Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East: The Reflexes of Celestial Science in Ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Israelite Narrative 9781575066936

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Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East

History, Archaeology, and Culture of the Levant Edited by Jeffrey A. Blakely University of Wisconsin, Madison K. Lawson Younger Trinity Evangelical Divinity School  1. The Horsemen of Israel: Horses and Chariotry in Monarchic Israel (Ninth– Eighth Centuries b.c.e.), by Deborah O’Daniel Cantrell  2. Donkeys in the Biblical World: Ceremony and Symbol, by Kenneth C. Way  3. The Wilderness Itineraries: Genre, Geography, and the Growth of Torah, by Angela R. Roskop  4. Temples and Sanctuaries from the Early Iron Age Levant: Recovery after Collapse, by William E. Mierse  5. Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East: The Reflexes of Celestial Science in the Literature of Ancient Mesopotamia, Ugarit, and Israel, by Jeffrey L. Cooley.

Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East The Reflexes of Celestial Science in Ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Israelite Narrative

Jeffrey L. Cooley

Winona Lake, Indiana Eisenbrauns 2013

© 2013 by Eisenbrauns Inc. All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America www.eisenbrauns.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Cooley, Jeffrey L. Poetic astronomy in the ancient Near East : the reflexes of celestial science in ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic, and Israelite narrative / Jeffrey L. Cooley.     pages  cm. — (History, archaeology, and culture of the Levant ; 5) Includes bibliographical references and indexes. ISBN 978-1-57506-262-4 (hardback : alk. paper) 1.  Astronomy, Ancient—Middle East.  2.  Astronomy, Ancient, in literature.   3.  Astronomy—Middle East—History.  4.  Bible. O.T.— Criticism, interpretation, etc.  5.  Middle East—History  I.  Title. QB19.C66 2013 520.9394—dc23 2012048703

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984. ♾™

Contents Preface and Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Abbreviations viii

1.  The Study of Ancient Near Eastern Celestial Science and Literature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.1 Introduction  1 1.2. Pan-Babylonianism  2 1.3.  Understanding Mesopotamian Astronomy  6 1.4.  The Problem in Assyriology  8 1.5.  The Problem in Biblical Studies  13 1.6.  The Problem in Ugaritology  16 1.7.  Bridging the Gap  17 1.8.  Celestial Science in Ancient Near Eastern Literature  24 Appendix 1.1: Definitions of Important Terms Used in This Study  26

2.  Celestial Science in Mesopotamia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .28 2.1. Introduction  28 2.2.  Pre–Old Babylonian Celestial Sciences  32 2.3.  Celestial Divination Material  44 2.4.  Celestial Divination Supportive Material: Didactic and Practical Tools  58 2.5.  Celestial Divination Interpretive Material  79 2.6.  Miscellaneous Celestial-Science Material  81 2.7.  Summary History of Mesopotamian Astronomy  83

3.  Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature . . . . . . . . 87 3.1. Introduction  87 3.2. Divination  89 3.3.  Catasterisms and Other Celestial Aetia 110 v

vi

Contents 3.4. Miscellaneous  160 3.5. Conclusion  179

4.  Celestial Science at Ugarit and in Ugaritic Literature . . . 180 4.1.  The Celestial Sciences at Ugarit  180 4.2.  The Celestial Sciences in Ugaritic Literature  192 Appendix 4.1: Interpretations of the Baal Cycle  214 Appendix 4.2: Gaster’s Interpretation of the Aqhat Text  217 Appendix 4.3: Interpretations of KTU 1.23  221

5.  Celestial Science in Ancient Israel . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225 5.1. Introduction  225 5.2.  Celestial Terminology in the Hebrew Bible  226 5.3.  Astral Religion  245 5.4.  Celestial Divination  252 5.5.  The Calendars of the Hebrew Bible  263 5.6.  Celestial Science in Ancient Israel: Conclusion 286

6.  Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature . . . . . . 288 6.1.  Introduction 288 6.2.  Celestial Agents, Astral Religion, and Calendar  289 6.3.  Joshua 10  292 6.4.  Judges 5  298 6.5.  The Shadow on the Steps of Ahaz  304 6.6.  Genesis 1:14–18  313 6.7.  The Stars in Job  320 6.8. Conclusion  326

7.  Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 328 Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331 Indexes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 373 Index of Authors  373 Index of Scripture  379 Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources  383

Preface and Acknowledgments This book is a revision of my doctoral dissertation, Poetic Astronomy in the Ancient Near East and Hebrew Bible: The Reflexes of Celestial Science in Ancient Mesopotamian, Ugaritic and Israelite Literature, which I completed in 2006, at the School of Graduate Studies at the Hebrew Union College–Jewish Institute of Religion in Cincinnati, Ohio. In addition to being modestly reorganized, it is different in content from that original manuscript: chaps. 2 and 4 have been heavily revised in most places, as has chap. 3, to which quite a bit of new material has been added. Very little from the original work remains in chaps. 1, 5, and 6, which were rewritten from the ground up. In spite of the significant nature of the revision, this work was still very much influenced by my dissertation readers at HUC–JIR. Foremost, I would like to thank Stephen A. Kaufman, who is a rigorous critic and a brilliant linguist. His mind is an inescapable steel trap of logic—one in which I found myself caught many times. Thankfully, he always helped me out by showing me the proper intellectual manipulations that would release that trap’s sawtoothed jaws. It is no wonder that he has been referred to as “the Satanic Prince of Noodges” in no less a publication than Harper’s Magazine. 1 My second reader, Samuel Greengus, brought just as much to this project. His Assyriological and biblical expertise were invaluable, especially on the subject of calendars. It was a true pleasure to work with both of these gentlemen. In addition to the support offered by my official readers, I have benefited a great deal from the intellectual and professional assistance of many others. At HUC–JIR, Nili Fox and Hélène Dallaire were always ready with compassionate advice and critical insight when asked. The same can be said of Edmund Cueva, Shannon Byrne, and Fred Benda, S.J., of Xavier University’s Department of Classics. Ed, Shannon, and Fred were very supportive, and, in addition to this, have provided me with professional opportunities that I would not have had otherwise. Because a significant portion of this manuscript was completed since I began working at Boston College in 2009, I’ve also benefited greatly from my colleagues here who have read and commented on 1.  J. McManus, “Fortune’s Smile: Betting Big at the World Series of Poker,” Harper’s Magazine 301/1807 (December 2000) 55.

vii

viii

Preface and Acknowledgments

portions of the manuscript: Pheme Perkins, John Darr, Yonder Gillihan, Christopher Frechette, S.J., and David Vanderhooft. Furthermore, Boston College doctoral candidates John Barker, O.F.M., and Joel Kemp offered their insights on parts of the manuscript in the context of Boston College’s Biblical Studies Colloquium. In addition to this, I am immensely grateful to my undergraduate research fellow, Matthew Richey, who proofread this manuscript, corrected its many silly mistakes, and greatly improved its clarity. I am thankful to several anonymous reviewers as well as Matthias Albani (Evangelische Hochschule Mortizburg), who offered their critical comments on the original manuscript. Others also have improved my scholarship as a matter of either formal or friendly reviewing, including Jerrold Cooper (The Johns Hopkins University), Christopher Woods (University of Chicago), Jay Crisostomo, and Gina Konstantopolis. Alan Lenzi (University of the Pacific), and fellow HUC–JIR alumni Kyle Greenwood (Colorado Christian University), David Everson, and Angela Roskop Erisman provided their insights and offered their emotional and intellectual support over the years. I am grateful to the staffs of the Klau Library at HUC–JIR and the O’Neill Library at Boston College for their work, especially the interlibrary-loan librarians Marilyn Krider (HUC–JIR) and Anne Kenny (BC), who always managed to track down obscure articles and little-known tomes. I am, of course, intensely thankful to Jim Eisenbraun and his capable staff, particularly Beverly McCoy, for bringing this work to publication. Finally and most importantly, I would like to thank my wife, Amy. She has been the center of my world for over 20 years. It has been a long road to this point, and Amy has been an active participant in my intellectual journey, supporting me emotionally, intellectually and, at times, financially. To paraphrase Prov 31:10: ‫ֶמצָא‬ ְ ‫אנִי א‬ ֲ ‫ֵׁשת־ ַחיִל‬ ֶ ‫א‬.

Abbreviations In addition to the abbreviations offered in Patrick Alexander et al. (eds.), The SBL Handbook of Style for Ancient Near Eastern, Biblical, and Early Christian Studies (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1999); and Ignace J. Gelb et al. (eds.), The Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago (21 vols.; Chicago: Oriental Institute, 1956–2011), the following abbreviations are used in this volume:

Preface and Acknowledgments ABCD ACh ACT Brown, AA ASM BPO

MAst MCG MUL.APIN SOEAE TEO 1, 2

ix

Francesca Rochberg-Halton. Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination: The Lunar Eclipse Tablets of Enūma Anu Enlil. AfOB 22. Horn: Berger, 1988 Charles Virolleaud. L’astrologie chaldéenne: Le libre intitulé “enuma (Anu) ilBêl”: Publié, transcrit, traduit et cammenté. Paris: Geuthner, 1905–12 Otto Neugebauer. Astronomical Cuneiform Texts: Babylonian Ephe­ merides of the Seleucid Period for the Motion of the Sun, the Moon, and the Planets, vols. 1–3. London: Humphries, 1955 David Brown. Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology. CM 18. Groningen: Styx, 2000 Hermann Hunger and David Pingree. The Astral Sciences in Mesopotamia. HO 44. Leiden: Brill, 1999 Erica Reiner and David Pingree. Babylonian Planetary Omens 1: Enūma Anu Enlil Tablet 63—The Venus Tablet of Ammiṣaduqa. Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 2/1. Malibu, CA: Undena, 1975; Babylonian Planetary Omens 2: Enūma Anu Enlil Tablets 50–51. Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 2/2. Malibu, CA: Undena, 1981; Babylonian Planetary Omens 3. CM 11. Groningen: Styx, 1998; Babylonian Planetary Omens 4. CM 30. Leiden: Brill, 2005 Ulla Koch-Westenholz. Mesopotamian Astrology. CNI 19. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum, 1995 Wayne Horowitz. Mesopotamian Cosmic Geography. MC 8. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1998 Hermann Hunger and David Pingree. MUL.APIN: An Astronomical Compendium in Cuneiform. AfOB 24. Horn: Berger, 1989 W. van Soldt. Solar Omens of Enuma Anu Enlil: Tablets 23 (24)–29 (30). Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut, 1995 Paul Bordreuil and Dennis Pardee. La Trouvaille épigraphique de l’Ougarit 1: Concordance. RSO 5. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1989; J.-L. Cunchillos. La Trouvaille épigraphique de l’Ougarit 2: Bibliographie. RSO 5. Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 1990

Chapter 1

The Study of Ancient Near Eastern Celestial Science and Literature 1.1. Introduction This book is an investigation of the ways in which the authors in certain regions of the ancient Near East incorporated and reflected on their cultures’ systematic speculation about the starry heavens in literary discourse. It was precipitated by a basic question that I formulated in the early days of my graduate training regarding intercultural contact between the Greek-speaking world and the Near East. 1 The Greeks, as is exceedingly well documented, adopted and adapted Babylonian celestial science. 2 This East-to-West intellectual sharing included methods (e.g., periodic phenomena calculation), concepts (e.g., the portentous nature of celestial phenomena), and features (many constellations, including the zodiac, divine associations of the planets, etc.). Were the origins of the Greek katasterismoi, the etiological myths of the origins of constellations, also to be found in Babylon? The answer to this question is, of course, “no.” All of the Greek catasterisms, except one, are tied to myths that circulated in the Hellenic world independent of the constellations with which they were only later associated. 3 The 1. This question was in part inspired by a lecture delivered at the American Oriental Society’s Midwest Regional meeting in 1998 by Douglas Frayne in which he associated several of the antediluvian monarchs on the Sumerian King List with particular constellations (“The Names of the First Twelve Kings of Kish in the Sumerian King List” [paper presented at the annual meeting of the Midwest Region of the American Oriental Society, Cincinnati, 16 February, 1999]); more recently, see idem, Presargonic Period (2700–2350 bc) (RIMEP 1; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008) 49–53. 2.  For the definition of “celestial science” and other terms crucial to this study, see appendix 1.1. 3. The sole exception is the constellation Pisces which, in both Pseudo-Eratosthenes’ Catasterismi 21 and Hyginus’s Poeticon Astronomicon 2.30 is instead associated with non-Greek tales, putatively Syrian.

1

2

Chapter 1

Greeks merely (and brilliantly) enculturated Babylonian celestial traditions by coupling them with well-known native tales. Nevertheless, my naïve question led to a more significant one: Is the importance of the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq somehow reflected in their literature? Was there some Babylonian equivalent of the Greek catasterism? What was the corresponding situation in Ugarit and Israel–Palestine? My succeeding investigation of the secondary literature essentially led me nowhere. Scholars, though they occasionally noted links between Babylonian celestial science and literature, rarely offered more than bare speculation on the significance of those links. The historical reluctance to address this problem has created a gap in our knowledge and is rooted in several intellectual trends spanning the late nineteenth through midtwentieth centuries. 4

1.2. Pan-Babylonianism The first of these trends, beginning in the late 19th century, created a body of research, now largely dismissed as highly speculative, on the astronomical background of ancient religion and literature. This was particularly evident in ancient Near Eastern studies and was a characteristic of the so-called “panBabylonian school.” The intimate nascent relationship between Assyriology and the study of the Bible, not to mention the pan-Babylonian school’s roots in comparative mythology, meant, of course, that the school would leave a large footprint in biblical studies as well. Indeed, pan-Babylonianism was an important facet of the larger Babel-Bibel controversy at the beginning of the 20th century. 5 One of the assumptions of the pan-Babylonian school was that the underlying ideology of all Mesopotamian cult and literature was astronomical in nature. The constellations, stars, planets, sun, and moon were associated with various deities. The planets’ movement against the stable backdrop of the fixed stars and constellations was seen as representing the interaction of the deities with each other and with humankind. 6 The pan-Babylonian school believed 4. What follows here is not meant to be a plenary presentation of the intellectual history of Assyriology and biblical studies by any means. I merely wish to articulate the history of my particular problem, and the exempla chosen are meant to illustrate this history. Thus, I recognize that I am not only neglecting important works but also simplifying significant facets of academic trends for the sake of this presentation’s brevity. 5. For a brief and fairly recent summary, discussion, and bibliography, see M. T. Larsen, “The ‘Babel/Bible’ Controversy and Its Aftermath,” in Civilizations of the An­ cient Near East (4 vols.; ed. J. M. Sasson et al.; New York: Macmillan, 1995) 1:95–106. 6. Hugo Winckler, Die Weltanshauung des alten Orients (Ex Oriente Lux 1/1; Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1904) 3.

Ancient Near Eastern Celestial Science and Literature

3

that the reflex of this ideology in the cult and mythology was largely an attempt by the priesthood to express this truth to the masses in a simple, if veiled, form. 7 This ideology, it was supposed, arose out of a sophisticated knowledge of astronomy and began in the hoariest antiquity of Mesopotamian culture. It then spread to surrounding cultures, such as ancient Israel, where it took up a place similar to what it held in Mesopotamia—that is, at the core of all cultural phenomena. 8 The roots of the pan-Babylonianist hermeneutic were grounded in the 19th-century debates in the history of religions regarding the so-called animistic and nature-myth schools 9 as well as Max Müller’s solarization of all mythology. 10 Whatever its roots were, the hermeneutic gained acceptance, and pan-Babylonianism soon became a major school of thought in ancient Near Eastern studies due to the influence of three founding members of the Gesell­ schaft für vergleichende Mythenforschung: Eduard Stucken, Hugo Winckler, and Alfred Jeremias. 11 Stucken established the method in a sweeping approach to the world’s mythological traditions in his comprehensive work Astralmythen. 12 But it was Winckler and Jeremias who developed it to its fullest and, in the case of the latter, produced its most radical form and applied it to the study of the ancient Near East in particular. 13 7. Idem, Die babylonische Geisteskultur in ihren Beziehungen zur Kulturentwick­ lung der Menschkeit (Leipzig: Quelle und Meyer, 1907) 112. 8. For an overview of pan-Babylonianism in biblical studies, see J. W. Rogerson, Myth in Old Testament Interpretation (BZAW 134; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1974) 45–51. 9. See Wilhelm Schmidt, The Origin and Growth of Religion: Facts and Theories (trans. H. J. Rose; New York: MacVeagh, 1931) 91–96. 10. See, for example, Max Müller, “Solar Myths,” Nineteenth Century 18 (1885) 900–922. 11. See Heinrich Lessmann, Aufgaben und Ziele der vergleichenden Mythenforsc­ hung (Mythologische Bibliothek 1/4.; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1908). The then-contemporary significance of the pan-Babylonian school is often glossed over in summaries of the histories of Assyriology and biblical studies, no doubt because it proved to be an intellectual dead end. 12. Eduard Stucken, Astralmythen (5 vols.; Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1896–1907). To be fair, Stucken’s title is quite misleading, because only occasionally does he actually explore celestial mythologies and their relationships. Rather, his work is an example of the Comparative School in its most extreme form: “Während ich in den ersten vier Teilen dieses Buches mir die Aufgabe gestellt hatte, Mythen zu vergleichen und durch Herausschälung möglichst vieler Motive die Identität der Gestalten und Sagenkomplexe darzulegen” (ibid., 5:431). 13. A. Jeremias went so far as to say that it was not only cultures in the old world that relied on the Babylonian astronomical tradition but also cultures in the new world: Ägypten und Alt-Arabien, sodann Elam und Iran, Persien, Indien, China, ebenso die vorgriechische ‘ägäiasche’ Kultur, die etruskische wie die altamerikanische

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Chapter 1

Two astronomical phenomena inspired models of interpretation for the pan-Babylonianists. First, the precession of the equinoxes, knowledge of which was presumed to have existed very early, became the major framework for stories of the flood. Jeremias, for example, interpreted ancient Near Eastern flood accounts, at the time known only from the Epic of Gilgamesh and Genesis 6–8, as marking the passage from the age of Cancer to the age of Gemini, an event that occurred in the sixth millennium. 14 An archetypal figure featured in accounts regarding precession, Utnapishtim/Noah was considered the “bringer of a new era.” 15 Jensen’s treatment, Das Gilgamesch-Epos in der Weltliteratur, certainly presented the best application of a second model: the movement of the sun through the zodiac. 16 Episodes described in the Gilgamesh epic’s 12 tablets were interpreted as the sun’s entering the different signs of the zodiac: Gemini were Gilgamesh and Enkidu squaring off against the neighboring Bull of Heaven, that is, Taurus (Tablet VI); Scorpius represented the encounter with the Scorpion Men (Tablet IX); Aquarius represented Utnapishtim (Tablet XI); and so forth. The pan-Babylonianists’ astral exegesis of ancient texts fell by the wayside for good reason. Shortly after that school’s central works were published, their faulty roots were exposed. One Jesuit scholar, Franz Kugler, who had undertaken one of the first synthetic studies of Mesopotamian astronomical texts, essentially accomplished the task of exposing them. It was inevitable that in his work he would reveal the flaws in the central tenets of the astronomical method of interpretation of pan-Babylonianism. Not letting his research simply speak for itself, he published several overt critiques of the pan-Babylonian Kultur zeigen die gleichen Grundlagen des Geisteslebens, auch die prähistorische Welt Europas ist über Nordafrika und Spanien einerseits und von Kreta her andererseits von diesem Geistesleben beeinflusst worden, ohne dass dadurch die auf Rasse und Klima ruhenden Völkerunterschiede verwischt worden sind. Wir nennen die Geistkultur ‘babylonisch,’ weil sie in Babylonien in verhaltnismässig ältester Zeit und am klarsten entwickelt vorleig. (Handbuch der altorientalischen Geisteskultur [Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1913] 6–7)

14. Alfred Jeremias, The Old Testament in the Light of the Ancient East: Manual of Biblical Archaeology (2 vols.; Theological Translation Library 28; New York: Putnam’s, 1911) 1:71, 270–71. 15. “Oriental historical stories always endow the bringer of a new era with the motifs of the astral figure who represents the beginning of the age” (ibid., 2:16). 16. Peter Jensen, Das Gilgamesch-Epos in der Weltliteratur (2 vols.; Strassburg: Truebner, 1906) 1:77–116. Jensen was not the first to suggest a relationship between the 12 zodiacal signs and the 12 tablets of the epic; George Smith notes that Henry Rawlinson first posited this sort of link (The Chaldean Account of Genesis [New York: Scribner, Armstrong, 1876] 8). Due to the fleeting method of bibliographical reference typical of the 19th century, I have been unable to the Rawlinson publication to which Smith refers.

