as magic just because it does not conform readily to our susceptibilities. Even the Book of Common Prayer allows for exorcism as a valid procedure. Religion in the ancient world, as today in traditional (pre-industrial) societies, had a far broader scope than in the contemporary west. 53 Cf. Athirat’s mythic title qnyt ilm . 54 I have a different explanation for this title of Baal. See chapter 2 above, §14. 55 I do not think that either Anat or Athtart is a “goddess of love”, notwithstanding Anat’s erotic encounters with Baal in KTU 1.10, 1.11 and 1.13, but rather of war and hunting. 56 I prefer to see mt wšr as an epithet of El (Wyatt 1977a). 52

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k)

deities belonging to geographic entities (il [y] ugrt, ilt ṣdnym, ilt ṣpn, atrt ṣrm, bʿl ugrt, bʿl ḫlb, bʿl ṣpn, bʿl šd, ʿnt ṣpn, ʿttrt šd, ršp gn); l) deities belonging to buildings (il bt, ilt bt, ilt mgdl, bʿl bbt, bʿlt bhtm, bt bt, ršp bbt); m) deities governing celestial bodies or phenomena (dkbkbm, šmym); n) animals (ilht arḫt, ilht ḫprt, ilm alpm, ilm krm, [ušḫr] ḫlmṭ, dqt, pḥl, pḥlt, šgr witm); o) abstract concepts (il bldn, ḥn bn il dn, ḥnn il, mšr, ṣdq mšr, qdš, šlm); p) cosmic localities (arṣ wšmm, šmm wthm); q) celestial bodies or phenomena (hll,57 ḥl ym, ym, yrḫ, yrḫ wksa, ngh wsrr, ʿrb špš, ṣbu špš, šḥr wšlm, špš );58 r) geographic entities ([gpn w]ugr, gt mlk, gt ʿttrt, gt trmn, ym, nbk, nbk mr, ʿn, ǵrm w[ʿmqt], ṣpn); s) objects and phenomena in nature (abn, išt, gpn, ṭṭ, ʿṣ); t) furniture (ilht ksat, ilm kḥtm, hdm il, kḥt il, mdbḥt bt ilt, tlḥn il, tlḥn bʿlt bhtm); u) vessels (ilht dkrt, ilm rḥbt, utḫt, ṣʿil, qlḥ); v) musical instruments (knr); w) weapons (mrḥ il, nit il, ṣmd il ); and x) beverages (trt). This is a surprisingly extensive and diverse list. The most useful feature to emerge from it is the ubiquity of areas in human life in which divine power was experienced, and believed to be operative in a pluralistic way. It may be usefully compared with the lists in Hesiod’s Theogony, and like it, gives the impression of deifying most categories of human culture. Nor is this an accident. Again, it illustrates in a compelling way the principle established by Guthrie (1993) that the way in which early human beings dealt with the external world was to anthropomorphize it. The theological corollary to this principle is that they also deified it, and in a piecemeal fashion. Another feature of this list is that there is no straightforward correspondence between it and the pantheon-terms listed above. So while de Moor has usefully indicated how we may systematize the pantheon, it is evidently not the way in which the Ugaritians did so. De Moor interpreted this as a “crescent”, sc. a lunar deity. It has alternatively been taken to be Ellil = Enlil. See Gallacher 1994 and Wyatt 2002, 337 n. 6, for the usage at KTU 1.24.6. 58 It is not immediately clear to me why categories m) and q) require to be differentiated. 57

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De Moor (1970, 225) noted an apparent difference between deities “who govern rather than inhabit” certain of these categories. But some of the examples he gave (e.g. Yarih, Shapsh) might arguably be the opposite of what he said, and in any case, I suspect that the difference he noted, while undoubtedly obtaining, was not consistently maintained. Is špš in KTU 1.15 v 18–9, 1.16 i 36–7, for example, to be translated as “sun” or as “Shapsh”? On one level the text merely tells us that Keret will die at sunset. On another level, however, we surely have here an echo in Ugaritic royal ideology of the Egyptian motif of the dying king being assimilated to the sun-disc.59 In many such instances as this it is difficult to make a certain choice between two hermeneutical approaches, and we should always allow for the possibility that the metaphorical language is already a mere convention. We should however expect poetry to preserve more lively overtones. Another feature to which de Moor (1970, 227–28) drew attention is the remarkable number of paired deities (most of whom also appear independently). Of the 238 DNs he isolated, no less than 33 are binomials of the pattern šḥr wšlm. He suggested that while at first many of these were probably ad hoc groupings, based on similarity of role or character, or more incidental links, even allowing for reversal in the order in which they are paired, some by their very appositeness did tend to gel into relatively fixed pairs.60 Perhaps the classic instance of entirely distinct deities going through the process before our eyes is the goddesses Anat and Athtart (de Moor 1970, 227–28). They are similar in character, similar in iconography, and appear to have a similar mythology, though only that of Anat is given any prominence in the Ugaritic evidence so far discovered. While not strictly inseparable in the Ugaritic material, since Anat appears independently in KTU 1.3, 1.10, 1.11 and 1.13, and Athtart in KTU 1.92, the goddesses also Cf. my translation of the two passages and note on the second, Wyatt 2002, 217–18, 224– 25 and n. 216. 60 Given the number of examples of ancient triads and trinities in the Egyptian pantheon (on which see Griffiths 1996), it is remarkable that no triads are attested in Ugarit. The thoughtprocesses illustrated by these numerical games are only partly religious, belonging rather to another autonomous aspect of mental processing, in which the data of the world are firstly analysed out as individual concepts (or perhaps “proto-concepts” at the inchoate stage I have in mind) 59

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act as a pair, as in KTU 1.2 iv and 1.114, and appear centuries later in the syncrasia Atargatis. This process no doubt explains the absence from Anat from the biblical evidence, in contrast to Ashtart’s prominence.61 It would be wrong to seize on these instances of divine fusion to make claims of incipient monotheism. For that to develop a lot more is needed than the ad hoc developments of this kind, since for every pair of deities who fuse there are others who split apart into hypostases and independent deities. The evidence noted here is of course restricted to an “Ugaritian pantheon” or Ugaritic pantheon in the narrower sense of the term, for we know of many Hurrian deities, 62 and other “extraneous” deities such as Sumerian, Babylonian, and Egyptian are also attested in personal names and other documents. Only a few of these were included by de Moor in his coverage. Some of these, such as Nikkal (Sumerian NIN.GAL) and Kothar (= Egyptian Ptah) were naturalized, while others retained their distinct identities. This is only to be expected in so cosmopolitan a community, and we cannot hope to exhaust the complete range of deities who were actually found. Any textual survivals, which provide the available evidence, can never be more than a part of the whole reality. The number of surviving lists do indicate attempts at systematization,63 though none of them corresponds formally to either of the sets of divisions listed here. The closest examples would be the list of divine weapons invoked in KTU 1.65, and the sacrifices listed in KTU 1.4 vi 47–54, at the dedication of Baal’s palacetemple, offered to the deities of various commodities. Del Olmo Lete’s (1992) treatment of the pantheon lists and incidences in the ritual texts was far more detailed than any previous discussion. Of particular interest in our discussion is his treatment of the “canonical” pantheon-lists in terms of their grouping of deities. I have added lines to make the theoretical divisions clear. On Ashtart/Athtart see Wyatt 1995b. On Atargatis see Drijvers 1995. See Laroche 1968, 518–27. 63 In addition to his treatment of the literary corpus de Moor (1970) analysed the following texts: Ugaritic lists: KTU 1.47, 1.65 (not a list, but a liturgy: Wyatt 2002, 363–65), 1.74 (two surviving names!), 1.102 (see also KTU 1.123); syllabic lists: RS 20.24, 20.123, 26.142. In addition to these formal “pantheon texts” many ritual texts list large numbers of deities. KTU 1.148 makes use of what is evidently a fixed (“canonical”) tradition witnessed by KTU 1.47 and parallels (Wyatt 2002, 427–29). A recent discovery is RS 1992.2004 (published by Arnaud 2001, 323–36). 61 62

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KTU 1.47 Ugaritic

KTU 1.118 Ugaritic

RS 20.24 Akkadian

1 il ṣpn

5

10

15

20

25

30

1 ilib il dgn bʿl ṣpn 5 bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm [b]ʿlm 10 [bʿl]m [arṣ] wšmm [ktr]t [ yrḥ] [ ṣpn] 15 [ktr] [ pdry] [ʿttr] [ ǵrm w ʿmqt ] [atrt] 20 [ʿnt] [šp]š [a]rṣy [u]šḫry [ʿ]ttrt 25 il tʿdr bʿl ršp ddmš pḫr ilm ym 30 ut ḫt knr mlkm šlm

ilib il dgn bʿl ṣpn bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm bʿlm arṣ wšmm ktrt yrḥ ṣpn ktr pdry ʿttr ǵrm w [ʿmqt ] [a]trt ʿnt špš arṣy ušḫry ʿttrt il tʿdr bʿl r[š ] p ddmš pḫr ilm ym ut ḫt knr mlkm šlm

1 DINGIR abi

5

10

15

20

25

30

ilumlum d dagan d adad bel ḫuršan ḫazi d adad II d adad III d adad IV d adad V d adad VI d adad VII d idim ù idim d sasuratum d sîn d ḫuršan ḫazi d ea d ḫebat d aštabi d ḫuršanum u amutu[m] d ašratum d anatum dšamaš d allatum d išḫara d ištarištar ilānum tillat dadad d nergal d dadmiš dpuḫur ilânim d tâmtum d dug BUR.ZI. NÍ G.NA d is kinarum d MA.LIK.MEŠ d salimu

English The gods of Saphon The god of the ancestor El Dagan Baal of Saphon Baal Baal Baal Baal Baal Baal Earth and Heaven Kotharat Yarih Saphon Kothar Pidray Athtar Mountains and Valleys Athirat Anat Shapsh Arṣiy Ishhara Athtart “the gods who help Baal” Reshef Dadmish The assembly of the gods Yam Censer Kinnar (lyre) Kings Shalem

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The remarkable feature here is the apparent grouping of deities in sets: il ṣpn (title of text) Set 1: consisting of ilib, il and dgn; (3 gods, 1 + 2); Set 2: bʿl ṣpn, consisting of bʿlm, bʿlm, bʿlm, bʿlm, bʿlm and bʿlm (7 gods including bʿl ṣpn: 1 + 6); Set 3: arṣ w šmm, a merismic pair, containing ktrt, yrḫ, ṣpn, ktr, pdry, ʿttr (7 chthonian-astral deities including arṣ w šmm; 1 + 6); ǵrm w ʿmqt, Set 4: a further merismic pair, containing atrt, ʿnt, špš, arṣy, ušḫry, ʿttrt (7 goddesses including ǵrm w ʿmqt: 1 + 6); Set 5: il tʿdr bʿl (lit. “the gods who assist Baal), containing ršp, ddmš (a pair: 1 + 2); Set 6: pḫr ilm, containing ym, ut ḫt, knr (a triad) and Set 7: mlkm (taken as a plural form), typified by šlm. The list is thus divided into seven sub-divisions. Del Olmo Lete himself (1992, 58) saw only six sets here, sets 5–6 as each containing 1 + 2 deities (the latter confusingly listed with “5” in parenthesis), whom he classified as “Baal” and “El” forms respectively. It seems to me that the final set (mlkm, šlm) is better taken as a third group, perhaps representing the dead, or dead kings, or some such sub-division. It is significant that Rapiu is missing from the list, and here, in set 7, is the group where we might expect his function (deified kings) to be discerned. It is possible that mlk is an alternative designation of the same deity, so that mlkm has the value of rpum. Some uncertainty about the precise groupings intended remains, but it is striking that three sets of seven are to be identified in the middle of the lists, and that a final total of thirty-three entries (excluding il ṣpn occurring in KTU 1.47 alone) is found.64 This figure features in an intermediate stage of the curious discussion in Bṛhad āraṇyaka Upaniṣad 3.9.1–2. Del Olmo Lete (1992, 57 = 1999, 77) notes that KTU 1.148, which is 64

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Perhaps we can attempt an explanation of the overall arrangement along the following lines: group 1, summarized by ilib, which evokes the theme of ancestral gods, involves a triad containing the senior deities. This is followed by three sets of seven (groups 2–4), with a relative hierarchical ranking, in which “Baal of Saphon”, one of the most active gods in the pantheon, and patron of Ugarit, dominates the first heptad, followed in turn by a macrocosmic heptad under the control of “Earth-and-Heaven” and a microcosmic heptad under the control of “Mountains-and-Valleys”. As though counterbalancing the descent in prestige thus far indicated, a reversal then occurs, rising again through “the gods who help Baal”, a triad, to the “assembly of the gods”, which appears to constitute an El-group in distinction from this Baal-group, culminating in the ancestral royal god-group of “Kings”, forming a dyad. This final group brings us back to the initial ilib, with its ancestral and chthonian connotations, reinforcing the sense of a chiastic structure to the whole list. Its structure is thus seen to be tightly organized, and not at all haphazard, as appears at first sight to the unfocussed eye. It is surely significant too that the social deities (ilib and mlkm) precede and follow the main body of the supernatural deities, and perhaps reflect the actual organization of the parade of deities as forming up in cultic processions. The king and his representative (Shalem) close the file, and as it were anchor the past (ilib at the front) and the powers of the supernatural world (the intermediate deities) in the present and down-to-earth context of the city. The precise membership of some of the groups remains elusive, and the numberings, in which dyads form parts of triads, triads parts of quartets, and hexads parts of heptads, suggests numerological games of the kind found in some of the Egyptian enneads and smaller groups.65 These are to

structured on the pantheon lists, uses only six of the last nine, so that its “practical” total consists of thirty deities. Is this a clue to the significance of the number? Is it perhaps based on a lunation, with additional numbers in the pantheon lists as standbys or variants for particular months? Gordon (1995, 45) opined that the number of letters in the Ugaritic alphabet (30) might be based partly on numerological and menological speculations. At present we can only speculate on the ultimate significance of these numbers. 65 See Morenz 1973, 142–46, 255–57, and Griffiths 1996, 12–13.

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be cited as analogues, however, rather than as strict parallels necessarily explaining the Ugaritic evidence. Within the three consecutive sets of seven, which may form the skeleton of the pantheon, as consisting of similarly-sized groups, ṣpn appears as the central deity of the central set, which appears to symbolize the centrality of Saphon in Ugaritic cosmology. I have suggested in previous discussions that the sacred mountain represents the ontological centre, to which all action and movement in the Baal cycle refers.66 Here the same image appears to be operative. An alternative location might have been as the seventeenth in a set of thirty-three, but that would presumably have been more difficult to achieve with sub-groups of different sizes. But to place it at the heart of the three largest groups has the same effect, and in a sense “justifies” the designation of the list as a whole in KTU 1.47.1 as il ṣpn. And this probably operates at an entirely subliminal level until attention is drawn to it. The result of this structuring, as noted above with reference to the beginning and end of the list, is a chiastic form, in which the mirror-image of a hierarchy of deities groups with a relative symmetry round its geographical and cosmological centre (sc. Saphon). This strikes me as a powerful representation of the intuition of an underlying unitary divine realm, which interacts fruitfully with the pluralism of the surface language of polytheism, and reinforces the cohesive nature of the pantheon, which is quite at odds with many superficial judgments as to its incoherence. This static, structural representation will in turn have interacted with the dynamic forms of the mythology, which articulated not only the broad values of society and of the monarchy in particular,67 but explored and resolved broader issues of human ethics, freedom and duty. Theology thus underpinned the complexity of Ugaritic society and validated its structures, which is precisely where any sociological or anthropological analysis would lead us. Explication of the significance of these groups within the pantheon is in its infancy, though the number seven seems to be required de rigueur (even when only six deities actually figure under a rubric) because of its cosmological significance, and its tendency to represent in shorthand the

Wyatt 1996, 34–38; id. 1996a. see Wyatt 1997, 1998 and chapter 6 on the ideological aspects of the Baal, Keret and Aqhat corpora.

66 67

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idea of totality.68 Note how on my classification we have seven sets making up the pantheon as a whole. Set 7 illustrates an important principle: the gods listed are representative of the groups, not necessarily all members. The pantheon list thus represents the form rather than the full contents of the pantheon. This of course removes the problem of inconsistency we might otherwise feel, that the lists in no way correspond to the actual incidence of deities occurring in texts. The “canonical pantheon” is a theoretical, representative construction.69 The texts we have (KTU 1.47 and parallels) represent only a brief window into the history of Ugaritian theological thought, and no doubt, although there was probably a conservative tendency at work, which would use this ideal form as a canon against which to measure other deities, there would also tend to be the incorporation of new and the exclusion of old deities from time to time. For no theology is static: it is always subject to the changing perspective of altered historical circumstances.

68 Cf. the sevenfold nature of Anat’s destruction of Mot, represented in the heptacolonic form at KTU 1.6 ii 31–35 and1.6 v 12–19. Each set of lines is required to correct scribal deficiencies in the other. See Wyatt 2002, 135, 141 and nn. 83, 108: With a knife she split him; Because of you I experienced winnowing with a knife; with fire she burnt him; because of you I experienced burning with fire; with millstones she ground him; because of you I experienced grinding with millstones;

because of you I experienced sifting with a sieve; on the steppe she sowed him. because of you I experienced sowing in the sea.

Simon Wyatt has asked me whether there was a seven-note scale in Ugaritic music. The eight-stringed lyre (tmnt) played by Keret’s youngest daughter (ttmnt : “the lyre-player) would of course have seven intervals, and if on an octave, seven different notes, the eighth repeating the first an octave on. Thus theology would have been confirmed by musicology! For the explanation of the daughter’s sobriquet see Wyatt 2002, 211–12, n. 155. 69

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THE EXISTENCE OF DEMONS IN A POLYTHEISTIC CULTURE If every source of anthropomorphic imagination, self-disclosure and power is a potential deity, what is the point of demons? At first glance they are simply superfluous, since everything of significance is already divinized. It is too simple to say that they are merely the “bad gods”. We see in Anat (war), Horon (an underworld god) and Reshef (pestilence) powerful deities of distinctly malign character, yet all firmly within the theological camp. So the question of being a deity certainly has nothing to do with the character of the deity. Yet it is clear that demons do exist in Ugarit, for we have texts concerned with their exorcism (e.g. KTU 1.82, 1.169). So what experiences give rise to a distinction between divine and demonic powers? The question is better phrased in the past tense, “gave rise…”, because demons, like gods, will have belonged to the mental furniture of a culture, and therefore simply be accepted on trust from previous generations, because they had always been there. I suspect that a number of factors may be cited, and some would be very mundane. Here are some suggestions. Any supernatural power that was not recognized as belonging to any traditional members of the received pantheon might automatically be branded as “demonic”, if only from the primary urge to classify it, and thus contain it. So “new deities” might at first be experienced as unquantifiable powers, and regarded provisionally as demonic, precisely because they disrupted the status quo. A reclassification could always be attempted later, especially if it was deemed by dint of experience to be amenable to a fruitful relationship. Thus Reshef appears to have become a widespread apotropaic symbol: by assiduous cult he could be prevailed upon not to deliver disease, which in a sense was his whole raison d’être, but to protect from it. This sounds rather like a form of homoeopathic medicine.70 But Mot’s position, for instance, is ambiguous. Though he is always identified as bn ilm, “son of El” or “divine”, he is never given any cult in Ugarit, and may have been The medical analogy is perhaps more than incidental. Exorcism, however quaint in modern eyes, is precisely the use of religious techniques to effect a psychiatric healing: the widespread use of herbal medicines along with incantations, to cure disease, inebriation (KTU 1.114), or snakebite (KTU 1.100, 1.107) shows a lively, if pre-scientific, appreciation of the psychosomatic nature of many human disorders. A recent television programme (Equinox, September 1997) argued that a positive mental disposition has been shown in clinical trials to control physical disorders such as cancers. The basis for such confidence is essentially empirical, whether ancient or modern. 70

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seen as hovering on the border between divine and demonic. Bearing in mind that any evidence we have from Ugarit gives us a cross-section through a historical process, we may be seeing deities at various stages of development, and have accordingly not to make too far-reaching claims about their status, since a couple of generations either way could see a complete transformation. We see something of the fluidity of the situation if we consider the status of the old gods in the Hebrew Bible. Most of them have been relegated from divine to demonic status. This example is instructive, for we see a nation in the making in the pages of the Bible, with a typical mythic construction of their past, the creation of a history, and a wholesale revaluation of ancient religious patterns, including spiritual reclassifications. The angels which so populously inhabit the heavens in later days are themselves old gods, and even new ones, controlled within a type of monarchism which far exceeds El’s control of the pantheon. Suppose that Ugaritian society were to have undergone similar patterns of social development? We have the flourishing of a Late Bronze kingdom, dependent on adjacent great powers and with a richly heterogeneous population. Perhaps we are to see in the pantheon lists (especially in KTU 1.47 = 1.118 = RS 20.24, for the multiplication suggests a form of canonicity) and in the various designations of groups of gods, which perhaps had their own accompanying official lists, attempts to define who are legitimate deities. Thus the three lists cited contain those deities who are classified as il ṣpn, “the gods of Saphon” (KTU 1.47.1), which suggests that those deities not listed are not “the gods of Saphon”, but some other gods, or perhaps in some instances demons. This could always have been a fall-back position when the question of an unknown supernatural power was discerned, notwithstanding my remarks above on the representative nature of the pantheon lists. Various old deities, worshipped in the past but now surviving as memories, might be identified as the causes of some otherwise inexplicable accident or act of malice, and in the hysteria of the moment become the focus of blame and explanation. Through the apparent irrationality of it all we see minds at work trying hard to explain, to bring order to experience. We can see how the demons might be new gods, not yet officially recognized, or old ones no longer recognized, or simply “forces” encountered which defied understanding. The very anomy of their existence indicates the importance attached to order and organization. So while it is religious ex-

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perience in the subjective and emotional encounter which accounts in principle for the rise of deities, a social filtering process is constantly at work classifying and reclassifying, accepting and rejecting, rather as a curial commission scrutinizes all claims of visions or miracles to this day, and pronounces an official judgment on their authenticity.

THE THEORY OF A “CRISIS OF POLYTHEISM” De Moor, during his interesting reconstruction of the origins of the cult of Yahweh, has taken up the view originating in Egyptological circles, and attempting to give an adequate account of the upheaval caused by the religious policies of Akhenaten, of a “crisis of polytheism” throughout the Near East, shock-waves from the supposed Egyptian experiment with monotheism reaching out across the whole region.71 The real purpose of the argument is to account for the existence of a monotheistic cult of Yahweh in the time of Moses. But if we decline to accept that the cult of the Aten was monotheistic, or that there ever was a historical, monotheistic cult of Yahweh in the time of Moses, then the entire argument collapses. His portrayal of Ugaritian religion in terms of crisis is in my view entirely untenable. I have raised three objections to it:72 firstly, that it presupposes a religion working on the principle of bad faith, which is preposterous, and a contradiction in terms; secondly that it is methodologically unsound to evaluate one religion in terms of another; and thirdly that it gives no adequate account of the symbolic dimension in religion. Let us expand on these in turn. Religion can certainly be used to justify the most appalling, inhuman behaviour, as has been seen throughout the history of autocracy, slavery, racism or genocide. And all these have been features of the history of the Christian church and of Islam! But, amazing though it may seem when looked at with hindsight, the most ardent advocates of such policies have been the theologians, the ideologues, wholly caught up in the truth-claims of their system. The history of Europe alone gives abundant evidence for all these follies and obscenities.73 Once the chink appears in the armour, and doubts creep in, the ideological basis can fall away with amazing rapidity. De Moor 1997. See Wyatt 1996, 327. 73 Norman Cohn’s fascinating, if depressing studies, 1957, 1967, 1975, and 1993 demonstrate beyond peradventure that the same social forces, experienced in similar ways, are inexorably at work down to the present. 71 72

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Having said this, it is not credible that a religious system should be run on the principle of bad faith, for when the doubts enter, when “faith goes bad”, the system will collapse. We have no serious evidence for doubts, and certainly not of collapse, of the old polytheistic economy of Ugaritian and associated traditions. Ugarit was destroyed, but other West Semitic cultures lived on, including an “Israel” that was polytheistic for centuries until finally superseded by the expansion of Christianity. (And then Judaism survived...) There are certainly some interesting theological questions raised by such texts as Keret (KTU 1.14–16), but it seems to me that the text addresses a problem and answers it in a satisfactory way. It may appear pessimistic, but that is no bad thing. It certainly does not reflect a theological breakdown. Human achievements are questioned, rather than the theological system which underpinned them. The second problem concerns the assessment of one religion by reference to another. This may be the classic form of rivalry between cults, and is typical of the work of the Jewish writers, who fought for the survival of their identity, and the Church fathers, who were waging a propaganda war against the Graeco-Roman and Jewish traditions. Nor were these worthies above misrepresentation and slander on a breathtaking scale. But their vindictive style hardly justifies similar rhetoric today, unless it be felt that we are still fighting the same wars. It strikes me as altogether healthier to take a more relaxed attitude, and to try to identify what values ancient systems had, for that surely contributes to our further understanding of ourselves, who are the heirs to all previous traditions. The third problem I identified was the failure to account adequately for the symbolic dimension in Ugaritian religion. Korpel’s (1990) study on metaphor, usefully comparing Ugaritic and Hebrew literary and theological usage, shows that we are dealing with essentially the same symbolic universe in the two cultures. Or perhaps part of the problem is the axiom that there are two cultures and not one diverse cultural continuum throughout the Levant before the common era. Those studies which so emphasize the “uniqueness” of biblical thought as to effect a discontinuity between it and the cultural matrix of the Levant do a disservice on both sides. The serious task we still face is the adequate evaluation of the links and common ground between them, and against these the distinctive features of each. To evade these problems is not scholarship. One difference between them is simply a function of the historical scale: in history, language develops. New

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ideas are given expression, and old metaphors press against new frontiers in an ever-expanding world of experience. Thus the later manifestation within a cultural continuum is simply more developed than the earlier. There is no need to see “progress” here, merely change, adaptation and expansion. So the kind of theological hypersensitivity that Heidel, for instance, detected74 in Genesis 1–3 (but which I think is already largely an importation of later exegesis and eisegesis into the old texts) and then decried for its absence from the Babylonian record, even if strictly justified,75 in no way serves as a serious judgment on the old ways, other than emphasizing that they are old. The texts of the Hebrew Bible, which have been scrutinized for ever more subtle meanings in the history of the church and of scholarship (indeed, the two are sometimes indistinguishable) reflect the history of modern thought as much as a greater appreciation of what the texts originally meant. The way in which modern intellectual fashions batten on the texts,76 ostensibly to squeeze new insights out, but in reality to find prooftexts for modern views within, advises caution. The impression Heidel and a host of Ugaritological imitators give is that such invidious comparisons, selectively highlighting those distinctive elements which best support the view of the superiority of the biblical moral and revelatory position, and of course the corresponding intrinsic inferiority of the culture used in the comparison, merely reflect the capacity of thought, in terms of historical development, to split hairs ever more finely. 77 The kind of service Albrektson did for serious scholarship in the field of historiography78 requires to be done across the board of ancient cultures.

THE PROBLEM OF THE ORIGINS OF MONOTHEISM Since there is no evidence of anything approaching even an incipient monotheism in Ugaritian religion, this is not a problem that need detain us. However, since many scholars have argued for its existence in Egypt in the Amarna period and in Israel from the late Bronze, it is worth making a few Heidel 1942. Note his use of the term “crude polytheism” in describing the Babylonian cosmogony (1963 edition, 96). This is not appropriate academic language. Why is it “crude”? 75 Such a position cannot be justified, of course. Heidel merely betrayed his insensitivity to the subtleties of Babylonian thought. 76 Cf. however Hiebert 1996. 77 On cheating in history see Evans 1997, 78. 78 Albrektson 1967. 74

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remarks here. Some interesting analyses of the dynamics of monotheism should give us pause in seeing it everywhere, and should advise caution even in spite of appearances. Thus Vorländer79 considered monotheism to be the symbolic response to the exile, Michaels80 discussed “monotheism as fundamentalism”, while W. Dietrich81 asked whether monotheism is a symbol of political resistance. In either case, the issue is that a sociological rather than a purely theological explanation has something to be said for it. And for a shift from one world-view to the other we should expect a pretty substantial social upheaval to take place, such as is the case with late Judaism, early Christianity and nascent Islam, but is not evidently the case with Ugarit or even with early Israel (whose historical origins are so elusive). We should normally expect the reserves of a religion as a theological system to come into their own precisely in times of social upheaval, and some historical examples have indeed seen wholesale revaluation of the cults, as they were transformed from national management-systems into confessional forms, without a move to monotheism.82 That is something further.

Vorländer 1981. Michaels 1994. 81 Dietrich 1994. For recent assessment, see Smith 2001 (and review, Wyatt 2004), 2002. 82 Jonas 1963. (For an evaluation of Jonas’ approach, see Wyatt 2001, 329–32.) 79 80

5 RELIGION AT UGARIT: AN OVERVIEW

First published in W.G.E. Watson and N. Wyatt (eds) Handbook of Ugaritic Studies (HdO, Series I vol. 39, Leiden: Brill, 1999), 529–85.

1

INTRODUCTION

While this is intended to be a general survey of the main features of Ugaritian 1 religion, in the following discussion I shall avoid reiterating the points made by other contributors to this volume, except where I present an alternative point of view. I should also state at the outset that this study is treated in a phenomenological manner, undertaken on the basis of the integrity and authenticity of the experiences, systematizations and practices we shall be noting. It may seem odd to many readers that such an initial position-statement should be necessary, but it is a fact that the interest some scholars have shown in Ugarit, and in particular in its religious life, appears to have been for purposes of comparison of an invidious kind with biblical religion,2 where a theological agenda appears to have predetermined the outcome. This does not appear to me to be a legitimate starting point for serious research in this discipline. It certainly renders questionable any conclusions that are drawn. We should perhaps define our terms and the scope of this study. The city of Ugarit has yielded texts in a number of languages. It is probable that The term “Canaanite” is best avoided here, despite common usage. For recent treatment of the issue on the cultural and linguistic levels, with references to earlier discussion, see Rainey 1965, Grabbe 1994, Tropper 1994 and see references in de Moor 1997, 42 n. 5 (bis!). 2 This is a largely artificial construct, having only a tenuous link with the historical religion of Palestine, as a compendium of late critiques and revisionism, subsequently further removed from its historical roots by its interpretation at the hands of theologians and interpreters of the present common era. 1

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people speaking Akkadian, Cypro-Minoan, Egyptian, Hittite, Hurrian, Ugaritic and possibly other languages (such as Amorite and various “Canaanite” forms) were resident in the city and its environs. The degree to which they intermarried, and to which the city culture formed a mélange of these different traditions, is impossible to quantify with precision. When referring to the witness of texts in Ugaritic, I propose to refer to “Ugaritic” religion, by which I mean the broad synthesis which is apparent from the Ugaritic texts themselves, leaving aside for the present the Hurrian texts,3 which appear to reflect the interests and distinctive religious patterns of a fairly small minority, and the Akkadian texts, 4 which represent broad international cultural influences, but do not appear to reflect any wholly independent “Akkadian” tradition of any social sub-group. Where we may suppose that some degree of synthesis has probably taken place, or I wish to speak more generally of the population of the city or kingdom of Ugarit without isolating any one language-group or social sub-group, it is better to use the term “Ugaritian”, as denoting the broader amalgam of all the sub-groups, though the extent of this is of its nature very hard to evaluate. But we would expect the royal cultus, for example, performed in the name of the kingdom and all its citizens, that is, the kingdom’s “political theology”, to fall into the latter category, though almost all the relevant texts are in Ugaritic as the local dominant vernacular. Since it is inappropriate to approach the significance of one religious tradition by reference to another (as is commonly done with Ugaritian religion, which seems almost inevitably to be evaluated in comparison with “Israelite” religion 5 ), the following observations are offered from the broad anthropological perspective that all religions are symbolic systems designed to give meaning, coherence and purpose to a community, to deal with its inherent alienation from and tension in the face of the experienced world. See Laroche 1968, and Mayer 1996. Published mostly in PRU 2, 3, 4 and 6, and Ugaritica 5. See also van Soldt 1991 and 1999; Dietrich 1996. 5 Oldenburg 1969, Craigie 1983, de Moor 1997. To a lesser extent a similar treatment of other ancient cultures through biblical eyes (or more correctly modern eyes claiming a biblical foundation for their prejudice) has beset many branches of Near Eastern study. This is perhaps a sub-branch of “orientalism” in Edward Said’s meaning of the term. 3 4

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From this perspective, all religions are “true” in that they are authentic, and offer both a legitimization and a critique of the community’s sense of identity. It is in this framework of understanding that I shall deal with the following issues: cosmology, theology (including the nature of the pantheon), mythology, royal ideology, ritual, other religious manifestations (oracular systems, vows, blessings, etc.), the place of religion in the experience of disease and death, and various non-textual dimensions.