Ancient Near Eastern Celestial Science and Literature

5

school, culminating in Im Bannkreiss Babels. 17 Put succinctly, he demonstrated that Winckler and Jeremias simply did not know what they were talking about, because they were not familiar with the astronomical tradition. 18 The celestial observers of ancient Iraq, for example, were unaware of the procession of the equinoxes altogether, 19 while the zodiac did not exist in the form on which interpretations such as Jensen’s were based. 20 After establishing the limits and chronology of the history of the Mesopotamian tradition, scholars largely abandoned the celestial hermeneutic. 21 The astral interpretations of the 17. Franz Kugler, Sternkunde und Sterndienst in Babel I (Münster i. W.: Aschendorff, 1907) 222–25; idem, Sternkunde und Sterndienst in Babel II: Babylonsiche Zeitord­ nung und ältere Himmelskunde (Münster i. W.: Aschendorff, 1909–10) 24–32; idem, “Auf den Trümmern des Panbabylonismus,” Anthropos 4/2 (March–April 1909) 477–99; idem, Im Bannkreiss Babels: Panba­bylonistische Konstruktionen und Religionsgeschicht­ liche Tatsachen (Münster i. W.: Aschendorff, 1910). 18. Ibid., vii. 19. Ibid., 86–96. 20. Idem, Sternkunde I, 29–39; but see also idem, Im Bannkreiss, 127–46. This is Kugler’s classic critique of the zodiacal model, wherein he parodies the method by interpreting the life of Louis IX in such a manner. 21. There are a few eccentric though notable exceptions to this, many of them at least in part inspired by Giorgo de Santillana and Hertha von Dechend’s elegant if peculiar Hamlet’s Mill: An Essay on Myth and the Frame of Time (Boston: Gambit, 1969). De Santillana and von Dechend maintain that underpinning many literary works was an ancient knowledge of various celestial phenomena, including the precession of the equinoxes and the journey of the sun through the zodiac. This knowledge was embedded unknowingly in culture and literature by many authors throughout history. The similarities between the contentions of de Santillana and von Dechend and the basic assumptions of the pan-Babylonianists need not even be highlighted here. In the past few decades, a few scholars have been passingly sympathetic to methods of pan-Babylonianists via Hamlet’s Mill. Bendt Alster, for example, finds or, rather, invents astronomical inspiration for several Sumerian stories; see “Early Pattern in Mesopotamian Literature,” in Kramer Anniversary Volume: Cuneiform Studies in Honor of Samuel Noah Kramer (ed. B. Eichler et al.; AOAT 25; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1976) 13–24; and “The Paradigmatic Character of Mesopotamian Heroes,” RA 68 (1974) 49–60. In both cases, Alster cites Hamlet’s Mill in support. See also the work of Stanley Ned Rosenbaum, Understanding Biblical Israel: A Reexamination of the Origins of Monotheism (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 2002), especially pp. 85–93. Outside the influence of Hamlet’s Mill, a few scholars have resurrected the defective methodologies of the pan-Babylonianists. H. Clyde Hostetter cites astronomical inspiration for Inana’s movements in the Sumerian myth Inana’s Descent, and Werner Papke argues in favor of a complete astronomical background to the Epic of Gilgamesh (H. Clyde Hostetter, “A Planetary Visit to Hades,” Archaeoastronomy 2 [1979)] 7–10; for Papke’s work, see Johannes Koch, “Review of W. Papke, Die Sterne von Babylon: Die geheime Botschaft des Gilgamesch—nach 4000 Jahren entschlüsselt,” WO 24 [1993] 213–22). Most recently, the Polish scholar Arkadiusz Sołtysiak has sought astronomical

6

Chapter 1

pan-Babylonianists became another lovely theory that was brutally murdered by facts.

1.3.  Understanding Mesopotamian Astronomy From the time of Kugler up through the mid-20th century, the study of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences focused primarily on the ancients’ techniques of data-recording and methods of planetary-phenomena prediction, and, to a lesser degree, the spread of these methods to neighboring cultures. Even before Kugler, the Jesuit astronomer Joseph Epping and another clergyman with Assyriological training, Johann Nepomuk Strassmaier, published a series of important works that introduced the Assyriological and scientific communities to Babylonian astronomical texts, primarily from the latest periods. These studies culminated in Astronomisches aus Babylon, in which the authors were able to delineate many aspects of Babylonian astron­omy. 22 These included lunar observations and methods of new moon calculation, planetary ephemerides, and the establishment of firm points for dating the Seleucid and Arsacid eras. Their work, which showed that Late Babylonian astronomy was a sophisticated undertaking, served as an inspiration to the pan-Babylonian school, which projected this sophistication back into earlier periods. 23 Kugler (whose debunking of the astronomical method of interpretation of pan-Babylonianism I noted above) later established Mesopotamian lunar and planetary theory, the former in Die babylonischen Mondrechnung 24 and the latter in Sternkunde und Stern­ dienst in Babel I. 25 inspiration for two passages in the Epic of Gilgamesh in his “Betrayed Lovers of Ištar: A Possible Trace of the 8-Year Venus Cycle in Gilgameš VI:i–iii,” in Calendars, Sym­ bols, and Orientations: Legacies of Astronomy in Culture. Proceedings of the 9th Annual Meeting of the European Society for Astronomy in Culture (SEAC) (ed. M. Blomberg and G. Henriksson; Uppsala: Uppsala University Press, 2003) 101–6; and idem, “The Bull of Heaven in Mesopotamian Sources,” Culture and Cosmos 5 (2001) 3–21. In all of these cases, the authors fail in precisely the same manner as the pan-Babylonianists—namely, they do not demonstrate that the celestial phenomena or concepts that they believe were expressed in these literary works were actually current or important within then-contemporary Mesopotamian celestial thought. 22. J. N. Strassmaier and J. Epping, Astronomisches aus Babylon, oder, das Wissen der Chaldäer über den gestirnten Himmel (Stimmen aus Maria-Laach 11/41–44; Freiburg i.B.: Herder, 1889). 23. They were, no doubt, inspired by such statements as, “Freilich werden diese astronomischen Beobachtungen hauptsächlich nur der Astrologie gedient haben, und daraus lasst sich dann auch verstehen, dass schon in ältester Zeit Auszüge und systematische Zusammenstellungen angefertigt wurden sowohl in Babylonien als auch Assy­ rien” (ibid., 2). 24. F. Kugler, Die babylonische Mondrechnung (Freiburg i.B., 1900). 25. Idem, Sternkunde und Sterndienst in Babel I.

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The mid- to late 20th century is often described as a period of “big science,” characterized by organized teams of scientists working collaboratively on terrifically expensive and commensurately productive projects, such as particle accelerators and space-based telescopes. Within Assyriology, it could also be considered the period of “big science history”; this period is notable as a time of major publication projects aimed at presenting large corpora of primary sources. 26 Collectively, these publications were intended to contribute primarily to our understanding Mesopotamian celestial data-recording and methods of planetary-phenomena prediction. Publications of this sort include: Otto Neugebauer’s Astronomical Cuneiform Texts, which published all the thenknown ephemerides (tables predicting, in terms of time and location, various astronomical phenomena) and procedure texts (describing methods used for predicting astronomical phenomena), 27 Abraham Sachs’s Late Babylonian As­ tronomical and Related Texts (a catalog and the copies of various sorts made by Pinches and Strassmaier of approximately 1,500 tablets and fragments), 28 and Abraham Sachs and David Pingree’s Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylonia (texts recording planetary positional data together with other observations such as commodity prices, weather, and historical events). 29 With a large portion of the extant astronomical texts either published or in process, it only made sense that comprehensive descriptions would follow, such as B. L. van der Waerden’s Anfänge der Astronomie: Erwachende Wissenschaft II; 30 and Neugebauer’s History of Ancient Mathematical Astronomy. 31 Both of 26. Influence of the “big science” model can also be seen, I believe, in A. Leo Oppenheim’s understanding of the Assyrian and Babylonian celestial diviners who worked for the Neo-Assyrian monarchs (“Divination and Celestial Observation in the Last Assyrian Empire,” Centaurus 14 [1969] 97–135). Oppenheim posited a highly organized scientific institution that comprised teams of diviners, each tasked with different assignments, and all contributing to the larger research goal of providing reliable mantic knowledge to the king. 27. O. Neugebauer, Astronomical Cuneiform Texts: Babylonian Ephemerides of the Seleucid Period for the Motion of the Sun, the Moon, and the Planets (3 vols.; London: Humphries, 1955). 28. A. Sachs, Late Babylonian Astronomical and Related Texts Copied by T. G. Pinches and J. N. Strassmaier (Brown University Studies 18; Providence, RI: Brown University Press, 1955). 29. A. Sachs and D. Pingree, Astronomical Diaries and Related Texts from Babylo­ nia (6 vols.; Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften philosophisch-historische Klasse Denkschriften 195; Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1988–2006). 30. B. L. van der Waerden, Die Anfänge der Astronomie: Erwachende Wissenschaft II (Groningen: Noorrdhoff, 1966). 31. O. Neugebauer, A History of Ancient Mathematical Astronomy, vol. 1 (Studies in the History of Mathematics and Physical Sciences 1; Berlin: Springer, 1975) 347–553.

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these works were synthetic studies that compressed the data derived from the individual texts into essential principles. These principles could then be easily compared to the other ancient systems described in both treatments.

1.4.  The Problem in Assyriology The science historians who published and synthesized these corpora of largely Late Babylonian astronomical texts made tremendous progress and, though there are still questions to be answered, we now have a reliable picture of the Mesopotamian astronomical tradition, including its fundamental concepts, methods, and chronology of development. However, most of these studies essentially ignored the fact that these astronomical concepts and methods developed within a particular cultural context. The resulting gap in our understanding is not insignificant. There are a number of reasons for this gap. First, especially since the early 20th century, there was a great deal of reluctance to speculate on the astral significance of ancient Near Eastern myth because of the stigma of the now debunked pan-Babylonianist school. Indeed, as late as 1960, the historian of Persian art, Phyllis Ackerman, published this amusing caricature of the situation: A few years ago a young Orientalist was employed by a small museum to catalogue Ancient Near Eastern material. It was a fortunate opportunity and the work began with happy zest. But it soon ran into a dilemma. Falsifications? No; the collection has been assembled in the good old days, no eyebrows could be raised against it. This was a really serious problem, warranting 175 miles of railroad travel for consultation. The trip was taken, the facts placed before a more experienced Orientalist of similar cultural background. The verdict was instant and final: “For God’s sake! Don’t mention stars!” 32

No serious Orientalist, whether a science historian or philologist, would suggest an astral interpretation of an ancient tale, especially if she valued her career. But it was more than just the charming ghosts of a murdered theory that disinclined scholars to place ancient science in its ancient culture. In the academy at large, the sciences and the humanities found themselves more and more distanced from one another for any number of reasons. Increased specialization and socioeconomic factors led the English physicist and novelist C. P. Snow to characterize, in the 1950s, scientists and humanities scholars as comprising two separate cultures that simply did not—indeed, often could not—communicate

32. Phyllis Ackerman, “Stars and Stories,” in Myth and Mythmaking (ed. Henry A. Murray; Boston: Beacon, 1960) 90.

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with each other. He wittily lamented the results of an extensive poll conducted among the British scientific community: As one would expect, some of the very best scientists had and have plenty of energy and interest to spare, and we came across several who had read everything that literary people talk about. But that’s very rare. Most of the rest, when one tried to probe for what books they had read, would modestly confess, ‘Well, I’ve tried to read a bit of Dickens’, rather as though Dickens were an extraordinarily esoteric, tangled and dubiously rewarding writer, something like Rainer Maria Rilke. 33

Though the results of the poll indicated that the culture of scientists was illread, this culture was by its very nature “intensive” and “rigorous,” according to Snow; its debates were “much more rigorous, and almost always at a higher conceptual level, than literary persons’ arguments.” 34 This was a truly lamentable situation on both sides for, like the acts of the God of G. Ernest Wright (see discussion below), the practical results of Snow’s science were salvific: The scientific revolution is the only method by which most people can gain the primal things (years of life, freedom from hunger, survival for children)—the things which we [Britons] take for granted and which have in reality come to us through having had our own scientific revolution not so long ago. 35

The scientific revolution, even in the wake of two world wars in which scientifically manufactured engines of death produced mountains of corpses, offered progress and hope. The results were unambiguous to anyone who observed history with academic discipline; before the scientific revolution, the vast majority of people lived anguished and hungry lives whose only mitigation was their desperate brevity. 36 Francesca Rochberg points out that Snow’s appreciation for applied science’s salvific ability to relieve human suffering on a massive scale demonstrated that, for him, “science transcended history.” 37 33. C. P. Snow, The Two Cultures, and A Second Look: An Expanded Version of the Two Cultures and the Scientific Revolution (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969) 12. Snow’s essay, though republished with an expansion in 1964, was based on a lecture delivered in 1959. It has gone through numerous reprintings and has long been the topic of heated debate. For an overview of some of this literature and the (anachronistic, in my opinion) rejection of Snow’s theses, see H. Merkl, “Dementia Dichotoma: The Two Cultures Delusion,” Experientia 50 (1994) 346–51. 34. Snow, The Two Cultures, 12. 35. Ibid., 79–80. 36. Ibid., 82–84. 37. Francesca Rochberg, “‘The Two Cultures’ and the Historical Perspective on Science as a Culture,” Forum on Public Policy Online 2007/1—2, http://www.forumonpublicpolicy.com/archive07/rochberg.pdf (accessed 25 August 2010).

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Science was conceived of as entirely separate from the culture that produced it, and its conclusions transcended not only culture but also time. Every scientific achievement was another step forward in revealing the true nature of the universe. For example, in a review of the English edition of van der Waerdens’ Ontwakende wetenschap, the Dutch mathematician Hans Freudenthal remarked, “[A]s soon as we concentrate on the main line, we are struck by the sensation that ancient science is more modern than one might expect.” 38 Scientific constructs of the past that proved to be dead ends were either seen as stop-gap concepts that served their purpose until better data corrected them or were bracketed off as culturally generated superstitions that hindered scientific progress. Instead, a “continuist” model of science history was preferred in which only the constructs that were seen as stepping stones to modern theory, or at least closely mirrored it, were the appropriate objects of study. 39 Furthermore, science, though it was studied along a historical timeline, was regarded as separate from history in that it was not subject to the same social and cultural influences as other institutions or intellectual activities. Within Assyriology, this outlook manifested itself in a number of ways. First, the texts selected for study by science historians were dominated by Late Babylonian and Hellenistic materials that, from a “continuist” perspective, focused on data-recording and the prediction of celestial phenomena. Such materials were therefore firmly in the “main line” of dispassionate scientific development. If earlier texts were considered, they needed to be qualified somehow. When Neugebauer, for instance, described the Venus Tablets of Ammiṣaduqa, itself part of the celestial divination series Enūma Anu Enlil, his comments showed his primary concern: For several years of the reign of Ammisaduqa the appearances and disappearances of Venus were recorded. . . . From a purely astronomical viewpoint these observations are not very remarkable. They were probably made in order to provide empirical material for omina; important events in the life of the state were correlated with important celestial phenomena. 40

In Neugebauer’s opinion, even the Old Babylonian celestial diviners devised their omens on an empirical basis, just as a modern scientist would. Their search for a connection between celestial phenomena and mundane occurrences might have been misplaced, but the ancient recorder sought to ground 38. “Review of B. L. van der Waerden, Science Awakening,” Bulletin of the American Mathematical Society 68 (1962) 543 (emphasis mine). 39. For a critique of the continuist model, see Heinrich von Staden, “Affinities and Elisions: Helen and Hellenocentrism,” Isis 83 (1992) 578–95. 40. Otto Neugebauer, The Exact Sciences in Antiquity (2nd ed.; New York: Dover, 1969) 100 (emphasis mine).

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his idea in observation, as we might have. Whether or not this is the reason the Venus observations—if that is what they were—were recorded is not important for our discussion here. What is relevant is that Neugebauer chose to single out these tablets, themselves part of the celestial divination series Enūma Anu Enlil, for particular comment. The mantic texts (e.g., extispicy, celestial divination, terrestrial omens, etc.) were with a few exceptions largely ignored or dismissed by science historians, though these texts were available and abundant. In his brief comments on the Venus Tablets, Neugebauer was at least more generous than some of his contemporaries, who held that ancient Near Eastern thought was not yet advanced enough to theorize based on empirical observation. For example, Henri Frankfort commented that: Mesopotamian astrology evolved a very extensive system of correlations between heavenly bodies and events in the sky and earthly localities. Thus mythopoeic thought may succeed no less than modern thought in establishing a co-ordinated spatial system; but the system is determined not by objective measurements, but by an emotional recognition of values. 41

For Frankfort, this “emotional recognition” was animalistic, though not subhuman. It was, furthermore, the opposite of “[i]ntellectual knowledge” which “is emotionally indifferent and articulate.” 42 Though it might be an important source for reconstructing ancient Near Eastern mythopoeic thought, celestial divination remained outside the concern of science history. When he actually turned to the Mesopotamian celestial divination corpus, Neugebauer indeed briefly summarized it in that way: The existing texts are part of large series of texts, the most important one called “Enūma Anu Enlil” from its initial sentence, similar to papal bul­ lae in the Middle Ages. This series contained at least 70 numbered tablets with a total of about 7000 omens. The canonization of this enormous mass of omens must have extended over several centuries and reached its final form perhaps around 1000 b.c. Historically much more interesting than this mass of purely descriptive omens are two texts which were called “mul. apin.” The earliest copies are dated around 700 b.c., but they are undoubtedly based on older material. They contain a summary of astronomical knowledge of their time. 43

In one fell swoop, Neugebauer condensed and brushed away as scientifically irrelevant one of the principal pieces of ancient Mesopotamian scholarship, 41. Henri Frankfort, “Myth and Reality,” in The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man: An Essay on Speculative Thought in the Ancient Near East (ed. Henri Frankfort et al.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1946) 21 (emphasis mine). 42. Ibid., 5. 43. Neugebauer, Exact Sciences, 101 (emphases mine).