2

COSMOLOGY

2.1 The Intellectual Construction of the World There is no systematic exposition of the Ugaritian world view in any of the texts. They take for granted, however, a certain number of presuppositions to which incidental allusion is made from time to time, particularly in the mythological texts, so that a provisional reconstruction is possible6. A distinction should of course be made between two modes of spatial thinking. There is evidence of a lively awareness of a real geography, amply attested in many of the non-religious documents, such as toponymic lists, as well as the extensive diplomatic and commercial correspondence, and even impinging on the religious consciousness in geographical allusions in mythological and other narrative texts. On the other hand we should recognize their use of a symbolic geography, used for the framing of specifically theological constructions in terms of a broad Weltanschauung and the place of the divine and human realms within it. The latter may even be said to be the idiom of the interface between these realms. It is an “affective” construction, even a subjective one in the strictest sense (on which see further below), used for the articulation and authentication of the real world in terms of the ideal world of mythology and cult. It is with the symbolic geography of this ideal world that we are here concerned. The binomial form of the name of the sea-god (zbl ym || tpṭ nhr), for example, suggests that as elsewhere in the ancient world, the cosmic sea was seen both as a sea stretching away from land, but at the same time as a river See Wyatt 1987, 1996 and 1996a. The studies of Tromp 1969, L.I.J. Stadelmann 1970, and Johnston 2002, while devoted to the cosmology of the Bible, also contain much useful information. Wensinck 1916, 1918 give comprehensive accounts of our knowledge of West Semitic cosmology before the discovery of Ras Shamra, which the Ugaritic material now supplements. See also now Wyatt 2001, 2003.

6

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encircling the land, and forming its cosmic boundary. While theologically and mythologically this sea-cum-river was conceptualized as a god, probably in human form, since he had a body described in anthropomorphic fashion which Baal could injure with his weapons (KTU 1.2 iv), at other times it was identified by the more neutral term thm (f.), though here another aspect of its form was expressed in its dual expression thmtm. This suggests that something akin to other ancient Near Eastern structures of the world was envisaged, in which as well as having a “horizontal aspect” (surrounding the earth) the sea had a “vertical aspect” (with waters above and below the earth).7 The sea-god was also identified as ltn (cf. Heb. Leviathan), though this view has been disputed,8 and was thus imagined in draconian or serpentine form. The cosmic waters served as boundary for the habitable world. The term for this, arṣ, is ambiguous in Ugaritic, denoting both the surface and the underworld below (cf. the ambiguity of Heb. ʾereṣ, though this term is often contrasted with tēbēl, not thus far attested in Ugaritic). At Ugarit, as everywhere else in the ancient world, the symbolic structure of the world was maintained in religious practice and experience, which defined the realities of myth and cult. We may even legitimately extrapolate features in such a view that are not explicit. Thus while the idea of the omphalos is not exIn Mesopotamian tradition we have the apsu (AB.ZU) above and the tiʾamat (temtum, tāmtu) below. The former becomes ¥bussoj in Greek. In Genesis 1:6–9 the waters above are separated from those below the firmament as dry land appears from the lower waters. In Egypt the goddess Nut (nwt: “waters”), an allomorph of the primordial Nu(n) (nw[n]), forms both the sky and a subterranean current, sometimes shown engraved or painted in both the lid and the base of sarcophagi. This body of water is amorphous. Land, in the form of the bnstone (symbolized in all temple constructions) emerges from the latter, in an analogue of the biblical account. On the other hand, Ra crosses a river by day (above) and by night (below) in his solar bark. This similarity of mental structuring of the world between ancient cultures should not allow local differences such as those mentioned to be glossed over, but should also not be underestimated. For further discussions see Wensinck 1918, Kaiser 1959, Neiman 1977, Wyatt 1996, 1996a, 2001, 2003. 8 Contrast Day 1985, 14–15 with Wyatt 1985c. A Greek reflex of this figure is found in Ladon, the serpent who guards the golden apples of the Hesperides (Graves 1960, ii 145–52 §133: various classical sources cited; cf. Fontenrose 1959, 236, 370). 7

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plicitly attested, it undoubtedly lies behind the conception of the cosmic mountain, Saphon ( ṣpn, vocalized ṣapunu 9 ) which ontologically speaking was the reference point of all reality in Ugaritian religious consciousness. Here dwelt all the gods, probably not just Baal, but the entire pantheon, as stated in the title to KTU 1.47 (il ṣpn). El’s throne stood at the centre, and he remained immobile,10 in the idiom of the Baal cycle of myths, while the divine conflicts whose outworkings form the narrative of the myth took place all about, with constant reference back to him for purposes of validating the successive achievements of the plot. The kingship of each of the successive gods was achieved by enthronement on El’s throne, a cipher also of the role of the throne in royal ideology. El’s dwelling at the heart of reality is expressed in the allusion to his “sevenfold palace” (KTU 1.3 v 10–2, 26–7): El replied from within the seven chambers, through the eight façades of the closed rooms.

This idiom of seven concentric boundaries surrounding a god’s shrine appears to establish its central location; it corresponds to the notion of seven barriers in the underworld of both Egyptian 11 and Mesopotamian tradition,12 though this idiom is not independently attested at Ugarit. It may also be compared with the seven boundaries represented architecturally in Egyptian temples, most clearly at Edfu. The image of the god here resided in the innermost chamber (the shrine-box) of the building. A similar symbolism, though perhaps not so explicitly developed, probably lies behind the construction of the temples at Ugarit. Another recurrent description of El’s dwelling, where his tent is pitched, reads as follows (KTU 1.2 iii 4, 1.3 v 6–7, 1.4 iv 21–2, 1.6 i 33, 1.17 vi 47–813): deities travel towards El at the source of the rivers, amidst the springs of the two deeps.

See Wyatt 1995a for discussion and references. See also Koch 1993. Wyatt 1996, 36–43, 1996a. 11 See the gates (seven ʿrytw) in the scenes and texts of the Book of the Dead. 12 See the myths of the descent of Inanna (ANET 50–57) and Ishtar (ANET 106–09, CS i 381–84). The image of the centre of a sevenfold structure is perpetuated in the seven moradas of Teresa of Avila. 13 Cf. KTU 1.100. 9

10

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This has been interpreted14 as an underworld location, evidence of El’s deposition by the younger, more vigorous storm-god Baal. But this interpretation depends for its cogency on the restoration of KTU 1.2 iii 3, as read by KTU 2, which is gratuitous.15 It also sits uneasily with the god’s undoubted authority in the narrative poems, and his evidently crucial role in the management of kingship,16 since the king is portrayed mythically as his son. A better understanding is to see El as the supreme deity, representing the highest of a number of levels of divine authority.17 The spatial image of the passage is that of the centre of the world, from which flow four rivers (corresponding to the cardinal points) to water the earth, the whole surrounded by the cosmic sea, the two aspects of which paradoxically meet at the centre. This corresponds both to the Garden of Eden imagery of the Bible, and the ritual significance of the Jerusalem temple, where the Gihon spring supplied the water, while at the same time the river of the same name flowed round Cush (Ethiopia = Abyssinia, “land of the abyss”)18. We have evidence in our text of the same cosmological imagery at Ugarit. The scene

See Pope 1955, 1987, Kaiser 1959 and Oldenburg 1969. The restored text reads [mtpdm.tḥt.ʿnt.arṣ.tlt.mtḥ.ǵyrm]: [two layers beneath the springs of the earth, three expanses of the depths.] This text occurs at KTU 1.1 iii 20 (partially restored) and at 1.3 iv 35. In the former passage it clearly denotes the subterranean workshop of Kothar (his western analogues forge their artefacts in volcanoes: was Kothar’s “Cretan” connection the volcanic island of Santorini?), while in the latter it appears to denote Anat’s own dwelling underneath Mount Saphon. In neither instance does it have any bearing on the location of El’s abode. 16 See Parker 1977. 17 Three, according to Petersen and Woodward 1977; four according to Handy 1994. 18 I am concerned not to evaluate one tradition in terms of another. But the cautious use of analogies and comparisons between neighbouring cultures (and particularly between evidently cognate ones such as the Ugaritian and Palestinian) in the area of tentative reconstruction of fragmented cosmologies is surely a valid procedure. I am happy to work in principle within the constraints outlined by M. Smith (1952) 135–36, though he considerably overstated the lack of connections between Ugaritic and Hebrew literature. Many of the more cautious studies of recent years have established extensive continuities between the two cultures. 14 15

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just described is widely attested in cylinder seal iconography, and may be tentatively reconstructed for Ugaritic thought from the passages just cited. A tension existed between the centre, represented by Mount Saphon and its local allomorphs the city temples, and the boundary at the end of the world. The important ideological myth-and-ritual complex KTU 1.23 plays on the paradox, mythic events on the sea-shore being apparently celebrated at the cosmic centre of the temple.19 The position of Saphon as a symbolic centre in the Ugaritian mind (though displaced to the north in real terms, and on the psychological principles outlined in my extended treatment of orientation,20 on which see further below for a summary, belonging to the “left side”, it was nevertheless architecturally replicated in the acropolitan temples) will be shown below to be also presented in another literary idiom in the pantheon list KTU 1.47 and parallels. We should not attempt a harmonization of the details of these various cosmological models. They are evidently of diverse origins, and probably go far back into prehistory and into the diverse earlier worlds of the various ethnic groups of Ugarit, and appear not to have caused any hermeneutical problems to the theologians of LBA Ugarit. Such ideas were also undoubtedly held concurrently with perfectly empirical perceptions of the real world in terms of its geography and practical application of agricultural and industrial technologies. 2.2 The Experience of the World: Orientation Relating to cosmological issues is the matter of orientation. All ancient religions, like modern ones, evidence a concern for exactitude in positioning of the worshipping community (an extrapolation from individual experience), as a symbol of the community’s authentic location in the real world. Temple alignments are always significant, for instance, even if we can no longer identify the particular reasons for a given example, and the two acropolitan temples at Ugarit, usually attributed to Baal and Dagan respectively, were orientated north–south. Provisionally, we may note that stormdeity temples at other sites also have a north–south orientation, as at Ebla See Wyatt 1987 for Ugaritic and biblical passages illustrating this feature. The shrine in question cannot be identified with precision, but may plausibly be identified with a royal chapel at Ugarit, or some such installation at Ras ibn Hani (where the palace extends to within a few metres of the seashore). 20 Wyatt 1996b. 19

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and Hazor, so that a common tradition may have obtained. The “temple aux rhytons” in the city-centre, perhaps associated with El (cf. KTU 1.114), who was perhaps a lunar deity in origin, was orientated east–west. This may be compared with later Palestinian shrines associated with Yahweh, as at Jerusalem, Arad and Lachish (temple 106). On the broader issue of personal orientation, from which these principles are developed, and the vocabulary used to express it, I have made a comparison of the Ugaritic and Hebrew vocabulary, with interesting results.21 Summing up that discussion, it is worth noting the following “canonical” or religious vocabulary, which appears to be relatively constant: DIRECTION East

West

North

South

LANGUAGE Ugaritic Hebrew Akkadian Arabic Ugaritic Hebrew Akkadian Arabic Ugaritic Hebrew Akkadian Arabic Ugaritic Hebrew Akkadian Arabic

TERM qdm qedem qudmu qadam qidm qidam aḫr ʾaḥar aḫru dabūr šmal semôl šumêlu šamāl, šimal ymn yāmîn šaplitum yaman, yamin

MEANINGS face, in front, past; face, in front, past; front, past; precede, past, antiquity behind, after, later;. behind, after, later; future; west wind (√ turn one’s back) left;. left; ( ṣāpôn = north); left; north (wind), left right;. right, south; lower; south, right hand

The same pattern also obtains in other languages such as Sanskrit, and is probably widely attested. Facing into the past, since “east”, “past” and “face” all employ the same terminology, indicates the enormous power of memory in the construction of consciousness, and it is perhaps no accident that we can speak of “canonical orientation”, for it is above all in religious belief and practice, with its hallowing of tradition (the experienced and reWyatt 1996b. In Wyatt 2001, 33–52, I extended the coverage to include Akkadian, Arabic, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, Sumerian and Sanskrit, the first two included here. The same principle also appears to be present in Japanese cosmology (Palmer 1991), reinforcing my suspicion that it is universal. 21

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constructed or invented past), and repetition in ritual of established, normative patterns of behaviour, that we discern the formal impact of accumulated cultural experience on a society. The significance of the psychology to which this evidence witnesses is as follows: it is clear that memory of the past is a vital part in the life of a community. It is the past and the perpetuation of its paradigms and values which legitimizes the present.22 Theology, mythology and ritual are the means whereby this memory is reinforced by constant repetition, and the unknown future can therefore be engaged with confidence. While orientation is an ultimately subjective experience, its psychological foundations are universal, and consequently, through a shared vocabulary, a measure of objectivity is obtained. Language being experienced as a given, even as “god-given” in ancient psychology, the very articulation of the experience in traditional forms serves to reify it as theological “fact”.

3

THEOLOGY

3.1 The Nature of the Pantheon 23 A useful place to start this section is with a brief treatment of the pantheon. This term has two distinct senses. Firstly it may be used to denote the complete number of deities worshipped in Ugarit, a number which can be quantified only approximately, given the uncertainty of meaning of many words in the texts, the incompleteness of the record, and other variables of this kind. It is probably fair to say that no citizen of the kingdom could have given a complete list. The modern scholar certainly cannot. Secondly we have texts which give series of divine names, and are evidently deliberate compositions, attempting to construct some kind of systematic theology. Three tablets—KTU 1.47, KTU 1.118, and RS 20.24 (in Akkadian 24 )— preserve the same list, and constitute as it were a canonical group of gods,

It is no accident that the etymological meaning of the Greek term for “truth” (¢lhqeia) means “not-forgetting”. Tradition is “true”, and theology is “true” because it is traditional. See Wyatt 2001, 27 n. 2, for an explanation of Latin religio in similar terms. 23 See also del Olmo Lete 1999a. 24 The fact that we have an Akkadian version of the “canonical pantheon” is significant: it indicates that it is only with great caution that we can assume there to be fundamental differences between the Ugaritic and Akkadian linguistic worlds in terms of their theological implications. 22

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classified in KTU 1.47.1 as il ṣpn, “the gods of Saphon”. They are of course a tiny selection of all the deities who appear in the Ugaritic texts, and the complete list may be supplemented with Hurrian 25 and Akkadian divine names, while a number of Egyptian, Hittite and Sumerian names appear, and others are still probably unrecognized. Developing del Olmo Lete’s perceptive analysis,26 I have suggested in a recent study27 that the presence of a deity ṣpn at a central position in the pantheon lists is a literary representation of the cosmic centrality of the mountain, whose divine status, belonging to a widespread practice of divinizing sacred localities, reinforces the same point. It lies in the middle position of three sets of seven deities, which may indeed have constituted a Vorlage (containing twenty-one names) to the present pantheon list. While as fourteenth overall it is not in the mid-most position in the entire list of thirty-three, there is a broadly chiastic structure to the full list, which further enhances this impression that the divine mountain is at the heart of all reality. This cosmological image is to be perpetuated in the later imagery concerning Mount Zion,28 and has analogues in Egyptian temple traditions, and in the architectural form of ziggurats. A pantheon list is obviously not intended to be a complete account of the divine realm, yet represents such a totality, much as the various enneads of Egyptian theology identified key deities in the great centres in a sacred number, nine being as it were “plurality pluralized”, and therefore a figure for totality. The thirty-three deities of the Ugaritic lists were probably based on a similar numbers game (ten times three plus three29) also intended to encompass all gods and goddesses. Such See KTU 1.135, which Laroche 1968, 508–09 (and further, 518–27) classified as a “list of deities”, while KTU 2 identified it as a “list (sacrifices)”. 26 Del Olmo Lete 1986; 1992, 54–58 = 1999, 71–78; 1999a, 308–10. 27 See chapter 4. 28 See Wyatt 1996, 31–33 with reference to Psalm 48:2–3. 29 The same number is found in the Vedic text Bṛhad āraṇyaka Upaniṣad 3.9.1–2. As the context of the dialogue shows, this text too is clearly exploring the question of the implications of a pluralistic symbolism in theology, and concludes that the multiplicity of deities (beginning with three thousand, three hundred and six) really points to one. The Muslim rosary traditionally has thirty-three beads on it: three rounds allow the recital of the ninety-nine names of God (Schimmel 1993, 241). Del Olmo Lete (1992, 91 = 1999, 134) noted that 25

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a grouping of deities, while acknowledging the diversity of symbols and perceived realities of the deities, is also perhaps intuiting an underlying unity, also implicit in the central symbol of Saphon, where they all dwell.30 An alternative term for the comprehensive nature of the pantheon is the designation of the gods as “the seventy sons (probably rather “children”) of Athirat” (šbʿm bn atrt): KTU 1.4 vi 46. No attempt should be made to argue for inconsistency in view of the discrepancy between thirtythree and seventy. Each figure is an independent numerological metaphor for totality. Similarly, the subsets in the pantheon, consisting of heptads, tetrads and triads, and a final dyad, themselves represent seven totalities on a smaller scale. Each subset stands for all the deities in a certain category, and the seven categories signify the plenitude of divine power. 3.2 Individual Deities 3.2.1 The Scope of Individual Theologies in a Polytheistic Context In addition to comprehensive theologies of the kind suggested above, the full range of which it is impossible to determine, there are individual theologies centring on each of the main deities. This is not the place to give an account of all of them. A number of useful studies are available on individual ones,31 and some general publications are also of use.32 I shall instead KTU 1.148, which is based on KTU 1.47 and parallels, actually mentions only twenty-eight or twenty-nine of the gods, to accommodate the constraints of the calendar. Perhaps there is also a menological basis to the number? Thus Gordon 1995, 45. 30 I am not suggesting an incipient monotheism, but rather the coherence of all the deities, their conflicts notwithstanding, in a representation of the life of the community. While a pantheon is to some extent an ad hoc conglomeration of deities who come together through the hazards of history, the growth, mergence and disintegration of states, ethnic changes, migrations, and so forth, the theologians of every generation will practise some degree of rationalization, however unconsciously, intuiting meaning, imposing structure and so on. The organization of various pantheon-list traditions represents such processes. They are never static, of course, and every text revealing a structure speaks only to its own generation, constituting a historical document of conditions at such and such a time. 31 See for instance the following short selection of studies (which at times give contrary assessments, and often include discussion of biblical avatars): on Anat see Kapelrud 1969, P.L. Day 1991, 1992, 1999, Walls 1992, Lloyd 1994, Cornelius 2004; on Athirat see Maier 1986, Olyan 1988, Wiggins 1993, Wyatt 1999c, Binger 1997, Cornelius 2004; on Athtar see Margalit 1996, Xella 1996; on Athtart see Wyatt 1999d (Astarte), Cornelius 2004; on Baal see

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restrict discussion to general theological principles as exemplified in a number of representative deities. Perhaps the best place to start is with the problem of theological scope. Ugaritian religion is commonly described as a “fertility cult”. This perception is far too narrow—I am not even entirely clear as to what it means—and is perhaps at least on occasion unconsciously designed as a reductionistic put-down for ideological purposes. We should see in Ugaritian religion neither bad faith, nor moral obloquy,33 nor “crisis of polytheism”.34 These are essentially contradictions in terms in a theological context. On the contrary, we have a vigorous series of interlocking theologies, an active cult, a powerful royal ideology and a network of ritual forms which link living and dead, sick and well, good and evil, rich and poor in a homogeneous community. It is in short a typical religious system of its day, not recognizably different in kind, in my view, from Iron Age religion in Palestine.35 Deities are essentially symbolic figures, who will accrete in their personae the accumulated experience of the worshipping community. Individual deities are frequently readily identifiable with various natural phenomena or existential realities (e.g. Shapsh the sun, Yarih the moon, Kapelrud 1952, Vanel 1965, van Zijl 1972, Wyatt 1992a, Herrmann 1999, Niehr 1999, Green 2003; on Dagan see Wyatt 1980, Healey 1977, 1999, Feliu 2003; on El, see Pope 1955, 1987, Herrmann 1999a; on Horon see Caquot 1982, Rüterswörden 1999, also chapter 6 below; on Kothar see Smith 1985, Pardee 1999; on Rapiu and the Rpum (Rephaim) see Caquot 1960, Parker 1970, 1972, de Moor 1976, Pope 1977, Cooper 1987, Rouillard 1999, Pitard 1999, Wyatt forthcoming; on Reshef see Astour 1967, 310–14, Fulco 1976, Xella 1999a; on Yam see Fantar 1977, al Noori 1994, Stolz 1999 (Sea). This list, the disparity in the coverage of some deities over against others, and omissions from it, indicate fruitful areas of research still to be undertaken. 32 See in particular the relevant articles in ABD (Freedman ed. 1992) and van der Toorn, Becking and van der Horst 1999. Some are listed in the previous note. Note also Watson 1993. 33 Thus Oldenburg 1969, xi. 34 Thus de Moor 1986b, 1997, 71–102. 35 That is, a religion (or religions) as reconstructed through archaeological research and a critical and historical reading of textual evidence, biblical and non-biblical. The Hebrew Bible itself is of course a critique on earlier forms of religion, its own roots included. Cf. n. 2 above.

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Yam the sea, Baal the storm, Kothar the apotheosis of technology, or Kinnar of the lyre, and so on). It is however a mistake to conclude a one-forone functional relationship between deity and phenomenon. This is to reduce theology at best to allegory, at worst to triviality. The identification, often based on the name,36 is merely the cipher by which an entire range of symbolic potential is tapped. The richer the personality of the deity in myth, the richer, we may infer, is the symbolic base. And because personality, with all its individual quirks and contradictions, is the means of expressing the theological content of the individual deity, the dramatic conflicts between deities are often represented in the most confrontational terms. It is a serious mistake to take this at face value, seeing in this apparent theological confusion evidence of either primitiveness, or worse still, theological poverty or incoherence. The richness and versatility of polytheism lies in its capacity for resolution of tensions in dramatic terms, in which deities compete in a mythic narrative as a means of expressing the anomies and antinomies of experience. People die of disease: the powerful god Reshef, the personification of pestilence, the very source of the disorder, is the one to whom the religious person turns in distress. War comes to Ugarit: Anat is the very embodiment of all its horrors, but because of her ubiquity, is at the same time represented as a nubile maiden, for whom warriors will perhaps give their all. Her ambiguity, at once attractive and repellent, is a measure of the ambiguity of the warrior’s calling. She symbolizes the utter devotion, the singlemindedness required of the king’s soldiers (and not perhaps without an erotic frisson). As goddess of the hunt (itself an important symbol of royal power) she also embodies the paradox of the love of animals with their wanton destruction. At the other end of the spectrum, there are deities of conception and childbirth, invoked for fruitful marriages and safe parturitions. These are the real “fertility deities”.

The enormous difficulty sometimes faced in trying to identify the “original” meaning of a divine name (cf. the range of proposals for Anat and Athirat) should give us pause about immediate settlement for what seem like all the easier instances.

36

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This may be folk-religion,37 but it is vital and powerful, effective in the life of a people. As is characteristic of a pantheon, it appears in its broadest sense to have embodied in divine personae every significant reality of community and personal life, from the very substance of the world (earth, air, sky, mountains and rivers38) to the practical items of everyday use (pots and pans, chairs, sheep and oxen39) which constitute the real world of ordinary people. Musical instruments were deified, because they represented a most important point of contact with an ideal world of the inner life.40 I have selected four deities here for further comment. 3.2.2 El A few observations on El (il, ilu) are in place here. His supreme status in the pantheon is not in dispute, in spite of some teething problems in his analysis,41 and he is the patron of kings (see further below) and ultimate ruler of the cosmos, whose constituent parts appear to have been divided between various of his sons (Baal, Yam and Mot correspond broadly in their nature and roles to Zeus, Poseidon and Hades in the Olympian pantheon). But they evidently defer to him for permission to act, and are dependent on him The distinguishing of different types of religion along class lines may have its uses for analytical purposes. but in my view threatens to introduce artificial boundaries where none would have been perceived. The emphasis may have been different, as also the elaboration of ritual, between the cult of the great temples and people’s (or groups’) private devotions which have left no trace. The broad nature of the religious experience, and the theological presuppositions, would have been part of a continuum, however, and not disparate units. It remains extremely difficult to estimate the nature of the experience. Texts like KTU 1.119 perhaps provide our best clue. 38 These constitute the “Urgötter ”, the primordial powers who personify the substance of the universe. They are invoked in the messages of the gods (KTU 1.1 iii 13–14 etc.). Are they perhaps also to be identified with the dr il (KTU 1.41.16, [1.87.17], 1.176.16) or (the distinct group?) the dr bn il (KTU 1.40.7, 17, 25, 33, [42], 1.65.2, 1.122.[3]) on the analogy of the il ānū ša dārātim (cf. Cross 1976, 329)? 39 KTU 1.4 vi 45–54. Cf. the world of abstractions personified as so many divine realities in the “genealogy” of Hesiod’s Theogony. 40 KTU 1.47.32 and parallels. Cf. Wyatt 1999e. 41 Cf. references above nn. 14–15. 37

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for the conferment of their power. The only deity who appears to defy his will is Anat, whose special case we shall consider below. Many scholars have remarked on the apparent absence of any cosmogony in Ugaritian religion. Fisher (1965) thought he discerned two types of creation at Ugarit, divided between El and Baal. The cosmogonic status of Baal’s conflict with Yam is in dispute, and any cosmogonic overtones it bears are implicit. But El is called bny bnwt, which is commonly translated as “Creator of creatures”, and is certainly the father of the divine beings born in KTU 1.12 and 1.23. These however are theogonies rather than cosmogonies, though perhaps this neat category-distinction would not have seemed so obvious to the ancients as it is to us. More promising perhaps for a tentative resolution of the issue is the significance of El’s androgynous nature. In KTU 1.23 he is addressed by his wives as mt, “husband”, ab, “father” and um, “mother”.42 From these incidental references we may infer that El is the androgynous parent of the goddesses. This invites speculation—and it must remain no more than this, on present evidence—that there lies behind the usage a myth of the kind we find in Egypt with with Atum and Amun,43 and in a different form with Ptah, in Greece with Zeus and in India with Prajāpati. These androgynous deities beget-and-bear daughters, who then (except in Zeus’ case) serve as wives for further divine reproduction. Now the point of these traditions is that they are clearly cosmogonic, in spite of the apparently theogonic element (that is, the distinction breaks down in practice). Atum’s children, for instance, are the “Urgötter ”, the primaeval gods who actually embody the substance of the land of Egypt. In fact we err in distinguishing too sharply between the two aspects of creation (cosmogony and theogony), as suggested above, because such differentiation belongs to later ages of greater abstraction in metaphysics. The wholly sexual imagery of the ancient forms

Wilfred Watson suggests to me that this may be simply an instance of parallelism. But even if we concede this for the sake of argument, the fact remains that a form of words may itself both reflect unconscious dispositions and patterns in the mind, and also generate new possibilities, which then lead the mind into further avenues. The whole cognitive content attributed to theological language is in my view largely if not wholly of this kind: the very existence of the word reifies the idea. Thus unicorns and dragons (and gods!) exist in the imagination, because we have imagined them. 43 Particularly in his aspect as Amen-Apet, the self-generating god of Djeme (Medinat Habu), who appears as the ithyphallic deity of the Theban cult. See van der Plas 1987. 42

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is as much an account of how the world began as it is of human origins44. It is just that the metaphor has frozen half-developed into abstraction. 3.2.3 Athirat A well-attested iconogram which perhaps represented Athirat (atrt, El’s daughter-wife) is the hand, appearing on cylinder seals,45 and later an important symbol of the Punic goddess Tanit.46 Is this perhaps a pointer to an analogue of the Egyptian titles of the chief queen as “the god’s hand”, which may have had ritual significance, symbolizing the daily sexual recreation of the world? It appears that Asherah in Judah at least had such a symbolic dimension, whatever is to be made of it, since she was both the deity’s daughter, and his wife, and is described as “the work of his hand... fingers” (Psalm 19), where both phrases have undoubtedly phallic overtones. This is admittedly all circumstantial, but enables us to build up a tentative picture of a powerful creator god whose prehistory is confidently to be linked to Ugaritic El.47 His making of the world is essentially expressed through the metaphor of his paternity of the divine principles of its constituent parts, the enveloping chaos included. The goddess Athirat has attracted considerable interest among scholars, in particular because of her presence (in the form Asherah) in the Hebrew Bible. Her evident role as Yahweh’s consort has recently been broadly accepted. The pair Yahweh-Asherah seem to point back to the Ugaritian pair El-Athirat. In the latter context her role has been much debated. In KTU 1.23, we appear to have a triad of goddesses, Athirat, Rahmay and Shapsh, and I have argued that the former two are geminated forms of the third (see further below). This would imply that Athirat is a sun-goddess, as also argued for instance by Binger. But Athirat’s particular significance in both KTU 1.23 (with her associates) and in KTU 1.4–6 (independently) is in the context of royal ideology. It is here that the significance of her title rbt (Akkadian rabītu), “Great Such mythological forms are precisely the outworking of the subjectivity we noted above, in discussing orientation, which must be the starting point of all experience. 45 See Schroer 1983. 46 Hvidberg-Hansen 1979. 47 See M. S. Smith 2002, 32–43. 44

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Lady”, is significant, used also of Rahmay in KTU 1.23.54.48 This title denotes the dowager queen, who appears to have had an important ritual and ideological function, corresponding to that of the Gebîrâ in the Palestinian kingdoms. The goddess is the divine embodiment of the principle— perhaps mythic rather than real by the LBA—that the incumbency of the throne is transmitted through the female line, a king being legitimized by his maternity and then by marriage to an incarnation of this same divinity. 3.2.4 Baal Hadd Another important deity who deserves mention is the storm-god. He is most frequently referred to by the title Baal (bʿl, “the Lord”, or “the Master”), but is the great Amorite storm-god Hadd (hd, hdd, “the Thunderer”),49 worshipped widely throughout the Fertile Crescent. It has been customary to describe him above all as a fertility god, and indeed he is master of the rains, thunder and lightning. But this should not be construed as exhausting his character. The sheer range of his titles 50 indicates the richness of his conception.51 He is “Lord of Saphon” (bʿl ṣpn), a position of monarchical power, but one to be construed within an economy ultimately controlled by El. I have argued that Baal’s throne on the mountain is his by right of conquest from Yam, but had been given to the latter by El himself. It is thus a delegated monarchy, which indeed not only derives from El, but is in turn transmitted, through the myth of Athtar’s enthronement, to the earthly kings of Ugarit. It is therefore appropriate that the storm-god is also “Lord It also refers to the dowager queen, presumably with the same ideological role, in the neighbouring kingdom of Amurru. See the divorce correspondence, PRU 4, 125–48. On the considerable role played by queens, enthroned and dowager, in Ugaritian politics, domestic and foreign, see Singer 1999, 690–91, 696–700. 49 The Ugaritic form is hd, var. hdd; in Aramaic he is Hadad, and in Akkadian Adad, where the initial [h] is unrepresented in the syllabic script. In Egypt he is identified with Seth. Thus the Mami stela from Ugarit (RS 1.[089] + 2.[033] + 5.183) invokes “Seth of Saphon”. See Yon 1991, 328 fig. 8a. 50 See chapter 2 above, where some twenty-one titles and a further five possible ones are discussed. 51 The judgment of Oldenburg 1969, 1, that “no strange god, however, is depicted more (sic) wicked, immoral, and abominable than the storm god Baʿal Hadad...” is not very helpful, except as an example of the kind of attitude deplored in my opening paragraph. He might be defended on the ground that he is merely voicing the biblical prejudice to demonstrate the clash of ideologies, but the rest of his study indicates that he shares it. 48

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of Ugarit” (bʿl ugrt ), the patron and protector of the city, as eloquently evoked in KTU 1.119. As champion in the Chaoskampf, Baal is the type of the king as military hero.52 Furthermore, the language of the storm is the conventional idiom for describing theophanies (as for instance in Psalm 29), and thus a sign of his grace to his devotees. This motif, of divine compassion, is also evident in the episode of his intervention on Danil’s behalf (KTU 1.17 i 15–33). We almost discern, in the localized form of such apparently pluralistic language, the polytheistic idiom for the examination within one divine reality of the tensions experienced in the processing of the real world. That is, Baal, and any other deity active in such a narrative context, is essentially a cipher for the tensions inherent in El himself in the world-process. This is therefore a kind of process theology. 3.2.5 Mot A god somewhat neglected in discussion is Mot (mt ).53 He is conspicuous by his absence from the ritual texts, and it is apparent that no cult was offered to him. He is not mentioned in any pantheon list, and yet features significantly in the Baal cycle of myths. This makes him the more interesting as a deity not so much of the practical life of Ugaritian religion as of its broader metaphysics. On one hand it is not at all surprising that death should be deified, as this is entirely in keeping with the observations of Guthrie (1993) in his sophisticated development of the animistic principle. To give a perceived external reality (and especially an external threat) a human face is an effective technique of management: know your enemy (and his name) and you have some defence against him. On the other hand, cult is precisely the response of a practical theology to this need: feed you enemy and you have him in your hand! So why was Mot not worshipped? In a sense he is quite different from that considerable class of chthonian deities and demons who were explicitly managed by cultic procedures in order to control the threats they posed. But Death, itself comparatively rarely personified in the ancient near east, stands apart. The analogue-figure of Hades, noted above, is not in fact a strict parallel in conception, for he is rather

52 53

See Wyatt 1998. For a useful survey see Healey 1999a.

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the location and condition of the dead who is collectivized. With Mot the very concept of death is personified. The chief mythological context in which the character Mot appears is in KTU 1.4–6. His role in the narrative has been characterized by Petersen and Woodward (1977) as essentially a doublet54 of the Baal-Yam conflict. It is certainly striking that in view of the wide incidence of the Chaoskampf throughout Eurasia (Amorite, Assyrian, Babylonian, Greek, Hittite and Israelite [biblical] versions are attested, apart from a whole nexus of Indian and Iranian versions), the myth of Baal’s conflict with Mot is unparalleled. Is it too bold to suggest that the very deification of Death as an antagonist of Baal, the god who brings life, is the literary invention of Ilimilku, for his own purpose of sandwiching the myth of Baal’s palace-construction between acosmic threats to it from before and after?55 This is not to attempt any reduction of Mot’s importance to one literary composition. Rather does it highlight the role of the theologian (Ilimilku was high priest, chief of the temple herdsmen and the king’s sacrificer: KTU 1.6 vi 55–656) in the very initial conceptualization of new metaphysical experience. Many deities presumably had specific historical origins, however hard it may be to identify them. Be this as it may, for it remains conjectural, the divine existence of Mot, yet apparent cultic non-existence, suggests a deity in transition, in process of development. In at least a loose way, he may be linked with the Hebrew constellation of Sheol, itself an inchoate personification of the experience of death, and such biblical figures as Rāʿēb, Belial and Māwet, the last-named his precise counterpart. The agricultural significance often attributed to Mot, as a fertility deity, is naturally to be entirely discounted on my interpretation.57 3.2.6 The Problem of an Adequate Assessment of Ancient Deities The characters of the gods in the mythological texts have frequently been treated with less than sympathy in modern studies. Thus Handy (1994, 125– The suspicion that this is the case is strengthened by the fact that similar royal titles are applied to both: Yam is mdd il, Mot is ydd ilm. On the sense of this see Wyatt 1985b. Note also that Mot himself compares his appetite with maritime creatures. See in particular my suggestion at KTU 1.5 i 14–16: Wyatt 2002, 116 n. 11. 55 See Wyatt 1998 for the rationale of this observation. 56 On Ilimilku’s substantial role see §4.2 below, and also Wyatt 2000, 2002a. 57 See discussion of KTU 1.6 ii 30–35, v 11–16 in Wyatt 2002, 135–36, 141 nn. 83, 108. 54

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6) calls Baal a “strong, virile dolt” and Anat “a spoilt child”,58 while El is construed as a coward in the face of Anat’s tantrums. 59 These estimates, little better than the old allegorical identifications which were once fashionable, 60 are theologically quite inadequate however, and simply a misconstruction of what mythology and theology within a polytheistic world-view strive to achieve. To begin with, the trickster figure, or the deity who is the butt of humour and figure of fun has an honoured place in religious history. Such characters reflect the human experience of the incongruous. The contradictions present in the deities of the pantheon are, moreover, faithful reflections in the mythic idiom of contradictions in the real world. Their dramatic interaction in the myths (such as the fights between Baal and Yam, or Baal and Mot, or Anat’s confrontations with El) do indeed reflect a degree of “theological relativity”, but this is a strength, not a weakness, in polytheistic thought. For all the anomies of human experience can be worked out “intrapantheonically” through the medium of the mythic narrative, and the broad principle of divine power is not compromised. Anat’s encounter with Aqhat, seen from a theological perspective, warns of the dangers of trifling with the unpredictable and autonomous divine. It may be compared with the story of 2 Samuel 6:1–8, where the modern reader’s sympathy goes out to Uzzah, but in so doing misreads the narrative. Furthermore, this kind of theology, explored almost exclusively in mythological, narrative idiom, or in hymnody which reflects courtly and diplomatic language, is the only medium open to the ancient cultures, before the de-

Cf. Margalit 1989, 477: he claims that “A ruthless mysogynist (sic !) and a creature of passion, Anat is a goddess who never ‘grew up’. She personifies for the poet all that is corrupt and contemptible in Raphaite culture and society”. On pp. 478–79 he wrote of “the complacent... Raphaites, in their passionate devotion and voluntary bondage to a bloodthirsty goddess, are in fact on a path to self-destruction...” Such judgments entirely fail to recognize the logical place of negative principles in a pantheon. To interpret the goddess as a cipher for a corrupt society is absurd: she is entirely the opposite, a sign of the vitality of its moral theology. 59 Pardee 1997, 254 n. 105. 60 Cf. Gaster’s identification of most of the deities in the Baal cycle of myths with various forms of water, or the vegetation theories of Virolleaud, Dussaud, et al. For references and critique, cf. Wyatt 1996, 144–50. 58

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velopment of elaborate abstractions of thought61. The considerable strains that theodicy places upon monotheistic conceptions of the deity, over which the modern systematic theologian agonizes so inconclusively, do not arise.62 The dissonance between ideal and reality is swallowed up in a pragmatism towards and acceptance of the real world. It is futile to criticize this outlook for failing to achieve insights only realized a millennium or more later. Whatever else it may have become as a result of the ever-widening scope of symbolic activity and the expansion of human consciousness, the religions of the early urban civilizations of the Near East were very largely a complex system of social, economic and environmental management. Their very longevity is evidence of their efficacy. The besetting sin of too much contemporary scholarship is to look no further than the surface-character of ancient deities, and to fail to recognize the depth of the symbolic dimension. And the gods of Ugarit have suffered from this more than most.63 3.3 Demonology It is in such a perspective that we should mention briefly the presence of demons. I have dealt with these (chapter 4) as essentially transient figures, frozen in the snapshot of a particular context reconstructed through the chance discovery of texts, but more realistically gods in the making or the unmaking, so that a longer perspective would tend to see them either disappearing or achieving divine status. Deities such as Reshef and Horon, of distinctly “demonic” form, being reified horrors, have probably been given pantheonic status as a means of controlling them on the principle outlined above. Some, of course, would hover anonymously on the fringes of religious experience for considerable periods of time, to terrify successive genOnly Greece appears to have developed such language systematically, and even here the narrative mode is the normal discourse of theology. Homeric and Hesiodic thought was expressed in this way. But to sensitive readers, all these ancient thought-systems are straining at the limitations of language, and relentlessly pushing forward the boundaries of experience and articulacy. 62 The problem arises out of our academic desire to read systematic theology into the ancient traditions. We then read inconsistencies into the apparent dissonance between different poetic metaphors. This is a measure only of modern, not of ancient incapacities. 63 Any treatment of Yahweh that stopped at the surface would be rightly judged as superficial and inadequate. Scholars (= theologians!) are careful to probe behind Yahweh’s bad temper, his petulance and changes of mind to the symbolic power of this literary imagery. The Ugaritic deities deserve no less. 61

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erations of the victims of their attentions, eventually to be tamed by either the powers of exorcism or advances in medicine.

4

MYTHOLOGY

4.1 General Considerations My object here is not a detailed analysis of the individual mythic narratives from Ugarit. This has been amply covered elsewhere.64 Instead a few remarks may be helpful on mythological matters generally, in order to help us appreciate the Ugaritian mentality. It is a feature of all cultures that they express their sense of community identity in the form of narratives. All early historiography, accounting for a people’s present as the product of their past, is in narrative form. Frequently, as is well known, it is clear that myth, legend and “real” history are mingled quite indiscriminately in such compositions. This is certainly the case with any historiographical texts surviving from the ancient Near East, including the historiography of the Hebrew Bible. No historiography as such survives from Ugarit, though I have argued65 that the king list in KTU 1.113, now probably in the context of a series of names for invocation in the accompanying litany, reflects a mentality quite capable of drawing up a formal list of this kind, and in so far as it is in all probability a selective list, of making discriminatory judgments about the historical worth of individual people and events. So this is a matter of arguing not for any kind of archaic mentality, on the basis claimed by Lévy-Bruhl66 or Frankfort,67 but rather as proposed by Donald, 68 who argued for increasingly complex forms of memory and memorizing with early human development; Ugaritian See also Gibson 1999. For representative bibliographies on all the mythological texts from Ugarit see the heading to each text in Wyatt 2002. 65 Wyatt 1998, 2002, 402–03 n. 13. 66 Lévy-Bruhl 1922. Note Margalit’s welcome comment (Margalit 1989a, 10 n. 7). 67 Frankfort 1949. For critiques of the views of the Frankforts see Rogerson 1974 and Wyatt 1996a, 388–98. 68 Donald 1991, 152. He postulated the following stages in the capacity to memorize: procedural, episodic and semantic. Consciousness is rudimentary in the second of these stages, while the third is dependent on human language and consciousness. 64

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thought, like all other ancient ones in principle from the earlier literate period,69 had not yet developed techniques of analysis and abstraction. Narrative, therefore, was the recognized mode of dealing with a variety of issues, not least the problems arising in the moral and political life, questions of identity, origins, of authority and ideology (see above) and even of everyday matters like birth, puberty, marriage and death. Myth is the classic medium for representing and resolving such matters and their inherent problems. Through contemporary religious discourse (particularly credal, liturgical, hymnic and the reading of “Scriptures”—ancient religious texts) exactly the same pattern of mental processing is carried on today. Indeed the same strategies are pursued today in forensic and commercial contexts, and not merely religious ones, where precise forms of words not only convey precise nuances of meaning, but carry a peculiar authority (legal, contractual, religious) and are deemed to “bind” people into a system of mutual interdependence. This is the “linguistic world” in which we live. In principle little has changed over the millennia. We may have only a small fraction of the Ugaritian (or even the Ugaritic) myths, and this is due to the good fortune that priestly and royal archives recorded them. Many others would have been transmitted orally, with consequent loss, or the unlikelihood of being able to recover them from later records which have distorted them too much. Where a cognate relationship can be established, as between texts KTU 1.23 and 1.24, their second millennium congeners 70 and later derivatives, 71 there has usually been substantial modification. The same is true of the Chaoskampf tradition, which now has a continuous pedigree running from third-millennium Eshnunna through to mediaeval Europe.72 This material is in my view directed primarily at the support of the institution of kingship, though of course it is The development of writing itself no doubt lent a powerful consciousness to the acts of writing and reading the written word. At a stroke, as it were, the memories of past generations could be preserved, and worlds opened up far vaster than the restricted scope of oral tradition, itself already a powerful tool. The recording of the Ugaritic myths hints at an authoritative text: the very words of the gods were now available independently of the inspiration of the individual poet. There is no clear evidence for the ritual use of writing in Ugarit, though legal texts witness to its inherent binding power. 70 Astour 1967, 154–60. 71 See Wyatt 1996, 219–68, where it was argued that they constitute the Vorlage of Psalms 2, 8, 19, 110, Genesis 16, 19:30–38, Hosea 2, Ezekiel 16 and 23. 72 Wyatt 1998. 69

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entirely probable that more generalized mythology was also extant, as indicated by texts such as KTU 1.92, and by such applied myths (generally in relation to medical matters) as are mentioned below. 4.2 The Role of Ilimilku This is perhaps an appropriate juncture at which to comment on the importance of the role of Ilimilku, to which I have already drawn attention above and in previous discussions.73 Its significance here is not so much historical or literary-critical as religious. For here we are able to pinpoint the contribution of a historical individual, whose identity would ordinarily have been entirely lost to us, to specific developments in the religion of an ancient culture. The naming of an author in documents of this period (apart from royal proclamations, and diplomatic, legal and epistolary texts) is quite exceptional, and the accident of the survival of his name in the colopha of different mythical texts affords us an unrivalled opportunity to enquire into his mind and motivations. It is entirely reasonable to take account of Ilimilku’s priestly and administrative roles, and to conclude that he had a substantially authorial role in the construction of the narratives of the Baal myths, and the Keret and Aqhat stories.74 It is this that is so unusual. We can examine his motivations, for example, in the elaborate building up of the already ancient Chaoskampf motif, now first evidenced a millennium before his time in texts from Eshnunna, and already with widely dispersed congeners in the second millennium (Hatti, Mari, Babylon, India). A case may be made for Ilimilku himself being the author, in the strict sense of inventor and originator, of the conflict between Baal and Mot (KTU 1.56)75 which constitutes the echo of the struggle between Baal and Yam (KTU 1.1-2). This narrative has no parallels elsewhere, and appears to be a construction designed to present a chiastic framework round the central episode of the “Baal cycle”, the story in KTU 1.3–4; that is, its whole raisonWyatt 1997, 1998. The same point was made by M. Korpel in her useful treatment of Ilimilku (Korpel 1998, 87–88). 75 The double nature of the construction was discerned by Wakeman 1973 and Petersen and Woodward 1977. None of these writers actually attributed the composition of the Baal-Mot conflict to Ilimilku himself, however. 73 74

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d’être is explained by the central narrative. This construction points to the episode of Baal’s “palace” (sc. temple) as the primary element in the mythic story. But further elements in the story, and some of the features it has in parallel with Keret and Aqhat, suggest that the authorial intention was not so much to celebrate the construction of Baal’s temple (though an aetiology certainly exists here, and indeed the liturgical elements to be discerned in this narrative point to some such celebration in the cultus) as to see it as a legitimization of royal claims. Royal ideology as much as theology in the more conventional sense was therefore Ilimilku’s main concern. The cult of Baal would benefit mutually, in that he appeared as the patron of the dynasty. Similar intentions appear to lie behind the Keret narrative. It is in all probability a traditional tale, as many have noted. Some of the constructions put upon it are however not entirely plausible. Thus it has been seen on the one hand as the aetiology for the descent of the dynasty of Ugarit from “Octavia”,76 the youngest daughter of Keret by Hurriya. On the other it has been argued that it is intended to cut the royal ideology down to size by denying its extravagant claims of divine kingship.77 Neither view is in my estimate correct: rather is a curse visited upon the youngest daughter because of her sib-solidarity with the accursed Yasib, while the comparison of Keret with gods who die (sc. Baal) is precisely a way of showing that both national deity and national ruler share a theological trait. In the final analysis the cursing of Keret’s line may be the prelude to the assumption of the throne by another line. I shall take up this point below. Our present concern is the theological significance of Ilimilku’s role. As propagandist for the king, he actually created theology for his age, thus influencing and modifying the thoughts of his contemporaries and of subsequent generations, just as an influential systematic theologian such as Luther or Calvin could have a significant impact on his culture, or as Homer or Hesiod had on early Greek theology. As for the historical context of Ilimilku, this is in process of a revaluation, thanks to the discovery of the Urtenu archive in the southern zone of the city. Thus far we have had no more than hints of the need for reassessment of the evidence, and await the publication of these new texts to lend substance to it. Traditionally the poet-scribe has been dated to the reign of Niqmaddu II, and my attempts to give an estimate of him (Wyatt 1997, 76 77

For my alternative interpretation of the term ttmnt, see Wyatt 2002, 211–12 n. 155. Parker 1977.

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1998, 2002, 35–6, contrast 21 n, 6) have been on this basis. For a preliminary attempt at interpreting the new material, see Singer 1999. 78 His displacement, as appears likely, to the time of Niqmaddu III, will require some adjustments (though not radical ones) to my assessment, since both accessions appear to have followed from some kind of internal political crisis.79 4.3 Two Myths from Ugarit 4.3.1 KTU 1.23 Two further important mythological texts may be discussed here briefly, since they are only touched on elsewhere.80 The first, of the greatest historical importance, is KTU 1.23. It was found in the “high priest’s house” on the acropolis in the second season, in 1930. The edition princeps was published by Virolleaud 1933. The particular importance of the text was immediately recognized, and a number of studies has been devoted to it.81 The tablet was found in two parts, and the smaller piece, which constitutes the first five lines of the recto, was broken in half vertically, with the right hand portion missing. The result is that the latter half of ll. 1–5 is missing, as is the latter half of ll. 72–5 on the verso. Part of l. 71 is also missing. On the recto a plaque has also broken away from the lower part of the right side, destroying the ends of ll. 16–25 and the corresponding lineends on the verso, while also on the verso there is some surface damage just below the centre.

Singer 1999, 688–89 and nn. 284, 289, 705 and n. 340. See Wyatt 2002a. 80 By Gibson 1999. 81 The following translations and studies have also been published, among others: Virolleaud 1933, Ginsberg 1935, Gaster 1946, 1950, 225–56, 1961, 418-35, Gordon 1949, 57–62, 1977, 59–64, Largement 1949, Jirku 1962, 80–84, Aistleitner 1964, 58–62, de Moor 1972 ii 17–24, 1987, 117–28, Tsumura 1973, 1978, Xella 1973, Caquot–Sznycer–Herdner 1974, 353–79, Tsevat 1974, Wyatt 1977, 1987, 1992b, 1996, 224-29, 2002, 324-35, del Olmo Lete 1981, 427–48, Cutler–Macdonald 1982, Lipiński 1986, Segert 1986, Foley 1987, Hettema 1989–90, Schloen 1993, Aboud 1994, 189–92, Watson 1994, Pardee 1997, 274–83, Dijkstra 1998, Smith 2006. 78 79

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Several lines have been scored across the tablet, following ll. 7, 11, 12, 15, 18, 20, 22, 27 and 29 (all on the recto), thus dividing the text into ten sections, of which the last is equal in length to the nine previous ones combined. While a number of purposes appear to have lain behind such lines in various contexts, in the present instance they appear to mark off separate parts of the text which in the earlier part (ll. 1–29) consists of different rubrics, short narrative passages of ritual significance, lines of hymns to be sung (perhaps just the opening lines to prompt cantors), and ritual instructions. From l. 30 to the end (the bottom edge and the verso of the tablet) the text consists of one narrative poem, though here too a ritual instruction appears in the narrative at l. 54. The contents are as follows: I

23.1–7

II III

23.8–11 23.12

IV

23.13–5

V

23.16–8

VI

23.19–20

VII

23.21–2

VIII

23.23–7

IX

23.28–9

X

23.30–76

82

Hymnic introduction invoking the gracious gods (cf. VIII); [ ]; summons to feast (sc. sacrifice); greetings to assembled personnel (including king and queen); description of opening scene, with figure of Mt-w-Šr seated disconsolate and sterile, rod82 in hand. “Viticultural” ritual involving Mt-w-Šr. Instruction for sevenfold recital of the mythic narrative (sc. ll. 8–11), and command to the priests to respond. Allusion to the “vast steppe” of Athirat and Rahma (cf. IX), and sevenfold performance of a culinary ritual and of censing. Narrative of Athirat and Rahmay setting out [ ]; invocation of their names. Reference is made to the eightfold, sevenfold [ ] of the gods’ dwellings. Mention of the precious stones and garments of the choristers. Hymnic introduction (cf. I above), invoking the gracious gods, their suckling and rituals (of purification after birth?). Further allusion to the “vast steppe” of Athirat and Rahmay (cf. IV) [ ]. Main mythic narrative: El goes to the seashore, meeting two figures (sc. goddesses?), apparently sitting on a cauldron, who address him as “father” and “mother”; he has an erection, removes them and takes them to his house. El’s penis appears to be identified with (or at any rate to evoke) the

Or perhaps ‘‘rod’’, since the term is undoubtedly ambiguous.

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE rod mentioned earlier (I); after banter about his potency, El makes love to the two goddesses. He sits and counts the months until they give birth to Shahar and Shalem, and rites of purification are performed. The same narrative of the conception, counting and birth is repeated. This time the offspring are called “the gracious gods”. Gluttonous from birth, the two young gods wander off with gargantuan appetites, devouring everything in sight, for seven years. Coming in from the desert, they call on the guardian of the sown land, who makes an entry for them, and responding to their request, offers them food and drink.

Readers familiar with the text will appreciate that even in giving a synopsis a number of interpretative choices have been made. Most of these have been hotly debated over the years, and they are not all by any means settled. In this author’s view, the “gracious gods” are in fact Shahar and Shalem, the twin sons of the sun-goddess Shapsh, who is geminated for narrative effect and cosmological reasons into the goddesses Athirat and Rahmay.83 Thus only two gods, twins, are to be understood as born to the goddesses, rather than a series of births, which would understand this to be a general theogony. Note is also taken here of Tsumura’s reinterpretation of ll. 49–58,84 which restores the tricolon of ll. 56–7 to a position following ḥmḥmt in l. 51, and interprets it as a counting of months of pregnancy, rather than a fivefold repetition of the impregnation (which with the two described, was formerly understood to give seven overall on the previous interpretation of the text85).

See Wyatt 2002, 333 n. 49, and also my more extensive treatment in Wyatt 1996, 219–82, in which I examined the text in the larger context of its ancient Near Eastern congeners and biblical derivatives. The latter range indicates the ideological importance of the tradition. See also Astour 1967, 154–57. 84 Tsumura 1978. See also Watson 1994, and Wyatt 2002, 332 n. 45. 85 Cf. Caquot, Sznycer and Herdner 1974, 376, del Olmo Lete 1981, 446. Dijkstra 1999, 140– 42, retains the older understanding. 83

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This is an interesting instance of a text which explicitly combines myth and ritual.86 It therefore seems to envisage a specific application of the myth to a specific ritual context (though that is not identified in the text). In view of the congeners, however, it is probably safe to conclude that any specific application is secondary, and applies to the given context in which it appears a symbolic force to be discerned in the theoretical prototype. While a number of similar myths are told in the ancient Near East, of which several are evidently cognate, we cannot hope to recover the original myth, which being absolutely archetypal, must go back way into prehistory. It is even fair to say that if myths are traced back to their origins, only two basic types require to be posited, dealing with conflict (and all resolution of tensions) and reproduction (and by extension other “origins”). Here is the primal tale about how the first children were begotten. Other birth-myths, such as KTU 1.12 i and KTU 1.24 (below), are essentially versions of the same theme, adapted to different specific secondary contexts. I have discussed a number of biblical derivatives,87 and here the common element is the same, but with a marked bias towards a royal significance. This is to be expected, since the king, as sacral figure, would tend to have concentrated in his person all the symbolic values of his community. Pardee’s (1997, 274) assessment that it deals with “a pair of relatively minor deities” is a fair reflection of current opinion on the text, but in my view underestimates their considerable ideological importance as “royal gods”, who reflect in their mythology certain important constants. Assessments of the text range from that offered by Cutler and Macdonald (1982) as a famine-relief liturgy, by Largement 1949, Lipiński 1986 and Segert 1986 as a “fertility cult” myth, to that of Pardee (1997) as a possible analogue or component of an autumnal vintage and new year festival (cf. KTU 1.41).88 This divergence of views is natural, given that features of all these types may be discerned; nor are they incompatible with my royal assessment. Further analysis is undoubtedly required. De Moor (1987, 117) has defined the text as a sacred marriage text. This too is reasonable in so far as it actually deals with a marriage, but we need to be clear what “sacred Contrary to the assessment voiced by de Moor 1971, 30, I do not feel compelled to accept that all myths are inseparable from rituals. The situation is infinitely more complex. For a recent collection of views see Segal 1998. 87 Wyatt 1996, 232–68. 88 For the most recent discussion see M.S. Smith 2006 and review by Pardee 2007. I think that Smith misrepresents my views, and certainly does not do them justice. 86

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marriage” (hieros gamos) means, and the use of the term sometimes implies that the same kind of significance is to be applied in all cases, as though it is just a tantric use of sex in the cult. It is here that I think the royal dimension is important, and enables us to clarify matters. A mythic paradigm is established here which is used to convey basic notions about the concern of the chief deity for the created order, and the implicit identification of his offspring with kings becomes the means whereby royal duties are represented as actualizing the theological programme.89 4.3.2 KTU 1.24 The second text I wish to treat briefly here is KTU 1.24, the so-called Nikkal poem, treating the marriage of Nikkal and the moon-god.90 While complete, the surface of this tablet is eroded to such an extent that many readings remain uncertain. The text falls into two parts. The first consists of a mythic narrative in which the goddess Nikkal (the Hurrian form of Sumerian NIN.GAL) is seduced by the moon-god, appearing as Yarih, but in all probability the Hurrian moon-god Kusuḥ. He then seeks her hand in marriage, and after a number of attempts have been made to fob him off with alternative brides, the wedding is performed, with the requisite payment of bride-price and dowry, both costs borne by the bridegroom himself. The second part is a hymn to the Kotharat, the goddesses of weddings and childbirth. Goetze 1941 understood the myth to be Hurrian, while del Olmo Lete 1991 has maintained its Sumerian origin. 91 Both views may be right of course, since Hurrian religion adopted many features of the cults of the Wyatt 2002, 325. The myth may not unreasonably be compared with the patriarchal narratives of Genesis, which though written in an entirely different idiom, deal with precisely the same theme, that of national survival. 90 The following translations and studies have appeared, among others: Virolleaud 1936a, Gordon 1937, 1977, 65–67, Aistleitner 1939, 1964, 63–64, Ginsberg 1939, Goetze 1941, Herdner 1949, Tsevat 1953, Driver 1956, 125–27, Jirku 1962, 77–79, Herrmann 1968, Caquot–Sznycer–Herdner 1974, 381–97, Wyatt 1977b, 2002, 336–41, Gibson 1978, 128–29, del Olmo Lete 1981, 449–56, 1991, de Moor 1987, 141–45. 91 See too the interesting discussion of other versions of this myth by Astour 1967, 80–92, though he did not include KTU 1.24 in his coverage. 89

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fertile crescent. It is “hurrianized”, and no doubt with particular adaptation to the Ugaritian milieu. But I shall suggest an alternative source just below. A Babylonian version92 appears to be part of a childbirth ritual, to ease a difficult parturition. The presence of the hymn to the Kotharat on the same tablet suggests that in the present instance too this may have been the purpose of the myth, though this too is undoubtedly a secondary application of the narrative. I have long wondered whether the myth itself may be related to the narrative of Genesis 34 (the story of Dinah and Shechem), for which I have proposed an Indo-European origin, since it is remarkably close to some Vedic material.93 The possibility that marital circumcision may have been practised in Ugarit (though not referred to specifically in the present text) would support this suggestion.94

5

THE ROYAL IDEOLOGY OF UGARIT

5.1 General Considerations We have already noted a number of allusions to kingship and its mythic representation in the narrative texts. It is in the nature of an urban archive, where much of the record was generated specifically by the palace and temple bureaucracies, that there should be such an apparent bias towards royal interests, most obvious in cultic matters. On one hand this should warn us of a largely untapped reservoir of “popular” religion, such as must have been practised by ordinary citizens of the several classes and guilds attested in administrative documents, at which the marziḥu texts hint, for example; and also the cult of minor shrines both in the city and outlying villages, where quite independent cults may have been observed. Such historical realities tend by their nature to go undocumented.95 On the other hand, the royal nature of the bulk of the religious texts, where the ritual ones are devoted largely to procedures in which the king played a leading role,96 and the

Astour 1967, 85, Böhl 1936. See Wyatt 1990. 94 On Genesis 34 see Wyatt 1990; on circumcision at Ugarit see chapter 3. On the possibility that the present text does in fact deal with circumcision, see Allan 1999, where it is argued that mlk qẓ (ll. 2, 17, 24) denotes the “counsellor for circumcision”. 95 The poor documentation is noted by van der Toorn 1996, 153. For a brief treatment see below. 96 See in particular del Olmo Lete 1992 = 1999. 92 93

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mythological ones are largely, though not exclusively, related to ideological questions, is a fair reflection of the specific importance of Ugarit as a royal city within the kingdom. Just as the biblical texts generated by the Jerusalem cultus, or the inscriptions from royal cities such as Thebes or Nineveh, naturally reflect the national significance of such sites, so we should expect the same from Ugarit. What is striking about the evidence from Ugarit is the considerable degree of continuity between its royal ideology and that of Jerusalem from the Iron Age.97 This suggests that while local variations undoubtedly occurred, which must not be underestimated, a common West Semitic nexus of ideas about monarchy, in which the same or similar myths of divine parentage, the important ritual functions of the rabitu-gebîrâ, and similar ritual conceptions and practices obtained. This also must not be underestimated. 5.2 The Divinity of the King The king is represented in the narrative poetry as bn il. This expression may be interpreted as “member of the genus ‘god’’’, which is its sense when applied to deities. It thus appears to include the king in this category. More narrowly, it appears to have the mythological sense “son of El” (that is, of El as chief god), a nuance supported by the corollary, that El is explicitly “father” to the king (KTU 1.14 ii 23-4: dbḥ ltr abk il: “Sacrifice to Bull your father, El”, addressed to Keret). El is further identified as ab adm, which in my view has the narrower sense of “father of Man (even ‘Adam’)” rather than the broader sense of “father of mankind”. The latter expression is remarkable enough as a powerful metaphor of kinship relating deity and his people; with the narrower sense it reinforces the specific and peculiar relationship between deity and (divine) king already noted. A further image of the king’s divine status is the broken text at KTU 1.15, which proclaims the status of Yasib (Keret’s heir) in these terms: He will drink the milk of Athirat he will drain the breast of Virgin [Rahmay];

97

See Wyatt 1996.