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which he likened to a medieval religious (Roman Catholic!) document. The series was canonized like a piece of scripture and was a “historically” uninteresting and colossal pile. MUL.APIN, on the other hand, preserved “astronomical knowledge” and, unlike Enūma Anu Enlil, was not a stiffened heap of sacred traditions handed down by religious authorities but was simply “based on older material.” Similar to Neugebauer’s own synthetic studies, MUL.APIN was a “summary of astronomical knowledge.” It is interesting and important to note that, in his short description of MUL.APIN that follows, he makes no mention that this text, like Enūma Anu Enlil, was in fact canonized, named after its incipit line, cited by celestial diviners, and culminates in a list of celestial omens. 44 A second manifestation of the cultural decontextualization of Mesopotamian celestial science was that there was little sensitivity in the study of Mesopotamian literature to technical terminology. Ancient Near Eastern thought as expressed in its literature was a priori characterized as mythopoeic speculation, and this had nothing to do with science. For Henri Frankfort, Ionian thinkers were the first decisively to isolate cultural influences in the form of traditional, literary speculation from the critically oriented pursuit of knowledge. Commenting on narrative cosmogonic speculation (i.e., “myth”), Frankfort remarked: A cosmogonic myth is beyond discussion. It describes a sequence of sacred events, which one can either accept or reject. But no cosmogony can become part of a progressive and cumulative increase of knowledge. . . . myth claims recognition by the faithful, not justification before the critical. 45

Since the beginning of the “main line” (the “progressive and cumulative increase of knowledge”) in Greek antiquity, then, there was no relevant scientific discourse in literature, which was by definition an essentially deductive and culturally relative undertaking. Even if discourse of this sort was noticed by scholars, it was not worth mentioning. This omission is perhaps most striking in P. Felix Gössmann’s publication of Erra and Išum, 46 in which he shows no awareness of the celestial divination terminology that permeates the epic, 44. These facts were known well before Neugebauer published this brief evaluation. See, for example, Ernst Weidner, “Ein babylonisches Kompendium der Himmels­ kunde,” AJSL 40 (1924) 186–208. 45. Henri Frankfort, “The Emancipation of Thought from Myth,” in The Intellec­ tual Adventure of Ancient Man: An Essay on Speculative Thought in the Ancient Near East (ed. Henri Frankfort et al.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1946) 376 (emphasis mine). 46. P. F. Gössmann, Das Era-Epos (Würzburg: Augustinus, 1956).

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despite the fact that, only a few years earlier, the selfsame author published the encyclopedic Planetarium Babylonicum, oder die Sumerisch-babylonischen Stern-namen. 47 It seems that Erra and Išum, after its initial publication, sat for decades without Assyriologists noticing the fact that the text is infused with terminology found in celestial divination literature. 48

1.5.  The Problem in Biblical Studies At about the same time as these trends were manifesting themselves in Assyriology, related developments were becoming evident in biblical studies as well. If science, unlike other academic disciplines, was above the influence of historical vicissitudes, the God of the Israelites, unlike the gods of the heathen, was above nature and was primarily manifest in the facts of history. According to Snow, science was the antithesis of the humanities. According to many biblical scholars, Israelite religion was the antithesis of the religions of the ancient Near East. While the latter deified the natural (that is, material) world, the former separated the natural and the spiritual. The spiritual (God and humanity) stood above and apart from the soulless cosmos. As Theodore Hiebert has noted, the antithetical understanding of scholars such as Gerhard von Rad and G. Ernest Wright was grounded in Hegel’s dialectical model. 49

47. Šumerisches Lexikon IV/2: Planetarium Babylonicum, oder die Sumerisch-baby­ lonischen Stern-namen (Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1950). 48. It was not until 1989 that F. N. H. al-Rawi and Jeremy Black, in their publication of a newly discovered copy of the second tablet of the series, which mentions a star explicitly (mulKA5); and, more incisively, David Brown in a lengthy note in 2000, that anyone noticed an astral dimension to the text (David Brown, Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology [CM 18; Groningen: Styx, 2000] 256–57). Ironically, de Santillana and von Dechend argued (about a decade before al-Rawi and Black published the copy of Tablet II) that Erra and Išum referred to “events in the austral [sic] heavens” and referred to the precession of the equinoxes (Hamlet’s Mill 323–25). Closer to the mark was Ev Cochrane’s astute (though incompletely informed) observation that “the clear meaning of the poem is that the heavens were disturbed and the planet-gods rearranged during Erra’s assault” (Martian Metamorphoses: The Planet Mars in Ancient Myth and Religion [Ames, IA: Aeon, 1997] 21). 49. Gerhard von Rad, “The Theological Problem of the Doctrine of Creation,” in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (trans. E. W. Trueman Dicken; London: SCM, 1966) 131–43. G. Ernest Wright, God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital (London: SCM, 1952) 42. One could conceivably demonstrate a similar exceptionalist understanding of Israel from the works of William F. Albright (Wright’s teacher) from his general histories (for example, From the Stone Age to Christianity [2nd ed.; Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1946]). Albright sought to present his synthesis from a purely historical-

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Furthermore, critical biblical scholarship of the late 19th century had challenged the truth claims of biblical theology. In response, biblical theologians sought to ground their conclusions in a rationalist method. Theology was one of the humanities, after all, and was, as such, part of the “other culture,” the conclusions of which were always relative and culturally conditioned. If theologians wished to maintain that their truth claims (for example, the salvation of the God of Israel) were valid, the claims could not be based merely on mythical, literary occurrences, nor could they be derived from individualistic internal experiences; rather, they needed to be revealed in history and substantiated by objective observation. 50 God’s salvific acts were observable, repeated phenomena—facts that were quantified and recorded by multiple witnesses. Wright would state: Israel’s preoccupation with history . . . arose in the earliest days of the nation’s history as the only possible explanation available to the people of the manner in which God had made himself known to them. . . . This knowl­ edge of God was an inference from what actually had happened in human history. The Israelite eye was thus trained to take human events seriously because in them was to be learned more clearly than anywhere else what God willed and what he was about. 51

Wright’s Israel was a nation of disciplined (“trained”) observers who assembled facts. They did not employ this discipline in order to understand the natural world around them, however: “The Israelite did not analyze the problem of life over against nature.” 52 Nature, though the tool of God and humanity, was scientific perspective. For example, in the preface of the second edition of Stone Age, he would write: It must be stressed that the writer has endeavored to avoid specifically theological discussions, being anxious to present the subject from an historical point of view, stopping on the threshold of the theological approach. To the extent that the writer deals with historical problems he employs the same analytical and synthetic methods which have proved so successful elsewhere in reconstructing the historic past; . . . these methods are logically identical to the scientific methodology of the natural and social sciences. As a Christian theist, however, the writer presents a worldview which is not at all that of the logical empiricist, but mediates between neo-orthodoxy and neo-Thomists. (ibid., vii)

I choose to focus on Wright here, however, because, in contrast to Albright, Wright’s agenda was overtly theological, and his perspectives in particular paralleled and influenced other mid-century biblical scholarship. For a thorough discussion of Hegelian dialectic applied to ancient Israel’s concept of nature, see Theodore Hiebert, The Yahwist’s Landscape: Nature and Religion in Early Israel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995) 3–29. 50. Wright, God Who Acts, 23, 55. 51. Ibid., 43–44. 52. Ibid., 20.

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not a divine locus for the Israelite, as it was for the heathen. Following in the theological tradition of Karl Barth, Wright argued that nature could not reveal God’s character. The Israelites were consequently characterized as paying little systematic attention to the natural world for anything but practical purposes. 53 Their interest transcended natural concerns, and as such they were to be considered unique among the cultures of the ancient Near East. 54 The Israelites instead studiously observed history and inferred (hypothesized) God’s nature from the data they collected. Even the ancient Greek historians, who “liberated the mind from shackles of what has been called the mythopoeic apprehension of reality which characterizes polytheism,” were unable to process the data of history to reach a heuristic conclusion. 55 The Israelites’ model of God’s nature was not only heuristic; it could be employed to analyze and solve a certain set of problems, which allowed the Israelites to predict “what God willed” in particular historical situations. That is to say, the Israelites devised a functioning theory based on observation that was capable of explaining events in the past and prognosticating future outcomes. The events of history were, in a very real sense, God’s data demonstrating his salvation, and his character and message were available to those who studied his acts in history. The nature of the Israelite interaction with these facts was academic and practically scientific in method. 56 The Israelites’ conclusions became the modern believer’s dogma. And like science, they offered a view of history that was progressive and hopeful. For Wright and his ilk, Israel’s historical and empirical orientation stood in stark contrast to the irrational mythopoesis of the heathen. The gods of the nations were part of and subject to nature and history, which were indistinguishable in the pagan mind. The Israelite God, on the other hand, was separate 53. For a thorough critique of the Barthian rejection of natural revelation, see James Barr, Biblical Faith and Natural Theology: The Gifford Lectures of 1991 Delivered at the University of Edinburgh (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). 54. The classic refutation of Wright’s views is Bertil Albrektson, History and the Gods: An Essay on the Idea of Historical Events as Divine Manifestations in the Ancient Near East and Israel (ConBOT 1; Lund: C. W. K. Gleerup, 1967). See also Jon D. Levenson’s brief but intense critique of Wright: Levenson, Sinai and Zion: An Entry into the Jewish Bible (Minneapolis: Winston, 1985) 42–45. Levenson, though pointing out that for Wright the Israelites’ knowledge of God was empirically derived, focuses primarily on the theological underpinnings of Wright’s historicization of Israelite religion. This Levenson characterizes as a “secularization of the Christian concept of an ‘economy of salvation’ which enables one to inherit the status of Israel without the obligation to fulfill the Mosaic law” (Levenson, ibid., 44). 55. Wright, God Who Acts, 40. 56. Jean-Louis Ska briefly and insightfully labels this understanding of ancient Israel’s thought as “religious positivism” (Introduction to Reading the Pentateuch [trans. Sr. Pascale Dominique; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2006] 116).

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from nature and history, and the latter—but not the former—was meaningladen. History’s semantic load amounted to an empirical argument for the God of Israel’s faithfulness and salvation. The Israelites were able to appreciate and comprehend this because of their keen observations, their hypothesizing, and their (non-falsified) models of problem-solving. Consequently, conclusions regarding Yahweh’s character and relationship with Israel were rational. Yahweh was a god whose character was not deduced through metaphysical or mythopoeic speculation but, rather, was empirically induced via observable historical events. This made him a uniquely scientifically manifest deity. Mid-20thcentury biblical theologians could take great comfort that their conclusions and those of the Israelite observers on which theirs were based were the results of an academic, verifiable, nearly scientific undertaking.

1.6.  The Problem in Ugaritology While many biblical theologians were maintaining the essential uniqueness of ancient Israel, the field of Ugaritology was being born. Scholars’ readings of the texts from Ras Shamra (ancient Ugarit) have run the gamut from conservative to near feral, and this has some bearing on the topic with which I am concerned here. On the one hand, the existence of only a handful of celestially oriented texts has made it clear that someone at Ugarit was contemplating the night sky. On the other hand, the few data-points provided by these meager texts have occasionally opened the door to readings of Ugaritic literature that flirt with the fantastic. Furthermore, Ras Shamra’s archaeologically documented interaction with the Greek world, whose astral mythology has never been lost, has also encouraged this. The sky was and is literally the limit. Unlike biblical studies of much of the 20th century, the study of the Ugaritic texts was not constricted by theological considerations that bracketed out naturalistic elements. On the contrary, the naturalistic characterization of Canaanite religion has meant that these elements have often been overemphasized in interpretations of Ugaritic myth, to the point of excluding other social and political dimensions. 57 All of this, in addition to the astral aspects of some of the gods featured, has led to evaluations of the Ugaritic material that have occasionally parroted the sort of speculation that was indicative of the pan-Babylonianist exegesis 57. This has been most manifest in seasonal interpretations of the Baal Cycle. See, for example, Theodore Gaster, Thespis: Ritual, Myth, and Drama in the Ancient Near East (2nd ed.; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961) 114–224; and J. C. de Moor, The Sea­ sonal Pattern in the Ugaritic Myth of Baʿlu according to the Version of Ilimilku (AOAT 16; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1971).

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during the early 20th century. Theodore Gaster in his monumental work Thes­ pis offered several astral interpretations of Ugaritic literature, most notably Aq­ hat and Shahar and Shalim. 58 Typical of a comparitivist of the Myth and Ritual school, Gaster felt free to flesh out the story line of both of these tales, including the celestial elements, in order to accomplish this feat, and used mostly other traditions from the ancient Mediterranean. Later (and surprisingly recently), Meindert Dijkstra interpreted Shahar and Shalim as reflecting an unattested intercalary scheme and the synodic period of the planet Venus. 59 The failure of these analyses was precisely the same as those offered by the pan-Babylonianists: there was no evidence that the ancient authors were aware of or cared about the celestial phenomena supposedly described in the literature.

1.7.  Bridging the Gap These trends in Assyriology and biblical studies are connected by numerous conceptual and methodological threads. Given my purposes here, it is worthwhile to note that both science historians and biblical theologians have had dramatic and detrimental impacts on how we appreciate ancient Near Eastern understandings of the relationship between the natural world and literature. Science historians imagined science to be completely separate from and above historical and cultural considerations, while theologians rendered the Israelite God completely separate from and above nature and history. Assyriologists were blinded to the scientific discourse within Mesopotamian literature, while biblical scholars were oblivious to the naturalistic aspects of Israelite religion and its ancient Near Eastern character. Both fields were thus unable to appreciate how these ancient cultures’ systematic perceptions of the natural world were culturally situated. This chasm was not truly bridged in Assyriology until the second half of the 20th century, when a striking reorientation within the history of science began to take place. Works such as Thomas Kuhn’s Structure of Scientific Revo­ lutions demonstrated that science was far from being a universal and isolated entity but was, rather, culturally located and conditioned. 60 In Assyriology, this allowed for new directions to be explored, first in terms of textual foci 58. Gaster, Thespis, 316–76 and 406–35. 59. Meindert Dijkstra, “Astral Myth of Shahar and Shalim (KTU 1.23),” in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf ”: Studien zum Alten Testament und Alten Orient—Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahrs mit Beitragen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen (ed. Manfred Dietrich and Oswalt Loretz; AOAT 250; Müntser: Ugarit Verlag, 1998) 265–87. 60. Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962).

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(specifically, divination materials), and second in terms of the relationships between textual genres and thus, conceptual spheres. Mesopotamian celestial divination had previously received some scholarly attention, such as R. Campbell Thompson’s Reports of the Magicians and Astrologers of Nineveh and Babylon in the British Museum, Charles Virolleaud’s Astrologie chaldéenne, Ernst Weidner’s outline of the series Enūma Anu Enlil (EAE), and René Largement’s publication of tablet 56 of this series. 61 Nonetheless, given the central role that celestial divination played in the Neo-Assyrian royal court, it is astounding that it did not come under significantly more scrutiny until well into the second half of the 20th century. Within a decade of Kuhn’s book, however, A. Leo Oppenheim published an analysis of the cultural locus of the Assyrian and Babylonian celestial diviners who authored the reports and letters to the Neo-Assyrian monarchs. 62 Subsequently, scholars such as Francesca Rochberg, Wilfred van Soldt, F. N. H. Al-Rawi and Andrew R. George, Lorenzo Verderame, Erlend Gehlken, and, above all, Erica Reiner and David Pingree 63 have made significant contributions in the publishing of EAE 61. R. Campbell Thompson, The Reports of the Magicians and Astrologers of Nin­ eveh and Babylon in the British Museum (2 vols.; London: Luzac, 1900). Charles Virolleaud, L’Astrologie chaldéenne—Le libre intitulé “enuma (Anu) ilBêl”: Publié, transcrit, traduit et cammenté (4 vols.; Paris: Geuthner, 1908–12). This work, although still useful, has always been highly problematic due to Virolleaud’s poor documentation. See comments by Neugebauer, “The History of Ancient Astronomy,” 8. Ernst Weidner, “Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14 (1941–44) 172–95, 308–18; 17 (1954–56) 71–89; 22 (1968–69) 65–75. René Largement, “Contribution à l’etude des astres errents dans l’astrologie chaldéenne (1),” ZA 52 (1957) 235–66. 62. Oppenheim, “Divination and Celestial,” 97–135. 63. Francesca Rochberg-Halton, Aspects of Babylonian Celestial Divination: The Lunar Eclipse Tablets of Enūma Anu Enlil (AfOB 22; Horn: Berger, 1988). Wilfred van Soldt, Solar Omens of Enuma Anu Enlil: Tablets 23 (24)–29 (30) (Istanbul: Nederlands Historisch-Archaeologisch Instituut, 1995). F. N. H. Al-Rawi and Andrew R. George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV and Other Early Astronomical Tables,” AfO 38–39 (1991–92) 52–73. Lorenzo Verderame, Le Tavole I–VI della serie astrologica Enūma Anu Enlil (Nisaba 2; Messina: Universtità di Messina, 2002). Erlend Gehlken, “Die Adad-Tafeln der Omenserie Enūma Anu Enil, Teil 1: Einführung,” BaghM 36 (2005) 235–73; idem, “Die Adad-Tafeln der Omenserie Enuma Anu Enlil, Teil 2: Die ersten beiden Donnertafeln (EAE 42 und EAE 43),” ZOA 1 (2008) 256–314; and idem, Weather Omens of Enūma Anu Enil: Thunderstorms, Wind and Rain (Tablets 44–49) (CM 43; Leiden: Brill, 2012). Erica Reiner and David Pingree, Babylonian Planetary Omens 1: The Venus Tablet of Ammiṣaduqa (Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 2/1; Malibu, CA: Undena, 1975); Babylonian Planetary Omens 2: Enūma Anu Enlil Tablets 50–51 (Bibliotheca Mesopotamia 2:2; Malibu, CA: Undena, 1981); Babylonian Planetary Omens: Part 3 (CM 11; Gronigen: Styx, 1998); Babylonian Planetary Omens: Part 4 (CM 30; Leiden: Brill, 2005).