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the suckling of [goddesses ].98

This text has caused some disputation: “Anat” is commonly restored in the lacuna in the second colon, though in my view without justification other than a pavlovian response to the term btlt, while the surviving word in the third is often read with a final t (as mšnq[t]), and translated as “wetnurses”. We have here not a sociological observation, however, but a mythological allusion, to royal sons who drink their divinity from the breasts of divine mothers, which is only to be expected if the goddess (there is actually only one, for Athirat and Rahmay are hypostases of Shapsh, as is evident from KTU 1.23) is consort to El and therefore the king’s ideological mother. This passage is important not only in establishing Yasib’s ideological status, but also in countering Parker’s claim that the Keret narrative is intended to discredit royal claims to divinity. The overall interpretation of material of this kind suffers in part, I believe, from a tendency for the modern interpreter to attribute to the ancients the same mental attitudes we share. This is not only fashionable since the deserved eclipse of Lévy-Bruhl’s more romantic views, but almost de rigueur in today’s intellectual climate. Carried to extremes, it is absurd. Even people in the seventeenth century had a world-view radically different from our own. It requires a supreme effort on our part even to grasp what Late Bronze Ugaritians thought of the world. The cosmological framework outlined above should warn us against importing too much rationality in our sense of the term. Perhaps the most difficult thing to appreciate is the sliding scale between the human and divine realms. The Ugaritians, like everyone else in the Mediterranean world at least down to early Christian times, inhabited a world populated with spiritual powers in every corner. These could be acknowledged as the vast range of gods worshipped by compatriots and foreigners alike, organized into panthea, though this usually happened only to one’s own gods, worshipped either in organized fashion, as in the royal cultus, which actually invoked a small selection from the pantheon, or worshipped in ad hoc fashion according to personal devotion by private citizens, feared or exorcized as demons, or revered as ancestors. Nor were the ancients averse to seeing such powers embodied in actual people, particularly in kings. The royal ancestors were explicitly called gods (KTU 1.113) and invoked at funerals (KTU 1.161) while some of their For justification of this reading and translation see Wyatt 2002, 209 n. 149. All translations from Ugaritic in the present chapter are from this volume. 98

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number99 were given the more exalted status of rpum, “saviours” or “healers”, a term which may have corresponded roughly to the “heroes” of Greek cult. The king was a living representative of the royal gods of the past, into whose company he was welcomed at death, and the one person who could most effectively communicate with the divine realm on behalf of ordinary mortals. The language of divine birth and genealogy was of course symbolic—when is language not symbolic?—but all the more real for so being.100 Parker (1977) suggested that the rhetorical questioning of KTU 1.16 i 9–11, 20–3 (“Is Keret then the son of El...?”) pointed to a negative answer. Gods do not die, but Keret does, and is therefore no god. This overlooks the fact that Baal does die. I have proposed101 as an alternative that the language of this passage specifically compares Keret with Baal, expressing in this way the hope that Keret too, like Baal, will be restored to life. Thus the ideological status of the king is not in question. If anything, it is considerably enhanced by the comparison. This aspect of Ugaritian thought may be the medium through which dead kings achieved a form of deification after death (KTU 1.113), by a formal apotheosis indicated by the determinative il, and also by aspiring to the status of rpum. This might be enhanced by the comparison in Keret, in addition to any language used of the reigning monarch.102

The rpum named in the Ugaritic texts do not feature in the king-list. Their precise relationship with the historical kings of Ugarit remains obscure. They are evidently invoked as “ideological ancestors”. The r epāʾîm of biblical tradition are associated above all with the Hauran, and in this respect perhaps make connection with the Ugaritic rpum. Cf. KTU 1.108.2–3, which links Rāpiʾu, eponymous deity of the rpum, with Ashtarat and Edrei, cities linked with Og, last of the Rephaim, in Deuteronomy 1:4. On Rāpiʾu and the rpum see n. 31 above. See also references in n. 140 (à propos KTU 1.161). For Pitard’s cautious estimate of the nature and role of the rpum see Pitard 1999. For the subject in general see now Wyatt, forthcoming. 100 A similar concern to downplay the divinity of the Pharaoh is evident in some egyptological studies. It goes against the whole weight of the ideological tradition, and against a basic appreciation of ancient Egyptian psychology. We must attempt to understand the ancients in their terms at least as much as ours. 101 Wyatt 1997. 102 For a more recent assessment of royal aspects of religion see Wyatt 2005c. 99

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RITUAL 103

6.1 General Considerations The information noted above may be supplemented by reference to the ritual texts from Ugarit. Many of these were discovered within the confines of the palaces, and provide a convenient and eloquent insight into the complex ritual life in which the king played a central role. While the narrative texts appear to accept a principle of “divine kingship” for the monarchy, however precisely this be defined, there is no indication in the ritual texts of the king’s peculiar status. His “sacral” role as a pontifex, a mediator between the divine and human realms, is unquestionable. But he acts merely as a cipher, performing his appointed role in the drama of the cult. No theoretical position on this is even hinted at. The surviving ritual texts from Ugarit are unlikely to record more than a small proportion of the cultic life of the city, and in any case at least in some instances record events taking place in the palace and royal chapels. Our already partial record is thus primarily of the royal cultus. General proceedings in the other main city temples on the acropolis and the city centre are simply unknown. What can be stated with certainty is that the mythological texts offer no record of any ritual calendar or theology, as argued by those espousing the seasonal interpretation. The most they offer is occasional snatches of liturgical material embedded in the narrative, and descriptions of divine feasting which are as it were a gods’-eye-view of sacrificial rites. The observances of the characters in the Keret and Aqhat stories no doubt reflect typical ritual practices, but these are entirely incidental to the narratives. The ritual texts, on the other hand, evidently work within a tightly structured cultic calendar, although in view of the fragmentary nature of the record, we are not in a position to reconstruct this adequately, which might allow an appreciation of the overall pattern. See del Olmo Lete 1999 and Pardee 2000, 2002 for the first extensive treatments of these issues. The texts devoted to ritual matters are discussed elsewhere. 104 Here perhaps some remarks on the broad nature of ancient ritual, as attested in See also Merlo and Xella 1999, del Olmo Lete 1999a. On the ritual texts see de Tarragon 1980, Xella 1981, Caquot, de Tarragon and Cunchillos 1989, del Olmo Lete 1992. 104 Merlo and Xella 1999, del Olmo Lete, 1999a. 103

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Ugarit, are appropriate. An interesting pattern emerges from scrutiny of the ancient religions of the Near East. This is the complex relationship with all aspects of human life, and particularly the economic dimension. Whatever the origins of sacrificial practice, it is evident that it was the centre of the temple cultus in all the urban cultures of the ancient Near East. On every occasion where the deities were invoked, offerings of meat, cereals, wine, oil or other material commodities (cloth, metals, votive gifts, incense etc.) were made. In a sense it can be argued that a significant amount of the citystate’s economic production was geared to the demands of the temples. The overall scale of sacrificial demand is not clear from Ugarit, but livestock production would have been in part controlled by its demands,105 with perhaps special diets, selection for special markings, and animals of a certain age and gender selected for ritual use. It is even possible that all meatproduction was channelled through the temples.106 Egyptian temples were frequently equipped with extensive store-rooms for the storage of the produce of farm-lands controlled by them.107 We should expect similar organization at Ugarit, if on a smaller scale, though presumably any warehouses would have been outside the city-walls, perhaps in satellite settlements. In view of the emphasis on “the fertility cult” which appears to sell student handbooks,108 which conjures up an image of orgiastic rites which I once heard described as “a sea of heaving buttocks”, it is worth noting that there is no evidence from Ugarit for practices of this kind. We certainly Note that one of Ilimilku’s offices, no doubt in his capacity as a priest, appears to have been management of temple herds (rb khnm rb nqdm : KTU 1.6 vi 55–56). The influence of the temple-economy on the broader economy should not be underestimated. If the gods demanded richer offerings, agricultural practice had to adapt to the demand, while greater food-production would result in greater surpluses, and therefore enhanced trade, enhanced wealth, and no doubt concomitant population growth. The temples were at the apex of this economic spiral. 106 The “secular” slaughter envisaged in Deuteronomy 12:15–16, 20–25 has the appearance of a departure from an older norm in which all animals were killed not only ritually in the most general sense, but in the presence of a deity, and formally as an offering. One reason for this would have been the accumulation of power in the hands of organized priesthoods. 107 They are most graphically evident at the Ramesseum, the mortuary temple of Rameses II. See Kemp 1989, 191–97. 108 See the title of Harrelson 1969, From Fertility Cult to Worship. 105

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have mythological begettings, and some deities have voracious sexual appetites, while we have noted a ritual dimension to KTU 1.23. The context of this interesting text is however the conception of princes, and it may well be no more than a mimetic counterpart to the actual (highly ritualized) consummation of a royal marriage in Ugarit. An iconographic counterpart may be seen in the ivory panels from the royal bed.109 We also noted a probable ritual context to KTU 1.24, and shall mention further such material below (§9). 6.2 A Rite of Atonement: KTU 1.40 I shall limit my discussion of individual ritual texts to one example. This is the liturgy for the great day of atonement at Ugarit, preserved partially in two tablets, KTU 1.40, 1.84. 110 The liturgy appears on the surviving evidence to have been composed of six parts, addressed alternately to men ([I], III, V) and women ([II], IV, VI). Only the final three sections are in a condition to allow continuous translation. Three pairs of victims were offered, two oxen ([I, II]), two rams (III, IV) and two donkeys (V, VI). Each animal is offered as atonement (npy111) on behalf of the men (or women) of Ugarit and its surrounding districts(?). The accusation of sins made by various ethnic and social groups are addressed, and the victim is offered up to El and the pantheon through the mediation of the messenger-gods Thukamun and Shanim. One section (ll. 35–43, §6), typical in structure to each, may be cited by way of illustration: Now repeat the liturgy for puri[fication], for purification of the won of Ugarit, and atonement for the foreigner within the walls of Ugarit, and [atone]ment for his wife. Whenever your state of grace be changed, whether by the accusation of the Qa[tians, or by the accusation of the Dadm]ians, or by the [accusation of the the Hu]rrians, or by the accusation of the Hittites, or by the accusation of the Cypriots, For an analysis see Wyatt 1995. See Wyatt 2002, 342 for bibliography, to which add de Tarragon 1998. 111 On the meaning of this key term see Wyatt 2002, 342 n. 2, where I review the different proposals. I have followed Pardee 1991, 1191. 109 110

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE or by the accusation of the ǵbr, or by the accusation of] your op[pressed] ones, or by the accusation of your p[oo]r, or by the accusation of qrzbl; whenever your state of grace be changed, either through [your] anger, [or through your impat]ience, or through some evil you have done; whenever [your state] of grace be changed [concerning the sacrifices] and the offering, our sacrifice we offer: this is the offering we [make], [this is the victim we] immolate. May it be borne aloft to the father of the gods, may it be borne aloft to the pan[theon of the gods], [to] the assembly of the gods, to Thukamun [and Shanim]: here is the donkey.

While it is difficult to extract a detailed moral theology from this material, it certainly exhibits a moral dimension of some significance, and a powerful sense of the necessary cohesion of society, while recognizing the centrifugal pressures and tensions arising from the relations between subgroups. What is interesting is that it is the perception by a sub-group (“by the accusation [ulp] of the Hittites” etc.) of wrong-doing by the community at large that is significant, not any proven fault. This suggests a highly developed sense of the importance of people’s feelings, though the term ulp (construed as u + l + p: “whether from the mouth of ”) may also have had a specifically forensic nuance, suggesting the infraction of a code of practice. The personal involvement of groups in society, rather than any impersonal system of pollution, such as obtains in Leviticus, points to a moral rather than a purely ritual basis for sin. Without doubt the mechanical dimension also existed, but being uncodified has left no evidence. The likelihood that we should discern a moral dimension here is perhaps supported by the moral error into which Keret is perceived as falling in going aside from his journey to visit the shrine of Athirat. In pursuing this undoubtedly worthy religious goal, he violates the principle of absolute and undeviating obedience to El’s commands, which takes priority over any secondary matter. We thus catch glimpses of a highly developed ethical universe, in no way compromised by the polytheistic theology whose workings we sketched above.

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What the king’s duties may have been in the important ceremony of KTU 1.40 unfortunately remain unknown. We should expect him to play a significant role, on the analogy of Babylonian material such as the Akîtu, but we are ignorant of the occasion or even the frequency of this rite. It may be worth remarking that KTU 1.12, which begins with a theogonic scene, and may thus have royal overtones, appears in its fragmentary conclusion to treat Baal’s death as an atonement of some kind. Does this point, however obscurely, to the king’s ritual involvement? Any answer remains speculative. The gist of the Keret story is also highly conscious of the delicacy of a king’s moral position: any individual departure from proper behaviour threatens not merely a private man, but an entire kingdom. Whether linked to a periodic rite of atonement of this sort, as the Israelite ritual for Yom Kippur appears to have been (Leviticus 16), or in its obviously more primitive form still linked to a more informal ad hoc solution to a communal sense of guilt at a serious transgression, KTU 1.127.30ñ32 provides an intriguing antecedent to the biblical account. It prescribes the expulsion of a goat, which will apparently carry away the sins of the community.112

7

FAMILY LIFE AND ITS RELIGIOUS EXPRESSION

While composed in epic style, and themselves with ideological reference, the Keret and Aqhat stories reveal a number of features of everyday practice which deserve note in giving a rounded picture of Ugaritian religious life. They probably represent fairly conventional attitudes and observances. A powerful sense of clan solidarity appears to have been normal. It is this rather than a developed sense of individual identity (though not entirely discounting this) which underlies Keret’s response to the offer of wealth and power (KTU 1.14 i 52–ii 5 and parallels): Why should I want silver or yellow gold...? It is sons I would beget, descendants I would multiply!

See Dietrich and Loretz 1990, 32–38, and the remarks by Meyer (1990, 270–71). A recently discovered text from Ebla perhaps also contains a scapegoat ritual: see Zatelli 1998, Wyatt 2001, 266–67. 112

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This is almost an example of the “biology of religion”,113 in which religious language articulates the norm for patterns of behaviour governing social and reproductive life. The present passage allows Keret to voice a man’s primary duty, to beget sons. It is in these that the true wealth of a man is measured. We almost sense in this response a healthy scorn for the false idols of silver, gold and rich possessions: the acquisitive society was perhaps then only in its infancy. Another well-known and much-cited passage114 is the following (KTU 1.17 i 23–33 and parallels), which occurs four times. The repetitious nature of such a large block of material suggests that it reflects a popular summation of the duties of the pious son, and the essence of family piety, and is in addition to be considered a central theme of the story. To have a son like this is to be blessed indeed. To lose a son like this (as is Danil in the sequel) is to be cursed indeed. you must surely bless him, Bull El my father, you must (surely) give a blessing to him, O Creator-of-creatures, so that he may beget a son in his house, a scion in the midst of his palace. He shall set up the stela of his ancestral god, in the sanctuary the cippus of his kinsman; into the earth sending forth his dying breath, into the dust protecting his progress;115 he shall shut the mouths of his slanderers, he shall drive away those who are ill-disposed towards him. Taking his hand when he is drunk, supporting him when sated with wine; he shall serve up his share in the house of Baal, and his portion in the house of El; he shall plaster his roof on a muddy day, he shall wash his clothes on a filthy day.

Cf. the title of the first edition of Reynolds and Tanner 1983. See Eissfeldt 1966, Koch, 1967, Healey 1979 and van der Toorn 1996, 154–65. I am not sure of the categorization of this by van der Toorn under the rubric “the cult of the ancestors”. Cf. Husser 1995. 115 For the sense “into” rather than “from”, as most interpreters take it, see Xella 1982, 194 and Husser 1995, esp. 124. 113 114

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This classic formulation of filial piety, to be introduced by the blessing El is exhorted to confer, falls into seven bicola, the first dealing with the begetting of the son (the classic duty of the father), and the other six treating the son’s duties (the filial response). The prosodic structure of the section is complex, and skilfully weaves domestic and ritual tasks.116 We are apt to see in all this expressions of affection. The reality is probably more detached. The performance of these duties is essential for the preservation of the paterfamilias, in whom all the family’s interests are invested. He bears the family name, and this must not be extinguished. Furthermore, his ritual activities benefit the entire family, so that the son performs these when necessary to ensure their regular implementation.

8

OTHER RELIGIOUS MANIFESTATIONS117

8.1 Vows Keret’s vow in KTU 1.14 iv 34–43 is the only instance of a vow in Ugaritic literature, but provides a classic example of the form: they ca[me] to the sanctuary of Athirat of Tyre and to the goddess of Sidon.. There Keret the votary vowed a gift: “O Athirat of Tyre, and goddess of Sidon, if I take Hurriy to my house, and bring the sacred bride into my court, twice her weight in silver shall I give, and three times her weight in gold! ”

As important as this formulation is the logical sequel, after it transpires that Keret has omitted to fulfil this vow (KTU1.15 iii 25–30): And Athirat recalled his vow, and the goddess [his promise]. And she lifted up her voice and [cried]: “Look, I pray: has Ke[ret broken], or [the king] altered his vow? [So] shall I break [my promise!]” See discussion and references in Wyatt 2002, 255–59 nn. 23–41. The sevenfold pattern (n. 23) represents completeness, and so perhaps implies all the other social duties incumbent on a son. 117 See also Spronk 1999 and Xella 1999. 116

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While the first part conforms to the standard formulaic construction of vows, with the address (the deity concerned) followed by a prodosis (the condition) and then an apodosis (the votive gift promised), the second gives an unusual insight into the putative reaction of a deity to a vow neglected.118 It deconstructs the vow, to reveal the consequence of neglect in so important a sphere. A deity is not to be casually invoked with impunity. A vow entered into cannot simply be ignored. The language has a legally binding force. Everything in the tradition points to the enormous power and authority invested in the spoken word. 8.2 Blessings Just as vows have their rationale in the potency of the spoken word, so blessings are believed to be efficacious by the mere fact of utterance. The Keret story also provides the classic blessing formula (KTU 1.15 ii 16–28): [El] took a cup [in] (his) hand, a goblet in (his) [right] hand; He did indeed bless [his servant], he blessed Keret [the votary], [he gave a bless]ing to the gracious [one], heir of El: “Take a wife, O Keret, take a wife to your house, bring a sacred bride into your dwelling: she will bear you seven sons, and multiply them eightfold for you. She will bear Yasib the heir: he will drink the milk of Athirat he will drain the breast of Virgin [Rahmay] the suckling of [goddesses ]”

The blessing may continue for several lines, for it is to be understood to include the opening lines of KTU 1.15 iii, concluding, after a list of Keret’s daughters, with the final four cola (13-6): “Be greatly exalted, [Keret],

In narrative terms this is intriguing in that it also frustrates El’s intention to bless Keret. In theological terms this shows a considerable finesse, all the more interesting because of the undoubtedly unconscious processes which explore the strategic consequences. 118

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among the Saviours of the netherwo[rld], in the convocation of the assembly of Dita[n]. Their last one I shall treat as the firstborn.”

This blessing is not simply synonymous with that which is implicit in El’s discursive instructions to Keret (KTU 1.14 ii 7–iii 49), which also ends in a divine promise of an heir. It is rather a formal cultic occasion in which the relationship of the king to the city gods (and to El in particular) is affirmed, and has important iconographical and indeed ideological overtones.119 But it also reinforces the king’s crucial role as mediator before the gods on behalf of the whole of society. The blessing formula involving the cup has also been restored in the Aqhat story, at KTU 1.17 i 34–6,120 and is important evidence in favour of a royal interpretation of Danil’s position. It is to be noted that while Keret demands only one thing, children, three things are actually promised: children, membership of the select group the rpum, and such wealth as will enable the youngest to be treated as the first-born.121 The vow is a common feature of individual religious devotion in the ancient world, reflecting an essentially pragmatic approach to religion. It was the source of material benefits in a world without the relative stability in health or economic matters the modern urban dweller takes for granted. A less formal blessing (perhaps more of a spontaneous outburst than a liturgical norm, though we should not discount the latter possibility) occurs in Danil’s words to the withered plants he encounters. Here is one example (KTU 1.19 ii 22–5): “Oh! May this ear of corn rise from the parched land, may the ear of corn rise up [among the wit]hered stalks! Plant, May the hand of Aqhat harvest you, may it put you into the midst of the granary!”

Discussed with references in Wyatt 1997. See Jackson and Dressler 1975. 121 This is to be understood not in the sense that she will be the first-born, but that there will no need to apportion wealth, so much will be available. Attempts (e.g. Gray 1964, 60) to see in this the tracing of a line from Keret through his youngest daughter to the Ugaritian dynastic line are misplaced. There is of course a sting in the tail: an equal share in a blessing implies an equal share in a curse. 119 120

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While part of a finely polished literary work, this scene gives a marvellous insight into the real world of the distressed, who will clutch at any straw (as Danil is doing!) in time of deep emotional crisis. Danil does not yet know the cause for this terrible drought, but his heart is full of foreboding as he tries to use the intrinsic power of a blessing-formula to redress the balance of nature. The fact that he invokes Aqhat’s name simply adds further irony and pathos to the scene. 8.3 Curses The counter to the blessing is the curse, again based on the power of speech. Three sets of curses survive in Ugaritic literature. The first example occurs twice in quite different contexts, and probably reflects a standard usage. When Keret perceives Yasib’s incipient treachery (which conceivably was inspired by the best of motives) he addresses him thus (KTU 1.16 vi 54–8): “May Horon smash, O my son, may Horon smash your head, Athtart-the-name-of-Baal your crown! May you fall down in the prime of life, empty-handed, and humiliated! ”

The irony in this scene is overwhelming: Keret, who had sought a blessing too many at the hands of Athirat, when he had already received El’s assurance, now undoes even his (El’s) good work by cursing his family back into the condition from which he began. The equal blessing promised the youngest daughter now comes to haunt her too, as she is implicitly included in this terrible curse. The same formula is used by Baal against Yam in KTU 1.2 i 7–9. In view of what Baal himself does to Yam we may ask whether the curse formula does not belong to a royal head-smashing ritual (as exemplified in Anat’s ritual treatment of prisoners122) or, as I have suggested, in executions, being a disclaimer by the executioner.123 The idea of invoking the gods to perform a dreadful act, thus exculpating the actual perpetrator, is deeply imbedded in human psychology, ancient and modern. This percept also 122

123

See Lloyd 1996. Wyatt 2002, 241 n. 297. For more recent discussion of this curse see chapter 7 below.

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applies in the case where someone cannot actually wreak vengeance himself, and leaves it to the gods. This is not dissimilar from the curse Danil utters against the falcons (KTU 1.19 iii 1–3): “The win[gs of the falcons] may Baal sma, may Baal smash [their pinions]! Let them fall a my feet!”

In both cases gods are invoked to do violence to a guilty party in the absence of any realistic chance of the victim himself, or his father, wreaking vengeance. The second curse-form is used by Danil in his as yet unfocussed distress in perceiving that something dreadful is wrong (KTU 1.19 i 42–6): 124 “For seven years Baal shall fail, for eight, the Charioteer of the clouds! No dew, no rain, no welling up of the deeps, no goodness of Baal’s voice!”

This is an invocation of drought, for the sources of water, dew, rain and springs, are all to cease. The threefold sources of life-giving water are turned into a tetracolon, and a quaternity, by the theophany-sign of their coming, the voice of the storm-god. The natural world, implicitly all its cardinal points, will thus participate in the mourning for Aqhat, whose lifesustaining blood has been shed, even though Danil is not yet fully aware of the import of his words. This is in effect a reification of the emotional desiccation felt by someone who mourns the dead, a feeling all the more powerful if it is a parent mourning a child. The final instance is Danil’s cursing of the cities neighbouring the place where Aqhat was murdered. This again is evidently part of a conventional legal process, in which liability is sought in the case of the discovery of a murder victim in open country. This is the last of three towns thus cursed (KTU 1.19 iv 3–7): “Woe to you, town of Abilim, because near you was smitten Aqhat the hero! May Baal make your wells dry, henceforth and forever, 124

To the first three cola of the tetracolon cf. 2 Samuel 1:21.

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE now and for all generations! ” Afterwards he took his staff in his hand.

In the absence of the possibility of identifying the perpetrator of a homicide, the neighbouring settlements are made legally liable. Their territory is in any event polluted by unavenged blood, so they must resort to purification rites. The same principle is enunciated in Deuteronomy 21:1–9. The reference to Danil’s staff (mṭ )—the term may also be translated as “sceptre”—no doubt alludes to a formal ritual, where some gesture with the staff implements the legal effect of his curse. 8.4 Oracles and Omens Anxiety concerning the future is a natural human trait, the price of consciousness. As a means of addressing this an important aspect of ancient religion was its predictive role. Various techniques were probably used,125 though many of those known are not specifically attested at Ugarit.126 With sacrificial animals being regularly butchered, the priests were familiar with the nature of entrails and other internal organs, and there was an ancient tradition of “reading” these, noting anomalous forms, and making links with historical or climatic events. The gods were believed to reveal these contingencies to the priests. Schools passed on the tradition, and model organs were made with notes drawing attention to certain features. KTU 1.141, 1.142, 1.143, 1.144, 1.155, are inscribed clay livers, while KTU 1.127 is a lung.127 The birth of deformed animals (KTU 1.103 = 1.145128) or human infants (KTU 1.140) were the subject of detailed observations, while celestial events were also read as portents (KTU 1.78). This last text is surprisingly the only clear reference we have in Ugaritic to the importance of celestial phenomena. However, the description of Danil’s daughter Pughat as “one who knows the courses of the stars” (ydʿ[t] hlk kbkbm: KTU 1.19 ii 3–4129) suggests a body of lore on the subject. Bearing in mind that the gods are called “stars” in KTU 1.10 i 4, we should expect a complex theology of For a useful survey see Loewe and Blacker 1981. The Ugaritic material is examined in Dietrich and Loretz 1990. See now chapter 8 below. 127 See Dietrich and Loretz 1990, 5–38, Meyer 1990. 128 Dietrich and Loretz 1990; Xella 1999; Pardee 1997, 287–89. 129 See Wyatt 2002, 297 n. 209. 125 126

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the heavenly bodies, complementing the obvious deification of sun, moon and Venus. This is still awaiting discovery. 8.5 Personal Piety Perhaps under the present rubric should also be mentioned briefly various other aspects of personal religion. The correspondence130 gives a number of examples of pious wishes for the welfare of the recipients of letters, illustrating the almost unconscious (certainly unselfconscious) way in which various deities were invoked matter-of-factly. Personal names131 are a further source of information about individual and clan piety, for although fashions in names may have obtained, it is a reasonable guess that in most cases the deities incorporated into theophoric names (which tend to be transparent, though we should not discount an element of opacity with archaic forms) would focus the fears, aspirations and joys of parents of newly-born children. No personal prayers in the context of everyday life have survived from Ugarit among the tablets published thus far, but KTU 1.119, noted above, gives an unusual example of a litany evidently dealing with times of trouble, and therefore an instance of “urgent faith”, while the personal prayers embodied as literary forms in Keret and Aqhat are, while themselves honed through poetic usage, no doubt modelled on practical piety. The particular importance of Baal in such contexts deserves further study, and shows a lively belief in the efficacy of this god above all in answering the needs of the people from national to individual level.

9

SICKNESS

9.1 Sickness as a Religious Matter Diseases and ailments of various sorts, now the province of medicine, were in antiquity an important aspect of ritual life, as they continue to be in traditional societies. Disorders of the body, the microcosm, were perceived as disorders of the macrocosm. Medicine was essentially holistic. A number of examples are found in Ugaritic literature. Thus we have Keret lying sick in his palace, with El himself interceding to save his servant from death. In the king’s case, the realm is particularly vulnerable, because on his health depends the adequate fulfilment of his royal and social duties, as shrewdly 130 131

See Cunchillos, 1989, 1999, Huehnergard 1999, Singer 1999. See Grøndahl 1967; Hess 1999.

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assessed by Yasib (KTU 1.16 vi 25–38, 39–54). When a king lies at death’s door, the very world mourns in anticipation (KTU 1.16 i 6–9, ii 44–7), and the fertile earth is parched (KTU 1.16 iii 5–11). 9.2 Snakebite Snakebite is the occasion of two interesting incantation texts, KTU 1.100 and 1.107.132 The former 133 is “a spell against the bite of a snake” (KTU 1.100.4 etc.) couched in the form of a mythic narrative, in which a maredeity invokes twelve deities (or pairs) in turn for assistance, addressing only at the end the potent god Horon who can achieve the cure.134 KTU 1.107135 appears to be concerned with curing a young medical practitioner who has been bitten. 9.3 Possession and Exorcism Some form of possession appears to be the subject matter of the incantation KTU 1.169,136 though it has also been interpreted as a cure for impotence. Baal, Horon and Athirat appear to cooperate in the expulsion of the See also RS 92.2014: ET in Pardee 1997, 327–28. Virolleaud 1968, 564–74; Astour 1968, 13–28; Caquot 1969, 241–254; de Tarragon 1989, 79–94, Lipiński 1974, Dietrich and Loretz 1980; Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1975b; Gaster 1975; Young 1977, 1979; Pardee 1978a, 1988, 193–226, 1997, 295–98; Tsevat 1979; Bowman and Coote 1980; Xella 1981, 224–40; Kottsieper 1984; Levine and de Tarragon 1988; del Olmo Lete 1992, 241–49 = 1999, 359–71, Wyatt 2002, 378–87. 134 El’s fruitless invocation of the gods to cure Keret, followed by his manufacture of Shatiqat (“Remover”) in KTU 1.16 10–vi 14 is analogous. In neither case would it be legitimate to infer any theological bankruptcy: the episodes are constructed for dramatic effect. In the case of Horon, a dangerous power is approached only in extremis. In the case of Shatiqat, El’s making of her highlights his peculiar role in matters of kingship. 135 Virolleaud 1968, 574–80, Astour 1968, Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1975b; Xella 1981, 241–50; Levine and de Tarragon 1988; Pardee 1988, 227–57; de Tarragon 1989, 95–100; del Olmo Lete 1992, 249–51 = 1999, 371–73; Wyatt 2002, 391–94. 136 Xella 1978; Caquot 1978–79, 1984, 1989, 53–60; Bordreuil and Caquot 1980, 346–50; Avishur 1981; de Moor 1980, 1981–82, 114–15, 1986, 255–57, 1987, 183–86; Loretz and Xella 1981; Saracino 1982, 1984; Fleming 1991, 1997; del Olmo Lete 1992, 259–60 = 1999, 384–87; Watson 1992; Pardee 1993, 211–13; Wyatt 2002, 442–49. 132 133

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demonic forces. In KTU 1.124, an indeterminate sickness is cured by means of an oracle attributed to Ditanu, the eponym of the rpum. Another important composition, which however defies clear analysis, is KTU 1.82.137 It appears to be an anthology of incantation texts. The interesting text KTU 1.114,138 reflecting incidentally the phenomenon of the Marziḥu, a kind of socio-religious men’s club (cf. KTU 3.9 for a legal document concerned with such an institution), is an incantation in the form of a myth intended to cure a hangover, though at the same time it reflects on the acceptance of wine-consumption as having religious significance, perhaps as an aspect of spirituality.

10

DEATH AND ITS RITES

10.1 Texts Ritualizing Death We have cited above the duties of the pious son outlined in KTU 1.17 i 23– 33. Some of these duties involved the son’s duties after his father’s death. It is above all the duty of the eldest son to perform the obsequies of his father. This is one reason for the peculiar tragedy of a father losing his first son.139 Two important royal texts deal with the rituals of death. The immediate context of KTU 1.113 is far from certain, but it involves a liturgy performed, in all probability, as a series of episodes invoking all the dead and now divinized kings appearing in the following king-list. This is conceivably a kispum-rite, as frequently proposed for the following text.

See de Moor and Spronk 1984; de Moor 1987, 175–81; Caquot 1988; del Olmo Lete 1992, 251–55 = 1999, 373–79. 138 Virolleaud 1968, 545–51; Loewenstamm 1969; de Moor 1969, 167–75, 1970a, 1984, 1987, 134–37; Margulis (= Margalit) 1970b, 1979–80, 1982; Fensham 1971, 22, 1972; Pope 1972; Jackson 1974; Rainey 1974, 184–87; Dietrich, Loretz and Sanmartín 1975c; Xella 1977; L’Heureux 1979, 159–69; Cathcart and Watson 1980; Dietrich and Loretz 1981, 88–98, 1993; Spronk 1986, 196–202; Pardee 1988, 13–74; 1997, 302–05; Caquot 1989, 71–78; Watson 1990; McLaughlin 1991, 270–74; Cathcart 1996; Wyatt 2002, 404–13. 139 We may conjecture, since the death of a son is a theme common to both stories, that one of the motives behind Ilimilku’s compositions (or editions) of the Keret and Aqhat stories may have been the death of an heir to the throne. In such a context we should recognize an elegiac quality to the poems. 137

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KTU 1.161140 is perhaps one of the most intriguing ritual texts from Ugarit. It appears to be a combination of order of service for the funeral of the last King Niqmaddu, father of ʿAmmurapi, and at the same time a Kispum-rite, invoking dead kings, who are invited to participate in the obsequies and to welcome Niqmaddu into the underworld. Degrees of royal divinity appear to be envisaged, with the ancient rpum being regarded as of having more prestige than intermediate kings between their remote and legendary past and the present. The text also illustrates the importance of Shapsh as psychopomp.141 10.2 Tomb Construction So far as practicalities go, the evidence of the tombs is of interest.142 Constructed in the foundations of private houses and palaces alike, they were used for multiple burials as family vaults, and grave-goods, possessions and food, accompanied the dead to their rest. The precise conception of the post-mortem destiny of ordinary people is unclear, though Spronk’s (1986) fulsome account is probably too optimistic. Aqhat’s brisk reponse to Anat (KTU 1.17 vi 34–9) at least reflects a healthy scepticism in some circles, though here too it is premature to assert that he denies any survival of death. Pitard (1994) has recently shown the untenability of Schaeffer’s old idea that tubes allowed the continued passage of food and drink to the dead. 10.3 Mourning Rites Mourning is referred to in both the Keret and Aqhat stories, and the incidental allusions probably reflect common attitudes and practice, albeit hanCaquot 1975, 1989, 103–10; de Moor 1976, 1981–2, 116–17, 1987 165–68; Pope 1977b, 177–81; Pitard 1978, 1987; L’Heureux 1979, 187–93; Xella 1981, 279–87; Bordreuil and Pardee 1982, 1991, 151–63; Dietrich and Loretz 1983, 1991; Levine and de Tarragon 1984; Levine, de Tarragon and Robertson 1997; Taylor 1988; Spronk 1986, 189–93; Lewis 1989, 5–46; Tropper 1989, 144–50; 1993; del Olmo Lete 1992, 130–34 = 1999, 193–98; Pardee 1993, 208–10, 1996, 1997, 357–58; Aboud 1994, 157–65; Schmidt 1994, 100–20; Wyatt 2002, 430–41. 141 See Husser 1997. 142 See Schaeffer 1939, 53–106, Margueron 1983. 140

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dled in epic style. We have already noted the cosmic mourning for Keret in anticipation of his death. KTU 1.16 i 15–9 alludes to weeping at the tomb entrance by mourning women, and their professional status (on the analogy of the groups in Egyptian tomb paintings) is to be understood from KTU 1.19 iv 9–27, where they bewail Aqhat for seven years, before Danil concludes the proceedings with a sacrifice. Keret’s daughter is to go out into the steppe to weep for her dead father (KTU 1.16 i 28–35; cf. also ii 26–36). Two further passages (KTU 1.5 vi 11–25, 1.6 i 2–8) deal in an interesting way with mourning rites. They describe the reaction of El and Anat respectively to the news of Baal’s death. The former reads as follows: Then the Wise One, the perceptive god, went down from his throne: he sat on his footstool. And from his footstool he sat on the ground. He poured the ashes of affliction on his head, the dust of grovelling on his skull. For clothing he put on a loin-cloth. His skin with a stone he scored, his side-locks with a razor, he gashed cheeks and chin. He ploughed his collar-bones, he turned over like a garden his chest, like a valley he ploughed his breast, He lifted up his voice and cried: “ Baal is dead! What has become of the Powerful One? The Son of Dagan! What has become of Tempest? After Baal I shall go down into the underworld.”