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and its ancient commentaries. In addition to this, Simo Parpola and Hermann Hunger in their modern editions of the reports and letters of the Assyrian and Babylonian scholars to the Neo-Assyrian monarchs have situated the celestial divination texts within a real context, demonstrating just how these texts were used. 64 The publication of EAE, the letters and reports, and Late Babylonian astronomical texts allowed scholars to begin to understand Mesopotamian celestial sciences within Mesopotamian culture. 65 The first modern monograph able to use these texts in synthesizing a presentation of celestial divination in ancient Iraq was Ulla Koch-Westenholz’s Mesopotamian Astrology, while Hermann Hunger and David Pingree’s impressive Astral Sciences in Mesopotamia was the first modern book-length study to feature both Mesopotamian celestial divination and astronomy side by side. 66 Hunger and Pingree’s work has deservedly 64. Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part 1: Texts (AOAT 5/1; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1970); idem, Letters from Assyrian Scholars to the Kings Esarhaddon and Assurbanipal, Part 2: Commentary and Appendices (AOAT 5/2; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1983); Hermann Hunger, Astrological Reports to Assyrian Kings (SAA 8; Helsinki: Helsinki University Press, 1992); Simo Parpola, Letters from Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (SAA 10; Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press, 1993). The texts published in Hunger’s and Parpola’s works as well as several other SAA volumes are now available online through the website, “Knowledge and Power in the Neo-Assyrian Empire,” n.p., http://oracc.museum.upenn.edu/saao/knpp/ (accessed 16 October 2012). 65. Note also the publication of the horoscopes (dating primarily to the Late Babylonian period) by Abraham Sachs (“Babylonian Horoscopes,” JCS 6 [1952] 49–75); and Francesca Rochberg (Babylonian Horoscopes [TAPS 88/1; Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1998]); as well as Erica Reiner’s Astral Magic in Babylonia (TAPS 85/4; Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1995). Reiner’s work, also focusing primarily on the Late Babylonian period, is particularly significant, since it delineates connections between celestial divination, astrological, and magical texts. 66. Hermann Hunger and David Pingree, The Astral Sciences in Mesopotamia (HdO 44; Leiden: Brill, 1999). Hunger and Pingree’s focus is admittedly on the “astronomical” material, which comprises over 90% of the book—a fact that they attribute to the poor state of publication of celestial divination texts (Astral Sciences, 1). Occasionally their conclusions seem to assume, as does Neugebauer, that the ancient observers were good logical positivists interested in astronomy for astronomy’s sake. In their discussion of the diaries, for example, they assert that the observations recorded in these texts were made for “astronomical purposes” (Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 140). The authors mitigate this by correctly situating the observers in places such as Marduk’s temple (the Esagil) in Babylon and by noting that the observations were an expression of faith in Marduk’s orderly cosmos as laid out in Enūma Eliš. But, although the purpose of the diaries is a matter of some dispute, it is difficult to accept the idea that, unlike every other textual genre related to the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq, the diaries had no

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become a standard reference as far as astronomical aspects are concerned, and their incorporation of a chapter on celestial divination indicated a recognition of the cultural contexts in which the astronomical accomplishments were achieved. Incorporating these data and modern studies, David Brown for the first time applied Kuhn’s model of normal science to the celestial sciences of ancient Iraq in Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology. 67 Brown established the community in which Mesopotamian celestial science was practiced and argued that the science underwent a Kuhnian paradigm shift. 68 Moving beyond Kuhn, Francesca Rochberg’s Heavenly Writing: Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture integrated all of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences (that is, celestial divination and horoscopic astrology) into a single conceptual framework. 69 In contrast to Brown’s study, which highlighted the change between omen observation in the Neo-Assyrian period and the development of predictive, mathematical models in the Late Babylonian period, Rochberg argued that the Mesopotamian scribes did not perceive celestial divination (which was based on omen observation) and horoscopic astrology (which was based on mathematical calculation) as fundamentally contradictory undertakings. Biblical studies scholars have also largely reoriented themselves in the past few decades, and this has alleviated some of the issues created by theologically focused readings of the ancient texts. Biblical theology and biblical studies have become, over time, increasingly better defined. The problems generated by traditional theological baggage and Israelite exceptionalism were summarized by Frank Moore Cross: Yet another hindrance has been the tendency of scholars to overlook or suppress continuities between the early religion of Israel and the Canaanite (or Northwest Semitic) culture from which it emerged. There has been a pre-occupation with the novelty of Israel’s religious consciousness. practical purpose. For example, Rochberg argues that the diaries were a source of data for the horoscopes and that they were, on a fundamental level, related to the act of celestial divination (Rochberg, Heavenly Writing, 147–51, 261–65). Presuming that Hunger and Pingree are, in fact, correct in their assessment of the diaries, this does not mean that the diaries served an astronomical goal per se; rather, what the authors describe is an act of devotion, a ritual performed by religious professionals within a temple as an act of worship, and the assemblage of “objective data,” which is a boon to modern science historians, would have been gibberish for the ancient scribes. 67. David Brown, Mesopotamian Planetary Astronomy-Astrology (CM 18; Groningen: Styx, 2000). 68. Kuhn, Scientific Revolutions, 10, 168. 69. Rochberg, Heavenly Writing.

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More serious, the religion of Israel has been conceived as a unique or isolated phenomenon, radically or wholly discontinuous with its environment. In extreme form these views root ultimately in dogmatic systems, metaphysical or theological, and often serve an apologetic purpose. Yehezkel Kaufmann’s monumental attempt to write a history of the religion of Israel comes under this criticism. The empirical historian must describe novel configurations in Israel’s religion as having their origin in an orderly set of relationships which follow the usual typological sequences of historical change. Kaufmann’s insistence that Israelite religion “was absolutely different from anything the pagan world ever knew” violates fundamental postulates of scientific-historical method. 70

Though the title of Cross’s work suggests the continued use of a CanaaniteIsraelite contrastive model, the contents, of course, are a disciplined work that successfully highlighted Israel’s ancient Near Eastern character as well as its literary aspects, which were sui generis. Undoubtedly grounded in Albrightian methods (note, for example, the use of “typological sequences”), 71 his unambiguous statement rejecting Israelite exceptionalism was indicative of a paradigmatic shift in biblical studies. 72 This shift was precipitated by a number of factors, not the least of which was an avalanche of novel data generated by archaeology, such as the inscriptions from Khirbet el-Qom and Kuntillet ʿAjrud, and the continuing publication of the texts from Ugarit. These new data were increasingly brought to bear on biblical studies. The Hebrew Bible could be seen as demonstrative of Israel’s organic origin and its development over time, rather than as a document produced by a group of Semitic desert wanderers who could be defined by their unique ancient theology. Though there are dissenting voices, in biblical studies the recognition that the culture of ancient Israel was, in fact, an ancient Near Eastern culture and therefore needs to be approached using the same textual, philological, historical, and religious hermeneutics that scholars employ when engaging other ancient cultures has allowed 70. Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of Religion of Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971) vii–viii (emphasis mine). 71. For a summary of Albright’s methodology, see Peter Machinist, “William Foxwell Albright: The Man and His Work,” in The Study of the Ancient Near East in the Twenty-First Century: The William Foxwell Albright Centennial Conference (ed. Jerrold S. Cooper and Glenn M. Schwartz; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996) 385–403 (esp. pp. 393–401). For a scholar who was contemporary with Cross, see Delbert Hillers, who writes in a similar vein: “Analyzing the Abominable: Our Understanding of Canaanite Religion,” JQR 75 (1985) 253–75. 72. For critiques of the contrastive model, see e.g., Albrektson, History and the God; and Hillers, “Analyzing the Abominable,” 253–69.

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for a more critical evaluation of its religious history. 73 Many scholars have produced works that have contributed to this new paradigm. 74 Of particular interest to this study are works that have reassessed ancient Israel’s conceptions of the natural world, in particular the starry heavens, and the way that they are reflected in the biblical text. Mark S. Smith’s Origins of Biblical Monotheism, for example, explored the naturalistic aspects of deity (including astral) in ancient Israel along the Syro-Canaanite cultural continuum. 75 The groundbreaking work of Ronald Simkins in Yahweh’s Activity on History and Nature in the Book of Joel systematically analyzed and dismantled the history-versus-nature dichotomy that had theretofore largely dominated biblical studies and offered a new, integrative horizon against which the religious thought of ancient Judah and Israel needs to be examined. 76 In a similar vein, Theodore Hiebert’s Yahwist’s Landscape demonstrated how the Yahwist conceived of his god as inextricably linked to the land. 77 Also concentrating on a single author, Matthias Albani argued that the monotheistic and celestial image of Yahweh presented in Second Isaiah was a response to the astralization of Marduk in contemporary Babylon. 78 Finally, Frederick Cryer’s and Anne Jeffers’s respective monographs on divination placed Israelite mantic practices firmly within their Near Eastern context. 79 Unlike previous studies, both of these works evaluated the case for the existence of celestial divination in an73. The dissent originates primarily and understandably in both liberal and conservative theological circles: e.g., J. Severino Croatto, Exodus: A Hermeneutics of Free­ dom (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1981); Jeffrey J. Niehaus, Ancient Near Eastern Themes in Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids, MI: Kregel, 2008) and John N. Oswalt, The Bible among the Myths: Unique Revelation or Just Ancient Literature? (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2009). 74. See discussion and bibliography in Mark S. Smith, Untold Stories: The Bible and Ugaritic Studies in the Twentieth Century (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2001) 195–97, and, more recently, Herbert Niehr, “‘Israelite’ Religion and ‘Canaanite’ Religion,” in Re­ ligious Diversity in Ancient Israel and Judah (ed. Francesca Stavrakopoulou and John Barton; London: T. & T. Clark, 2010) 23–36. 75. Mark S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Back­ ground and the Ugaritic Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 76. Ronald Simkins, Yahweh’s Activity in History and Nature in the Book of Joel (ANETS 10; Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1991). 77. Hiebert, The Yahwist’s Landscape. 78. Matthias Albani, Der eine Gott und die himmlischen Heerscharen: Zur Begründ­ ung des Monotheismus bei Deuterojesaja im Horizont der Astralisierung des Gottesver­ ständnisses im Alten Orient (ABG 1; Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt, 1999). 79. Frederick Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel and Its Near Eastern Environment: A Socio-Historical Investigation (JSOTSup 142; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994); and Anne Jeffers, Magic and Divination in Ancient Palestine and Syria (SHCANE 8; Leiden: Brill, 1996).

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cient Israel with an understanding of the concepts and methods of the practice in Ugarit and ancient Iraq in hand. The studies of Smith, Cryer, and Jeffers were only possible because of important developments in the study of the Ugaritic materials. Just as the field of biblical studies was moving away from a theologically dominated model and was beginning to understand ancient Israel as part of rather than isolated from its ancient Near Eastern context, so the study of the texts from Ugarit was also reorienting itself. These phenomena are not unrelated, of course. The intense scrutiny initially paid to the Ugaritic texts by biblical scholars began to drop off in the 1970s for a number of reasons. 80 The most important of these for our purposes here, I believe, is the emergence of Ugaritology as a field in its own right. This allowed for a more judicious evaluation of the culture as a culture, rather than simply as one of the caricatured extremes in the false CanaaniteIsraelite dichotomy of nature-centered Canaanites and historically-minded Israelites. This, in turn, allowed for a more grounded assessment of the Ugaritic material alongside the literature from the southern Levant, including Iron Age Israel and Judah. For example, Lowell K. Handy, in Among the Host of Heaven: The Syro-Palestinian Pantheon as Bureaucracy, evaluated and rejected previous claims to characterize the narrative literature of Ugarit as primarily reflecting seasonal cycles and instead posited a political model for divinity that was valid not only for Ugarit but for ancient Israel as well. 81 Handy’s political approach to the pantheon was carried further by Mark S. Smith in The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, a monumental commentary that, among many other things, examined the political dimensions of this important narrative. 82 These works have highlighted a move away from purely naturalistic approaches to the Ugaritic texts that had been a common feature of previous understandings of Canaanite religion. In regard to celestial sciences specifically, Manfred Dietrich and Oswald Loretz’s synthetic presentation and analysis of all of the Ugaritic mantic texts (including 80. Smith ascribes this diminished interest to five factors: the explosion of secondary literature, the diminishing return of pointing out parallels between Ugaritic and biblical texts, the irritatingly persistent ambiguity of the Ugaritic texts, the idiosyncratic nature of some prominent interpretations of Ugaritic literature (à la Dahood), and (as discussed above) the emergence of Ugaritology as its own field requiring its own expertise (M. S. Smith, Untold Stories, 165–66). 81. L. K. Handy, Among the Host of Heaven: The Syro-Palestinian Pantheon as Bu­ reaucracy (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994). 82. Mark S. Smith, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Volume 1: Introduction with Text, Trans­ lation and Commentary of KTU 1.1–1.2 (VTSup 55; Leiden, Brill, 1994); Mark S. Smith and Wayne Pitard, The Ugaritic Baal Cycle, Volume 2: Introduction with Text, Translation and Commentary of KTU 1.3–1.4 (VTSup 114; Leiden: Brill, 2009).

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at least one celestial divination text) have provided a glimpse into divination in the northern Levant in the later second millennium. 83

1.8.  Celestial Science in Ancient Near Eastern Literature The last century has been witness to important accomplishments in the publishing of primary texts of the Mesopotamian traditions of celestial science. With their publication has come a new and profound understanding of the way the culture of ancient Mesopotamia conceived of and understood astral phenomena. In addition to this, both biblical studies and Ugaritology are grounded in their proper contexts. Thus, the time seems right again to approach the literature of the ancient Near East with the celestial sciences in mind.  84 After a century of research articulating how the peoples of the ancient Near East conceived of the sky above them, it is quite apparent that the visible heavens were a central feature of their understanding of cosmos and their place in it. The sky was studied intensely in scribal circles, and these are the very circles that were responsible for the literary tradition. In this undertaking, I have made every effort to avoid the two fundamental errors of the pan-Babylonianist school, which were a lack of understanding of the true nature and chronology of the Mesopotamian celestial-science tradition, and a reading of astral references into texts where none can be said to exist with any degree of certainty. To avoid the first of these pitfalls, one must summarize the history of the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq from the earliest times to the latest, covering all periods in which relevant literary texts were created; I recognize, of course, that more-comprehensive synopses of ancient Near Eastern celestial sciences exist. The second pitfall, the identification of literary texts with astral references, presents another set of difficulties. I hope to avoid overzealous misidentification—one of the cardinal sins of the panBabylonianists—by establishing a methodology with simple guidelines for the recognition of relevant texts in each of the regions being investigated. In addition to examining the literature of ancient Iraq, I also examine texts from the neighboring cultures of Ugarit and Israel–Palestine in order to begin 83. Oswald Loretz and Manfred Dietrich, Mantik in Ugarit: Keilalphabetische Texte der Opferschau, Omensammlungen, Nekromantie (ALASP 3; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1990). 84. By the terms literature, literary texts, and literary traditions, I mean primarily narrative, though occasionally my discussion will be informed by hymnic and other materials that display literary quality. I do not consider texts that are strictly astronomical (that is, technical), economic, epistolary, or even historiographic (such as royal inscriptions) to be literary texts, though some may have certain literary qualities.

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comprehensive study of this topic for the entire ancient Near East. 85 In regard to these areas, it is particularly important to establish what we can know of their celestial sciences before examining their literatures, much as I do before examining the Mesopotamian material. The existing celestially oriented texts from Ugarit are scant and unsophisticated, particularly when compared with the texts from Mesopotamia, while texts on this topic from ancient Israel are no longer extant, if they ever existed at all. Largely because of this dearth, there are no current comprehensive summaries of the Ugaritic and Israelite native celestial science traditions. 86 I recognize these lacunae in our knowledge. But since the cultures of Ugarit and Israel were closely related, handling these two cultures side by side will be helpful in constructing the most plenary picture possible. From the texts that have been preserved, it is apparent that in these societies celestial observation and speculation simply did not have the complexity, prestige, and lengthy tradition that they carried in ancient Iraq. Nevertheless, in both Ugarit and ancient Israel, the general goals of celestial observation can be deduced from the cultic and narrative texts that have survived. These goals are not unlike the objectives pursued in Mesopotamia and include calendrical regulation and astral worship. Recognizing these goals alone is enough to identify certain astral motifs and characterizations in Ugaritic and Israelite literature. This is the case even if, in Ugarit and Israel, astral concerns and concepts are never the entire focus of a whole narrative (or even significant portions of a narrative), as they are in Mesopotamia. Furthermore, while the resultant examination is not nearly as dramatic as the evidence derived from the Mesopotamian material, it does tell us a good deal about how the people of Ugarit and Israel conceived of and responded to the sky. Thus, with this work I hope to contribute to the study of the ancient Near East by situating the celestial traditions of Mesopotamia, Ugarit, and the ancient Israelites in their broader cultural frameworks, as expressed through each culture’s literary traditions, and to begin to fill the gap in the field that has been noted intermittently over the last half century. 87 85. Ideally, this study would include the Hittite and Egyptian materials as well, but I leave this task to the scholars who are better trained in these cultures than I am. 86. The most recent comprehensive studies of astronomy in ancient Israel are the outdated E. Walter Maunder, The Astronomy of the Bible: An Elementary Commentary on the Astronomical References of Holy Scripture (London: T. Sealey Clark, 1908); and Giovanni Schiaparelli, Astronomy in the Old Testament (Oxford: Clarendon, 1905)— both now a century old. Neither Maunder nor Schiaparelli was a biblical scholar; the two men were, rather, preeminent astronomers of their day, and Maunder was also a science historian. 87. E.g., Ackerman, “Stars and Stories,” 100–101; Francesca Rochberg, “‘The Stars and their Likenesses’: Perspectives on the Relationship between Celestial Bodies

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Appendix 1.1: Definitions of Important Terms Used in This Study The use of the terms astronomy and astrology has a long and confused history. In classical antiquity, when the terms were coined, they were not particularly distinguished, though the specific activities that we commonly associate with them were. Modern scholars typically use astronomy to refer to “scientific” activities involving data-recording and models of planetary-phenomena prediction, and so on. Astrology on the other hand has often been used to refer to any sort of divination activity employing celestial activity as either signs or fate-determiners. In this work, however, I try to be more deliberate in my usage. By astron­ omy, I mean plain observation, data recording, and the techniques of celestialphenomena prediction. I use astrology (in a significantly more limited way than many scholars) to indicate the specific form of personal divination of the Late Babylonian and Hellenistic periods usually referred to as horoscopic astrology, in which the planetary positions at the time of the birth of an individual are studied in order to determine the person’s fate. To refer to the omen-based activity typical of most of Mesopotamian history (characterized by the use of compendia such as Enūma Anu Enlil, and best illustrated in the Neo-Assyrian period), I employ the term celestial divination. The phrase celestial science is meant to be inclusive of all of these activities. My use of this last phrase is a practical concession to the lack of consistency in the application of the terminology in both ancient Near Eastern studies and science history in general, and an indication of the fact that these sharp delineations between activities are essentially modern constructs. 88 The title of this book, Poetic Astronomy, is nonetheless maintained as a deliberate allusion to Hyginus’s Poeticon Astronomicon. Defining science is also difficult. Characteristic of Western definitions are certain concepts (such as abstraction) and methods (observation, hypothesizing, experimentation, rehypothesizing). Definitions of this sort go back as far as the beginning of the use of the term science in English works such as William Whewell’s Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences to describe what had previously and Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in What Is a God? Anthropomorphic and Nonanthropomorphic Aspects of Deity in Ancient Mesopotamia (ed. Barbara Nevling Porter; Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute 2; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2009) 46. 88. For discussions of these terms, see Otto Neugebauer, “The History of Ancient Astron­omy: Problems and Methods,” JNES 4 (1945) 2–3; and Francesca Rochberg, “A Consideration of Babylonian Astronomy within the Historiography of Science,” Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 33 (2002) 677.

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been called natural philosophy. 89 Modern definitions are notoriously difficult to work with for science historians, who have noted that even the sciences of the ancient Greeks, whom many casual science historians claim invented the concept, cannot be characterized in this manner. Thus David Pingree offers this definition of science as the “most useful” for science history: “[S]cience is a systematic explanation of perceived or imaginary phenomena, or else is based on such an explanation.” 90 While admitting that this definition poses its own problems, I think that it is also practical and broad. 89. William Whewell’s The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences, Founded upon Their History (2 vols.; London: Parker, 1847) . For further discussion, see Francesca Rochberg, “The Cultures of Ancient Science: Some Historical Reflections. Introduction,” Isis 83 (1992) 547. 90. David Pingree, “Hellenophilia versus the History of Science,” Isis 83 [1992] 557– 59, esp. p. 559. For further discussion of the issue of defining the term, see Francesca Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing: Divination, Horoscopy, and Astronomy in Mesopotamian Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004) 237–86, esp. pp. 244–46.

Chapter 2

Celestial Science in Mesopotamia 2.1. Introduction The goal of this chapter is to provide a general history of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences. There is no doubt that there exist better summaries and syntheses of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences, and what follows is intended neither to supplement nor to replace them. 1 I reiterate the history here in order to establish a firm ground from which we can later examine reflexes of these sciences in Mesopotamian literature. Readers who are already familiar with the important texts that document the Mesopotamian celestial sciences and who have a grasp of their history and fundamental principles may wish to skim or ignore this chapter altogether. In any case, the survey I present here is necessary to avoid the methodological pitfall of the pan-Babylonianists or the occasional modern commentator who mistakenly assumes significantly more technical sophistication of the ancient authors than can be demonstrated.