This text perhaps encapsulates most powerfully the ritual expression of utter despair in the presence of death, but at the same time the acceptance as significant for the mourner of the fate of the dead. The initial pentacolon describes El’s progressive self-abasement, till he effectively shares, emotionally at least, in the annihilation of death. A self-burial rite follows, a mourning garment put on, with self-laceration and the cutting of the hair.143

These procedures are forbidden in Leviticus 19:27–28 and Deuteronomy 14:1, a sure indication that they were part of ancient Palestinian ritual too. Needless to say, to interpret

143

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Only after these mute rites does the mourner give vent to feelings in words. Interestingly, Baal’s death appears to constitute a paradigm of El’s death; when Anat utters these same words, she alters the ard (“I shall go down”) into nrd (“we shall go down”), and this very probably reflects or even cites verbatim an actual funerary litany, showing that Baal’s death had religious meaning for human beings as they contemplated their own mortality. Alternatively, this last passage should be corrected to *a !rd..., in which case it is El’s words that Anat repeats verbatim.

11

NON-LITERARY DIMENSIONS IN UGARITIAN RELIGION

11.1 Looking beyond the Text There is perhaps an inevitable, yet too great an emphasis among Ugaritic scholars on the textual aspect of religion. Most of us specialize in the analysis of texts. It should be remembered however that much of the population was probably illiterate, and that although liturgy and mythology played a part in all religious life, it was essentially the behavioural (ritual), aural (musical) and visual (iconographic) images and impressions which were most indelibly stamped on their minds. The ritual aspects we have dealt with briefly above. Here too our evidence is sadly exclusively textual, and we can do little more than evoke from the texts scenes of the banqueting of the gods, perhaps to be seen as reflexes of sacrificial rites, and their stupendous journeys to one another’s abodes (“over a thousand miles, ten thousand leagues”), to be interpreted as allusions to cultic processions. 11.2 Music We have a number of references to the playing of lyres and the singing of songs in the texts 144 which may reasonably be interpreted as relating to hymnody in the cult. A remarkable reconstruction of a Hurrian hymn from Ugarit (RS 15.30 + 15.49 + 17.387) has been attempted by Anne Kilmer,145 El’s and Anat’s actions as somehow linked to a seasonal fertility cult is to misread the evidence. Cf. also the distraught behaviour of Keret’s daughter in KTU 1.16 ii 26–50. 144 See KTU 1.3 i 18–22. 145 See Kilmer, Crocker and Brown 1976. See also Güterbock 1970, Laroche 1973, Kilmer 1974 and Wulstan 1974.

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while Annie Caubet 146 has drawn together and analysed the evidence for musical instruments in use in Ugarit. 11.3 Iconography On the iconographic front a small number of stelae and statuettes have been discovered, which give us a glimpse into the portrayal of some deities, and this allows some supplementation of their literary presentation. 147 In some cases a certain amount of comparative data may legitimately be brought to bear. A prolific source of iconographic information, but one that is hard to quantify in terms of purely local influence, is cylinder seals. We shall deal with this material in turn. Some of the images remain anonymous. The following are those than can be identified with a measure of confidence. Stela RS 8.295148 represents an enthroned god, wearing the Atef-crown with bull’s horns, in the presence of a votary, perhaps to be identified with the king, beneath a winged disc. While the precise interpretation of the scene is not beyond doubt, it perhaps represents a divine blessing, such as is discussed above. It has been compared with the scene on the royal seal.149 The stela may also be compared with the gilded bronze cult-statuette of a god wearing the Atef-crown (RS 23.394) and with the recently discovered stone statuette (RS 88.70) found immediately north of the “temple aux rhytons”.150 The former of these has the right hand raised in blessing (corresponding to the left hand on the stela, where internal design has forced a shift) while the latter has an empty socket into which a detachable arm could presumably be inserted. The left hand of the bronze is shaped to be able to hold a detachable object (such as a small gold cup?), while the stone statuette has another empty socket. These artefacts have been understood to represent El. He is shown to be a bearded, patriarchal figure, evidently con-

Caubet 1996. Cf. also Duchesne-Guillemin 1981 for comparative Mesopotamian and Egyptian evidence. 147 The main publication where most of this material may been seen together is Yon 1991. See also Cornelius 1999. 148 Yon 1991, 336. Cf. Wyatt 1983. 149 Jackson and Dressler 1975; Wyatt 1997, 787–89. 150 Both illustrated Yon 1991, 337. She identified the latter as El on this page, but as “a man” on p. 351. See also Yon and Gachet 1989. The stone statuette lacks evidence of an Atefcrown, but may have had detachable horns and feathers. 146

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cerned with the welfare of the king, and through him of society. This is entirely in conformity with the textual evidence outlined above. Baal is without doubt portrayed in the so-called “Baal au foudre” stela (RS 4.427) found in the Baal temple. 151 This shows the god, wearing a horned and pointed cap (a variation on the White Crown?) in the “smiting posture”. But instead of grasping a victim he holds a spear which becomes a tree. Below the dagger at his belt stands a votary, dressed apparently in the ritual garment of the king. Fenton (1996) has offered a new explanation for the rippling lines beneath the god’s feet. The upper set he interprets as a serpentine Yam. Stelae whose subjects are indeterminate are RS 17.138 and 23.218, both of a god in the “smiting posture”, in the latter instance holding a spear, and RS 23.216 and 23.217, both of a god with a drawn bow. It is tempting to think of Reshef, though his familiar fillet, suspended behind the cap, is missing.152 In the case of the Mami stela, however, this fillet is present, and yet the god is explicitly identified as “Seth of Saphon”,153 indicating the confusing fluidity in the portraiture of the two gods. A stela fragment (RS 24.434) shows a god in smiting posture, with raised mace, shield in the other hand, and a quiver behind him. Two further anonymous stelae show an armed god with a tall plume and horns (RS 2.[037]) and a goddess draped in a long gown shaped like a falcon’s wing and armed with a spear (RS 2.[038]). The latter invites comparison with Anat, though the known iconography of this goddess, like that of Athtart, shows her wearing the Atef-crown.154

Schaeffer 1934; Yon 1991, 331 fig. 11a. She compared the stela with numerous small bronzes in the “smiting posture”. Cornelius (1994) preferred to designate this iconographic type “the menacing god”. See also Cornelius 1999, 590 (fig. 11). 152 On the comparative iconography of Baal and Reshef see Cornelius 1994. 153 Yon 1991, 328, fig. 8, obligingly showed the Seth of the “stela of the year 400” for comparison. It is here the Egyptian iconographic convention which is being observed. 154 For this see Leclant 1960 (Athtart) and Wyatt 1984 (Anat). The stela I discussed is of course not from Ras Shamra, being of unknown provenance in the Michaelides collection, Cairo, and now apparently lost. It may be compared with the Anat represented on BM stela 646/191. See also Cornelius 1993 and 1999. 151

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Cylinder seals have been found in substantial quantities at Ugarit, and have been published mainly by Schaeffer and Amiet.155 There is no need to attempt any detailed study here. Used as amulets and personal identitymarkers, cylinder seals were commonly decorated with religious scenes of a fairly stereotyped form. Variations on individual themes are found from Sumer to Egypt, and they are by and large not very specific to a local tradition, though of course local styles were developed, which no doubt to some extent reflected local theologies. Mythic themes, votive and blessing scenes (cf. the dynastic seal mentioned above), representations of gods dispersing largesse and so forth are standard motifs. One theme worth noting briefly is that of “the god on two mountains”,156 which shows the great prestige of Baal of Saphon throughout the east Mediterranean region. A number of ivories have been discovered, of which the most important group constitute the royal bed panels. These have been briefly discussed by Schaeffer (1954, 51–9 and figs. 3–4, pll. vii–x), 157 du Mesnil (1973), Caquot and Sznycer (1980) and myself (Wyatt 1995, 580–83 = 2005b, 120–23). These illustrate typical royal scenes, of hunting, warfare, and the despatch of prisoners, as well as showing a royal marriage and a goddess (Shapsh) suckling twin sons. They are in short a digest of the main themes of royal ideology. This rich collection of iconographic material is still in need of a comprehensive assessment from a theological point of view. All too often such material is given a catalogue-treatment which goes little further than the descriptive. Cornelius (1994) may be cited as a model of the way analysis should be conducted. 11.4 Votive Gifts: the Anchors A final note may be offered on the anchors which have been found, mainly scattered around in the precincts of the Baal temple, but also in houses and tombs and even incorporated into building construction. These appear to be votive gifts, and testify perhaps to the piety and gratitude of mariners who, returning to port safely after long and perhaps hazardous voyages, felt Schaeffer-Forrer 1983; Amiet 1992. See Dijkstra 1991. 157 The panels were found in many pieces. The initial publication lacks any RS numbers (actually RS 16.56). In addition to references given see Ward 1969, 236–37 and figs. 3, 4 and Caquot and Sznycer 1980, pll. XXVIIIa, XXIXa. 155 156

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the need to make offering to the temple which had guided them safely to land. In some instances a more general symbolism may have obtained, owing something to the economic dependence of Ugarit on the sea. The anchors were probably not carried or dragged from ships, being often unused and presumably made especially for cultic use.158 11.5 The Assessment of Material Remains We have insufficient evidence to reach firm conclusions on the use and significance of this visible and tangible material. On the analogy of better known cultures (particularly Egypt) and reading between the lines of later Hebrew iconoclastic rhetoric, we may suppose a degree of “idolatry”. It is possible to use this term in a non-pejorative sense, and it is in such a way that I use it here. To begin with, the stelae and other glyptic representations certainly did not constitute “idols” in the technical sense. The statues are a different matter. The small ones found in profusion in tombs may well have been images used in private devotions, while the gilded bronze of El may have been used in cultic processions, representing the very presence of the god among his devotees. Language such as “when Athtart-of-the-Window enters the pit of the royal palace” (KTU 1.43.1–2) is to be construed as meaning that the image of the goddess is carried thither in procession. Similarly in ll. 9–10 “the two Gathru-gods come into the royal chapel”, and l. 18 appears to allude to two images of Anat. This symbolic use of an icon, ubiquitous in the ancient world and still normal in many contemporary cultures, as the focus of attention in the cultus, as the face to which prayer and offering is addressed, was the focus of the reification in divine personae of all human needs and aspirations, and should not be separated (as it has largely been for polemical reasons) from all other elements such as song and dance, vestments, incense and sacrifice in the sacralization of life and the construction of a universe of meaning. In this respect Ugaritian religion was heir to a hallowed tradition.

Frost 1991, 357. Some, found at Minet el Beida, may have been left at the port-brothel (id., 358)! Seafarers then, as now, left nothing to chance. See now Brody 1999 on seafarers’ religion in general. 158

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CONCLUSION

I have endeavoured in this survey to do more than offer a cursory glance at the material most commonly treated as “religious”, but rather to discern religious sensitivity in a far broader range of human concerns, as I think is necessary for an adequate assessment of the holistic view of life and role of religion in an ancient society. Even today the religious person is wont to say that “my faith is more than a religion; it is a way of life”. It is fair to say that while religion has been in retreat in the modern world, not just sociologically, but in terms of the greater fragmentation of life into different special areas (social, moral, political, medical, environmental, and so forth), in the ancient world any such compartmentalization is not only short-sighted in the scholar, but fundamentally misconceived. The gods were as much a part of the ancient citizen’s experience as breathing and thinking. They were invoked at every turn, and were believed to be present, and concerned, in every corner of life. We owe it to any human society under investigation to grant it autonomy and integrity in its structures and values. Any theological basis for wholesale judgments of the kind that have at times been fashionable are entirely misplaced, and while useful comparisons and even connections may be drawn, I remain uneasy that this area of Ugaritic studies should so often be pursued as an adjunct (even a mere prelude!) to biblical studies, even though, given the economic conditions under which our universities currently operate, this is probably inevitable. Let us at least acknowledge on anthropological grounds the utility of dispassionate enquiry: Ugarit has much to teach us in its own terms about the roots of our own cultural heritage. So it is to be hoped that future research into the religion of Ugarit will tend to be phenomenological in nature, which with due caution, rigour and empathy, can be true both to the tradition under examination and to its adequate setting within the broader frame of human experience.

6 EPIC IN UGARITIC LITERATURE Published in J.M. Foley (ed.), A Companion to Ancient Epic (BCAW, Oxford, Malden MA: Blackwell, 2005), 246–54.

INTRODUCTION A survey of general discussions on ancient West Semitic (Ugaritic language) literature reveals a considerable imprecision concerning the nature of genre, particularly with regard to the appropriateness of this or that definition of a given composition. Not only is one man’s myth another man’s history, but “epic”, “legend”, “saga” and “folktale” can all be (or if they cannot, or should not be, they are) used to denote the same texts. Some scholars even use two or three of these terms for the same composition in the same discussion. In the following essay I am not going to try to solve this problem, if only because it is a futile exercise, except perhaps in so far as it illustrates the inherent impossibility of confining any real literature within various designs of theoretical taxonomic strait-jacket. But I am going to discuss three bodies of literature, which are linked by one important feature: they are all associated with the name of one author, redactor or editor. The most general approach would tend to distinguish the Baal narratives from Ugarit as myths, while conceding to Keret and Aqhat epic characteristics, but this generalization disguises a wide range of conflicting views among scholars. Smith (2001, 23) wrote that “ if there is one text that all scholars can agree is a myth, it is the Baal cycle”. In a footnote to this sentence (Smith 2001, 208 n. 159) he noted that Jason (1977, 32), and Milne (1988, 169–70), classified the Baal cycle as a “mythic epic”. Note also his own useful observations on the problem of myth in Baal (Smith 1994, 27– 8). Albright (1942, 227) called all three compositions under consideration “epics”, while Watts (1989, 443) called them all “myths”. The briefest survey of the critical literature reveals that when it comes down to details, scholars are at sixes and sevens over their strategy. 143

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Having recently claimed that myth is not really a literary genre at all (Wyatt 2001a), but rather a mind-set appropriate to religious experience, discourse and literary composition, I would tend to regard all three as mythic (that is, as exhibiting the workings and perceptions of what I call “the mythic mind” ), since each moves in a world peopled either exclusively by gods (Baal ) or has gods and men interacting in a matter-of-fact fashion such as we see in other “epic” literatures such as the Iliad or Gilgamesh (Keret and Aqhat ). They are composed from an emic perspective. I am also content to treat all the material discussed here as epic, based on a minimalist view of epic as heroic and ideological narrative, generally poetic in form, which seeks to promote the identity, values and concerns of a culture, and perhaps specifically of the ruling classes within a community. The theme of Baal, though it has exclusively divine characters (thus constituting “myth” as “stories about gods”, according to the common, if inadequate view) fits into this ideological and hierarchical framework. Epic is definitely not proletarian in its concerns! It may even be quite heterogeneous with regard to genre in its constituent parts (Hendel 1987, 26–27). As regards the issue of historical reference in epic literature, I think that this must be regarded as an accidental rather than intrinsic element. The broad significance of epic is surely that however trivial and even factual its origins, such as warfare at Troy (Iliad and Odyssey and even, by a leap of faith, the Aeneid !), a monarch out of control (Gilgamesh) or an ambush in the Pyrenees (Chanson de Roland and the Orlando tradition), or in the case of Keret perhaps a dynastic crisis in Ugarit, occasioning reflection on the problem of dissonance between an institution and its incumbent, and conceivably echoing ancient lore about the ancestral king Didanu/Ditanu (Schmidt 1994, 72–82, 89–91; Wyatt 2002, 433 n. 12), the final “epic” product is a raising of the trivial or merely fanciful to a heroic and cosmic level, exploring the deepest human problems of life and death, social affiliation and above all of the wielding of power. By its nature, this would entail an element of ideology, serving the interests of the social group to whom the poetes belonged. By such a token, the three compositions treated below are all epic. They are also all in verse, the techniques of Semitic prosody such as regular parallelism, extensive assonance and wholesale use of chiasmus pointing to a long oral tradition, though it would be premature to claim that the present texts are necessarily the end products of an oral process. Baal and Keret in particular betray evidence of the conflation of diverse elements (on Keret see Parker 1977; 1989). A case could presumably be made for the Baal cycle, since the Chaoskampf motif is exceedingly dispersed, and presumably by oral communication. However, written versions already appear in the mid-third millen-

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nium. (See Wyatt 1998 for a survey of the material, to which may be added Annus 2001, and Wyatt 2003.)

POEMS CONCERNING BAAL A number of narrative texts, in varying degrees of preservation and legibility, feature the West Semitic storm-god Baal, the patron deity of Ugarit (Tell Ras Shamra). These are KTU 1.1–1.6, the so-called “Baal cycle”, which will form the basis of the following discussion; 1.7–1.9 (fragments of school exercises, excerpts from the main text); 1.10, 1.11 and 1.13, which deal with the erotic encounters of Baal and Anat; 1.12, apparently a myth relating to atonement and redemption rites, and featuring Baal; and 1.92, which narrates an attempted seduction by Baal of the virgin goddess Athtart (Astarte). KTU 1.133 is a fragment paralleling an episode in KTU 1.5. KTU 1.10 may in fact be part of the “cycle” of 1.1–1.6 (I now consider it to be perhaps the end of Ilimilku’s composition), and KTU 1.13 has been interpreted as a fragment of the third column of 1.10. (For this numbering system see Dietrich et al. 1976, 1995; for convenient recent translations see Pardee 1997a, b, c; Parker 1997; Wyatt 2002.) KTU 1.1–1.6 constitute by broad consensus the main body of Baal. Something in the order of 50 percent of the text on these tablets is missing, though a certain amount of minimal reconstruction is possible, thanks to the use of reiterated poetic formulae. There is also a broad consensus on the order in which the tablets are to be read, in the sequence of numbering, though KTU 1.2 appears to contain parts of two distinct tablets (Meier 1976; Wyatt 2002, 37), thus perhaps representing a parallel version; there are also some sequence dissonances elsewhere. Most interpreters take it as a working hypothesis that there is a rough unity of composition in the main body of material. Tablet KTU 1.6 ends (col. vi 54–8) with a colophon listing the titles of Ilimilku, the scribe, to whose significance we shall return. A broken colophon may have identified him as the scribe of KTU 1.4 (col. viii lower edge); the other texts of the series, in addition to further ones, notably, in the present discussion, KTU 1.10, being commonly attributed to him on epigraphic grounds. (See also KTU 1.22, one of the surviving Rpum texts, which have been linked by some scholars with the Aqhat story; KTU 1.14– 1.16, Keret: Ilimilku named as the scribe at 1.16 vi lower edge; KTU 1.17– 1.19, Aqhat: Ilimilku may have been named in colophon at 1.17 vi lower edge). It should be conceded that there is no colophon on tablet KTU 1.10, the reverse of which is uninscribed, and this could be construed as evidence

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against its putative place as concluding Baal. It could similarly be argued that the full formulation at the end of KTU 1.6 vi marks it out as the end of the composition. But neither argument is conclusive. The narrative in Baal runs as follows (all references in KTU 1. series). In this synopsis I list the missing materials as well, where they can be inferred, in order to indicate the precise elements of continuity and of discontinuity between various parts. KTU 1.1: (6 columns: fragmentary): Various embassies are sent, and the sea-god Yam is enthroned as divine king. KTU 1.2 (fragments, perhaps of 8 columns: see Wyatt 2002, 36–7) Athtar’s royal claim is rejected, and Baal is surrendered by the divine assembly… Bound beneath Yam’s throne, he emerges to kill Yam with divine weapons. KTU 1.3 (6 columns: half missing). Baal is feasted, and Anat goes to war, in a real battle, followed by a ritual one (see Lloyd 1996). On receiving messengers from Baal, she insists that she had already killed his enemies, and demands a palace for Baal from El, the high god. Baal sends Athirat’s assistant to Kothar the artificer god... KTU 1.4 (8 columns: about two column-lengths missing): …who makes gifts for Athirat. She intercedes with El, the palace is built and inaugurated. Mot is not invited. KTU 1.5 (6 columns: about two column-lengths missing): Mot demands Baal’s surrender, and he goes into the underworld. El mourns him. KTU 1.6 (6 columns: about two column-lengths missing): Anat mourns Baal. She and Shapsh recover his body and she buries him. Athtar is enthroned. El dreams that Baal is restored. A restored Baal fights a restored Mot, and Shapsh separates them, awarding Baal the victory. KTU 1.10, supposed by some to belong here. (3 columns: about half missing.) Baal goes hunting, where Anat meets him. They watch a cow in labor, make love, and a son is borne to Baal. A wide range of interpretations has been offered for the Baal story, being largely variations on two main themes, which we may summarize in the briefest form here. There are several useful surveys, which may be consulted for further details (de Moor 1971; Smith 1986; 1994, 58–114; Wyatt 1996, 117–218; 1998.). Initial attempts belong to the “myth and ritual” era of scholarship, and attempted to see two main features in the text: firstly, the deities were seen fairly simplistically as allegorical figures, personifications of every kind of natural and cultural phenomenon, and as essentially “imminent in nature”, a pantheistic evaluation which seems perverse, but

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belongs largely to the polemics of biblical scholarship. This approach, adopted from the inception of Ugaritic studies by Virolleaud and Dussaud (for references consult Smith 1994 and Wyatt 2002), was refined into a panNear Eastern ritual pattern by Gaster (1950; cf. Gray 1965), and into a rigorous ritual calendar for Ugarit by de Moor (1971). This approach is now regarded as broadly discredited, and an ideological basis is seen as a more probable motivation. The discovery of a ritual application of the motif, linked to the cultic use of “divine weapons” in Mari, published by Durand (1993) offers a far more plausible Sitz im Leben, which I followed up in a comparative survey (Wyatt 1998). Now the Chaoskampf theme is seen as part of the larger issue of royal ideology, and serves as legitimization of war, in which kings recapitulate the primordial victories of their patron deities. The distinctive feature of Baal, compared with all other versions, is its incorporation into a large composition, which is perhaps to be attributed to Ilimilku himself. The implicit point of the common theme of the possession and use of royal weapons is here linked to the theme of the acquisition of a royal palace (Ugaritic hkl, like its cognates, means both palace of a king and temple of a god). And Baal’s building and inauguration of a palace constitutes a challenge to other rival royal claims; both Yam and Mot are presented as gods challenging Baal’s hegemony. (This rivalry may be compared with tension the between Zeus, Poseidon and Hades.) Finally, in a tour de force which skilfully echoes the structure of the Chaoskampf narrative (Petersen and Woodward 1977), Baal’s conflict with Mot echoes that with Yam, and is resolved with a comparable setting of Baal’s royal power under the aegis of that of El, the high god. (For further discussion see below.)

THE STORY OF KERET An abbreviated colophon at the end of KTU 1.16 confirms that Ilimilku is responsible at least for the writing of this text. Some suppose there to have been further tablets (e.g. Pardee 1997a, 333; Margalit 1999, 204), but the extant text is broadly coherent, and comes to a satisfying if uncomfortable solution. The narrative runs as follows. KTU 1.14 (6 columns: about 75 percent surviving): Keret’s family is destroyed (whether seven wives or seven children remains uncertain); El appears to the distraught king, offering wealth as consolation. Keret refuses, and El instructs him on how to find a new wife by seizing her from Pabil of Udum. He must reject Pabil’s attempts to buy him off. En route to Pabil’s

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kingdom, Keret turns aside to make a vow to Athirat. He besieges Udum; Pabil sues for peace… KTU 1.15 (6 columns: about half surviving): Pabil reluctantly gives his daughter Hurriya. Keret feasts the gods. El blesses him, foretelling a fruitful marriage, guaranteeing the succession. The gods depart; El’s promises are fulfilled. Athirat’s vow was not fulfilled, and she remembers. At a banquet for the nobility, Hurriya announces that Keret is dying. The banquet seems to turn into an anticipatory wake. KTU 1.16 (6 columns: about a third missing). Keret’s son Ilhu weeps for him: the king tells him to fetch his sister… She arrives, also bewailing Keret… A ritual fragment compares Keret’s death to Baal’s… Divine heralds are instructed to summon the gods. El asks which of them will heal Keret. When no one offers, he creates a goddess, who does so. The heir Yasib bursts in on the now cured Keret, demanding his throne, assuming that he is still ill, and is cursed by the king. Early analysis of Keret (first treated in toto by Ginsberg 1946) fell into historicist, or myth-and-ritual, frames of understanding, well characterized in Margalit (1999, with references). But in his evaluation of Pedersen (1941) and Merrill (1968), he went too far in dismissing an ideological dimension; and Margalit’s own analysis of Keret, which he treated as theatre (literally: a drama in three acts), as a light-hearted romp and as a parody of LBA religion, and particularly its royal ideology, was wide of the mark. The broad subject matter is self-evidently royal ideological in nature (see, broadly, though with reservations, Gray 1964). Its interpretation as satirical (thus Margalit) or a critique of old royal dogmas (thus Parker 1977) is dubious in my view: rather is it a fairly serious analysis of the limits of individual autonomy within a dynastic line, and of the absolute requirement of true piety in a monarch. Keret fails, and thus shows how disastrous is irreligion. Thus the old values are firmly upheld. In the matter of historicity, we have noted the claimed link with Didanu/Ditanu. If Keret is to be identified with Kirta (perhaps = Sanskrit kṛ ta) king of Mittanni (Wilhelm 1989, 28), we may suggest a romance on some episode in the life of the king, adapted to Ugaritian concerns. Similarly, we may ask whether his capital of Bet Hubur (= Khabur) is the lost Hurrian capital of Waššukanni. But this is conjecture. The motif of the childless king is shared not only with Aqhat, but with Job, and is a common folklore motif.

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THE STORY OF AQHAT A fragmentary colophon on the edge of KTU 1.17 vi, together with the script, suggest that this composition is from the hand on Ilimilku (Wyatt 1999a, 234–35). KTU 1.17 (6 columns: about half surviving). Danil spends six days in the temple, trying to gain a son. Then on the seventh Baal intercedes for him with El, so that he may beget a son who will perform the appropriate filial duties on his father’s behalf. Aqhat is born, Danil rejoices, offering thanks to the childbirth goddesses, and the years pass… After two missing columns, Kothar brings a wonderful bow, which is given to Aqhat. At a sacrifice, Anat sees the bow and covets it. When she tries to persuade Aqhat to give it her, with promises of wealth and immortality, he insults her. She goes to El… KTU 1.18 (4 columns: about a third surviving). … threatening him with violence if he does not give her freedom to punish Aqhat. He gives her carte blanche. She comes to Aqhat, inviting him to go hunting with her… She plots his death with her hit man Yatipan, who will swoop on him like (or as) a falcon. KTU 1.19 (4 columns: most of the text survives). The bow is smashed. The enraged Anat laments the bow and tears Aqhat to pieces. Danil, unaware of the tragedy, sits to judge his people. His daughter Pughat, intuiting his loss, rends his cloak. Danil utters a terrible curse. Still unaware of what has happened, he tours his fields, and two messengers bring the news of Aqhat’s death. He curses the falcons, retrieves Aqhat’s remains and buries them. He then curses the neighbourhood of Aqhat’s death, while Pughat plans her revenge. She comes to Yatipan’s camp disguised as Anat, bent on revenge, and plies him with strong drink… If the very fragmentary Rpum texts (KTU 1.20–22 appear to be parallel versions of the same narrative) are related to this composition, a view now largely discounted (Wyatt 1999a, 235 and n. 3, 237), and relying on the circumstantial mention of the name Danilu in the text, then it would appear that a kispum feast of dead kings (the rpum are perhaps close in conception to the Greek heroes; cf. Wyatt 2002, 305 n. 1) takes place at a threshing floor. We may conjecture that Danil, but hardly his son, was included in their number. The most recent surveys of Aqhat scholarship are Margalit (1989) and Wyatt (1999a). Early attempts were historicist and seasonal (Virolleaud 1936), or seasonal and astronomical (Gaster 1950; Astour 1967), both cate-

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gories rejected by Caquot and Sznycer (Caquot et al. 1974). De Moor (1988) extended his seasonal theories concerning Baal to Aqhat. A royal ideological dimension was recognized by Ginsberg (1945a, b) but rejected by Gibson (1975), who followed Driver (1956) in seeing the theme of death and resurrection in the narrative, which is emphatically absent from the surviving text(!), except in the offer which Aqhat rejects. Del Olmo Lete (1981) judged Aqhat to be epic, but “more mythical” than Keret, thus illustrating the problem of trying to apply genre categories. Margalit’s analysis (1989) was driven by two theoretical points, the so-called Kinneret hypothesis and the non-royal nature of the story. The former has not commanded assent; the latter is rebutted in my treatment (Wyatt 1999a, 249–51). I would now go further than my comments there, to see the composition as dealing specifically with royal ideological issues, however much it is dependent on traditional and diverse literary motifs.

ILIMILKU’S MOTIVES Let us first briefly address the status of Ilimilku (cf. Wyatt 1997, to be modified by the revision of Ilimilku’s date, Wyatt 2002a), to whom some ±4,250 lines of tablet text (therefore rather more individual cola) are to be credited in the three compositions discussed here, of which a little over half survives. The only information we have concerning him appears in the colophon at the end of KTU 1.6 vi, as noted above. Lines 54–8 are in prose, and state that Ilimilku the Shubanite wrote (it), the student of Attanu the diviner, chief of the priests, chief of the temple herdsmen, sacrificer of Niqmaddu king of Ugarit, Lord of Yargub and Ruler of Sharruman.

Other fragments of colopha survive, but provide no further information. Our main problem is to determine which of the titles belong to which of the people named. Ilimilku is certainly the student of Attanu; but are the titles “the diviner, chief of the priests, chief of the temple herdsmen, sacrificer” those of Attanu or Ilimilku himself? To be honest, we cannot tell from this text. It will be seen from the punctuation in my translation that I have taken “diviner” to be a title of Attanu, leaving the possibility that the following ones all belong to Ilimilku, until we reach those of Niqmaddu. This is a guess, but I hope a reasonable one, and is broadly in agreement with the line taken by other scholars. In support of it can be cited the regular and mature cuneiform style of the writer. This contrasts sharply with the roughness of style of other tablets, which are agreed to be those of school-pupils, such as KTU 1.7 and 1.8 among the religious texts. Ilimilku is at least the

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scribe, if nothing more, and this office alone implies advanced education and high office. Moreover, as chief of the temple herdsmen (nqdm), he might have had other remits: his position might be comparable to that of Amos (Amos 7:14: nôqēd ). The fact that the same scribe is credited with the three main literary compositions from Ugarit (Baal, Keret and Aqhat) together with at least one of the Rpum texts, KTU 1.22, and a further fragment (RS 92.2016, an incantation) points to a writer with considerable authority, and possibly freedom of action with regard to the handling of his materials. He certainly uses a consistent style and outlook (cf. Korpel 1997), with many formulations recurring through the corpus. It is the last mentioned fragment, found in the house of Urtenu in the southern part of the city, which has forced a recalculation of the date of Ilimilku, who is now to be seen as a contemporary of Niqmaddu III–IV in the late thirteenth century BCE, rather than Niqmaddu II of the mid-fourteenth century. The importance of the identification of the author or redactor (or both) of this poetic corpus is surely significant for our overall interpretation of the material. While it is entirely possible that the work covers a lengthy period in Ilimilku’s life, it is more probable that we should see it as fitting into the reign of his patron, and to some extent reflecting the concerns of that reign, in terms most likely of a public relations and propagandistic function (pace Margalit). Furthermore, if we can discern specific concerns of the reign of Niqmaddu III–IV in Baal, it is reasonable, in view of Ilimilku’s offices, at least to ask whether the same concerns, or similar ones, do not also lie behind his composition of Keret and Aqhat. I recently (Wyatt 2002a) suggested that it was the occasion of a royal wedding, that of Niqmaddu III–IV to a Hittite princess, Eḥli-Nikkal (see Singer 1999: 701–4), which motivated Ilimilku to write an epithalamium, beginning with the traditional Chaoskampf story, and adding a considerable amount of extraneous material of his own devising to make the connection. Baal was the outcome of this process. It served the double purpose of celebrating the king’s wedding and flattering the bride’s father, the Hittite emperor Tudḫaliya IV, with a treatment of the old martial ideology (KTU 1.1–2), a transparent reference in the palace-building episode to the establishment of a royal house (KTU 1.3–4), which itself might allow a pun on the play between a material house (palace, temple) and a dynastic house (offspring) such as lay behind 2 Samuel 7, and according to Merrill (1968) Keret as well. The conflict with Mot (KTU 1.5–6) also allowed construal as the triumph of fecundity over death, appropriate to the celebration of a marriage.

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At the most basic level, Keret is a moral tale, drawing on a traditional and ubiquitous theme, the desire for children, of particular importance when the destiny of a royal line is at stake. But this must be pursued through true piety, and unquestioning obedience to the gods. Keret behaves exactly as he should, until on the third day of his journey to Udum, he turns aside to offer a vow to Athirat (KTU 1.14 iv 34–43), indicating a lack of trust in El’s promise. Thus, in the name of one level of piety, he commits a greater impiety. The parallel with 1 Kings 13:11–26 is patent. The episode’s interruption of the seven-day sequence of Keret’s journey has been noted by Cartledge (1992, 108. Cf. Wyatt 2002, 200–1.) It is Keret’s subsequent failure to fulfil this impious vow which compounds his sin, and brings down on him the wrath of Athirat, which cannot be deflected even through El’s healing power. With his final curse on his son and heir, Keret is back where he began, all hope dashed. The irony is that it is Yasib who, through his rebelliousness (an equal impiety!), triggers off the final cataclysm. It might be objected that this is rather heavy stuff from a court poet! But it should be remembered that Ilimilku was also a priest. Perhaps he acted as moral theologian to the king, warning him with impunity of dangers, much as Nathan could be perfectly frank in his discourse with David (2 Samuel 12:1–15). Keret is also about a royal marriage, of course. We may note the parallel between Keret and Hurriya and Paris and Helen, where two kingdoms, Udum and Troy, are threatened on behalf of a woman marrying out of the dynasty, though the circumstances of the two situations are rather different, and any direct link is conjectural. However, Niqmaddu’s marriage to EḥliNikkal was also an exogamic one, where the parallel with Keret may have been deliberately evoked. A similar moral construction may be put on Aqhat. Again we have a tale of a sonless king, who goes to considerable lengths to remedy the situation. In this case the king is beyond reproach, but his son (just like Yasib in Keret), who should perform the duties of filial piety outlined four times in the narrative, is impetuous and outspoken, insulting Anat. He thus signally fails to maintain these standards. The message of both narratives is therefore in part at least not to spare the rod. (Again, we have the biblical parallel of David’s indulgence of his sons, with tragic consequences.) A function of epic is without doubt to maintain traditional values in a changing world. Ours is not the first age to lament a lost past. Both Keret and Aqhat offer a nice example of the issue in the bribes offered to them by the gods. El offers Keret limitless wealth and power (expressed in the martial figure of chariots); Keret demands offspring, who will perpetuate his

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line, and thus grant him immortality of a kind. Anat offers Aqhat limitless wealth; he then spurns the further offer of immortality. Keret subsequently exhibits levity in religion; Aqhat does so at this point. Far from exhibiting a moral bankruptcy, as claimed of Ugaritian religion by de Moor (1997, 83– 84), this corpus emphatically champions the old moral certitudes which are challenged anew in every generation. Divine kingship is a theme that is perhaps somewhat out of fashion, many treatments of Egyptian and West Semitic kingship stressing the human aspect of the institution, with a tendency to downplay, or represent as merely figurative, the divine aspect. In my estimation such modern pleading misrepresents the institutions of the ancient world, and flies in the face of clear evidence to the contrary. In a recent discussion (Wyatt 1999) I reexamined the Ugaritian evidence, indicating the agenda of Ilimilku, and showing how the ritual texts and the iconographic convention reinforce the arguments of the present literary compositions, making comparisons between Keret and Baal which are vacuous unless the divinity of both is conceded, and suggesting that Aqhat takes the agenda for granted. A recent study is worth mentioning here, because it initiates a new dimension of study. Wright (2001) has examined the literary use of the ritual accounts in Aqhat. He notes that the ritual scenes in Keret are too fragmentary for a similar detailed study, but mutatis mutandis, his conclusions probably fit both narratives, the surviving text of Aqhat devoting the surprisingly high figure of 82% of the total to ritual (Wright 2001, 8). Baal is also wellendowed with ritual sequences, including two accounts of an enthronement (KTU 1.1 iv, 1.6 i), and is thus also eminently suitable for such analysis, particularly with regard to royal ideology. This approach does not seek to reintroduce the old myth-and-ritual agenda by the back door: what it demonstrates fairly persuasively is the way in which the non-linguistic communication system of ritual parallels the role of language, thus reinforcing at every turn the literary tensions and dynamics of the text, and indeed constituting a subliminal reinforcement of any ideological agenda the text may have. This provides some confirmation, in my view, of the royal agenda I see the texts as serving.

7 “MAY HORON SMASH YOUR HEAD!”: A CURSE FORMULA FROM UGARIT First published in G. del Olmo Lete, Ll. Feliu and A. Millet Albà (eds) Šapal tibnim mû illak : Studies Presented to Joaquín Sanmartín on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, AuOrs 22, 2006, 471–79. The following discussion attempts to give a brief account of the ideological context of a curse-formula occurring twice in Ugaritic literature, with a possible reflex of it in a third passage. As the confrontation between Baal and Yam moves to a crisis in the narrative of Baal, Kothar arrives with maces, which he entrusts to (the presumably weaponless) Baal. The storm-god takes them, and with their assistance, destroys his adversary (KTU 1.2 iv 11–41). In an earlier passage, KTU 1.2 i 7–9, whose precise literary and temporal relation to this climax remains obscure, Baal appears to anticipate this dénouement, in voicing a challenge to Yam which ends with a mighty curse, the subject of our discussion. It is puzzling, in that he names the maces (only one, aymr, surviving in the extant text) some while before Kothar actually makes, produces and names them at KTU 1.2 iv 11–15, 18–23, and they subsequently “leap” from the hand of Baal. But that problem is insoluble in the face of such a poorly preserved text1, and need not concern us here. The text in Baal requires some reconstruction, but the curse may be confidently restored, since it appears more or less verbatim, in an undamaged context in Keret (Kirta), at KTU 1.16 vi 55–8:

See my comments on the sequential reading of “KTU 1.2”, as at least two tablets are known, in Wyatt 2002, 36–37 nn. 3, 4, and layout, pp. 51 and 56. De Moor’s proposal (1987, 30 n. 126), that the anticipation of the subsequent victory in KTU 1.2 i 7–9 is a case of divine foresight, looks a bit lame in the absence of a meaningful context.

1

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KTU 1.16 vi 55–8

ytb[r ḥrn ym ] [ ytbr ḥrn] rišk ʿttrt š[m bʿl qdqdk] [¯]¯t mṭ 2 tqln bgb[l šntk] [bḥpnk wtʿn]

ytbr ḥrn ybn ytbr ḥrn rišk ʿttrt šm bʿl qdqdk !

May [Horon] sma[sh, O Yam], [may Horon smash] your head, Athtart-the-na[me-of-Baal your skull ]! may you stagger?... [ ] may you fall down in the pri[me of life,] [empty-handed and humiliated!]”

“ May Horon smash, O my son, may Horon smash your head, Athtart-the-name-of-Baal your skull!

tqln bgbl šntk bḥpnk wtʿn

May you fall down in the prime of life, empty-handed and humiliated!” 3

In considering the significance of this formulaic language, it is also worth noting the following passage from Aqhat, citing words addressed by Anat to her hired assassin Yatipan, in KTU 1.18 iv 21–7: bn nšrm arḫp an[k ] ʿl aqht ʿdbk hlmn tnm qdqd tltid ʿl udn špk km 4 šiy dm km šḫṭ lbrkh tṣi km rḥ km itl brlth

Among the falcons I shall hover: above Aqhat I shall place you. Hit him twice on the skull, three times above the ear. Pour out (his) blood like a murderer, like a slaughterer (you must bring him)to his knees. Let his life-breath go out like the wind, Like spittle his vitality,

2 See Wyatt 2002, 56 n. 90; DLU (ii ) 602: mṭ tpln, “staggering you fall”. Cf. HALOT (ii) 555 : m w ṭ . 3 Translations as in Wyatt 2002, 56, 241. Whether the former passage has a missing part after the first tricolon (id. 56 n. 90) remains problematic. Perhaps a formula now in the form of a tricolon followed by a bicolon was, putatively, two tricola. 4 We would expect k... km... rather than the present km... km... . The same curious form occurs in the following bicolon.

“MAY HORON SMASH YOUR HEAD!” km qṭr baph u ! ap mprh ank laḥwy

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as (his) dying breath from his nostrils, and also his pulse: I shall indeed strike him! 5

There are two distinctive items of vocabulary in the Aqhat passage which are of some significance in view of the broader discussion of this paper, to which I should make reference. The first is mprh (√prr, Hebrew √pr[ p]r) in l. 26, for which R.M. Wright adduced the cognate Egyptian npp. 6 The second is laḥwy in l. 27, for which, instead of the common supposition that we have a negative prefixed to the first person singular D stem of ḥwy, “to live” 7, Watson proposed an Egyptian cognate of the same form, ḥwy, “to strike”8. He cited as clear examples of the semantic field two further passages in Aqhat: KTU 1.18 iv 12–3 (tmḫṣh || tḥ[wy]) and 1.19 i 14–6 (imḫṣh || aḥw). Although he conceded the hypothetical nature of his proposal, two of his observations offer strong support, firstly the climactic value of this interpretation in prosodic terms, in the Aqhat passage cited here,9 and secondly the penchant in ancient Near Eastern literature for using vocabulary in keeping with the ethnic context of a theme. He drew attention to the theme of the composite bow, which was probably an Egyptian invention.10 But more immediately we may cite the head-smashing motif, which is distinctively Egyptian, as we shall see below. Was the poet conscious of this appropriate Egyptian influence, combined with his choice of image? It looks as though he had a deliberate strategy to evoke the right ambience, with all its overtones, to make his point. This is all the more likely in that Anat was primarily a war-goddess: that is, her language is intended to reflect her sphere of influence, with its associated ritual killing of prisoners of war. I think we can go beyond the conjectural interpretation of the Baal and Keret (Kirta) passages I offered previously, to wit, that the formula was used Translation as in Wyatt 2002, 285–86, with the exception of the last line, for which cf. Watson 2004, though I construe the prosody slightly differently. I take it that Anat is the subject of the colon, though Yatipan is her agent in the preceding ones. 6 Wyatt 2002, 286 n. 158; Wright 1994. 7 E.g. Wyatt 2002, 286: “I shall not let him live” Cf. DLU (i ) 379, Tropper 2000, 550 (§74.412.25). 8 Watson 2004. The same discussion also summarizes the various views of the form yštḥwy. 9 Watson 2004, 156. 10 Watson 2004, 158 n. 19. 5

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as a means of self-exculpation by executioners11. Or at any rate, if there is a plausible element in that proposal, then a quasi-cultic and ideological dimension should also be recognized. The Baal passages are evidently formulated within the conventional discourse of royal ideology, since the entire narrative relates to royal matters in the court of Ugarit12. In dealing with a theological matter, the status of Baal within the pantheon, and more specifically the divine economy of Ugarit and the place of his temple within it, it is also dealing subliminally with political realities and their ideological basis. The same is evidently the case with Keret (Kirta), since the context of the king’s curse is related directly to matters of royal protocol. In my recent discussion of epic in Ugarit 13 , I argued that the same broad agenda underlies Baal, Keret (Kirta) and Aqhat; and Aqhat is indeed to be construed as having an agenda in that it explores issues of royal descent (Aqhat is the son of a king 14) and accountability. It is to be expected, then, that ideological clichés should be the idiom in which it was couched, with its enormous emphasis on the procreation of a son, the filial duties incumbent on that son, the prestige of a divinely-constructed bow, the indulgence in hunting and falconry, and so forth. It is in this context that it is reasonable to see the words of Anat to Yatipan cited above as comparable to the imagery of the curse of Baal and Keret (Kirta)―and all the more so if Ilimilku had an authorial input into all three compositions. He was alluding to the same symbolic reality, and borrowing his imagery from the same source. The wording both of the curse in Baal and Keret (Kirta), and of Anat’s instructions to Yatipan, have one theme in common: it is the head of the victim which is to be struck, to the point of smashing the skull, or causing him to die of blood-loss. Now there was one royal motif par excellence in the ancient world to which such language was surely alluding: the so-called smiting ritual of ancient kings. Its early forms are found in archaic Egyptian art, though it remained remarkably constant for over three millennia: it appears most commonly and graphically on the façades of temple pylons (as at Abu Simbel, Edfu, Esna, Karnak―many examples, Luxor, Medinat Habu, and elsewhere), and on reliefs, 15 ceremonial palettes, 16 labels 17 and Wyatt 2002, 241 n. 297. See chapter 6. 13 Chapter 6. 14 See chapter 6; cf. Wyatt 1999a, 249–51. 15 Even Nefertiti, Akhenaton’s consort (and co-regent?) is shown smiting: Hall 1986, fig. 39; Partridge 2002, 226 fig. 296. 11 12

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other impedimenta found in royal tombs, and inspired similar iconography and conceptual expression in Jerusalem18 and Ugarit and elsewhere in the Levant (as in the present literary contexts), at Idalion in Cyprus and Praeneste in Italy.19 Warrior gods are commonly shown in the “smiting” posture, or as Cornelius would prefer to see it, the “menacing” posture, 20 though I think that the posture is actually a coded reference specifically to the smiting theme and its associated ideology of royal power. At any rate, it is specifically smiting rather than simply menacing which concerns us here: that is, there is a victim. As I indicated in my comparative study of the socalled Chaoskampf motif , 21 the entire rationale of the ubiquitous allusions to the common theme was the royal appropriation of divine power, or, to put it another way, the presentation of military activity in a divine context as a means of sanctioning and validating the human activity. The smiting scene was essentially a local analogue to the broader ritual and mythic pattern. The iconographic form in Ugarit varies from the norm with which we are concerned, in that the king is represented on the ivory bed-panel as destroying the eyes of his enemy.22 This is not to be seen as invalidating my observations here, but rather as developing the theme into a more general, and perhaps punitive motif. For the smiting scene, perhaps as distinct from the blinding scene, is essentially ritual in significance. The killing is performed, in effect, as a human sacrifice in the presence of the gods. Typically in the monumental Egyptian examples, Amun or Ra faces the king, and gestures his acceptance of the oblation to be offered. A more generalized E.g. the Narmer palette, verso. Dyn. 0–1. See Emery 1961, 44 fig. 4; Hall 1986, fig. 8; inscribed palette of Zer, Dyn. 1. See Emery 1961, 60 fig. 23; Hall 1986, fig. 7. 17 E.g. ivory label of Den, Dyn. 1: Hall 1986, fig. 9. Hall shows examples from throughout pharaonic history, together with later examples from Meroe. 18 Cf. Psalm 110:5: My Lord (divine title, referring to the king) is at your right hand: he smites kings on the day of his wrath; he passes judgment upon nations. He piles up corpses; he smashes heads over all the earth. See Wyatt 1996, 210, id. 1998, 865, 867. 19 Central scene of the Idalion bowl, in the Louvre, and the Praeneste bowls, in Rome. All are seventh century BCE. See Moscati 1988, 442 (Idalion), and 444, 446 (Praeneste). 20 See Cornelius 1994, 16, 25. 21 Wyatt 1998. 22 Panel A3: see Wyatt 1995, 581 = 2005b, 121; id. 1998, 866. 16

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form of the ritual pattern comes from Ugarit, where Lloyd demonstrated23 that the double battling of Anat in KTU 1.3 column ii is a battle followed by a ritual reenactment, and the killing of prisoners. This may be compared with the ten bound and beheaded prisoners shown on the recto of the Narmer palette. In the Egyptian material which evidently inspired the international use of the smiting motif, it is generally the king who grasps his vanquished enemy by the hair, before dispatching him with a bladed mace or fenestrated axe. The king of Egypt was regarded as an incarnate form of Horus, an amalgamation of two distinct deities, the anthropomorphic son of Osiris and Isis (respectively the embodiments of kingship past and the royal throne, st, “throne”), and the falcon son of Ra and Hathor (respectively the ultimate representation of royal power, and the embodiment of the royal palace and the sky, ḥt-ḥr, “the House of Horus” 24). It is scarcely likely that a literate person of the rank of Ilimilku was unaware of this convention, so that his choice of the god Horon as subject of the curse (we shall come to Athtart below) can scarcely be regarded as a coincidence devoid of meaning. Obviously the first thing we should expect in an Ugaritic literary passage is a local reference, especially when the divine name Horon is wellattested in the West Semitic world, not least in Ugarit itself, and indeed as far afield as Mari.25 He was evidently the most effective deity to invoke in the healing of the stricken foal in KTU 1.100, being the twelfth in a series.26 The question that must be asked is what relation did the Semitic god Horon (ḥrn) have, if any, to the Egyptian god Horus (ḥr, ḥrw), beyond a possible association by virtue of the similar forms of the names? At least an association is implied by the application of the smiting motif to Horon. But this is Lloyd 1996. While a pun was no doubt intended, since the basic meaning of ḥr is “elevated, lofty”, and this might have meant in origin no more than “the elevated house” (sc. the sky) where the goddess dwelt, the conventional writing of the divine name Hathor was a falcon within the house sign, and thus a deliberate allusion to the deity Horus. The correct form of a neutral “elevated house” would be ḥt-ḥrt , with agreement of the adjective. 25 Marian PN Ḫawranabi : Huffmon 1965, 32, 192 (cited van Dijk 1989, 60 and Rüterswörden 1999, 425). Cf. Ugaritic PN bn-ḥrn : Grøndahl 1967, 424. 26 KTU 1.100.57–60 (and 61–69). The series of deities invoked is El, Baal, Dagan, Anat and Athtart in Inbub (as a pair), Yarih, Reshef, Athart of Mari, Zizzu and Kemosh (as a pair), Milk, Kothar-and-Hasis and Shahar and Shalem (as a pair), and finally Horon. See Wyatt 2002, 378–87 for translation, commentary and references. 23 24

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a long way from demonstrating their identity. An Egyptianized form, ḥwrwny 27, shows that the two were clearly distinct in Egyptian thought. The Semitic form is probably cognate with the toponym Hauran, ḥawrān, the territory surrounding Jebel Druze, more or less the Bashan of the Bible. This toponym is the only form which corresponds in every respect to the divine name. All other suggestions either face difficulties, or invite association (e.g. the Horus association which is the subject of the present paper) without permitting simple identification. Del Olmo Lete showed 28 how the Hauran region, which featured in both Ugaritian and Israelite tradition as the seat of the god Rapiu (to be equated with Og king of Bashan)29, was considered to have access to the underworld. In KTU 1.100.58 Horon is said to be ḥrn mṣdh, “Horon in the fortress” . 30 The form mṣd, with suffixed h, mṣdh, is unknown thus far as a toponym,31 though this is the sense we would expect in the context, since the other deities invoked in this text are each linked to a cult-centre. It is a reasonable hypothesis to see in it (mṣdh) an allusion to, or even the name of, the citadel of Horon’s underworld kingdom, he being a chthonian god. 32 It is possible that we should consider mṣd to have been an access-point to this infernal realm, HALOT (i ) 352 a. Del Olmo Lete 1988. 29 The same regnal formula is credited to both: ―of Rapiu: May Rapiu, King of the Hereafter, be [ est]ablished, yea, may he be established, the powerful and noble [god], the god enthroned in Athtarat, the god who reigns in Edrei*... (KTU 1.108.1–3) (*reading i !dr ʿy for hdr ʿy) ―and of Og: Og, the king of Bashan, who reigned in Ashtarot and Edrei... (Deuteronomy 1:4. Joshua 12:4 adds “ the survivor of the Rephaim” ) 30 The final h of mṣdh is locale, as in the other references to TNs in the text. Cf. Tropper 2000, 324–25 (§54.323a), where it is taken to be the equivalent of ʿm, “towards”. In view of my interpretation of mṣdh , above, I propose that the h serves a double function, as directional/local and possessive, thus: “in his fortress” (= *mṣdhh ). Cf. Rüterswörden 1999, 425: he considers Albright’s (1936, 9) linking of the divine name with Arabic ḥaur , “bottom of a well”: “It is not impossible that the name of the god is a similar adjectival expression, meaning primarily the ‘deep one, the one inhabiting the underworld’ ”. 31 Cf. DLU (ii ) 585–86. 32 Thus van Dijk 1989, 62. 27 28

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perhaps functioning as a cult-place of Horon. This must however remain conjectural until further evidence is found to support it. And its precise location can only be a matter for speculation at present. There have also been other etymological proposals. Both the toponym and the divine name have been related to Hebrew ḥôr, ḥur, “cave”, “hole”.33 This certainly fits a chthonian dimension, but falls down against the fact that the Ugaritic form is ḫr, not ḥr . 34 Montet and Weill wondered whether he might be “the god of the Horites”, which is not possible, for the same reason,35 and also noted its similarity to the Arabic term ḥourroun, meaning “falcon”,36 which is certainly suggestive. Considerations of the nature and dwelling of Horon would seem at first glance to make any link with the Egyptian Horus increasingly improbable, apart from possible association by similarity of name, and from the avian element, since both were in fact falcon-gods. But two factors, in addition to the superficial resemblance of the two names, suggest that we should not rush to judgment. Firstly, Horus, though a sky god, had important chthonian functions, as psychopomp37 and as a lord of the underworld. Some representative texts from the funerary corpus, presented in chronological order, will illustrate this: Recitation by Nut the Great who dwells in the mansion of Šnit (= the rainstorm): “The king is my son of my desire; I have given him the Netherworld that he may reside over it as Horus who presides over the

Van Dijk 1989, 62, citing Albright 1936. DLU (i ) 402. Cf. HALOT (i ) 348. 35 Montet 1935, 165; Weill 1938, 168. But the guttural of ḥrn is ḥ, while that of “ Horite” is ḫ ( ḫurri ). 36 Montet 1935, 165; Weill 1938, 168. This interpretation was also offered by Mercer 1942, 135. But the final n of the divine name is radical, while for the bird it is a nunation. Is it possible however that the Egyptian divine name Horus (ḥr, ḥrw ) and the Arabic term are cognate? (Cf. Akkadian urinnu, “eagle”—another candidate for a cognate! —according to CDA 426a. See also Kogan and Militarev 2004, 145–48, references brought to my attention by W.G.E. Watson.) 37 He would have such a role in principle as the deity identified with the king, in view of the archaic shamanic aspects of Egyptian kingship, in which the king very explicitly entered the realms of the gods above and below during the rites of kingship. 33 34

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Netherworld (ḥr ḫnty-dwt ).” (PT 7; §5)38

On one level of understanding this may be interpreted as addressing the deceased king (Horus incarnate), in one of the early texts preceding his osirianization, and it perhaps represents an early stage in the formal linking of Horus (the sky god, increasingly solarized at the same time) with the underworld. At the same time, the king himself maintained his identity with Horus. His rule, it appears, would extend to the underworld after his death. In the following passage, the deceased king appears to be distinguished from Horus and Seth, who both take him up to the sky, and down into the underworld. Since the baleful characteristics of Seth might be construed as making him a more likely candidate than Horus for identification with Horon, it is worth stressing the cooperative role of the brother-gods here: I ascend on this ladder which my father Ra made for me. Horus and Seth take hold of my hands and take me to the Netherworld. (PT 271; §390)39

The following passage also clearly distinguishes the dead king from a chthonian Horus: Isis and Nephthys have seen and found you, Horus has reassembled you... (PT 357; §584)40

A graphic example comes from the Coffin Texts, in which the deceased, now of non-royal blood, claims identity with Horus, and is kept well away from a now hostile Seth. It is the penultimate line, referring to his travelling along “the roads of eternity to the dawn”, which clearly points to the chthonian aspect: I am Horus the falcon who is on the battlements of the mansion of Him whose name is Hidden. My flight aloft has reached the horizon, I have overpassed the gods of the sky, I have made my position more prominent than that of the Primaeval Ones. The Contender has not attained my first flight, my place is far from Seth, the enemy of my father Osiris. I have used the roads of eternity to the dawn Faulkner 1969, 2. Faulkner 1969, 79. 40 Faulkner 1969, 115. 38 39

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The psychopompic role of Horus also comes out particularly clearly in the Book of the Dead. The following passage accompanies the vignette of the weighing of the heart, in which Horus son of Isis (but appearing in vignettes as the falcon god) leads the righteous dead, now declared mʿ hrw, “true of voice”, into the presence of the judge, Osiris: Thus says Horus son of Isis: “ I have come to you, O Wennefer, and I bring N to you. His heart is true, having gone forth from the balance, and he has not sinned against any god or any goddess. Thoth has judged him in writing which has been told to the Ennead, and Maat the great has witnessed it. Let there be given to him bread and beer which have been issued in the presence of Osiris, and he will be forever like the followers of Horus.” (BD 30b)42

Finally, in the text accompanying the vignette of the Fields of Offering, the psychopomp and the righteous dead are again more or less fused: This is Horus. He is a falcon a thousand cubits long. Life and domination are in his hand, he comes and goes at will in its waterways and towns, he rises and sets in Qenqenet, the birthplace of the god... (BD 110)

We have seen in the above passages evidence of the clearly chthonian aspects of Horus. Are there any independent grounds for supposing Horon and Horus to have been linked? Albright cited a number of passages in which Horon and Horus appear in association, 43 while van Dijk drew attention to the falconiconography of the former, certainly shared with, and possibly influenced by, the iconography of the latter, and took it that the two deities were indeed identified on occasion.44 Montet published a remarkable statue from Tanis, which showed a falcon form of Horon protecting the young Ramesses II, whose iconography was that of Harpocrates, with finger to

Faulkner 1973, 126 (= 2004, 126). Faulkner 1985, 104. 43 Albright 1936, 3, 4, cited Rüterswörden 1999, 426. 44 Van Dijk 1989:62–63, cited Rüterswörden 1999, 426. 41 42

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lips and the side-lock of youth.45 The falcon-god is explicitly identified thus on the inscription; were he not, it would be natural to identify the falcon as Horus, who commonly appears in a protective role on royal statues. Van Dijk’s insistence on the late (Ramesside) date 46 for the incidence of Horon in Egypt is no barrier to the association of ideas I am considering. In fact it rather neatly highlights the specifically contemporaneous nature of the Egyptian and Ugaritic material, which supports the view that as Horon became significant in Egypt, so we might expect to see evidence of familiarity with Horus in Ugarit. If we take it that Ilimilku or his source intended at least echoes of Horus to be read into the curse-formula of Baal, and specifically with regard to its ideological implications, then we may perceive the link made between the actual use of the weapons in KTU 1.2 iv, and the implicit falconimagery of the curse, also to be deliberate. It is as though the smiting formula was already regarded as a figure for the swooping of a falcon onto its prey in the wild. This in turn may account for the variant in Aqhat, in which the killing of the victim of the war-goddess Anat, here the prince and hero Aqhat, is actually accomplished at a distance, in the figure of a swooping falcon, rather than directly (in contrast to Anat’s own unambiguous threats of body-to-body violence in KTU 1.17 vi 43–5). At the same time, it is of interest that the otherwise gratuitous allusion to the victim being brought to his knees in the Aqhat passage (l. 24) becomes a powerful visual allusion to the iconography of smiting, in which the enemy king is commonly shown kneeling in submission. A brief word is perhaps in order concerning the role of Athtart in the curse formula with which we began. She is of course closely related to Anat (e.g. in KTU 1.2 i 40, 1.100.19–20, 1.107.40.39 and 1.114.9–11, 26–28), as well as fulfilling a similar role in the excerpt cited here from Aqhat. She also appears in Egyptian iconography in martial guise, armed and on horseMontet 1935 and pll. V, VI; id. 1935–37, 12–14 and pll. X, XI. He drew particular attention, 1935, 156, to the iconographic play on the king’s name: the child has a sun-disc (rʿ) on his head, the child is ms, while his left hand rests on the sw sign (at once nsw, “king”, and sw, “south”) thus spelling out the kings name, rʿ-ms-sw = Ramesses. As Montet noted, “It was this name that was placed under the protection of the god”. 46 Cf. however the view of Albright 1941, 7–9, that Horon was attested in Egypt from the time of Amenhotpe II, while Montet 1935, 158–59, drew attention to the strange form of Haremhab’s name (normally ḥr m ḥb: “ Horus is in Festival”) as ḥrn m ḥb (“ Horon is in Festival”); both were eighteenth dynasty kings. 45

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back, 47 and in Egypt both goddesses are appropriately consorts of the violent god Seth. Furthermore, in the climax to the encounter between Baal and Yam, it is Athtart, who, perhaps shrieking encouragement like a campfollower on the sideline of battle, urges Baal to finish his task (KTU 1.2 iv 28–30). In the curse she appears to function as Horon’s anima, or alter ego, closely parallel to this action, and also in much the same way as Hathor, who also has a violent side to her nature, functions as the destructive Eye of Ra, agent of the king (Horus) in his battles.

47

Leclant 1960.

8 WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE: EL’S ORACLE TO KING KERET (KIRTA), AND THE PROBLEM OF THE MECHANICS OF ITS UTTERANCE Published in VT 57 (2007).

I

INTRODUCTION

Oracles and analogous phenomena constitute an important part of religion, in its function as an organizational system designed to assist human communities in the management of space and time, with particular reference to the future. The future, as an unknown quantity, naturally arouses anxieties and a desire to predict events and to avoid possible disasters.1 Language has a striking role to play in two categories of the management of such concern, vows and oracles, as well as facilitating the primary temporal awareness of the future as an approaching reality. In both, the formulation of an idea, be it an aspiration of individual or collective nature, is believed to encapsulate the essence of the aspiration, so that things transpire precisely in the manner described. The basis of this thinking lies in the psychology of language, and the universal belief that to name a concept somehow reifies it, gives it substance, and in the right circumstances allows it to be conjured up, or actualized. Thus, in the case of a vow, a bargain is made with higher powers, and a precise agreement on a quid pro quo basis is entered into, whereby so long as the votary fulfils his or her part of the bargain, there is the expectation, and indeed the implicit moral demand, that a deity will grant whatever is demanded. This is the very basis of folk religion, and has little spiritual force. The oracle tends to be on a higher plane. There is nothing overtly conditional about it. From a theological perspective, it grants the principle 1

See Wyatt 2001 passim, and especially 233–51, 271–99.