2.1.1.  Chronology and Provenance of Sources The vast majority of texts discussed in this chapter and used for the reconstruction of the textual history of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences date from the OB to LB periods. However, since the overall goal of this book is the examination of the celestial sciences’ reflexes in literature, the greatest emphasis should be on the celestial-science texts that were composed at the same time as the literature was authored. Thus, though the numerical bulk of tablets having celestial-science concerns comes to us from the NB/NA–LB periods, I focus in the following pages primarily on OB–NB/NA texts, since the majority of Mesopotamian literature was composed in these times. While they do demonstrate a large measure of textual and conceptual continuity with earlier traditions, post-NB/NA celestial-science texts also demonstrate significant novelty. In this sense, the post-NB/NA material is considerably less relevant to this study, since 1. E.g., Koch-Westenholz, MAst; and Hunger and Pingree, ASM.

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that material reflects paradigmatic concepts that are not indicative of the time in which the literary texts were composed. Thus, the later celestial-science texts are not contemporary with the Mesopotamian literary tradition, and they are conceptually quite discordant. As would be expected in a discussion of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences, the preponderance of material surveyed in this chapter comes to us from ancient Iraq. The major exceptions to this generality are the surviving celestial divination texts from the MB/MA period, most of which originate in areas neighboring Mesopotamia, such as Syria, Anatolia, and Persia, though they reflect Babylonian traditions. This situation is typical of many genres of texts in the MB/MA period and is a result of the widespread adoption of Babylonian scribal practices as a means of international communication during the Late Bronze Age.

2.1.2.  Principles of Categorization 2.1.2.1.  Goals of Mesopotamian Celestial Sciences: Divination and Calendri­ cal Regulation.  The primary goal of the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq was to support the practice of celestial divination. As such, these sciences are very different from our modern sense of astronomy. 2 At no point in the documented history of this undertaking in Mesopotamia do we see individuals who observe and devise mathematical models for understanding and predicting celestial phenomena for the simple sake of doing so. Mesopotamian astronomy, even when it reached a high level of mathematical sophistication in the late periods, was always the handmaiden of celestial divination (or later, astrology). Indeed, the authors of characteristic LB texts, such as the almanacs and ephemerides (described below), are still called ṭupšar Enūma Anu Enlil, “scribe of (the celestial omen series) Enūma Anu Enlil.” 3 The goal of Mesopotamian celestial divination was to determine the will of the gods by observing (and later predicting) celestial phenomena and interpreting them. The scope covered by celestial divination—at least until the Persian period, when we first see personal horoscopes—was always the wellbeing of the state and the monarchy. It rarely, if ever, concerned any private individual. Sachs, in his pioneering study of Babylonian horoscopes, referred to this range of concerns as judicial, as opposed to personal. 4 2. See my discussion of the terms astronomy, astrology, celestial divination, and celestial science in the appendix to chap. 1. 3. Francesca Rochberg, “Scribes and Scholars: The tupsar Enūma Anu Enlil,” in Assyriologica et Semitica: Festschrift für Joachim Oelsner (ed. J. Marzahu and H. Neumann; AOAT 252; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2000) 370–71. 4. Sachs, “Babylonian Horoscopes,” 51–52.

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Chapter 2

It would certainly be an exaggeration to say that celestial divination was the singular goal of the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq. However, if we were to consider calendrical matters as a concern of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences, it would only be a secondary concern, and a fairly distant secondary concern at that. It is true that astronomical observation is necessary for the timing of religious festivals, some of which mark events such as lunar phases and the equinoxes. 5 The amount of observation required for the timing of these festivals is quite minimal, however; only lunar observation is necessary, even for phenomena based on the tropical year, such as the equinoxes. This is because the dates of festivals were most often tied to fixed dates in the lunar calendar, regardless of the timing of the actual phenomena in the tropical year. 6 Furthermore, while it is clear that lunar observation was made for the purpose of regulating various cultic calendars, the only actual documentation of lunar observation is related to celestial divination. 7 When calendrical matters per se are discussed in celestial-science texts, they prove altogether useless for regulating the luni-solar calendar that was ubiquitous in Mesopotamian society. This is because most celestial-science texts before the LB period used what modern scholars often refer to as the “Ideal Calendar.” This Ideal Calendar of 360 days per anum (rather than the 354 days of the lunar year, or 365 days of the tropical year) has long been recognized as the calendar underpinning celestial divination texts preceding the LB period. 8 Since it describes the year as having 360 days subdivided into twelve 30day months, the Ideal Calendar is necessarily precluded for calendrical regulation because it follows neither the strict lunar year, nor the tropical year—nor even the luni-solar calendar, which regularly corrects the first with the second. Rather, it follows an artificial schematic year, constructed to represent numerical symmetry rather than precise correspondence with reality. 9 5. Walther Sallaberger, Der kultische Kalender der Ur III Zeit, vol. 1 (Untersuchungen zur Assyriologie und vorderasiatischen Archäologie 7/1; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1993) 37–95; Mark E. Cohen, The Cultic Calendars of the Ancient Near East (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993) 400–453. 6. Ibid., 401. 7. This documentation dates primarily to the 1st millennium (NB/NA–LB) and comes to us from the reports, letters, almanacs, and goal year texts. For examples from the Neo-Assyrian letters, see Ben Zion Wachholder and David Weisberg, “Visibility of the New Moon in Cuneiform and Rabbinic Sources,” HUCA 42 (1971) 228–31. 8. For a full reconstruction of the various ideal schema and periodizations that compose this calendar, see Brown, AA, 113–22. 9. The celestial diviners who employed the Ideal Calendar were perfectly aware of this fact and relied on it to generate calendrical anomalies that were considered ominous. Though it was modeled on an idealized concept of time division, this did not mean

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2.1.2.2. Categories.  Since I maintain that the majority of Mesopotamian celestial-science texts have celestial divination as their primary goal, I have decided to categorize them according to their relationship to this undertaking. For brevity’s sake, I have chosen to focus on the texts and genres the contents which can be seen as indicative of the mainstream of the Mesopotamian celestial-science tradition. These texts will be introduced regardless of the number of copies extant. For example, even though a single copy of a particular tablet from EAE is known, it is nevertheless assumed that this text, belonging to the principal celestial divination series, is worthy of discussion. At the same time, I will also include texts and genres that exist in copious numbers in order to indicate their importance in antiquity and regardless of their relationship with the mainstream of the celestial-science tradition. Examples of this are the horoscopes that, though they represent personal celestial divination of a type that is directly in contrast to the judicial focus of the rest of the tradition, appear in great numbers (several dozen), thereby indicating their importance. This categorization system allows the elimination of singular texts that, though they might be of interest for the illumination of various astronomical minutiae, do not really assist in illuminating the general history of the Mesopotamian tradition of celestial divination. 10 The following are the subdivisions and summaries of the texts included in our discussion: Pre–Old Babylonian Celestial Sciences (§2.2 below): There are no celestial-science texts extant from the pre-OB periods. Therefore, I discuss the elements and goals of celestial science implied by various references in pre-OB texts. it could not be modified. When intercalation schemes, for example, are mentioned in celestial divination texts, they have little practical calendrical value and instead tend to reference the aversion of a bad portent by changing the month in which it took place. For example, the namburbî ritual involving intercalation described in The Diviner’s Manual 66–71 is specifically designed to avert evil rather than properly align the lunar and tropical calendars (A. Leo Oppenheim, “A Babylonian Diviner’s Manual,” JNES 33 [1974] 209). See also C. Williams, “Signs from the Sky, Signs from the Earth: The Diviner’s Manual Revisited,” in Under One Sky: Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East (ed. John Steele and A. Imhausen; AOAT 297; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2002) 482. Even the two intercalation schemes in MUL.APIN (II i 9–24, II A 1–ii 20) are based on the Ideal Calendar and therefore cannot function in reality (Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 150–53), thus supporting the idea that MUL.APIN, too, is really a celestial divination text. 10. These texts include singular examples of graphic representations of constellations, early unique examples of mathematical astronomy, inter alia. For references, see Brown, AA 262, 264.

32

Chapter 2 Celestial Divination Material (§2.3): This section discusses the celestial divination texts themselves—that is, the omen material. The OB–MB/ MA periods’ lack of unity in celestial divination traditions necessitates a broad approach, highlighting various omen texts from Mesopotamia and its neighbors together with their respective foci. Beginning in the NB/NA period, the lion’s share of the focus is given to EAE (and its commentaries), which is the canonical celestial omen series of the 1st millennium. In addition to this, other related important celestial omen series will be discussed. Celestial Divination Supportive Material (§2.4): These texts are tools for divination that, though they are not omen texts themselves, nevertheless directly aid in the activity of celestial divination, such as manuals and catalogs. Also included here are the innovative texts from Achaemenid and post-Achaemenid Babylonia that, as far as we can determine, were no longer being used to support state-sponsored celestial divination. Many of these texts seem to have been written either as part of scribal discipline, religious devotion, or, perhaps more likely, in support of horoscopic astrology. The texts in this section date from the MB to the very last recorded cuneiform text in the Parthian period. Celestial Divination and Astrological Interpretive Material (§2.5): Composed during the Neo-Assyrian through the Seleucid and Parthian periods, these texts show the practice of celestial divination and, later, astrology. They demonstrate the ways in which the various omen and supportive materials (§§2.3–2.4) were actually interpreted and used. Miscellaneous Material (§2.6): These materials do not fall in any of the above categories but might be significant for the history of Mesopotamian celestial sciences.

2.2.  Pre–Old Babylonian Celestial Sciences In a lecture given to the Society for Mesopotamian Studies, C. B. F. Walker stated: I should begin by saying we know nothing whatever about Sumerian astronomy, beyond a few fragments of star lists which may go back to the end of the third millennium b.c., listing some unidentifiable, some identifiable stars, and only one of the planets, the planet Venus, known to the Sumerians as Ninsianna. The study of Mesopotamian astronomy has in effect to begin in the Old Babylonian Period, around 1800 b.c. 11 11. Christopher Walker, “Episodes in the History of Babylonian Astronomy (Lecture Delivered to the Society for Mesopotamian Studies, Toronto, May 12, 1982),” B­CSMS 5 (1988) 10.

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Walker is certainly correct in emphasizing the lack of overt celestial-science texts in the pre-OB periods, but it is perhaps a bit much to say that we are entirely clueless. We can glean quite a bit of admittedly rudimentary information regarding the state of the celestial sciences in this period from a variety of nontechnical sources, such as calendrical and literary material. The sum of this information should give us an impression, at least, of the goals of celestial observation and speculation in these periods, even if it does not necessarily elucidate the methods.

2.2.1.  Evidence of Celestial Observation In the 3rd millennium, there was no single calendar in use throughout Mesopotamia. 12 Not until the end of this millennium, it seems, was there any successful attempt to standardize a calendar for multiple cities. 13 Nevertheless, there is one universal characteristic of all Mesopotamian calendars, whether they are Semitic or Sumerian, northern or southern: they are fundamentally lunar. By lunar, I mean that, not only is the month determined by the lunar cycles, but also the day and the year are defined in terms of lunar cycles. This view is summarized in a Sumerian dedicatory inscription from the OB period: 14 nan na e n - ga l u4 an -ku3-g e si m e n -nu n -na s ag -i l3 diĝ ir-z i u4 ge6-bi ḫ e2-ḫ e2 it i g e -e n -g e -e n mu si l im -ma d

For the god Nanna, great lord, light which fills shining heaven, who holds the princely crown aloft, reliable god, who alternates days and nights, who establishes the months, who completes the year.

Moreover, the phases of the moon also had cultic significance. 15 This means, of course, that the moon was observed regularly for the determination of the month and the year, as well as for the timing of certain cultic acts. The obvious problem with the lunar year is that it is about 11 days shorter than the tropical year. The difference generates an important cultic and administrative difficulty because much of the cultic year was necessarily tied to the agricultural cycle, as were periods of taxation. In the lunar calendars of 12. Cohen (Cultic Calendars, 23–201) gives the known calendars from a variety of city-states. 13. Cohen (ibid., 297) suggests that Išbi-Irra of Isin imposed an adapted Sippar calendar over southern Mesopotamia. 14. Douglas Frayne, Old Babylonian Period (2003–1595) (RIMEP 4; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1990) 220:1–6. 15. See the discussion of the various celebrations in various areas in Sallaberger, Der kultische Kalender, 37–96.

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the ancient Near East, the normative method of correcting for this discrepancy was intercalation of one month every two or three years. Textual evidence from this period demonstrates that this sort of intercalation was already being practiced. 16 Two of the methods used to determine the necessity of an intercalary month involve celestial observation. These methods, observation of the heliacal rising of particular stars and accurate determination of the equinoxes, are known from later periods. 17 Since we know that intercalation was practiced in the pre-OB periods, and we know that some methods of determining an intercalary year involve celestial observation, it is important to ascertain whether or not these particular methods were used during this time. It is clear that in the pre-OB periods the first method, observation of the heliacal rising of particular stars, was certainly a possibility. Because agricultural practice demands knowledge of the tropical year, the ability of farmers to determine this year accurately was a necessity. That the agricultural community could achieve this via celestial observation is demonstrated in The Farmers Instruction: 18 u4 mu l an -na šu im -ma -ab -du7-a-t a 1 0 -am3 a2 g ud a-š a3 z i‑ z i‑ i‑ d a-še3 i g i -zu nam -b a -e -g i d2-i

When the star(s) of the sky are right, do not be reluctant to take the oxen force to the field many times.

On the other hand, techniques required for the accurate determination of the equinoxes, a requisite of the second method, are simply unattested in this period. This method would require some type of clock, whether based on the position of the sun (à la Stonehenge) or, alternatively, some sort of water clock with ability to keep time accurately, to a matter of minutes. While it is clear that by the OB period there was a water clock in use, there is no evidence that this sort of apparatus existed in the earlier periods, nor is there any evidence for time-tracking devices based on the sun’s position. 19 16. For example, in the Ur III period specifically, see T. Gomri, “Embolism in the Umma Calendar under Shulgi of the Ur III Period,” ASJ 6 (1984) 1–18. 17. For example, MUL.APIN II i 9–24 and II Gap A 8–ii 20. See also J. B. Segal, “Intercalation and the Hebrew Calendar,” VT 7 (1957) 263–268 for discussion of these methods, as they might pertain to intercalation practices in ancient Israel. 18. Translation based on Miguel Civil, The Farmer’s Instructions: A Sumerian Ag­ ricultural Manual (AuOr Supplement 5; Barcelona: Ausa, 1994) 1:38–39. Though it is admittedly an OB text, Civil takes the Instructions to be descriptive of Sumerian agricultural practices (3). 19. David Brown, “The Cuneiform Conception of Celestial Space and Time,” Cam­ bridge Archaeological Journal 10 (2000) 105.

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Although it was possible to measure the need for an intercalary month by observing the date of the heliacal rising of certain stars, mentioned above, it seems that it could also be determined using a third method, altogether unrelated to celestial observation. 20 Whenever the tropical year was out of synchronization with the lunar year, to the extent that the asynchrony was obvious agriculturally, the relevant authorities simply declared an intercalary month. Of course, this was the simplest available method. That this ad hoc method was preferred is demonstrated by the complete lack of regularity with which intercalary months were inserted, as demonstrated in the year lists reconstructed by Peter Huber. 21 The irregularity, at least in the later OB period, could result in two–four intercalary years in a row. 22 Had the necessity for intercalary months been based on a celestial method, we would expect significantly more regularity. Further evidence of celestial observation in the pre-OB periods comes from their demonstrable understanding that Venus in the morning and Venus in the evening are the same body. The Late Uruk/Jemdet Nasr period seal described and photographed by Hans J. Nissen suggests an early recognition of Venus’s dual identity. 23 More evidence for this early recognition is the fact that Venus (both morning and evening) is always and only associated with Ištar/ Inana, beginning with the earliest periods. 24 This understanding would require a certain amount of celestial observation, though it need not have been formal or ritualized. 20. It is interesting to note here that there is reference to Šulgi in one of the intercalary schemes described in MUL.APIN II ii 18: DIŠ ITIBÁR-ZAG-GAR 2 KAM-ma BAL-e dšul-gi An intercalary Nisan (belongs to) Šulgi; DIŠ ITIDIRI-ŠE-GUR10-KU5 BAL-e MAR-TU-i An intercalary Adar (belongs to) the reign of Amurru; DIŠ ITIKIN-dINNIN 2 KAM-ma BAL-e kaš-ši-i An intercalary Elul (belongs to) the reign of the Kassites. (Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 96)

Hunger interprets this to mean that these intercalary months are perhaps related to the fates of the Ur III, First Babylonian, and Kassite dynasties, respectively—perhaps alluding to the months in which these dynasties ended (p. 132). This is not, however, a historical allusion to an intercalation scheme in Šulgi’s reign (or the OB or Kassite period, for that matter). 21. Peter Huber, Astronomical Dating of Babylon I and Ur III (Occasional Papers on the Near East 1/4; Malibu, CA: Undena, 1982) 8 for discussion and pp. 56–61, 75–83 for calendrical data regarding intercalary years. 22. Ibid., 8. 23. Hans J. Nissen et al., Archaic Bookkeeping: Early Writing and Techniques of Eco­ nomic Administration in the Ancient Near East (trans. P. Larsen; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993) 17–18. 24. It might be argued, however, that d/muldelebat, is, in fact, another deity. Brown ­ (AA, 67) has a discussion of the various names and associations of Venus.

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2.2.2.  Evidence of Celestial Divination Circumstantial evidence for celestial divination in the pre-OB periods is strong, though not directly documented by specific divination texts. Astral matters in these periods revolve around the goddess Nisaba, who is otherwise and more typically associated with grain and the scribal arts. Already in Early Dynastic IIIa (ca. 2600), however, she is also associated with the stars. 25 Her cult was located in the é. mu l.mu l (House of Stars) temple in Ereš, a temple decorated with lapis lazuli, 26 and Sumerian literature often describes her consulting a tablet of stars made of this material. For example, in several well-known passages from Gudea’s Cylinder A, Gudea witnesses in his dream an image of Nisaba commissioning him to build his temple: 27 dub -mu l -an dug3-ga im -m i-ga l2 a d im -d a5-g i4-g i4

She placed the star tablet on her knee (and) consulted it.

Furthermore, the very purpose of her appearance in the dream is described: 28 e2-a -du3-b a mu l-kug -b a g u3 ma -r a -a-d e2

To build a house according to the pure stars she has called you [Gudea].

Though it is in Nisaba’s possession, she is not the only individual who is able to consult the star tablet. In a bilingual hymn from the OB period, Enlil, with Nisaba’s assistance, looks to the tablet for guidance when constructing her temple in Ereš: 29 e2-g e štu dn is ab a-k e4 ga l2 nam -m i- i n-t ag4 dub -z a -g in3 du10-na nam -m i- i n-g ar dub -mu l -an-ku3-t a š a3 im -ma -kuš2-u3

[Enlil] has verily opened the House of Learning of Nisaba, Has verily placed the lapis lazuli tablet on (her) knee. Taking counsel with the pure tablet of the stars of the sky,

25. Bendt Alster, “On the Earliest Sumerian Literary Tradition,” JCS 28 (1976) 116–20; and Robert D. Biggs, Inscriptions from Tell Abū Ṣalābikh (OIP 99; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974) 17. 26. Åke W. Sjöberg et al., The Collection of Sumerian Temple Hymns (TCS 3; Locust Valley: Augustin, 1969), TH #42; see also Andrew George, House Most High: The Temples of Ancient Mesopotamia (MC 5; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1993) #818 and #820. 27. Based on E. J. Wilson, The Cylinders of Gudea: Transliteration, Translation and Index (AOAT 224; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996) IV 26–V 27; see also IX 9–10. 28. Translation based on ibid., VI 1–2. 29. Based on William Hallo, “The Cultic Setting of Sumerian Poetry,” in XVII Ren­ contre Assyriologique Internationale (ed. André Finet; CCRAI 17; Brussels: Comité Belge de Recherches Historiques, 1970) 125–33 (esp. pp. 29–33).

Celestial Science in Mesopotamia aratt aki e2-z a -g i n3-na šu-ni -še3 mu -u n -gar e r e ški ḫ i-nu n-na mu-du3-u3-nam

37

(As?) in Aratta he has placed the Ezagin30 at her disposal, Ereš he has constructed in abundance.

 30

The fact that another god might seek counsel from Nisaba in regard to future plans is striking and seems to point to celestial divination. However, the fact that Nisaba’s astral guidance is sought in both of the previous cases for architectural counsel suggests that the primary concern here is to orient properly celestially the structures in question. Nisaba’s scribal patronage presumably would include land surveying, and the absence of any mantic technical material in Sumerian (or at least originally composed in Sumerian) is also a factor to consider. 31 In any case, Koch-Westenholz notes that Nisaba’s association with astral matters should come as no surprise, given her relationship with the agricultural cycle. 32 Indeed, the author of the Sumerian story Lugal-e makes the point that Nisaba, along with Suen, is in charge of time measurement: 33 su e n -d a u4 še d -e

d

Together with Suen, she [Nisaba] counts the days.

As we saw in the Farmer’s Instruction above, people considered the appearance of certain stars to be indicative and even predictive of agricultural/seasonal phenomena. When a particular star appears, it is time for harvest; when another star appears, the day starts getting longer; when a third star appears, it is time for sowing; and so on. It seems that Nisaba’s connections to agriculture on the one hand and scribal craft on the other led to her astral patronage. 30. This lapis temple seems to be an alternate name for the é-mu l.mu l. Sjöberg, Temple Hymns TH #42: 1 reads: é -mu l-mu l é-za-g ìn g ù n-a ku r-ku r-r a šu-mu-un-b ad

Shining house, house adorned with lapis lazuli, spreading in all the lands. . . .

31. See, however, Piotr Michalowski, “How to Read a Liver—in Sumerian,” in If a Man Builds a Joyful House: Assyriological Studies in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty (ed. Ann K. Guinan et al.; CM 31; Leiden: Brill, 2006) 247–58. 32. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 33. 33. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 33 n. 3; and Jan van Dijk, LUGAL UD ME-LÁM-bi NIR-GÁL: Le récit épique et didactique des Traxaux de Ninurta, du Déluge et de la Nou­ velle Création, vol. 1 (Leiden: Brill, 1983) 721. Koch-Westenholz (ibid., 33) goes on to say that “The knowledge of astronomy (not astrology!) attributed to her was used to correct the vagaries of the lunar calendar.” Given the erratic dispersal of intercalated years demonstrated by Huber (Astronomical Dating, 56–61 and 75–83), it seems to be incorrect to say that astronomical means were used to correct the lunar calendar; see discussion of intercalation in the pre-OB periods above.

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2.2.3.  The Sumerian King List and Royal Astral Apotheosis In the Sumerian historiographic tradition, kings were sometimes associated with the stars. As has long been noted, the Sumerian King List (SKL) illustrates this most dramatically. 34 The list, a text in composed in Sumerian recounting the earliest kings of southern Mesopotamia up to the time of its composition, was a well-known and widespread document in the OB and copies exist as late as the NA period. 35 Judging by the dramatically different version originating during the reign of Šulgi in the Ur III period, the original composition, perhaps written as early as the Akkadian period, seems to have been updated several times. 36 As Hallo noted, a number of early kings listed in the SKL share names with constellations known from the celestial-science tradition. Among these, for example, is the very first king: 37 I 1 nam -lug a l an-t a e11-de3-a-b a 2 e r iduki nam -lug a l-l a 3 e r iduki á-lu-lim lug a l 4 mu 2 8, 80 0 i3-a k

When kingship had come down from heaven kingship was at Eridu. At Eridu, Alulim was king; he reigned for 28,800 years.

AL.LUL, “the Crab” (that is, Cancer), is well attested in MUL.APIN, where it is described as šu-bat da-nim, “the seat of An,” and is also listed as one of the ziqpu stars and one of stars in the path of the moon. 38 Several others follow, including Dumuzi, 39 Ensipazianna, 40 as well as several kings of postdiluvian Kish. 41 The significance of these astral personages in the SKL is not entirely obmul

34. William Hallo, “Beginning and End of the Sumerian King List in the Nippur Recension,” JCS 17 (1963) 52. 35. The classic presentation is Thorkild Jacobsen, The Sumerian King List (AS 11; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1939) 5–13; for a recent English edition, including bibliography, see Jean-Jacques Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles (ed. Benjamin Foster; SBLWAW 19; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2004) 117–26. 36. For the Ur III tablet and this dating, see Piotr Steinkeller, “An Ur III Manuscript of the Sumerian King List,” in Literatur, Politik und Recht in Mesopotamien: Festschrift für Claus Wilcke (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2003) 267–92. 37. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 118–19. Translations follow Glassner with minor modifications. 38. MUL.APIN I i 7; ii 41; iv 6, 34. 39. While, there is no star the primary name of which is Dumuzi, there is, nevertheless, a common association of the god with the constellation mul.lúḪUN.GÁ, “the Hired Man” (i.e., Aries). In MUL.APIN, this is stated explicitly (MUL.APIN I i 43; see also I ii 36; iii 24; II i 15, 21). See also the discussion in §3.3.4. 40. SKL I 19–20 MUL.APIN I ii 2, 3, 40; iii 16, 26, 46–47; iv 20. 41. Douglas Frayne, building on Hallo’s work, argues that the first 12 kings of this city after the flood in the SKL (I 39–II 15) can be identified as constellations: giš-ùr = mul.

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vious. The sources of the names of the early kings in the SKL seem to be rather diverse and include mythical characters. Some of these are perhaps based on historical figures. 42 In some cases (for example, Dumuzi of Bad-tibira, Gilgamesh of Uruk) the use of the divine determinative possibly indicates that the individual was the focus of a cultus. 43 Šulgi of Ur appears much later in the Sumerian King List. His name, like those of several of the Ur III monarchs, is written with the divine determinative (VIII 11). An Ur III economic text dating to Šulgi’s reign curiously dates a transaction to the “day when Šulgi ascended to heaven.” The full text reads: 44 2 0 -l a2-1 g e me2 s ag -dub 2 g e m e2 a2-⅔

19 female full-time slaves (and) 2 female slaves at ⅔ wage,

GANA.ÙR/maškakātu, “the Harrow”; kúl-la-sí-an-na-be-el = dEN.ME.ŠÁR.RA, “Lord of All”; NA? dis-le KU5-DA? = mulis lê, “the Bull’s Jaw”; en-dara3-an-na = ?, ba-bu-um = “Gate”? (identified by Frayne as Auriga); ušum-an-na = mulMUŠ, kà-lí-bu-um = mulUR. GIR7 , “Dog”; ti8-mušen = mulTI8.MUŠEN, “Eagle,” qà-lu-mu = ? “Sheep”; zú-qá-qi4-ip = mul GÍR.TAB, “Scorpion”; à-tab-ba = Adapa (identified by Frayne as the point of the vernal equinox); ar-bu-ú-um = mulUGA.MUŠEN, “Raven” (Presargonic Period, 50–51). His observation is made even more striking by the fact that in the oldest verson of the SKL which we now have (dating to the Ur III) period, these kings seem to be the very first kings on the list (Steinkeller, “An Ur III Manuscript,” 269–70). Nonetheless, while some of Frayne’s suggestions seem reasonable, others are less well-grounded, while other seem completely arbitrary. It is notable that none of the names on this portion of the list are preceded by the divine determinative, unlike those that preceded the flood. Frayne offers no further interpretation of this phenomenon in the SKL, and his predilection for the number twelve is reminiscent of pan-Babylonianist methodologies. An alternative interpretation to this peculiar assemblage of names, most of which are animals, is offered by Glassner. He notes that in the MA version of the Etana myth, which describes, in part, that king of Kish’s heavenly ascent, Etana is described as king of the wild animals (Mesopotamian Chronicles, 61; MA I/D 8–9 in J. V. Kinnier Wilson, The Legend of Etana: A New Edition [Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1985] 60–61). In any case, the large variety of animals in that story and the concentration of animal names in this particular portion of the SKL is noteworthy. 42. Jacobsen, The Sumerian King List, 141–64, 187–90; Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 55–70; Claus Wilcke, “Genealogical and Geographical Thought in the Sumerian King List,” in Dumu-e2-dub-ba-a: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (ed. Hermann Behrens et al.; Philadelphia: University Museum, 1989) 567–68. 43. The divine determinative is used in the writing of the names: Dumuzi of Badtibira, Dumuzi, Lugalbanda and Gilgamesh of Uruk (III 12–17), Ur-Namma Šulgi and Amar-Suen of Ur (VIII 11–13), Šu-ilišu, Lipit-Ištar, Ur-Ninurta, Bur-Sin, Lipit-Enlil, Erra-imitti, Enlil-bani, Zambiya, Iter-piša, Ur-dukuga and Sin-magir of Isin (VIII 25– 33). As I will show, the divine determinative is used more frequently in succeeding parts of the list, especially for the kings of Ur III and Isin. 44. Wayne Horowitz and P. Watson, “Further Notes on Birmingham Cuneiform Tablets 1,” ASJ 12 (1991) 410–11. giš

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40 u4-7 -še2 a2-bi 1 4 2 -⅓ ge m e2 u4 1 -še3 u4 dšu l -g i an -na b a -a -e11-d a-a i3- du8-am3 k i-a2-na -na-t a b a -z i it i-e z e n -m e-k i -ga l2 mu -ḫ a -ar-šiki u3 k i -maški b a -ḫ u l

for seven days. Their work of 142⅓ female slave days on the day when Šulgi ascended to heaven and was released, against Anana was withdrawn. The month of the festival of me.ki.gál, the year that Harshi and Kimash were destroyed.

We might simply assume that the event to which this text refers is merely the circumstance of Šulgi’s death. Claus Wilcke maintains that, just as the kings of Ur III were divinized, so they hoped that upon death, their divine part would ascend into heaven, though their human part descended into the netherworld. 45 Such a belief, he argues, was modeled on deities such as Dumuzi and Ningišzida who, though they are netherworld gods, appear as gatekeepers of heaven in the myth of Adapa. 46 Within his own lifetime, the king, Šulgi, expressed his appreciation for the fleetingness of existence and human fate: 47 a -na ab -tu ku ur5-r e ib2-ḫu l Whatever is acquired, can also be lost. a -b a nam -t i l3 an-na What mortal has ever reached heaven? b a -e -e3

By claiming to be a god, Šulgi asserted, of course, that he himself was no mortal and thus would not share a mortal’s fate. Indeed, as the simple notation in the economic text above indicates, his minions shared the belief in the king’s heavenly destiny after death. Thus, the expression is taken as a hopeful euphemism for a monarch’s death, an interpretation that is supported by the fact that the same turn of phrase has been identified in another text referring to the death of the deified Isin king, Išbi-irra. 48 Glassner notes that a couple of legendary fig45. Claus Wilcke, “König Šulgis Himmelfahrt,” in Festschrift Lásló Vajda (ed. Claudius Müller and Hans-Joachim Paproth; Münchner Bei­träge zur Völkerkunde 1. Munich: Hirmer, 1988) 245–55. 46. For Adapa, including a full edition and commentary, see Shlomo Izre'el, Adapa and the South Wind: Language Has the Power of Life and Death (MC 10; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2001). 47. Šulgi B 281–82. Text and translation from “A Praise Poem of Šulgi (Šulgi B),” http://etcsl​.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcslcgi?text=t.2.4.2.02# and http://etcsl.orinst. ox​.ac.uk/cgi-bin/​etcsl​.cgi?text=c.2.4.2.02&display=Crit&charenc=&lineid=c24202​ .281#c24202.281 [accessed 8 July 2011]. 48. M. Yoshikima, “An-šè . . . s (= è/e11) ‘to die’,” ASJ 11 (1989) 353; Piotr Steinkeller, “Išbi-Erra’s Himmelfahrt,” NABU 1992: 4; idem, “Corrigendum to NABU 1992/4,” NABU 1992: 56. Note that Išbi-erra is not, however, deified in the SKL (VIII 23).

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ures are also said to have ascended to heaven (an-še3 . . . e11): the antediluvian sage Utu-abzu and the postdiluvian king of Kish, Etana. 49 Therefore, in asserting his postmortal celestial ascent, Šulgi claims for himself both divinity on the one hand and divinely ordained kingship and sagacity on the other. Although I do not suggest that we concede to Šulgi’s delusions of grandeur, in his case this may be something more than a simple optimistic overstatement. Two OB star catalogs list a star or constellation called mul.dŠUL.GI, among other constellations: 50 KÉŠ-da SIPA.ZI.AN.NA mul.d ŠUL.GI mul MA[x]-x mul.lú [ḪUN.GÁ] mul G[ÍR.TAB] mul mul

The Bond True Shepherd of An Šulgi ? The Hired Man The Scorpion

and: 51 MAR.GÍD.DA ŠUL.GI

mul

mul.d

The Wagon (Ursa Maioris) Šulgi

The constellations accompanying mul.dŠUL.GI in these lists are all well known and attested in later periods. Furthermore, a certain “Šulgi of Heaven” was worshiped in the e2-hur-sag, constructed by the earthly Šulgi, in Ur. 52 This point is stated explicitly in a Sumerian temple hymn: 53 49. Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 91 n. 8. For Utu-Abzu, see Rykle Borger, “Die Beschwörungsserie Bīt mēseri und die Himmelfahrt Henochs,” JNES 33 (1974) 193–94. Not only is Etana’s ascent mentioned in the Akkadian myth describing the tale (Kinnier Wilson, Etana); it is also referenced in the SKL (II 16–17). 50. Horowitz and Watson (“Birmingham Cuneiform Tablets,” 411–13) discuss this option and the relationship to mulŠulgi. The source of the text here is MSL 11 133 viii 39–44. 51. MSL 11 137–38 rev. ii 1′–2′. 52. George, House Most High, 100, #472. 53. Sjöberg, Temple Hymns 24: 131–33. It is interesting that there is a é- ḫ ur-s ag -g á that seems to be connected with Šulpae (one of the names for Jupiter) in an OB text from Boghazköy: [e2-ḫur-s ag -g a2] [e2-izi-šu -t ag -g a]

[e]-ḫ u -u r-š a -an-g a [e]-i-zi-šu -ut -t a -g a

bi-it šu-ul-pé bi-it šu-ul-pé

This might be further evidence of a connection between Jupiter and the reign of Šulgi, as was first noted by Walker, in “Babylonian Astronomy,” 21–22, where he discusses a tablet fragment from the British Museum. This tablet has, on one side, a portion of tales concerning Šulgi and on the other what appears to be a table of Jupiter observations. Walker does not give the catalog number of the tablet, but Brown (AA, 248) cites it as BM 26472.

42

Chapter 2 m e še -e r-k a -an-d i Adorned with the mes, determining nam -t ar-r e -d a destiny, e2-ḫ u r-s ag šu l-g i -an-na-k e4 O Ehursag, Šulgi of Heaven muš3-z a e2 bi -i n-g ub b ar a2-za Has placed the house upon your predu r2 bi2-in -gar cinct, has taken his place on your dais.

The designation “Šulgi of Heaven” (šu lg i-an-na) follows the naming pattern of other constellations—for example, “Bull of Heaven” (mulGUD.AN.NA) and “True Shepherd of Heaven” (mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA). 54 While the star of Šulgi and the Šulgi of Heaven may not be identical, the volume of references to some form of celestial Šulgi at the very least indicates royal scribal interest in celestial matters. At most, it suggests that this deified Ur III king was considered to have ascended to the sky after his death and to have become a star or constellation. Perhaps when Šulgi died, a constellation was (re)named in his honor. 55 Judging by the evidence that remains, however, the use of this particular star name did not survive the OB period. Alternatively, it could be that Šulgi himself was named after a constellation and ascribed to himself ascent to the stars. This would shed light on the names of some of the early kings in the SKL who share names with certain stars, though it would not explain the mention of the king’s heavenly ascent. 54. For such names, see briefly, Francesca Rochberg, “The Heavens and the Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia: The View from a Polytheistic Cosmology,” in Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism (ed. Beate Pongratz-Leisten; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) 124. 55. Kings’ and heroes’ ascensions to the sky are, of course, a common motif in mythology and religion, and as such this sort of astral apotheosis would make the deified Šulgi much like the deified Egyptian kings of the Old Kingdom. A roughly contemporary example of this is related in an Old Kingdom Pyramid Text, in which the deceased king is transported to the night sky and becomes, with the aid of a series of spells, one of the circumpolar stars. The Pyramid Texts contain dozens of references to this journey; for specific references to the king’s transformation into a star, see Utterances 248, 302, 320, 328, 441, 461, 463, 464, 466, 554, 570, 571, and 586A in R. Faulkner, The Ancient Egyptian Pyramid Texts Translated into English (Oxford: Clarendon, 1969). The ascension concept is also attested in classical antiquity. See, for example, Peter Green, “Getting to Be a Star: The Politics of Catasterism,” in From Ikaria to the Stars: Classical Mythification, Ancient and Modern (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2004) 234–49. For an excellent summary of the classical sources as well as a critique of the approach of the Religiongeschichte Schule concerning the motif, see I. Culianu, Psychanodia I: A Survey of the Evidence concerning the Ascension of the Soul and Its Relevance (Leiden: Brill, 1983). See also Amar Annus, “The Soul’s Journeys and Tauroctony: On Babylonian Sediment in the Syncretic Religious Doctrines of Late Antiquity,” in Studien zu Ritual und Sozialgeschichte im Alten Orient / Studies on Ritual and Society in the Ancient Near East: Tartuer Symposien 1998–2004 (ed. T. R. Kämmerer; BZAW 274; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2007) 1–53.

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2.2.4.  References to Pre-OB Monarchs in Celestial Divination Texts There are several references to pre-OB monarchs (Sargon and Ibbi-Sin) within the later celestial omen series Enūma Anu Enlil. 56 In addition to these, there is a reference to Šulgi in an intercalary scheme in MUL.APIN II ii 18 (§2.4.2.1.12). Ernst Weidner has taken historical references of this sort, particularly references in the omen literature of EAE, as indicating the recording of celestial omens in the pre-OB periods. 57 Ulla Koch-Westenholz and Francesca Rochberg-Halton are rightly quite skeptical about Weidner’s extrapolation. 58 In isolation, these references certainly offer little to support the proposition that celestial divination was practiced at this time.

2.2.5.  Conclusions regarding Celestial Sciences in the Pre-OB Periods The only certain goal of celestial science in the pre-OB periods is calendrical regulation. Specifically, lunar observations were made for the delineation of months as well as festival days related to the phases of the moon. Additionally, farmers paid attention to the starry sky in order to regulate their own agricultural work. The methods required for accomplishing these two tasks are not particularly complicated. Calendrical regulation within a single lunation or between multiple lunations requires only familiarity with the phases of the moon, while agriculturally oriented astral observation necessitates a mental catalog of a handful of prominent stars and a general idea of their heliacal rising dates as they are associated with the planting and harvesting cycle. Another possible goal of the celestial sciences in this period is celestial divination. Although it is not directly documented in these periods, references to Nisaba indicate that it may have been practiced. Perhaps the best evidence for celestial divination in these periods, however, is the large tradition documented in the following OB period. Such an elaborate and well-documented tradition must have its conceptual roots in an earlier period. 59 Celestial divination requires both observation and a tradition of omens associated with various celestial phenomena. This tradition need not be written. Given the complete lack of celestial omens in Sumerian, omens of this sort may have been entirely oral. 60 56. Ernst Weidner, “Historisches Material in der babylonischen Omina-Literatur,” MAOG 4 (1928–29) 231, 236. 57. Weidner, “Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14 (1941–44) 175 n. 19. 58. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 35; Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 7 n. 32. 59. Despite her pessimism regarding celestial observation in these periods, KochWestenholz admits that this must be the case (Koch-Westenholz, MAst 36). 60. There are a few bilingual omens from the Late Babylonian period, though none is celestial; even so, these are simply late translations of Akkadian omens. See SpTU I 90 (#85 and #86); and Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 34.