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of divine freedom,2 but assumes that access may be had to the divine will, and that this will be expressed in a comprehensible way. It reached its apogee, perhaps, in oracles such as that at Delphi, where the ambiguity of the supernatural message precluded its manipulation by the human subject. Enquire of the oracle, and you never knew what answer you would get, as Croesus found to his cost. With ancient Near Eastern oracles, that degree of sophistication had perhaps not been reached, or perhaps it had, but ways had been found of manipulating the oracle by binding it into liturgical forms, so that its ambiguity was circumscribed, and it gave precisely the expected answer. 3 We should never underestimate the ability of the human mind to discover loopholes to circumvent any conditions laid down by law or custom. (Somewhere in our constitution there is a Jesuitical gene, designed to cope with the law of unintended consequences.) Something of Delphic ambiguity can be seen in some biblical oracles, even though the liturgical framework probably sought to control things there too.4 So far as Ugaritian evidence is concerned, with which we are here concerned, even the ambiguity is ambiguous in terms of the literary example discussed below―the only evidence so far discovered―which makes its subtlety particularly delicious. Perhaps one of the unstated purposes of literature such as Baal, Keret and Aqhat was

2 From an anthropological and psychological perspective, this is of course a trick of the mind, whereby the decision-making process may be granted an objective status. Cf. Jaynes 1976, 84–99, on the function of deities as decision-making principles. 3 The Mari oracles do not seem to have a liturgical context, being apparently instances of spontaneous reception of the divine message, which was then communicated directly to the king. However, in view of the “shorthand” nature of the record, to be discussed below, we should be wary of over-interpreting this aspect (that is, underestimating the formal cultic context), though some certainly appear to have been spontaneous, that is unprompted, communications on the part of a possessed person. The much later Assyrian prophecies, for all their apparent spontaneity, appear in fairly predictable contexts (e.g. royal accessions) which presuppose a degree of control. (Cf. Mari text A 1968, discussed by Durand 1993 and Wyatt 1998, 841–43 = 2005b, 158–60). The phenomenon in Israel is seemingly of an entirely different order, but this very impression of “uniqueness” should warn us against the danger of over-interpretation, and above all of eisegesis. But even here a cultic context is evidently to be presupposed in a number of places (e.g. 1 Samuel 10:5; Isaiah 6; Amos 5: 18–27, 7:13; 2 Kings 4:25; Zechariah 3:1–4:14, etc.). See Lindblom 1962, 80 and n. 54; cf. Buss 1980, 7–8. 4 We may cite one example: Amos’ “ Day of Yahweh” oracle (noted above) which takes up an expectation of an auspicious Day (a “predictable oracle”) and turns it on its head.

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the exploration of just such theological conundra, as the poet sought to resolve such issues. The term “oracle” is used to cover a wide range of ritual techniques and literary forms,5 but I shall restrict its application in the present discussion to a fairly narrow scope. The reading of omens, celestial, mechanical (sacrificial, and instrumental), and natural (appearances of birds and aniParpola 1997, xiv, showed how the undifferentiated use of the term “oracle”, to cover the readings from omen books and extispicy reports, as well as “inspired prophecy”, blinded biblical scholars to the important witness of the latter type of material from the Assyrian archives. The material in his corpus provides an important parallel to the supposedly distinctive Israelite oracular tradition, closer than the Mari oracles on account of their proximity in time. Whether Parpola’s own estimate, that the Assyrian material witnesses to what amounted to a “mystery cult of Ishtar” (xiv–xvii and later elaboration), is either tenable, or possibly a key to similar esoteric traditions in Ugarit and elsewhere, remains to be seen. In his interesting discussion, Buss distinguished between “prophetic messages” and “more mechanical divinations”, noting that the former “deal especially with the assessment of the actual, which contains elements of particularity and the new.” His definition of the prophet is useful: The role of a prophet or seer can be characterized as the receiving and transmitting of communications not available to ordinary conscious sensitivity, which are held to come from a source (the divine) or through a form of perception transcending normal spatio-temporal limitations... ( Buss 1980, 7 and 6 respectively). See also Nissinen 2000 and 2004. In the latter (2004, 23), he remarked that [ p]rophetic activity does not necessarily exclude other roles in society; the social position of the prophet may vary according to the integration of the prophetic role into the society as a whole. The oft-made dichotomy between free, charismatic prophets and the so-called cultic or court prophets should no longer be upheld as a fundamental, generally applicable distinction... His definition of prophecy is also worth citing in full: Prophecy... is human transmission of allegedly divine messages. As a method of revealing the divine will to humans, prophecy is to be seen as another, yet distinctive branch of the consultation of the divine that is generally called “divination”. Among the forms of divination, prophecy clearly belongs to the noninductive kind. That is to say, prophets―like dreamers and unlike astrologers or haruspices―do not employ methods based on systematic observations and their scholarly interpretations, but act as direct mouthpieces of gods whose messages they communicate. ( Nissinen 2003, 1) 5

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mals), or even the interpretation of dreams, is not at issue here,6 but rather the uttered oracles of cultic personnel who appeared in Mari, Assyria and Israel as “prophets”, who undoubtedly appeared elsewhere even if they have left no written record. M. Nissinen has categorized this material as “noninductive”, in distinction from the “inductive” techniques noted above.7 In general, the writing always followed an originally oral communication, and the psychological, experiential or ritual bases for individual oracles were varied, and often unidentified. My task here is to ascertain whether the Ugaritian material to be discussed constitutes evidence of prophecy in these terms in Ugarit.

II

THE ORACLE IN KERET (KIRTA)

An important episode in the Keret story from Ugarit, narrating events in the life of the king, and his rescue from the edge of extinction, only to be cast back onto the precipice at the end, is the oracle given to the king by El, in the framework of an extended blessing upon him and his dynastic line in KTU 1.15 ii 16–iii 16. On my reading, this passage was originally an entire column in length, a carefully-constructed and balanced liturgical composition, though much of it is now missing. It is this blessing, the embedded oracle and associated material which is the primary subject of the present discussion. It is given in response to a plea from Baal that El act. Baal addresses him in these terms (KTU 1.15 ii 13–16)8: [ t]bʿ llṭpn [il] ltbrk [krt] tʿ ltmr nʿmn [ ǵlm] il

Come, O Wise One, perceptive [god], bless indeed [Keret] the votary, give a blessing indeed to the gracious one, [heir of] El.

This intercession by Baal, the royal god, protector of the Ugaritian monarchy, moves the supreme deity, El himself, generally regarded as the progenitor of kings, graciously to intervene to bring about the necessary resolution of Keret’s problems of wifelessness and childlessness. Thus Baal takes the initiative, and a hierarchical relationship is established: Keret, Baal and El. The oracle narrative (KTU 1.15 ii 16–iii 16)9 reads as follows: For discussion of other techniques at Ugarit see Xella 1999, del Olmo Lete 1999, 306–16 etc. 7 Nissinen 2003, 1 (cited above). 8 For translation see Wyatt 2002, 207–08. 6

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[ El] took a cup [in] ( his) hand, ks yiḫd [il b] yd krpn bm [ ym]n a goblet in (his) [right] hand; He did indeed bless [ his servant], brkm ybrk [ ʿbdh] El blessed Keret [the votary], ybrk il krt [tʿ] [ he gave a bless]ing to the gracious [one], heir of El: [ ym]rm nʿm[n] ǵlm il att [tq]ḥ ykrt “ Take a wife, O Keret, att tqḥ btk take a wife to your house, bring a sacred bride into your dwelling: [ǵ]lmt tšʿrb ḥẓrk she will bear you seven sons, tld šbʿ bnm lk wtmn tttmnm! and multiply them eightfold for you. tld yṣb ǵlm She will bear Yasibu the heir: ynq ḥlb a[t]rt he will drink the milk of Athiratu; mṣṣ td btlt [ rḥmy] he will drain the breast of Virgin [ Rahmayu:] mšnq [ilht] the suckling of [ goddesses ] ...” (about 15 lines missing)10 “[ ] [ mid rm] krt [ Be greatly exalted,] Keret, [btk rpi] arṣ [among the Saviours of ] the underworld, [in the convocation of] the assembly of Ditanu. [bpḫr] qbṣ dtn [wt]qrb wld bnt lk [She will] come to term and bear you [dau]ghters11: tld pǵt t¯[¯¯]t she will give birth to the girl [ ] tld pǵt t[¯¯¯]r she will give birth to the girl [ ] tld pǵ[t ¯¯¯] she will give birth to the gir[ l ] tld p[ ǵt ¯¯¯] she will give birth to the gi[rl ] tld p[ ǵt ¯¯¯] she will give birth to the gi[rl ] tld p[ ǵt ¯¯¯] she will give birth to the gi[rl ] mid rm [krt] Be greatly exalted, [Keret], btk rpi ar[ ṣ] among the Saviours of the underwo[rld], For translation see Wyatt 2002, 208–12. Though we may only conjecture, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the intervening lacuna contained a list of the further sons to be born, up to the number of seven, matching in number the daughters presumably named (the names are missing) in the sequel. See below. 11 Or perhaps “a daughter”, in which each of seven daughters is listed, this one and six more. Or possibly “seven daughters” ([ b]nt )? On the supposed name of an eighth daughter (thus many, erroneously, e.g. Tropper 2000, 530–31, §74.236.2) see Wyatt 2002, 211–12 n. 155. 9

10

172 bpḫr qbṣ dtn ṣǵrthn abkrn

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE in the convocation of the assembly of Dita[nu]. Their last one I shall treat as the firstborn.”

It is not so much the content of the oracle that concerns us here, as the form in which it is couched, the occasion of its utterance, and its relationship both to the embedding material and to other oracular material from Ugarit. I have dealt with the ideological implications of the text in various recent publications. 12 The entire narrative of Keret is without doubt to be read as an epic composition, 13 and while like much epic it probably has a tenuous link with real historical events, to all intents we should regard it as fiction. Having said that, there is no reason to doubt that there is an essentially historical verisimilitude about its telling, 14 and so it is reasonable to suppose that the formulaic language in which this passage is couched draws on at least the principles, if not the very words, of actual liturgical usage in the real world. The genre is clear enough: this is an annunciation, declaring the forthcoming birth of a royal heir. But since it is formulated within the broader context of a marriage blessing, 15 and this in turn within an enthronement blessing, it anticipates all the births which will result from the present nuptials. Fecundity is a signal demonstration of divine favour, and this marriage will be blessed with twice the ideal number of offspring (twice times seven: fourteen in all).16 So blessed will be the marriage that there will be sufficient For notes on the text as translated see Wyatt 2002, 208–12. See chapter 6. 14 Cf. the sociological and historical realities of the Iliad, preserved over several centuries of transmission. 15 The passage anticipates the subsequent marriage of Keret to Hurriya, and it is of her children that it speaks. 16 S.B. Parker (1989) was the first to note that in this respect it partially anticipates the circumstances and arithmetic of Job : cf. KTU 1.14 i 10–25 and the whole passage under discussion here with Job 1:2 , 1:13–19 and 42:10, 13 (reading šibʿānâ as “fourteen”: HALOT iv 1401 suggestion §b). The view that it is a multiplicity of wives, not children, that is alluded to in the opening lines of Keret (thus Tropper 2000, 346–48 [ §§62.132a, 62.142a, 62.152a, 62.162a, 62.172a], 370 [ §63.32], 5 70 [ §74.424]) would tend to destroy this parallel. But as I have argued, ( Wyatt 2002 , 181, n. 19) the argument is finely balanced. I suspect that I am now (2006) edging towards the position of Tropper and Pardee, but the present passage under discussion still presents something of a problem for the view, with its emphasis on the children, perhaps twice an original number. 12 13

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to give the very youngest an equal measure of blessing (= wealth) with the firstborn,17 and by implication, a similar measure will be accorded to all the intervening children. In short, in keeping with the epic style, we have here, perhaps in somewhat hyperbolic terms, the very paradigm of royal felicity, with its attendant benefits for the entire nation. The theoretical structure of the whole oracle may be represented more clearly by setting the two parts (sons and daughters respectively) in parallel, thus (column two here following column one):

There is no warrant for reading into the final line a reversal of the blessing: the last instead of the first, as though the first (sc. Yasibu) is to be disinherited or displaced. The fact that this is the outcome will also reverse the blessing on the youngest. See Wyatt 2002 , 212 n. 157.

17

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THE LIBATION RITE [ El] took a cup [in] (his) hand, a goblet in (his) [right] hand; He did indeed bless [ his servant], El blessed Keret [the votary], [ he gave a bless]ing to the gracious [one], heir of El:

INSTRUCTION TO MARRY

“ Take a wife, O Keret, take a wife to your house, bring a sacred bride into your dwelling:

ORACLE : SONS TO BE BORN I

she will bear you seven sons, and multiply them eightfold for you. She will bear Yasibu the heir:

ORACLE : DAUGHTERS TO BE BORN I

[She will] come to term and bear you [dau]ghters:

(BLESSING OF THE ELDEST

he will drink the milk of Athiratu; he will drain the breast of Virgin [ Rahmay:] the suckling of [ goddesses ] [further material on Yasibu ? see n. 13])

ORACLE : SONS TO BE BORN II

ORACLE : DAUGHTERS TO BE BORN II

BLESSING ( EXALTATION) OF KERET

BLESSING ( EXALTATION) OF KERET

[ Be greatly exalted,] Keret, [among the Saviours of ] the underworld, [in the convocation of ] the assembly of Ditanu.

Be greatly exalted, [Keret], among the Saviours of the underwo[rld], in the convocation of the assembly of Dita[nu]. BLESSING OF THE YOUNGEST Their last one I shall treat as the firstborn.”

[she will give birth to the boy Ilḥu 18] [she will give birth to the boy ... ] [she will give birth to the boy ... ] [she will give birth to the boy ... ] [she will give birth to the boy ... ] [she will give birth to the boy ... ]

she will give birth to the girl [ she will give birth to the girl [ she will give birth to the gir[ l she will give birth to the gi[rl she will give birth to the gi[rl she will give birth to the gi[rl

18 We may surmise that this is the name of the second son; or perhaps it is the seventh? The name occurs at KTU 1.16 i 46, 58, ii 33 and is probably to be restored in the missing section at the end of 1.15 vi (it is presumably Ilḥu who is speaking in 1.16 i 2–11, 14–23, and is addressed in 1.16 i 25–45) as well as in 1.16 ii 17, 21.

] ] ] ] ] ]

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This is so nicely balanced in broad formal terms, despite there remaining many questions about the exact content of the section listing the sons (some fifteen lines may be missing overall 19) that we may legitimately ask whether we have here a liturgical passage in the form of an antiphony, each part carefully balancing the essential elements in the other part in an oral expression, even though they are sequential. 20 The chiastic arrangement emphasizes this quality.21 The form strongly reinforces the content of the message, and the final blessing on the youngest daughter, 22 which is to prove so ironic in the story of Keret, is emphasized by its isolation, having no counterbalancing part in the first half of the blessing. On the other hand, it does rather nicely balance the initial blessing of Yasibu, the heir, who is to be suckled by goddesses, in addition to offering a complement concerning the girl as striking as the language used of the son. The formal architecture of this passage indicates the culmination of a complex redactional process, whereby what may have originated as a fairly simple oracle, albeit already of a common type,23 foretelling the birth of a child, has been progressively elaborated, with the initial divine blessing formula (a different genre), the instruction to marry (yet another genre), the oracle concerning offspring, elaborated into multiplication of offspring, the If we suppose that there was more to the language concerning Yasibu, say nine lines, allowing six further ones for the listing of the further sons (as with the daughters), then the gap may be adequately accounted for. This remains speculative, of course. 20 Cf. the same nicely balanced antiphonal structure in Deuteronomy 28:1–14 and 15–35 (the latter section subsequently greatly expanded in the light of exilic experience, vv. 36–68). 21 Cf. the chiastic analysis proposed in Wyatt 2005c, 721, and slightly modified here: 1 1.15 ii 16–20 Introductory formulaic account of blessing rite; 2 1.15 ii 21–4 Promise of offspring; a 3 1.15 ii 25–8 Yasibu (eldest) will be a suckling of goddesses; b [4 1.15 ii ¯¯¯ lacuna of ca 15 lines, probably list of seven sons; c] 5 1.15 iii 2–4 promise of membership of the rpum ; d 6 1.15 iii 5–12 list of seven daughters; c1 7 1.15 iii 13–5 promise of membership of the rpum ; d1 8 1.15 iii 16 the youngest daughter will be as blessed as the first; b1 9 1.15 iii 17–9 the gods bless Keret and depart. a1 19

The concept of an eighth daughter, conveniently named “Octavia” (ttmnt ), is a figment of modern eisegesis: see Wyatt 2002, 211–12 n. 155. 23 Numerous Ugaritic and biblical examples exist of the type: see below. 22

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balance between male and female children, and its embedding within (preexisting?) promises of divine benevolence and blessing, to say nothing of the strong ideological bias because it is royal in application, has reached its present final stage. This is the use of stereotypical language within the context of an epic poem, with its own distinctive bias and function within the royal ideology of Ugarit.24 I am not asserting this as a means of implying a long prehistory of the text. For all we know, the ratiocination may have gone on in the head of Ilimilku. Its complexity suggests, however, that he took some time to achieve the final text of his composition, much of which may well have been based on traditional material. As Jackson and Dressler demonstrated, 25 the passage concerning the cup of blessing in ll. 16–20 recurs in Aqhat (KTU 1.17 i 34–36), where its presence was hitherto unrecognized because of haplography. The fact that it occurs twice establishes its formulaic nature. 26 In the case of its incidence in Aqhat, the wedding context is not assumed, since Danil and Dantiy are already married. Perhaps it is fair to say that the literary force of the formula in that context is precisely the huge efficacy of a royal marriage blessing as a means of solving a gynaecological problem. (Men are never blamed for infertility in ancient literature!) Indeed, since the situation in Aqhat is a special case, while in Keret it is paradigmatic, or universal, we may ask whether the original Sitz im Leben was, as in the latter, in a nuptial context.

On Keret as an Ugaritian epic see chapter 6 above. Jackson and Dressler 1975. See also Wyatt 2002, 260 n. 42 , for summary of their argument. 26 It reads remarkably like the words of eucharistic institution: “On the night that he was betrayed . . . ” The essential identity of the two passages in Keret and Aqhat is clear from the following synopsis (see Wyatt 2002, 208 and n. 143 and 260 and n. 42―following Jackson and Dressler―for further discussion): KTU 1.15 ii 16–20 KTU 1.17 i 34––36 ks.yiḫd [il.b] yd [ks] yiḫd.il ʿbdh ybrk [il.dni]l.mt.rpi ybrk.il.krt [ tʿ ] ymr.ǵzr [mt h]rnmy [ym]rm.nʿm[n.]ǵlm.il 24 25

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The blessing formula itself in Keret now lies as a framework around the oracle concerning offspring, however, in a fairly obvious way. This can be seen by the excision of the oracle. We then have this sequence: [ El] took a cup [in] (his) hand, a goblet in (his) [right] hand; He did indeed bless [ his servant], El blessed Keret [the votary], [ he gave a bless]ing to the gracious [one], heir of El: ... Be greatly exalted, Keret, among the Saviours of the underworld, in the convocation of the assembly of Ditanu.

We thus find, rather surprisingly, that the oracle is in all probability secondary to the blessing, or rather that in the composition of Keret, Ilimilku has taken a stereotyped blessing formula, perhaps from the enthronement liturgy, and used it to frame the oracular element (which may have originated in another liturgy, presumably one of birth―or rather conception―announcement). The same author (it could only convincingly be the same author) has then used the same formula in the composition of Aqhat, though the latter part, concerning the Rapiuma, was not included, since an alternative formulation was used (KTU 1.17 i 36–38): El took [a cup] < in (his) hand: a goblet in (his) right hand; he did indeed bless > his servant, [El] blessed [Dane]l, the man of healing, he gave a blessing to the hero, [the devotee of H ]rnm: “By my life! Danil, [the man of heal]ing, shall live! by my vitality the hero, the devotee of Hrnm ! [May] it [go] well with him!

It is noteworthy that in Keret the tricolon Be greatly exalted, Keret, among the Saviours of the underworld, in the convocation of the assembly of Ditanu.

now follows each list of children (male and female respectively―this is seen particularly clearly in the synoptic arrangement) and as it were sums up the burden of each birth-list: such fecundity is a portent of Keret’s inclusion among the agents of royal fertility. They themselves will honour him for his prowess. Thus the editorial process causes the fundamental blessing, the

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king’s exaltation among the Rapiuma (whose Sitz im Leben was the enthronement), to be modified into one concerning offspring. The literary form used in this reiterated formula, with its peculiar emphasis, invites some further consideration on the role of the Rapiuma. 27 It is striking that Keret appears to be envisaged as being among their number. While the time-scale involved here is indeterminate, it is even possible that he is to be numbered among them while still alive, apparently an unparalleled honour, since they are dead kings28. However, if my analysis of the development of the passage is cogent, this formed part of the original blessing formula into which the oracular material has subsequently been inserted, and may in fact have constituted a formal blessing of the kings of Ugarit in some such context as their enthronement, as it were proleptically marking the solidarity between deceased kings and their present successor, but with no element of hyperbole. The Rapiuma are agents in the elevation of the king to his new status. Text KTU 1.108 invokes the god rpu mlk ʿlm, which I have translated as “Rapiu, King of eternity”,29 or more recently, as proposed by H. Niehr,30 as “Rapiu, King of the Hereafter”. This modified version follows the insights of Niehr and del Olmo Lete concerning the specifically royal function of this deity. Rapiu is a Rhadamanthine figure, 31 lord of the underworld, and patron of the dead kings who have joined his company there, where they continue to be involved in the affairs of the living through kispum rites and royal funerals (e.g. KTU 1.113, where only non-rpum kings are named, and 1.161). It would be entirely appropriate for a king’s ideological link with them to be emphasized at his enthronement.

27 For previous recent discussion see Rouillard 1995; id. 2005; and Wyatt forthcoming. One point to bear in mind is that though the Vorlage of Keret may well originate in eastern Syria (at Khabur on the Balik), the ideology contained in this formula belongs firmly within Ugaritian usage (cf. KTU 1.108, 1.161). This is not to deny the possibility that the ideology may have also been current in Khabur. Ditanu after all indicates an Assyrian aspect to the tradition. For the Rapiuma as possibly linked through their eponym to the later Greek Titans, see discussion in Wyatt forthcoming. 28 Pace L’Heureux 1979. See discussion in Wyatt forthcoming. 29 Wyatt 2002, 395. 30 See Wyatt forthcoming, n. 16. 31 Cf. the mysterious “ Radaman” (rdmn) of KTU 1.3 i 2, Baal’s cup-bearer. See Wyatt 2002, 70 n. 1.

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The element mlk in Rapiu’s mode of address is more than just titular; it invites us to see him as an alter ego to the deity Milku or Maliku (mlk) appearing in the pantheon-lists, KTU 1.47.33 = 1.118.32 = RS 20.24.32. In the Ugaritic versions he appears in a plural form, as mlkm (malikūma?), while in the Akkadian version the form is d ma.lik.meš, confirming the plural reading. In KTU 1.161.11, 12, the deceased Ammithtamru and Niqmaddu (sc. II ) are both designated mlk, which led del Olmo Lete to see a theological content in the term.32 The reference to Milku (Maliku) of Athtarat in 1.107.42 is undoubtedly to the same god, since this city was linked with Rapiu in 1.108.2–3, where it is paired with Edrei, giving us the cities also associated with Og, the “survivor of the Rephaim” in biblical tradition.33 Rapiu appears to have been the eponym of a collectivity of gods who were former kings, perhaps to be distinguished from the mlkm as long dead, 34 or perhaps as elite members of that category. Their invocation in KTU 1.161, where they are summoned into the threshold of the tomb to greet Niqmaddu III–IV as his corpse is lowered into the tomb, 35 shows the solidarity in the royal cult between kingship past and present, with implications for the future. Keret receives a divine commitment to include him in their number. Let us now consider the mechanics of the procedures, particularly with reference to the oracular element. In the fictional context, El is presented as directly addressed himself, and as directly addressing Keret in the granting of this powerful blessing. This describes an ideal situation. That is, it is a simplification of the real process, by means of a paradigmatic presentation. It may be compared with the following biblical sequence from 2 Samuel 2:1–2: Now after this David enquired of Yahweh, “shall I go up to one of the cities of Judah?” And Yahweh replied, “Go on up.” Then David said, “to which one shall I go up?” And he replied, “To Hebron”.

This appears superficially to be a straightforward conversation between David and Yahweh. In reality, of course, it is stylistic shorthand for

See del Olmo Lete 1999, 194 n. 82, with my remarks, Wyatt 2002, 435 n. 23. See discussion in Wyatt forthcoming. 34 Note that the Rapiuma do not appear in the king-list of KTU 1.113. 35 Cf. the ironical use of the motif in Isaiah 14:9, discussed in Wyatt forthcoming. 32 33

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an account of an oracular technique such as the Urim and Tummim,36 framing questions to elicit a “yes” or “no” response, which we see more directly represented in this sequence: Then Saul said to all Israel, “Stand on one side, and I and my son Jonathan will stand on the other side.”! And all the people replied, “Do as you think fit.” Then Saul said to Yahweh, “God of Israel, why did you not answer your servant today? If the fault is with me or my son Jonathan, give Urim; if the fault is with your people Israel, give Tummim.” Jonathan and Saul were identified, and the people were free. Then Saul said, “ Let the lot be cast between me and Jonathan my son.” And Jonathan was identified. (1 Samuel 14:40–42, LXX).

On the analogy of this material and its literary presentation, the appearance of a direct communication in Keret may simply point to a more complex technique, as in the biblical examples here adduced. We cannot be certain of the ritual process underlying the sequence from Keret. We can only compare it with other annunciation and blessing accounts, which may offer some clues. The following annunciations all conform to a common pattern: KTU 1.12.14–30 (annunciation), 1.13.22–29 (blessing), 1.17 i 34– 47 ++ (Aqhat: annunciation and blessing), 1.24.7 ? 37 (Nikkal’s pregnancy); Genesis 16:10–12 (Ishmael: annunciation and blessing 38), Genesis 17:1–19 (Isaac), Judges 13:2–20 (Samson), 1 Samuel 1:12–18 (Samuel), Psalm 19:2– 7 = EVV 1–6 (mythic account of the king’s birth 39); Isaiah 14:7 (Abijah’s pregnancy with Hezekiah40) and even Luke 1:26–38 (the annunciation to Mary). In varying measures, they appear to reflect liturgical conventions in such matters. In each case, the fiction has it that the deity speaks directly or through a messenger (mlak, mālʾāk, “angel”) to the subject. The Sitz im Leben of such narratives, typically royal in origin (the divine examples merely typify the ideological basis of the material), is the demand for royal heirs and oracles designed to affirm good news.

36 On this procedure see the interesting explanation of Robertson 1964. Van Dam 1997 is more cautious, but less interesting. 37 On the tense problem see Wyatt 2002, 337 n. 10. Whether past or future in force, the line bears a remarkable similarity to Genesis 16:11 and Isaiah 7:14. On the issue see Wyatt 1994, 146–47 = 2005b, 81; id., 1994a, 419 n. 80 = 2005b, 101 n. 80. 38 See Wyatt 1994 = 2005b, 77–84. 39 Wyatt 1995 = 2005b, 103–31. 40 Wyatt 1985a, 45 = 2005b, 8.

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But the question remains, how were such divine messages received in the first place? 41 We have noted how a seemingly normal conversational presentation may be an implicit allusion to a ritual technique, as with the Urim and Tummim. Can we pinpoint an Ugaritian or more widely attested convention specific to oracular usage? For one of the interesting implications of our discussion about this literary, fictitious oracle, is that familiarity with its genre implies the existence of oracular procedures, that is prophecy, in Ugarit, even though other direct evidence for it has not so far been identified. Its presence in Mari and Assyria and elsewhere should have led us to expect it, in any event. Only against the background of familiarity with the phenomenon could Keret have made sense to its hearers. The material to which we now turn corroborates this intuition, by providing further circumstantial evidence for the existence of prophecy in Ugarit.

III AN ORACULAR FORMULA IN BAAL AND ITS IMPLICATIONS FOR UGARITIAN AND BIBLICAL THOUGHT An important formulaic sequence, having perhaps a significant bearing on the question of oracles and the means of their transmission, recurs a number of times in Baal, though not in our present context, Keret. It is however of some interest for the present discussion. The passage appears thus: dm rgm it ly wargmk hwt watnyk rgm ʿṣ wlḫšt abn rgm ltdʿ nšm wltbn hmlt arṣ tant šmm ʿm arṣ thmt.ʿmn kbkbm abn brq dltdʿ šmm atm wank ibǵy btk ǵry.il.ṣpn bqdš bǵr nḥlty

For I have a word that I would say to you, a message that I would repeat to you: a word of tree and a whisper of stone, a word unknown to men, and which multitudes of the earth do not understand: the coupling of the heavens with the earth, of the deeps with the stars. I understand the lightning which the heavens do not know: come, and I shall reveal it in the midst of my divine mountain Saphon, in the sanctuary, in the rock of my inheritance.

It occurs in these passages: KTU 1.1 ii 1–3, fragmentary, [1.1 ii 22– end?], 1.1 iii 10–16, and 1.3 iii 19–31, all with lacunae, from which the com41

See Launderville 2003, 193–239. He offers no evidence from Ugarit.

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plete version above is reconstructed.42 In these contexts, it belongs with two ritual programmes I have characterized as “the burial ritual” and “the spear ritual”. The present sequence I have called “the cosmic secret”. In my earlier study, I proposed that at least in conceptual terms it underlay the language of Psalm 19:3–5.43 The context of both the Ugaritic and biblical passages here noted is the practice of royal ideology. This is the best overall explanation of the context of the Baal narratives,44 and I have argued that Psalm 19 deals with a coronation, and in the earlier part narrates the king’s mythic birth.45 The ideological circumstances are thus precisely those of the broader context of this discussion. Of considerable interest in this passage is the bicolon introducing the strophe on the “cosmic secret”: a word of tree (ʿṣ ) and a whisper of stone (abn)...

I think, for reasons that I shall enlarge on, that we should maintain this translation, in spite of the fact that there are numerous biblical echoes such as Exodus 19:4, Leviticus 19:4, 26:1, Deuteronomy 4:15–19, 28*, 5:8, 15, 28:36*, 64*, 29:16* (EVV 17*), Isaiah 44:9–20, 46:1–7, Jeremiah 2:27*, 3:9*, Ezekiel 20:32*,46 which evoke what the Bible and its interpreters consider to be the worst excesses of “idolatry” in its maximal sense, the use of any visual form to represent the divine. (And yet how material is the verbal imagery 42 For a previous treatment in the broader context of message formulations addressed by one deity to another, see Wyatt 1995, 575–79 = 2005b, 116–19. 43

ʾên ʾōmer There is no speech weʾên debārîm and there are no words: belî nišmāʿ qôlām quite unheard is their voice. bekol-hāʾāreṣ yāṣāʾ †qawwām (But) from the whole earth goes forth their voice ûbiqeṣê tēbēl millêhem and from the ends of the world their utterance. † MT; or emend to *qôlām On the integrity of this passage, without the necessity of excising v. 4 as a later interpolation, see Wyatt 1995, 567 n. 13 = 2005b, 110 n. 13, and on the reading qawwām/*qôlām, 1995, 571 = 2005b, 112–13. 44 See M.S. Smith 1994, 104–10; Wyatt 1998, 1999 and 2000. 45 See Wyatt 1995 = 2005b, 103–31. 46 Asterisked references contain the specific formula ʿēṣ w eʾeben (ʾ elōhîm maʿaśēh y edê ʾādām ʿēṣ w eʾeben, Deuteronomy 4:28; ʾ elōhîm ʾ aḥērîm ʿēṣ w eʾeben, Deuteronomy 28:36, 64; gillulîm ʿēṣ w eʾeben, Deuteronomy 29:16).

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of the Hebrew Bible, just as it is in the present passage!) Two of the chief iconic forms used in Israelite religion, to judge from the reiterated attacks on them, the ʾašērāh and the maṣṣēbāh, were precisely in the media of wood (ʿēṣ) and stone (ʾeben) respectively. Should we not replace “tree” by “wood” in the Ugaritic bicolon, and frankly recognize its explicitly material nature? I think not. For while the biblical iconoclasm makes for splendid rhetoric, it is often at the expense of a fair representation of the object of its ire.47 Hosea 4:12 reads: ʿammî beʿēṣô yišʾāl ûmaqlô yaggîd lô

My people enquires of its tree and its rod instructs it

a passage commonly taken to be a graphic example of deliberate distortion of the reality for polemical purposes, as in J.R. Porter’s version (1981, 203):48 My people enquire from a block of wood, and their rod gives them oracles.. .