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2.3.  Celestial Divination Material 2.3.1.  OB Celestial Omens 2.3.1.1.  OB Celestial Omens from Mesopotamia Proper.  There are four lunar omen texts known from Mesopotamia proper in the OB period. 61 These, though still unpublished, are described by Rochberg-Halton. 62 They list eclipse omens and, though their organizing principle is similar to later lunar eclipse omen texts, are distinct from the latter in formula and orthography. 63 They already exhibit complex protases, which include not only the dates on which the eclipse occurs but also the time of its occurrence, the areas covered by the shadow, the direction in which the shadow moves, and the length of the eclipse. 64 These are the same criteria used in lunar eclipse texts from later periods. In the OB period outside Babylonia, there is a single lunar eclipse text, which comes from Mari. 65 Unlike the contemporary texts from lower Mesopotamia, the Mari protases simply note in which month the eclipse occurs; the other qualities of the eclipse are unimportant. Part of EAE 63 preserves what are commonly considered to be actual observational records of the planet Venus during the reign of the OB king Ammiṣaduqa, though the only surviving exemplars of EAE 63 are from the NB/NA period or later. The assumption that these observations originate in the OB period is based on the end of omen 10, which reads: 66 61. BM 22606, 86381, and 16775 are all from Babylon, although the last, BM 109154, is unprovenanced (Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 19; and the fuller discussion in Francesca Rochberg, “Old Babylonian Celestial Divination,” in If a Man Builds a Joyful House Assyriological Studies in Honor of Erle Verdun Leichty [ed. Ann K. Guinan et al.; CM 31; Leiden: Brill, 2006] 337–48, especially pp. 341–46). 62. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 19–22. Rochberg-Halton considers these texts collectively as “prototypes or forerunners to EAE tablets 15–22” (p. 19). Specifically, like EAE 15–22, these texts are arranged “by thematic elements in the protases” (p. 19). 63. For example, all four texts feature different syntaxes for the protases (RochbergHalton, ABCD, 20–22). The orthography tends to be much more syllabic than in later periods; this is typical of OB texts. Of the logograms that are used in these texts, some are unique to the texts of this period and their direct progeny: for example, AN.TA.LÙ for antalû, while later unrelated texts use AN.MI (22). Rochberg-Halton considers EAE 22 to have its origins in the OB period on the basis of its orthography (including the spelling AN.TA.LÙ) and organization (Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 251–52). 64. Ibid., 20–21. 65. Jean-Marie Durand, Archives Épistolaires de Mari I/1 (ARM 26; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civiliations, 1988) 504–6, #248. In the OB orthographic tradition, an­ talû is represented by AN.TA.LÙ here as well. Lunar eclipses are also mentioned in a few letters from Mari. For bibliography, see Brown, AA, 248. 66. BPO 1, omen 10; and Arthur Ungnad, “Datenlisten,” RlA 2:190 #256. For a full discussion of the meaning of this year name and its variants, see Malcom J. A. Horsnell,

Celestial Science in Mesopotamia MU gišDÚR.GAR KÙ.SIG17.GA.KAM

45

Year of the Golden Throne

This particular year is the eponym for the eighth year of Ammiṣaduqa’s reign. These records are preserved, as it were, in the form of celestial omens, wherein the date of Venus’s Greek-letter Phenomena (specifically first and last visibilities, i.e., Γ, Ξ and Σ, Ω) are the protases. 67 Though only omen 10 is recorded without an apodosis, David Brown argues that all of the protases in EAE 63:I are, in fact, observational records to which apodoses were later added on the basis of the apodoses from EAE 63:II. 68 If this is the case, then EAE 63:I is the oldest existing observational record from the ancient Near East. The OB text first published in Western Europe by Theo Bauer and later republished by Wayne Horowitz preserves what may be a category of celestial omens that has no later parallel. 69 The protases all contain general descriptions of the sky, sometimes with reference to the appearance of the moon, clouds, or other celestial phenomena. The apodoses then describe the conditions of the entire year; sometimes these evaluations are as vague as “good” or “bad,” whereas sometimes they are specific in their descriptions of imminent calamities, such as a flood. Presumably, the days that the protases are describing are in the first month of the year, since the apodoses concern the full year, but this is not stated explicitly in the text. 70 The Year Names of the First Dynasty of Babylon, vol. 2 (Hamilton, ON: MacMaster University Press, 1999) 334–35. 67. Greek-letter Phenomena refer to the main features of the planets’ movements (the following chart is from Hunger and Pingree, ASM, xiv): Superior Planets Γ first visibility in east Φ first station Θ acronychal rising Ψ second station Ω first invisibility in west

Inferior Planets Γ first visibility in east Φ station in east (second station) Σ first invisibility in east Ξ first visibility in west Ψ station in west (first station) Ω first invisibility in west

68. Brown, AA, 285. Reiner and Pingree in BPO 2:1 7 describe the contents of EAE 63: “Sections I (omens 1–21) and III (omens 34–37) deal with pairs of last and first visibilities of Venus; they are separated by section II (omens 22–33). Most of the omens in I and III are repeated in IV (omens 38–59) wherein they are rearranged in the order of the months. Section II also was excerpted in the series Iqqur īpuš where it more properly belongs.” 69. Theo Bauer, “Schwer zugängliche russische Veröffentlichungen altbabylonischer Texte: Eine Sammlung von Himmelsvorzeichen,” ZA 43 (1936) 308–14; Wayne Horowitz, “Astral Tablets in the Hermitage, Saint Petersburg,” ZA 90 (2000) 203–6. 70. Ibid., 203.

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Solar omens are also twice attested in the OB. A single tablet of solar eclipse omens, was published by Manfried Dietrich from a private collection; 71 and another tablet, an imgidda that also includes weather omens, remains unpublished in the British Museum. 72 No relation to later solar omens has been suggested. 2.3.1.2.  OB Celestial Omens from the Periphery.  A handful of OB lunar omens originate from neighboring areas. Their existence is evidence of the primacy of Babylonian traditions in these matters. These texts come to us from diverse sites across the Near East, including Susa, Alalakh, Emar, and Qatna. Of the three texts from Susa, the first is an Akkadian fragment of EAE 22 I:I–II, copied in the MB period. 73 A second Akkadian text, also a MB copy of what is likely an OB original, is a compendium of solar omens with parallels to the later documented omens from the EAE tradition (tablets 30/31–35). 74 The third text is in Elamite and, though in generalities it may parallel EAE 40–49 (containing primarily meteorological omens), it does not appear to have any genetic relationship with that series or any other Mesopotamian omen text. 75 Two texts from Alalakh also seem to have an OB pedigree. These texts, originally assumed by Wiseman to be parts of the same series, are quite different from each other in form. 76 Number 451 parallels EAE 17–18 or 22 and has OB orthography, while #452 finds its closest parallels in the unpublished OB lunar eclipse omens from Mesopotamia proper. 77 Qatna, like Susa, provides us with a fragment of EAE 22 I:III–IV. 78 71. Manfried Dietrich, “Altbabylonische Omina zur Sonnenfinsternis,” WZKM 86 (1996) 99–105; the tablet is in a private collection. It is interesting to note that AN.TA.LÚ is used to describe solar eclipses as well as lunar. The tablet’s colophon reads: “19 MU.BI AN.TA.LÚ dUTU”; Dietrich, “Altbabylonische Omina,” 101. 72. BM 97210; see Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 9 n. 5. See also a brief comment by Matthew Rutz, “Textual Transmission between Babylonia and Susa: A New Solar Omen Compendium,” JCS 58 (2006) 72 n. 42. 73. V. Scheil, “Notules XXVII: Un fragment susien du livre Enuma Anu (ilu) Ellil,” RA 14 (1917) 139–42; and Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 251–54. 74. Rutz, “Textual Transmission between Babylonia and Susa,” 63–96 (for the OB date, see p. 75) 75. V. Scheil, “Dèchiffrement d’un document anzanite relatif aux présages,” RA 14 (1917) 29–59. 76. Donald J. Wiseman, The Alalakh Tablets (Occasional Publication of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara 2; London: British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, 1953) 114, #451 and #452. 77. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 32–33. 78. Jean Bottéro, “Autres textes de Qatna,” RA 44 (1950) 105–12; and RochbergHalton, ABCD, 271.

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As noted, several lunar omen texts mentioned above actually date to the MB period. However, Rochberg-Halton places their composition, on the basis of orthography, in the OB period. 79 Originating entirely in the periphery (Susa, Emar, Qatna, and Alalakh), most of these texts bear a relationship to the unpublished Mesopotamian OB texts and/or EAE 17–19 and especially 22.

2.3.2.  MB/MA Celestial Omens 2.3.2.1.  MB/MA Celestial Omens from Mesopotamia Proper.  RochbergHalton classifies the omen material from the MB/MA period in two categories: transitional and EAE tradition. 80 Though she includes two texts in the “transitional” category, these cannot be considered genetically related to any canonical form of EAE. 81 Her transitional category merely suggests elements of both the OB traditions and later NB/NA traditions, which happen to be preserved in the final forms of EAE. In these two transitional texts, “Elements of Old Babylonian formal structure are preserved as is the Old Babylonian orthography to some extent, but the formulary of the protasis is closer to that found in the Neo-Assyrian texts.” 82 The three tablets that constitute the examples of the MB/MA EAE tradition are the immediate predecessors of the NB/NA recension of EAE 15 and 20, with few notable variants from this later tradition. 83 Other than these lunar texts, the only extant MB/MA text containing celestial omens from Mesopotamia is a fragmentary tablet from Nippur. 84 2.3.2.2.  MB/MA Celestial Omens from the Periphery.  Celestial divination texts are better attested outside Mesopotamia proper in the MB/MA period; many have been uncovered at such diverse sites as Emar, Nuzi, Susa, Ugarit, and Bogazköy. 85 Though many of these texts show a level of local enculturation, 79. Ibid., 32–35. 80. Ibid., 23–26. 81. BM 121034 (published in ibid., 273–79) and Ni 1856 (unpublished). 82. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 23. 83. VAT 9803 (published in Ernst Weidner, “Die astrologische Serie Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17 [1954–46] 71; and Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 71–74), Assur 10145 (published in Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17, pl. 2; and Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 181– 216), and VAT 9740+11670 (published in Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17, 80ff.; and ABCD, 181–216); Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 23. 84. PBS 2/2, no. 123 in Arthur Ungnad, “Ein meteorologischer Bericht aus der Kassitenzeit,” OLZ 15 (1912) 446–49. As noted by Rutz, this tablet is now lost (“Textual Transmission between Babylonia and Susa,” 64). 85. MB celestial omens from Susa are described above in the discussion of OB Peripheral texts, due to their likely composition in the OB period. The astronomical texts in both Akkadian and Ugaritic from MB Ugarit will be discussed in chap. 4.

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they are nonetheless a testimony to the large-scale export of Babylonian scholarship during the international koiné of the Late Bronze Age. Over a dozen celestial divination texts have been found at Emar. 86 Several (##650–52) are lunar omens with loose parallels to parts of EAE 21. 87 Additionally, there are solar omens (#653), stellar omens (#655), and a number of unidentified astronomical textual fragments. Meanwhile, an earthquake omen text, clearly Babylonian in origin, has been preserved at Nuzi. 88 It contains parallels to both the Adad section of EAE, as well as the lunar omen section EAE 22. 89 The material from the Hittite capital, Boghazköy, is especially extensive. It comprises the largest collection of MB peripheral celestial divination texts. 90 In fact, the number of celestial omen texts from Boghazköy is almost equal to the total number of all the other omen texts from the site. 91 The primary focus of the celestial omen literature is lunar omens. This is unsurprising, given their predominance in the literature up to this point. As is expected at Boghazköy, these omens appear in Akkadian, Hittite, and Hurrian. The Akkadian examples, however, are few. One is so fragmentary as to be essentially useless for comparison, while the second has several well-preserved lines that loosely parallel EAE 22. 92 The third and final lunar omen text in Akkadian from Boghazköy is an 86. Daniel Arnaud, Recherches au pays d’Aštata: Emar VI/4 Textes de la biblio­ thèque: Transcriptions et traductions (Mission Archéologique de Meskéné-Emar; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civiliations, 1987) ##650–65. 87. Ibid., 254. It is very possible that the composition of #652 dates to the OB period due to its orthography of AN.TA.LÙ (“eclipse”) in the OB orthographic fashion, rather than AN.MI, which first appears later. See Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 22, for a discussion of the OB orthography. 88. Ernst René Lacheman, “An Omen Text from Nuzi,” RA 34 (1937) 1–8. Lacheman notes: “Though the script is typically Nuzian, the language is not. The regular order of the Babylonian months is used, whereas the business documents of Nuzi employ the Hurrian calendar. Most ideograms used in this text are not found elsewhere in Nuzi texts” (“Omen Text,” 4). 89. Specifically, ACh, Adad 20:35–40; and EAE 22 in Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 262–69. 90. For the most recent summary of astronomical texts from Boghazköy, see Ulla Koch-Westenholz, “Mesopotamian Astrology at Hattusas,” in Die Rolle der Astrono­ mie in den Kulturen Mesopotamiens: Beiträge zum 3. Grazer Morgenländischen Sympo­ sion (23.–27. September 1991) (ed. Hannes D. Galter; Grazer Morgenländische Studien 3; Graz: GrazKult, 1993) 230–46; and her briefer discussion of these materials in idem, MAst 145–47. 91. Idem, “Hattusas,” 232. 92. The fragmentary text is KBo 8 6; also see brief comments in Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 33. For the loose parallel to EAE 22, see KUB 4 64; and see also Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 33 (brief comments), 168 (transliteration).

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Akkadian-Hittite bilingual. 93 No less than 12 examples illustrate the lunar omen tradition in Hittite. 94 Drawing conclusions based on form, Rochberg-Halton is certain that these are translations of Akkadian originals. 95 There are 2 fragmentary lunar omen texts in Hurrian as well. 96 In addition to these lunar omens, there is an additional text in Hittite that merits mention. KUB 34 12 preserves what seems to be a Hittite translation of the opening of the canonical series of EAE and appears to be followed by lunar omens.  97 However, since KUB 34 12 is extremely fragmentary, this interpretation is painfully uncertain. In addition to lunar omens, there are solar eclipse omens and comet/meteor omens. The solar omen text is documented in both Akkadian and in many Hittite fragments. 98 Because the solar eclipse omen section of EAE (29–40) is yet to be published, it is unclear if the Boghazköy texts bear any relationship to the canonical EAE tradition. However, it is clear that the solar eclipse tablet was but one in a series since the colophon that is preserved in the Akkadian exemplar reads: DUB.1.KÁM AN.TA.LÙ dUTU. 99 Comet/meteor omens exist in Hittite as well, though they are not especially abundant, with only 3 known exemplars. 100 Also of note from Boghazköy is a Hittite “Prayer to the Gods of the Night.” Although its actual relationship to Mesopotamian versions of this type of prayer 93. Hans Güterbock, “Bilingual Lunar Omens from Boğazköy,” in A Scientific Hu­ manist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (ed. Erle Leichty et al.; Occasional Publication of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 9; Philadelphia: University Museum, 1988) 161–73. 94. KUB 8 1, KUB 8 4, KUB 8 8, KUB 8 9; KBo 2 19 (= KUB 8 2 + 43 16), KBo 8 47 (2x), KBo 13 15, KBo 13 18, KBo 34 7, KBo 13 14 + 16 + KUB 8 7; and JCS 24 (1972) 175 #75 are all eclipse omens. 95. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 33. 96. For discussion and texts, see Anneleis Kammenhuber, Orakelpraxis, Träume und Vorzeichenschau bei den Hethitern (Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1976) 67–68, 153–61. 97. See Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 46, for discussion and transliteration of the extant material. 98. For the Akkadian text, see KUB 4 63 in M. Leibovici, “Un Texte Astrologique Akkadien de Boghazköi,” RA 50 (1955–56) 11–21. See CTH #534 for a full list of all 12 Hittite fragments. 99. Leibovici, “Un Texte Astrologique,” 20. A fragment of the second tablet in this series, perhaps at least partially corresponding to EAE 35, was very likely found at Ugarit; see below, §4.1.3.1. Note also the OB orthography of AN.TA.LÙ. 100. See CTH #535:1–3; there described simply as “Signes astraux,” it is first associated with comets/meteors (in CTH #535:1 only) by M. Leibovici in “Présages Hittites Traduits de l’Akkadien,” Syria 33 (1956) 144; and later (CTH #535:1–3) by Koch-Westenholz in “Mesopotamian Astrology at Hattusas,” 231.

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is unclear 101—largely because we do not yet have a complete publication of the Hittite text but only a hand copy—this text has nonetheless already garnered some interest. 102 This is due to the text’s star list, which is written logographically in Akkadian but presumably read in Hittite, since the surrounding prayer is written in the latter. 103 The list catalogs 17 stars, the last 12 of which are well known from other celestial-science literature. The first 5, however, use names that are unknown elsewhere. 104 Both Weidner and Reiner assert that these first 5 entries refer to the planets. 105 If this is correct, then this would certainly be the first documented recognition of Mercury and Saturn as planets, as Brown notes. 106 Thus, the material from Boghazköy shows a well-developed tradition of celestial divination demonstrated by many texts, most of which can presumably be traced back to Babylonian originals. It is hard to determine how much of the Babylonian material was imported for practical purposes and how much was imported as simply part of the scholastic tradition. Certainly, the fact that so many of the texts are in native languages rather than Akkadian seems to indicate a genuine interest in the practice. Still, there is nothing in any of the Hittite royal correspondence that would indicate the implementation of any of these texts.

2.3.3.  NB/NA Celestial Omens 2.3.3.1.  Enūma Anu Enlil 2.3.3.1.1. EAE in the Old Babylonian and Middle Babylonian/Assyrian Periods.​  There are several features of EAE that indicate an OB origin for at least some parts of the lunar omen sections (EAE 1–22). EAE 14, the ideal lunar scheme, features an OB-style calendar with solstices and equinoxes on the 15th of months III, VI, IX, and XII rather than on the 15th of months I, IV, VII, and X, which later becomes the standard. 107 Furthermore, EAE 14’s day-night ratio approximations agree with otherwise attested OB models rather than those

101. See discussion of the confusion regarding the various Prayers to Gods of the Night in §2.6.1 below. 102. KUB 4 47r: 39–48. 103. KUB 4 47r: 43–46. 104. BPO 2, 2–3. 105. Weidner, Handbuch, 60; Reiner, BPO 2, 3. 106. Brown, AA, 251. 107. Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV and Other Early Astronomical Tables,” 57 (table C: 6) 60–61 (commentary); and the OB water clock text in the appendix of Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 163–64.