Though it is not obligatory to read the text of Hosea in this way, it is probably a fair inference, given his polemical style. The Ugaritic text must be seen strictly in its own context, and though there is indeed an element of materialism in the choice of figure, we should recognize in this an irreducible element in all attempts at religious experience and communication. How else can the human mind (sc. the brain in functional mode) perceive 49 the transcendent and the abstract except through the concrete and the tangible? The very foundation of all symbolic expression is physical experience: sight, smell, sound, taste and touch. The language of this Ugaritic passage takes us to the very core of religious expression. The language of the text in Baal is allusive, and not perhaps to be easily pinned down. The first part, “a word of tree”, may indeed relate to the use A useful study of the matter, LaRocca-Pitts 2001, put the issue nicely in a nutshell by its title: Of Wood and Stone . . . 48 J.R. Porter cited Mays 1969, 73. Cf. JPS (on a different syntax): It consults its sticks, its rod directs it! 49 I use the term advisedly. It is the language of theology, and of religious experience. From a behavioural and cultural perspective, we should say “construct”. I am happy with either term. 47

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of trees, sc. their material, in the construction of icons and other religious objects. But another intriguing possibility arises if we see the allusion as relating to a number of specific biblical oracular traditions. Because it is probably the living tree, or the tree as medium of hierophany, and similarly, the stone as “living rock”, as in a sacred mountain or stela, and not merely the material substance, which is the occasion of oracular revelation. The chief characteristic will have been the numinous quality of the location. We may well ask whether the biblical formula understanding it to be a question of “wood... and stone” was not ultimately derived from the formula as attested in Ugarit (i.e., not necessarily directly from Ugarit), so that its original force would be not so much the materiality of the items, as their oracular function. 50 The entire iconoclastic tradition may have originated initially as a rejection of rival oracles. Let us note the rich tradition of oracular trees in particular in the Old Testament. In Genesis 12:6 we read that Abram, newly arrived in the Levant after his prolonged migration from Ur and Haran, came to Shechem: wayyaʿ abōr ʾabrām bāʾāreṣ ʿad meqôm š ekem ʿad ʾēlôn môreh... Then Abram travelled through the country to the shrine51 of Shechem, to the “ Teacher’s Oak”52.

This “sacred” tree (for it evidently had a specifically religious nature) is mentioned a number of times in biblical tradition. In Deuteronomy 11:30 it is mentioned almost gratuitously as a significant focal point in the Israelites’ migration; in Genesis 35:2–4, part of a narrative which contextualizes the pre-Israelite tradition of Genesis 34,53 a significant ritual break with the past is sealed with the burial of various divine images (kol-ʾ elōhê hannēkār, “all the foreign gods”54) under the tree. This perhaps explains the earlier “gratuitous” reference, for the location functions as the interface between old and Mobley 2005, 93–101, offered a perceptive analysis of the p esîlîm of the story of Ehud, Judges 3:15–30. 51 It is likely that māqôm has its specialized sense of a religious sanctuary here, as in Genesis 28 (see Wyatt 1990d). 52 “(T)he Hill of [Oracular] Seeing”: Mobley 2005, 138. 53 See Wyatt 1990. 54 And rather oddly, their earrings. Presumably these had religious significance, or were of gold, and thus formed part of a sacred depositional hoard. Cf. Exodus 32 :2–4 and Judges 8:24 (the relationship of these passages was observed by Mobley 2005, 119, though he did not note the Genesis reference). 50

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new dispensations. The tree features yet again in Joshua 24:26–32, where it is, perhaps with great significance, the place at which Joshua sets up a great stone (ʾeben g edôlāh: the term maṣṣēbāh is studiously avoided) under (taḥat 55) the tree as a ritual accompaniment to the writing of the Law (mišpāṭ). Finally, though the text is not explicit, we may suppose that it was the location of the burial of Joseph’s bones (v. 32). Now what precisely was the “oak (or: terebinth) of Moreh”? The latter term means “teacher”. Was this an oracular tree? Did a seer sit underneath it to receive and dispense divine guidance? What were the mechanics of the process? Hebron was also the location of a group of famous sacred trees, appearing in a number of narratives. In Genesis 13:18 Abram settles at the oaks (plural) at Mamre, “which are at Hebron”; 56 in 14:13 he is living at the oaks “of Mamre the Amorite” (the toponym having become a gentilic), while 18:1–15, the episode of the annunciation to Sarah, locates events at “the oaks of Mamre”, with no comment on its gentilic or toponymic significance. Beersheba was the site of a tamarisk tree planted by Abraham (clearly an aetiology) in Genesis 21:33, where he invoked Yahweh El Olam. He built an altar there following a theophany in 26:23–25, and Jacob (“Israel”) sacrificed there in 46:1. The tree is not mentioned in the latter two passages, but perhaps the three belong together in terms of the presuppositions of the tradition: tree and altar belonged together as elsewhere. Yet another tree, known as “the Oak of Weeping”, features at Genesis 35:8, as the site of the burial of Rachel’s nurse Deborah, near Bethel. This tree featured too at 1 Kings 13:14.57 Since this Deborah was an entirely insignificant character in the tradition, we may well ask whether this tree is really to be identified with the following example from outside the Genesis narrative. Or perhaps it was originally Rebekah who was interred here. The present aetiology is opaque.58

JPS: “at the foot of ”. See the remarks of Haran 1985, 57 n. 17. 57 Discussed briefly at Oesterley and Robinson 1937, 30–31. 58 Oesterley and Robinson 1937, 28, suggested that the tree was the location for “weeping for Tammuz” rites. Note how the listing of the trees amounts to a gazetteer of sacred sites in Palestine with known or alleged patriarchal or other heroic links. 55 56

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Another tradition ( Judges 4:5) is told of another Deborah, numbered among the judges of Israel: w ehîʾ yôšebet taḥat-tōmer d ebôrāh bên hārāmāh ûbên bêt-ʾēl b ehar ʾeprāʾîm wayyaʿ alû ʾēlêhā b enê yisrāʾēl lammišpāṭ Now she sat beneath “Deborah’s Palm”, between Ramah and Bethel in the highlands of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her for justice.

This is presumably to be identified with the tree near Bethel, even though now two names are used. Yet another tradition, in Judges 6, concerns Gideon. An angel came and sat under an oak tree at Ophrah (v. 11), appearing to Gideon in a theophany (v. 12), and delivering a message. Gideon subsequently offered food to the angel under the tree (vv. 19–21) and erected an altar (v. 24, though not explicitly in relation to the tree59). A further example occurs in 1 Kings 19:4–8, where the fleeing Elijah rested under a broom tree and was ministered to by an angel, suggesting that the tradition understood it to involve a theophany. Finally, perhaps one of the most important instances from the point of view of Israelite (> Jewish) religious history was the narrative of the burning bush at which Moses encountered God in Exodus 3, and where Yahweh spoke from the middle of the plant, which I have argued was consciously modelled on and intended to represent the temple Menorah. 60 Deuteronomy 33:16 alludes to this tradition in the expression ûr eṣôn śōkenê s enê, “... and the favour of the one dwelling in the bush” (sc. Yahweh), indicating that the deity was understood to reside in some fashion within the tree. The same questions arise concerning the function of all these trees. They evidently had a religious significance, and there is no sense of a conscious tension between their mention and the iconoclastic language we have noted. But the presence of the latter in the tradition highlights their authentic nature as witnesses to the same kind of religiosity as we have found in Ugaritian tradition. It therefore seems entirely reasonable to interpret the two bodies of evidence, biblical and Ugaritic, as examples of the same broad phenomenon. With the exception of the burning bush, they are all Cf. Beersheba above. The narrative is an exilic composition, but has become the paradigm of revelation for the whole editorial tradition of the Hebrew Bible. See Wyatt 1979 = 2005a, 6–12; id., 1986 = 2005a, 13–17; id., 1999 = 2005b, 191–220. 59 60

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associated with sacred sites, presumably sanctuaries. The burning bush is a special case, intended to evoke the sacrality of Jerusalem, and apply it to the end-of-the-world, liminal place of exile. It is in any case a purely literary construct. The “Teacher’s Tree” at Shechem61 and “Deborah’s Palm” (aka “the Oak of Weeping”?) seem to offer most for an understanding of the function of the tree, while the latter, Moses’ bush and the Gideon narrative explicitly link the tree with a divine communication, 62 and perhaps assist our understanding of its significance in the Ugaritic formula. Early anthropological studies saw sacred trees (and especially oaks, which feature in most instances here)63 as a routine locus of supernatural revelation.64 Oesterley and Robinson offered some interesting observations in line with views of the time concerning sacred trees mentioned in the Bible.65 In a survey of Arab practice ancient and modern, they cited Doughty, who observed of tree-cults among the Bedouin: Sometimes the tree is believed to speak with an inarticulate voice, as the gharcad did in a dream to Moslim; but except in a dream it is obvious

Oesterley and Robinson 1937, 26–27, observed that one cannot fail to recognize a connexion between the mention of a specific, and obviously well-known, tree and the divine appearance there. The tree was regarded as sacred. Abraham halts at it because he expects a divine manifestation there... The same must be postulated of the terebinth of Mamre... In the case of the tamarisk tree in Beersheba which Abraham is said to have planted (Gen. xxi. 33) one might well ask, What is the point of his doing so? But this is in all probability a later tradition to explain the presence of an ancient tree sanctuary. The verse must be read in connexion with Gen. xxvi. 23–35, which describes a theophany in the same place, but where the tree is not mentioned (cp. Gen. xlvi. 1). 62 In the case of Deborah, the tree is the locus of a legal procedure. But it is hard to imagine this not involving a theological dimension. 63 Of course the species of oak or terebinth (ʾēlāh, ʾēlôn, ʾallôn), primarily evergreen varieties, mentioned in the Hebrew texts are not the same as that or those featuring in European cultic tradition (in England and northern Europe, the deciduous Quercus robur). 64 Robertson Smith 1927, 191–97 etc. 65 Oesterley and Robertson 1937, 23–32, with references to earlier studies. See also J.R. Porter 1981. 61

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE that the voice of the tree can only be some rustling sound, as the wind in the branches. 66

They then examined the various biblical passages. They opined that so far as mechanics were concerned, it would be the wind rustling the foliage of the tree which would indicate the presence of the deity. Their parade example was 2 Samuel 5:23–24, to be treated below. They observed that: It is quite clear from this passage that the belief was held that Yahweh entered the trees, His presence being indicated by the rustling. One could not have a more direct indication of animistic belief. 67

There is no need to accept uncritically the old nineteenth century concept of animism espoused here and throughout their discussion by these authors, unless it be updated according to the discussion of Guthrie 1993, in which the underlying principle was the universality of anthropomorphism, and thus the metaphorical experience of the natural world as medium for revelation. But they were probably correct in seeing these surprisingly numerous allusions as evidence of archaic features in Israelite religion, still apparently endorsed by the later tradition, and thus in tension with the aniconic imperative. 68 There is a possible allusion to an oracle-tree in the obscure passage in KTU 1.12 i 19–20: ẓi baln tkm btk mlbr il šiy

go out from the tree in the centre towards the vast and awful desert.69

which would provide a Late Bronze analogue of biblical texts at least intended to be perceived as archaic. This insistence on the sacrality of trees is not so far removed from our broader royal concerns noted above. For the tree was a central symbol of monarchy in the ancient Near East. 70 Not only was the king of Assyria intimately involved in the regular cult of the tree as symbol of his nurture of the community,71 but he was seen as an aspect of it. When Nebuchadrezzar Doughty 1888 ii 209, cited Oesterley and Robertson 1937, 25 n. 4. Oesterley and Robertson 1937, 31; cf. J.R. Porter 1981, 203. 68 Other trees not discussed above are that near Qadesh, the “oak in Za-ʾanannim” ( T N : RSV; “oak of Beza-ʾanannim”, PN: Oesterley and Robertson 1937, 28) mentioned in Joshua 19:33 (cf. Judges 4:11), and the one in “the valley of the terebinth” near Socoh, in 1 Samuel 17:2. 69 Wyatt 2002, 163; see n. 6 ad loc. 70 Wyatt 2001, 166–72. 71 B.N. Porter 2003. 66 67

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of Babylon dreamt of a tree, and Daniel explained, “that tree is yourself, O king”, we undoubtedly have a faithful reflection of Babylonian ideology. 72 While none of the biblical characters noted here were kings, Abra(ha)m was a patriarch,73 while Deborah and Gideon were judges, an office involving political rule as well as magistracy, and were therefore “virtual” monarchs. King Saul, however, sat (or “was enthroned”) under a tamarisk tree at Gibeah (1 Samuel 22:6), while his bones were buried beneath a tamarisk (1 Samuel 31:13) or a terebinth (1 Chronicles 10:12) in Jabesh. And in 2 Samuel 5:23–24 (cf. 1 Chronicles 14:15) King David asked for a message from Yahweh concerning tactics in the Philistine war; it may be that the Urim and Tummin were used, since a negative answer was given, on the yes-no principle, but the answer continued: He (Yahweh) replied, “Do not go up, but encircle them and attack them opposite the bākāʾ (trees). 74 And when you hear the sound of marching in the tops of the bākāʾ (trees), then attack, for at that moment Yahweh will be going in front of you to attack the Philistine camp.”

The sound, presumably of the wind in the trees, was evidently an oracular response, but secondarily indicated as significant before the event by another procedure. By nature the interpretation of the wind would be an esoteric craft known only to ritual specialists. This much is implicit in the Ugaritic formula, which continues, a word unknown to men, and which multitudes of the earth do not understand... ... which the heavens do not know ...

Secrets are revealed in this technique to which even many of the gods are not privy! 75 There is a hierarchical dimension here, which is ultimately to be identified as royal. In nearly all the biblical cases (Shechem, Beersheba, Hebron, Ophrah, Gibeah, Jerusalem [the “real” locus of the burning bush, represented by the Cf. Wyatt 2001, 166–72. Abraham is presented in Genesis in a way very similar to Danil in Aqhat. And while the latter work is a bucolic drama (as well as having epic qualities), Danil is explicitly a king. See Wyatt 1999a, 249–51, contra Margalit. 74 RSV “balsam”. HALOT i 129, perhaps “mastic-terebinth”. 75 Cf. KTU 1.3 i (14–15) and discussion in Wyatt 2002, 71 nn. 6, 7. 72 73

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menorah]), the intimate link between tree and altar or other feature of a cult centre in the tradition shows that these arboreal oracles were controlled and maintained by the cultic personnel at the sanctuary in question. It would be natural for a central political authority to want to control such powerful manifestations of divine self-disclosure, for the benefit of the whole community, but above all in the interests of the king. It is no accident that in the Ugaritic material which we have considered, royal interests were always paramount.76 The final tricolon cited above in the oracular formula from Baal, come, and I shall reveal it in the midst of my divine mountain Saphon, in the sanctuary, in the rock of my inheritance

occurs only in the last example of the citation, in KTU 1.3 iii 19–31, in which it is Baal who addresses Anat. It is plausible, given the strict lien between the giving of an oracle and the appropriate (sacred) place at which it is revealed, to conclude that this is integral to the whole formula (so that it is formulaically adapted to the other contexts). If we concede this point, further implications follow. Firstly, its association with an inheritance suggests that it is concerned with the transmission of property rights. This is a particular feature of royal usage, whence its use in Baal, a royal ideological composition, 77 and political 76 The question is certainly worth asking, though this is not the place to answer it, as to whether the cult of the asherah in Israel and Judah was primarily a means by which royal oracles were delivered. This would have brought together a number of factors, and also explain a number of outstanding problems. We have drawn attention here to the frequency with which tree oracles occur in the biblical texts, and to the explicitly or implicitly royal nature of such occurrences. The asherah as a cult-object, generally accepted a stylized, worked, or surrogate tree, is associated historically with royal traditions (that is narratives specifically concerning royal cultic policy, and is probably inseparable from the fortunes of the goddess Asherah as a royal goddess in both kingdoms (and with the status of the Gebirah as her avatar). With the demise of the monarchy at the exile, the cult of Asherah seems to have disappeared, and at the same time any oracular function it had would also have ceased. The disappearance of the occasion for royal oracles (it is noteworthy how much post-exilic prophecy was concerned with expectations of a restoration under Zerubbabel) also accounts in part for the apparent decline in prophecy in general. There must have been an extensive change in the functions of cult personnel in the light of the new circumstances of Persian hegemony. 77 Wyatt 2000 = 2005b, 221–30 and references cited.

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usage in Israelite tradition, 78 concerned with national claims to territory (of most significance in the context of an Ugaritic Vorlage are Deuteronomy 32:9 and associated texts). And the patriarchal narratives (e.g. Genesis 12:7, 13:14–18 etc.) provide territorial markers, as it were. Secondly, the thrust of the usage in Baal concerns the ideological significance of Mount Saphon in Ugaritian cosmology, and undoubtedly its implicit identification with the seat of royal power in the palace complex of the city. This theme was taken up in particular in Psalm 48:3 with its treatment of the sacred mountain in Jerusalem. 79 We are still left with the procedural question not finally answered. For I am not claiming that the “tree and stone” formulation was necessarily the channel for the communications underlying the language we have analysed in Keret and Aqhat. It is a possibility. Another possibility, given the involvement of the Rapiuma in the ritual life of the king, is that some necromantic involvement of Ugarit’s dead kings was also a channel for oracular expression. But again, the witness is silent, beyond some liturgical hints as in KTU 1.20–22, 1.108 and 1.161. Other possibilities (discussed in del Olmo Lete 1999―see index) have been noted above. A third line of approach would be to insist on the presentation of the narratives themselves, to the effect that a spontaneous, unprovoked theophany issued in gratuitous promises from the chief god El to his son the king. But again, it is reasonable to respond to this by seeing it as a further shorthand presentation of more complex, manipulative, ritual procedures. When already set within established liturgical traditions, as identified above, we are already at some remove from the original circumstances of any prototypes. What we have seen in Keret and Baal is literary evidence of a phenomenon not hitherto recognized in Ugaritian culture. The following observation of Nissinen (2004, 25) is perhaps relevant here: a definition of prophecy should not a priori exclude the literary products that emerged from the scribal interpretations of prophetic words.

HALOT ii 687–88 (with bibliographical references) identifies 222 examples in the OT, of which 46 are in Numbers and 50 in Joshua : even allowing for their genre, these are striking statistics. 79 On the relation of Zion to Saphon and Memphis in Psalm 48:3 see Wyatt 1996, 31–33. This seems to be a conscious appropriation of the omphalic claims of these other worldcentres. 78

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WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE Rather, these should be considered secondary prolongation of the prophetic communication process.

He went on (id., 27) to draw attention to evidence from Wenamun, with reference to eleventh century prophecy in Byblos, to the inscription of Zakkur of Hamath (Syria, ca 800 BCE), to the Balaam inscriptions at Deir Alla (ca 700 BCE), to the contemporary Ammonite citadel oracle and an allusion in P. Amhurst 63, an Aramaic text, as evidence over a considerable period for West Semitic forms of prophecy.80 Ugarit was thus in no way an isolated case, but now provides one more piece of the mosaic that scholars are slowly reconstructing.

80

References in Nissinen 2004, 27 nn. 41–46. Texts cited in Nissinen (ed.) 2003.

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forthcoming a The Archaeology of Myth. Papers on Old Testament Tradition (London: Equinox 2008). Wyatt, N., W.G.E. Watson and J.B. Lloyd (eds) 1996 Ugarit, Religion and Culture. Proceedings of the International Colloquium on Ugarit, Religion and Culture Edinburgh July 1994. Essays in Honour of Professor J. C. L. Gibson (UBL 12, Münster: Ugarit-Verlag). Xella, P. 1972 Per una riconsiderazione della morfologia del dio Horon, AION 32:271–86. 1973 Il mito di ŠḤR e ŠLM. Saggio sulla mitologia ugaritica (SS 44, Rome: Centro di Studi Semitici). 1977 Studi sulla religione della Siria antica. I El e il vino (RS 24.258), SSR 1:229–61. 1978 Un testo ugaritico recente (RS 24.266, Verso, 9–19) e il ‘sacrificio dei primi nati’, RSF 6:127–36. 1981 I Testi Rituali di Ugarit (SS 24, Rome: Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente). 1982 Gli Antenati di Dio (Verona: Essedue). 1988 D’Ugarit à la Phénicie: sur les traces de Rashap, Horon, Eshmun, WO 19:45–64. 1996 Les pouvoirs du dieu ʿAttar, 381–404 in Wyatt, Watson and Lloyd 1996. 1999 The omen texts, 353–58 in Watson and Wyatt 1999. 1999a Reshef, 700–3 in van der Toorn, Becking and van der Horst 1999. Yadin, Y. 1975 Hazor (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson). Yon, M. (ed.) 1991 Arts et Industries de la Pierre (RSO 6, Paris: ERC). 1991a Réalités agraires et mythologie d’Ougarit, 53–68 in M-C. Cauvin (ed.) Rites et Rythmes Agraires (TMO 20, Lyon: Maison de l’Orient Méditerranéen). Yon, M. and J. Gachet 1989 Une statuette du dieu El à Ougarit, Syria 66:349. Young, D. W. 1977 With snakes and dates: a sacred marriage drama at Ugarit, UF 9:291–314. 1979 The Ugaritic myth of the god Ḥoron, UF 11:839–48.

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Zatelli, I. 1998 The origin of the biblical scapegoat ritual: the evidence of two Eblaite texts, VT 48:254–63. van Zijl, P. J. 1972 Baal. A study of Texts in Connexion with Baal in the Ugaritic Epics (AOAT 10, Kevelaer: Butzen and Bercker; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag).

INDEX Abraham, 185, 187, 188 acculturation, 50 Akkadian, xii, 10, 15, 16, 20, 21, 23, 24, 29, 48, 67, 74, 86, 92, 93, 100, 101, 162, 179, 204, 205, 218 aliyn, 9, 10, 27 Ammithtamru, 179 ʿAmmurapi, 133 Amorite, 28, 48, 61, 86, 101, 103, 185, 205 Amos, 151, 168 Amun, 57, 99, 159, 220 Anat, 1, 12, 14, 19, 22, 29, 30, 31, 35, 52, 54, 63, 65, 70, 72, 74, 77, 78, 90, 95, 97, 99, 104, 116, 128, 134, 135, 138, 140, 145, 146, 149, 152, 156, 157, 158, 160, 165, 190, 197, 198, 206, 209, 215, 220, 221 anchor, 76 aniconism, 57 apotropaic, 79 Aqhat, vi, 32, 37, 66, 77, 104, 108, 109, 119, 123, 127, 129, 131, 133, 134, 143, 144, 145, 148, 149, 151, 152, 153, 156, 157, 158, 165, 168, 176, 177, 180, 188, 191, 193, 202, 203, 209, 214, 221, 223 Arad, 92 Asherah, 100, 190, 194, 197, 213, 221, 223 Ashtarot, 39, 161 assembly, 13, 67, 74, 76, 122, 126, 146, 171, 172, 174, 177 Assyria, xiv, 170, 181, 188

Astarte, 18, 19, 95, 145, 197, 223 Athtar, 31, 58, 67, 74, 95, 101, 146, 224 Athtart, 14, 18, 19, 33, 39, 63, 67, 70, 72, 74, 95, 128, 138, 140, 145, 156, 160, 165 atonement, 121, 122, 123, 145 Attart, 1 Atum, 99 axe, 10, 160 Baal, vi, 1, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 48, 52, 54, 55, 58, 63, 65, 67, 68, 69, 70, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 88, 89, 90, 91, 95, 96, 98, 99, 101, 102, 103, 104, 108, 109, 118, 122, 124, 128, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 165, 168, 170, 178, 181, 182, 183, 190, 191, 201, 203, 205, 206, 209, 210, 212, 213, 215, 216, 217, 219, 222, 224, 226 Baal cycle, 89, 108, 143, 144, 145 Babylonian, 73, 82, 83, 103, 114, 122, 188, 199, 204, 207, 208 Bashan, 39, 161 Beersheba, 185, 186, 187, 189 Bethel, 58, 185, 186 bine, 2 binomial, 9, 66, 87 bull, 26, 34, 35, 58, 137, 209

227

228

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE

Chaoskampf, 63, 64, 102, 103, 107, 108, 144, 147, 151, 159, 223 chariot, 34, 35, 36 charioteer, 33, 35 chiastic, 9, 25, 76, 77, 94, 108, 175 circumcision, 42, 43, 44, 115 cosmic policeman, 11 crown, 35, 128, 137, 138 curse, 32, 109, 127, 128, 129, 130, 149, 152, 155, 158, 160, 165 Cyprus, 159 Dagan, 8, 11, 14, 15, 19, 22, 24, 25, 26, 28, 48, 65, 74, 91, 95, 135, 160, 201, 204, 221 Daniel, 27, 188, 207 David, 152, 179, 189, 222 Deborah, 185, 186, 187, 188 Demarous, 18, 19, 196 Deuteronomy, 2, 3, 39, 47, 117, 120, 129, 135, 161, 175, 182, 184, 186, 190, 224 Didanu, 144, 148 Dinah, 115, 222 donkey, 33, 122 dowager, 101 Ebla, 91, 123 Eden, 90, 212 Edrei, 39, 117, 161, 179 Egyptian, 52, 72, 73, 76, 81, 86, 89, 92, 94, 100, 118, 120, 134, 136, 138, 153, 157, 158, 159, 160, 162, 165, 201, 207, 211, 220, 221 El, vi, 7, 11, 12, 13, 15, 17, 19, 20, 22, 26, 30, 31, 36, 38, 41, 42, 43, 48, 52, 54, 55, 58, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 74, 75, 76, 79, 80, 89, 90, 92, 95, 98, 99, 100, 101, 104, 111, 116, 117, 118, 121, 122, 124, 125, 126, 128, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137, 140, 146, 147, 148, 149, 152, 160, 167, 170, 171, 174, 177, 179, 185, 191, 193, 201, 202, 205, 206, 209, 213, 214, 215, 216, 222, 225

enthronement, 89, 101, 153, 172, 177, 178 Ethiopia, 90 Eusebius, 18, 19, 202 falcon, 16, 138, 149, 160, 162, 163, 164, 165 fertility, 41, 42, 62, 70, 96, 97, 101, 103, 113, 120, 135, 177, 217 field, 7, 3, 26, 49, 58, 83, 157 Gideon, 186, 187, 188 Gihon, 90 goblet, 126, 171, 174, 177 Gomorrah, 3 grapes, 2, 3, 42 h locale, 2 Habakkuk, 3, 4 Hadad, 10, 18, 21, 101, 215, 221 Hadd, 18, 21, 39, 63, 101 Hathor, 160, 166 Hazor , 35, 58, 91, 225 Hebrew, xi, xii, xiii, 1, 2, 3, 4, 12, 14, 16, 20, 23, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30, 44, 47, 53, 55, 58, 61, 63, 79, 82, 83, 90, 92, 96, 100, 103, 106, 140, 157, 162, 182, 186, 187, 196, 211, 212, 213, 218, 223 Hebron, 179, 185, 189 henotheism, 53, 54, 55, 62 Herakles, 18 hero, 10, 20, 102, 129, 165, 177 Heshbon, 3 hieros gamos, 42, 113 Horon, vi, 30, 78, 95, 105, 128, 132, 155, 156, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 195, 196, 203, 216, 225 Horus, 16, 30, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 210, 220 Hurrian, 43, 48, 73, 86, 94, 114, 136, 148, 202, 206, 210 Hurriya, 109, 148, 152, 172 hymn, 10, 37, 54, 114, 136 hypostatization, 52 Ilhu, 32, 148 ilib , 8, 74, 75, 76

INDEX Ilimilku, vi, 103, 108, 109, 120, 133, 145, 147, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 158, 160, 165, 176, 177, 207, 211, 223, 224 immortality, 149, 152 Ishtar, 16, 89, 169 Isis, 160, 163, 164 Jacob, 185, 204, 222 Jerusalem, 4, 51, 90, 92, 115, 159, 186, 189, 191, 196, 212, 216 Jonathan, 180 Karnak, 158 Keret, 13, 32, 34, 35, 68, 71, 77, 78, 81, 108, 109, 116, 117, 118, 119, 122, 123, 125, 126, 127, 128, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 143, 144, 145, 147, 148, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 157, 158, 167, 168, 170, 171, 172, 174, 175, 176, 177, 178, 179, 180, 181, 191, 202, 203, 209, 210, 214, 221 Kidron, 4 kispum, 133, 149, 178 Kothar, 12, 35, 73, 74, 90, 96, 146, 149, 155, 160, 217 Kotharat, 74, 114 Kronos, 18, 19 Lachish, 92 Luxor, 158 LXX, 4, 180 marriage, 21, 43, 44, 101, 107, 113, 114, 120, 139, 148, 151, 152, 172, 176, 203, 225 Mars, 62, 67 Melqart, 18, 19 menorah, 189 Milku, 178 Mittanni, 48, 148 Moreh, 185 Moses, 53, 81, 186, 187 Mot, 2, 5, 10, 19, 20, 28, 31, 38, 43, 62, 65, 77, 79, 98, 102, 103, 104, 108, 146, 147, 151, 204, 209 Narmer, 158, 160

229 Nebuchadrezzar, 188 Nergal, 62 Nikkal, 73, 114, 151, 152, 180, 193, 203, 204, 219 Niqmaddu, 109, 133, 150, 151, 152, 179, 200 oak, 185, 186, 187, 188 Og, 39, 117, 161, 179 omphalos, 88 Ophrah, 186, 189 Osiris, 160, 163, 164 Ouranos, 18, 19 Pabil, 147, 148 palace, 31, 55, 73, 89, 91, 103, 109, 115, 119, 124, 131, 140, 146, 147, 151, 160, 191 pantheon, 7, 14, 15, 48, 52, 54, 57, 59, 61, 64, 65, 67, 69, 71, 72, 73, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 87, 89, 91, 93, 94, 95, 98, 102, 104, 117, 121, 158, 178, 204, 211 paternity, 12, 19, 100 pestilence, 52, 78, 97 poison, 3, 20 Pontos, 18, 19 pregnancy, 67, 112, 180 prune, 1, 41 psychopomp, 134, 162, 164 Pughat, 66, 130, 149 Punic, 37, 100 purification, 111, 121, 129 Ra, 88, 159, 160, 163, 166, 215 Rachel, 185 Rahmay, 66, 100, 101, 111, 112, 116, 117, 126, 174 Rainy, 14, 23, 25, 36 Rapiu, 38, 75, 96, 161, 178, 179 Rapiuma, 177, 178, 179, 191 Rephaim, 96, 117, 161, 179, 194, 208, 211, 215, 216 Reshef, 27, 52, 62, 67, 69, 74, 78, 79, 96, 97, 105, 138, 160, 197, 225 resurrection, 28, 150

230

WORD OF TREE AND WHISPER OF STONE

rpum, 70, 75, 117, 118, 127, 132, 134, 149, 175, 178 sacrifice, 42, 67, 111, 121, 134, 140, 149, 159 Sanskrit, 61, 92, 148 Sarah, 185 Saul, 180, 189 seasonal, 7, 119, 135, 149, 203, 211 Seth, 101, 138, 163, 165 Shalem, 31, 74, 76, 111, 112, 160 Shamash, 62 Shanim, 121, 122 Shapash, 205 Shechem, 43, 115, 184, 187, 189, 215, 222 shoots, 3, 4, 41, 43 Sibmah, 3 skull, 135, 156, 158 Sodom, 3 Š-stem, 2 stars, 66, 130, 181 stela, 31, 101, 124, 137, 138, 183, 221 steppe, 32, 78, 111, 134 stichometry, 9, 22, 23 storm-god, 7, 11, 14, 15, 16, 21, 33, 34, 37, 38, 39, 90, 101, 129, 145, 155, 222 tamarisk, 185, 187, 189 Tempest, 23, 25, 26, 135 temple, 16, 31, 33, 55, 64, 73, 88, 90, 91, 94, 103, 109, 115, 119, 120, 137, 139, 147, 149, 150, 151, 158, 186 tendril, 2, 41

terebinth, 64, 185, 187, 188, 189 terrace, 2, 3 theology, 7, 8, 40, 47, 53, 59, 63, 78, 86, 87, 93, 94, 97, 102, 104, 105, 109, 119, 122, 130, 183, 217 theophany, 36, 129, 185, 186, 187, 191 Thukamun, 121, 122 thunder, 21, 101 Transjordan, 39 triad, 18, 19, 75, 76, 100 Troy, 144, 152 Tummim, 179, 180, 181, 216 Urim, 179, 180, 181, 189, 198, 216 Urtenu, 109, 151 Valiant, 9, 36, 54 Venus, 66, 130 vine, 1, 2, 3, 4, 41, 42, 43, 44, 222 viticultural, 3 warrior, 10, 35, 97, 198 wedding, 114, 151, 176 wine, 2, 64, 119, 124, 133 Yahweh, 19, 61, 62, 63, 80, 92, 100, 105, 168, 179, 180, 185, 186, 188, 189, 213 Yam, 1, 10, 18, 19, 25, 27, 31, 55, 58, 67, 69, 74, 96, 98, 99, 101, 103, 104, 108, 128, 138, 146, 147, 155, 156, 165, 210 Yarih, 27, 66, 67, 71, 74, 96, 114, 160 Yasib, 109, 116, 117, 126, 128, 131, 148, 152 Yatipan, 149, 156, 157, 158 Zeus, 18, 19, 61, 98, 99, 147, 196