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of later periods. 108 In addition to this, EAE 22 preserves OB-style orthography in contrast to the rest of the lunar section, including the writing AN.TA.LÙ, “eclipse,” rather than AN.MI and dEN.ZU, “Sin,” rather than d30. 109 Although the OB evidence for portions of EAE is limited, the MB/MA period presents our first contextual examples of portions of EAE. 110 Parts of EAE 15 and 20 are both attested in the MB/MA period, and both are from Assyria. VAT 9803, a MA text fragment from Assur, contains a portion of EAE 15. 111 Assur 10145 and VAT 9740+11670 and are also from Assur and contain parts of EAE 20. 112 In addition to MB/MA copies of texts from EAE, there is circumstantial evidence for late-2nd-millennium activity. A poorly preserved NA copy of EAE 20 has a colophon that states it was copied from a tablet from the reign of Adadapla-iddina (mid-12th century). 113 But the majority of this evidence appears in connection with the data drawn from MUL.APIN. The planetary theory in EAE 56 (including the periods of the planets’ respective visibilities and invisibilities and the place of their appearances and disappearances on the eastern or western horizon) duplicates MUL.APIN II i 53–59, 64–67. 114 The composition of MUL.APIN is normally assigned to the MB/MA period. Hunger and Pingree are not certain whether MUL.APIN or EAE has priority on this matter, 108. Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV,” 57 (table C) 60 (commentary). 109. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 251–52. 110. There has been quite a bit of speculation about whether or not EAE existed as a series as early as the OB period. Previously, two OB literary catalogs (TCL 15 #28: 55, which lists a Sumerian title u4 an-né, and UET 6/1 #128:49–50, which lists both a Sumerian title, u4 an - né, and what is apparently an expanded Akkadian translation i-na AN ù en-líl) were thought to provide possible witnesses to the series as early as that period (Samuel N. Kramer, “The Oldest Literary Catalogue: A Sumerian List of Literary Compositions Compiled about 2000 b.c.,” BASOR 88 [1942] 16–19; and idem, “A New Literary Catalogue from Ur,” RA 55 [1961] 169–76). Such an understanding of these titles has been maintained as recently as Brown (AA, 249; but contrast Hunger and Pingree’s caution, ASM, 7). There is little doubt, however, that the titles listed in the catalogs refer not to a forerunner of the celestial divination series but to a bilingual Babylonian royal chronicle preserved in 1st-millennium copies. For an edition of the text and bibliography, see Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 126–34. See also Rutz’s brief critique (“Textual Transmission between Babylonia and Susa,” 63–64 n. 3). 111. Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17, 71–71; and Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 67, 70. 112. For Assur 10145, see Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17, pl. 2; and Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 175; for VAT 9740+11670, see Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 17, 80–81. 113. Source S to EAE 20 (K3561+6141[b]); Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 216. 114. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 9.

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but they lean toward MUL.APIN on the grounds that the planetary theory is not omen material per se, and thus it fits more appropriately in the context of MUL.APIN. 115 In addition to this, the water clock tables of MUL.APIN I ii 43–iii 12 are duplicated in EAE 14. 116 On the other hand, a good portion of the concluding omen section of MUL.APIN (II iii 16–iv 12) draws on EAE, with some omens quoted nearly verbatim from various portions of that series and, in this case, one would assume that EAE has priority. 117 If the dating of MUL. APIN to the MB/MA period is correct, then this would indicate that at least these portions of EAE existed in, or prior to, that period. There is no doubt that sections of the later canonical series have their origins before the 1st millennium. What remains unclear, however, is when these presumably originally diverse texts were assembled into a single series. A date in the late 2nd millennium or very early 1st millennium seems most likely, in my opinion, based on the reconstructed dates of composition of other texts (Astrolabe B and MUL.APIN) that feature the same sort of ideal calendrical schemes as EAE. 2.3.3.1.2.  The “Canonized” Version 118 2.3.3.1.2.1. Date.  While there is no mention of EAE in the first two centuries of the 1st millennium, by the end of the 8th century scholars writing to the Assyrian monarchs frequently refer to EAE. It is referred to as an iškaru, “series,” the standard term for a “canonized” work, such as Gilgamesh. 119 This being the case, EAE must have already had a stabilized unity for some time before the 8th century, and it seems reasonable to assume that it had reached canonical status around the beginning of the 1st millennium, even though we have no textual evidence of this sort of unity in the MB/MA period. 115. Ibid., 131. 116. While it is possible that the water clock tables originated in either MUL.APIN or in EAE, Hunger and Pingree prefer a third, unrelated source, especially since the same tables are found on tablets unconnected to MUL.APIN or EAE (Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 10; and Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV”). 117. See the list of parallels in Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 9. The places of most of these portions are as yet unidentified within the EAE corpus, the main exception being four lines from EAE 55. 118. The term canonized is used as a label of convenience and does not imply the type of canonization used to refer to the Judeo-Christian canons. 119. For example: šu-mu an-ni-u la-a ša ÉŠ.QAR-ma šu ša pi-i um-ma-ni šu-ú, “This omen is not from the Series; it is from the oral tradition of the masters”; SAA 10 8:rev. 1–2. See also Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Canonicity in Cuneiform Texts,” JCS 36 (1984) 130–31; and idem, ABCD, 74–76, for discussion.

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2.3.3.1.2.2.  Contents and Versions.  The entirety of the series, with the obvious exception of the Sumerian introduction, is written in the Standard Babylonian dialect. This dialect is preserved when Assyrian scholars cite EAE in their reports and letters, even when the language is otherwise Assyrian. 120 In spite of this general linguistic, textual, and interpretive unity, we can, nonetheless, discern four different versions. 121 These versions are primarily distinguished by tablet numbering and, consequentially, number of tablets: an Assyrian version used at Assur (63 tablets), an Assyrian version used at Nineveh (69 tablets), a Babylonian version from Nineveh (70 tablets), and a Babylonian version attested in Babylonia (Babylon and Kish; 68 tablets). 122 These different versions, however, could have been used in the same city, even by the same celestial diviner. 123 All versions show the same topical organization: lunar omens (general, followed by eclipses, about 25 tablets), 124 solar omens (general, followed by eclipses, about 15 tablets), 125 meteorological omens (about 10 tablets), 126 and general planetary and stellar omens (13–20 tablets, depending on the version). 127 In terms of actual textual content, all versions of EAE generally agree, but this statement is necessarily contingent on the current incomplete state of publication. 128 Indeed, at least one tablet (EAE 20) shows considerable variation. 129 Nonetheless, there is enough agreement between the attested copies that most scholars 120. SAA 10, xv; and Martin Worthington, “Dialect Admixture of Babylonian and Assyrian in SAA VIII, X, XII, XVIII and XVIII,” Iraq 68 (2006) 63–64. 121. Weidner originally sought to distinguish between schools in Babylon, Borsippa, Assur, Kalah, Nineveh, and Uruk (“Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14, 181). 122. Summarized by Jeanette C. Fincke, “Der Assur-Katalog der Serie enūma anu enlil (EAE),” Or 70 (2001) 36. 123. Koch-Westenholz, MAst 80. 124. Verderame, Le Tavole I–VI della serie astrologica Enūma Anu Enlil; Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV,” 52–73; Rochberg-Halton, ABCD. 125. Van Soldt, Solar Omens of Enuma Anu Enlil. 126. Gehlken, “Die Adad-Tafeln der Omenserie Enūma Anu Enil. Teil 1”; idem, “Die Adad-Tafeln der Omenserie Enūma Anu Enil. Teil 2”; and idem, Weather Omens. 127. Largement, “Contribution à l’etude des astres errents,” 235–66; Reiner and Pingree, BPO 1–4. For the most recent discussion of the various versions and their respective tablet numbering, see Fincke, “Der Assur-Katalog.” 128. As Fincke noted (ibid., 38 n. 39). 129. Copies of EAE 20, unlike the other published tablets of the series, exhibit marked differences in content, and these differences, at least, do in fact amount to two different recensions. Rochberg-Halton has named these the Assyrian and Babylonian recensions, based on script. This nomenclature has little bearing on tablet provenance, however, because texts of both types are found in both Assyria and Babylonia (Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 174–76).

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have concluded that the series as a whole must derive from a single origin. It is also important to note that this process of textual canonization went hand in hand with a standardization of hermeneutical principles shared by all diviners who shared in passing along the traditions and interpreting the series. 130 2.3.3.1.3.  EAE in the Late Babylonian Period.  In spite of the revolution in Mesopotamian celestial divination that began in the NB/NA period and the dramatic upheavals caused by the Persian and Hellenistic conquests, EAE still remained an important element in Mesopotamian scholarly life. Brown has shown that, beginning in the middle of the 1st millennium, celestial diviners developed the methods to predict ominous celestial phenomena accurately, and he argues that a new model of celestial thought (which he dubs the “Prediction of Celestial Phenomena Paradigm [PCP]”) eventually displaced the model based on EAE. 131 We might think that, with the development of a new paradigm, the Mesopotamian celestial diviners would have abandoned EAE altogether, since it was no longer practically relevant, but this was not the case. At the very least, EAE was a traditional series that could not be ignored. Thus, there are many copies of various tablets of EAE from the late periods, as well as an important EAE catalog from Uruk. 132 The series was still an active scholarly topic in the late period, as shown by the many commentaries preserved from that time. 133 In addition to this hard evidence for EAE in the late periods, Pingree argues that several Mesopotamian features specific to EAE-style celestial divination were borrowed by Egypt, Greece, and even India at that time. 134 It is important to note, however, that, despite the ample evidence for continued academic interest in the canonical series, the vast preponderance of texts from the late period reflect Brown’s PCP paradigm rather than the EAE paradigm,

130. Fincke, “Der Assur-Katalog,” 39. For a discussion of hermeneutical standardization, see Brown, AA, 156–60. 131. Ibid., 161–207. For descriptions of both the EAE paradigm and the PCP paradigm, see §§2.7.3 and 2.7.4, respectively. 132. For example, late copies of EAE 15–20 are listed in Rochberg-Halton, ABCD 29; see also a copy of EAE 33 listed in Joachim Oelsner, Materialien zur babylonischen Ge­ sellschaft und Kultur in hellenistischer Zeit (Assyriologia 7; Budapest, 1986) 177. For the Uruk catalog (VAT 7814+AO 6470), see Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14, 186–89, pls. 1–2. 133. Eight witnesses of commentaries on EAE 1, 4, 8, 20, 52, 55, and 56 are listed in Oelsner, Materialien, 177. 134. David Pingree, “Mesopotamian Astronomy and Astral Omens in Other Civilizations,” in Mesopotamien und seine Nachbarn: Politische und kulturelle Wechselbezie­ hungen im alten Vorderasien vom 4. bis 1. Jahrtausend v. Chr. (CCRAI 25; Berlin: Reimer, 1982) 613–31; Also see BPO 3, 29–34; and Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 31.

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which suggests that the methods of EAE were no longer used on a large scale and were mostly an object of academic discipline. 135 2.3.3.2.  EAE Commentaries and Anthologies 2.3.3.2.1. mukallimtu UD AN dEN.LÌL.  Mukallimtu is a general term for a commentary text corresponding to a series. 136 The term itself is derived from the root kullumu, “to show, display,” and seems to mean something like, “explanation.” 137 A number of these sorts of commentaries are extant for various portions of EAE and strictly follow the order of the text of EAE. The mukal­ limtus on EAE elucidated the protases and provided alternate interpretations, often by equating certain stars with certain planets (in order to broaden the application of a particular omen) 138 or by imaginative interpretations of the signs themselves. 139 2.3.3.2.2. mukallimtu šumma Sîn ina tāmartīšu.  Unusual for several reasons, one commentary on EAE deserves special attention. Šumma Sîn ina tāmartīšu mukallimtu Enūma Anu Enlil is the only known commentary on any series to have its own name, and it does not follow the order of the material as it is organized in EAE. It also appears to contain some omens that are not included in this series. 140 Its unique nature may be related to the general preponderance of lunar omens in the celestial omen tradition in general before the canonization of EAE, as well as within the corpus itself. Like other commentaries, šumma Sîn ina tāmartīšu elucidates confusing protases, but the principle of organization is quite unclear. As it is frequently cited by celestial diviners in their letters to the Assyrian monarchs, its composition precedes the 7th cen­tury. 141 135. Rochberg has argued that a dramatic paradigmatic shift of this sort would not have been noticed to a great extent by the scribes themselves, who would have considered the principles of the EAE and PCP paradigms conceptually compatible, since they continued the textual traditions of EAE even as they innovated (Rochberg, The Heavenly Writing). 136. On the subject of commentaries in general, see now Eckart Frahm, Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries: Origins of Interpretation (Guides to the Mesopotamian Textual Record 5; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2011), esp. pp. 129–66, which address commentaries on EAE. For Mukallimtu, see ibid., 42–48. 137. Koch-Westenholz offers the translation “revealer”; for a list and discussion of the known mukallimtus, see MAst, 82–83. 138. See Brown’s discussion of these “learned associations” (AA, 55–80). 139. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 82–83; CAD M/2 181–82. 140. Frahm, Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries, 155–60. 141. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 84–86; Ulla Koch-Westenholz, “The Astronomical Commentary Šumma Sîn ina Tāmartīšu Tablet 1,” in La Science des Cieux: Sages, Mages, Astrologues (ed. R. Gyselen; Res Orientales 12; Bures-sur-Yvette: Groupe pour l’étude de la civilisation du Moyen-Orient, 1990) 149–65.

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Perhaps it originated before the order of the series was even standardized; this would explain why, unlike the other preserved mukallimtus on EAE, it does not follow the order presented in the canonical series. 2.3.3.2.3.  ṣâtu, rikis girri EAE, and liginnu/liqtu.  Several other types of commentary on the canonical series exist. As its name suggests, a ṣâtu (literally “excerpts”) excerpts rare or archaic individual words or signs and provides philological commentary on them. 142 Like the mukallimtu, the ṣâtu is a type of commentary that is not unique to EAE. 143 A kind of serial index to EAE, rikis girri is not a commentary but a compilation of individual and groups of omens from EAE, presumably the most important, thought to serve as a guide to the lengthy series. The name is a bit enigmatic but might best be translated simply “guide.” 144 Perhaps the rikis girri texts were to be used by novices. Another type of EAE anthology is the liginnu/liqtu (literally, “gleanings”) thought by some to have been used in classroom instruction. 145 2.3.3.3.  Aḫû EAE.  Aḫû texts (“extraneous,” or better perhaps, “supple­ mentary”) 146 are texts primarily associated not only with casuistic literature (omen series such as šumma ālu, iqqur īpuš, šumma izbu), including medical prescription texts, 147 but also with magical and ritual texts. 148 The aḫû EAE is listed in a catalog associated with EAE as comprising 29 tablets. 149 It should be 142. Frahm, on the other hand, suggests translating the term “lemmata” (Babylo­ nian and Assyrian Text Commentaries, 50; see pp. 48–55 for full discussion of the commentary type). 143. Koch-Westenholz suggests another commentary type as well, the maš ʾaltu (literally “questioning”), which she maintains is based on actual classroom questions that were later recorded (MAst, 86; CAD M/1 354). Frahm, however, has noted that maš ʾaltu normally occur as part of a ṣâtu commentary and probably should not be considered a separate category (Babylonian and Assyrian Text Commentaries, 53–56). 144. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 82; CAD G 93. 145. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 183; CAD L 183, 206; Simo Parpola, LAS 2 39; and see the lengthier discussion in Paul-Alain Beaulieu, “New Light on Secret Knowledge in Late Babylonian Culture,” ZA 82 (1992) 98–111. 146. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 92. One exorcist contrasts aḫû texts (aḫ-ḫi-ú-ti) with “good” texts (SIG5.MEŠ), SAA 10 240:25. See also discussion of the term by William Hallo, “The Concept of Canonicity in Cuneiform and Biblical Literature: A Comparative Reappraisal,” in Scripture in Context IV: The Biblical Canon in Comparative Perspective (ed. K. Lawson Younger et al.; Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen, 1991) 11. 147. Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “The Assumed 29th Aḫû Tablet of Enūma Anu Enlil,” in Language Literature and History: Philological and Historical Studies Presented to Erica Reiner (ed. Francesca Rochberg-Halton; AOS 67; New Haven, CT: American Oriental Society, 1987) 329. 148. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 89. 149. Weidner, “Enûma Anu Enlil,” AfO 14, 185; and Rochberg-Halton, “Canonicity,” 141.

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considered, therefore, to be in the mainstream of celestial divination practice, though clearly, from the relatively few citations of it in the letters to the Assyrian monarchs, it was of lesser import than EAE itself. 150 There is no repeated content between EAE and its aḫû, 151 and occasionally, omens from ahû are inserted, with notation, into the texts of some copies of EAE. 152 Indeed, even some of the criteria for prognostication are different. For example, in EAE the 14th, 15th, 16th, 20th, and 21st are the possible lunar eclipse dates in protases, while in ahû the only dates possible are the 12th, 13th, and 14th of the month. 153 Aḫû, then, represent a celestial omen tradition different from the tradition preserved in EAE, though still within the main stream. Although it was not as important as EAE, it was still copied and consulted and was even the subject of its own ṣâtu commentary. 154 2.3.3.4.  Iqqur Īpuš.  Iqqur īpuš (literally, “[If] he tears down [and] builds . . .”) was an important divination series, particularly in the NA period, when it is listed together with EAE and šumma ālu. It is cited occasionally in the letters. Considered an iškaru, the series apparently had its own mukallimtu, ṣâtu, and aḫû. 155 The overall number of tablets in the series is not certain, although, as for EAE, the number was probably not fixed. 156 Iqqur īpuš is unlike other divination series in that, while other series are organized by the general topic of the protases (for example, events in the sky or on earth, monstrous births), the overall theme (and resulting principle of organization) of iqqur īpuš is time. Omens of many categories are covered, and all of them are set at a specific time (month and sometimes day). The series has two parts, the longer and first of which, the General Series, is organized by protasis. A protasis is stated with apodoses listed by month (that is, “If x happens in month I, then y will occur. If x happens in month II, then z will occur”). The second part is the Menological Series, wherein various omens are listed by month. The overall contents of the series are shown in the table on p.  59. 157 As seen above, this series contains a substantial section of celestial 150. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 91. 151. Rochberg-Halton, “Canonicity,” 139. 152. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 90. 153. Rochberg-Halton, “Canonicity,” 139. 154. Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 86. 155. Rm. 150 in René Labat, Un Calendrier Babylonien des Travaux des Signes et des Mois (Séries Iqqur Îpuš) (Paris: Champion, 1965) 4–5. 156. Labat, Calendrier, 14–19. 157. These contents are based on Labat, Calendrier, 8–9. We await Jeanette  C. Fincke’s publication of the series, Die Omenserie Iqqur Ipus, based on her Habilitationss­ chrift at Heidelberg. Note that Labat (Calendrier, 171) translates §87 as lumière zodiacale, that is, “zodiacal light.”

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omens (sections 67–101). Many of these are paralleled in EAE, though the relationship between the two series remains unclear. Since iqqur īpuš contains such a wide variety of omens, it is most often assumed that the series is a compilation of omens gleaned from other sources. 158 By the NA period, iqqur īpuš was considered a canonical text of some importance; thus, as with EAE, it seems that iqqur īpuš was standardized around the end of the 2nd millennium.

2.4.  Celestial Divination Supportive Material: Didactic and Practical Tools 2.4.1.  Astrolabe B Astrolabe B, the earliest of the so-called Astrolabes, is extant from several exemplars, the most important of which comes from a group of MA texts from Assur. 159 Despite the Assyrian provenance of the most plenary edition of this text, it is clear that the text is Babylonian in origin (or at least reflects Babylonian traditions) since the Marduk star (Nēberu) is assigned great prominence, which would not be expected had it been composed in Assyria. 160 Astrolabe B is actually an anthology of four astronomical texts. Section A is often described as a menology, listing in narrative form a constellation, a deity, and lore mentioning agricultural, civic, religious, and royal activities associated with each month. 161 Section B is another narrative list describing the relative positions of 36 stars, 12 for each Path (Ea, Anu, and Enlil, respectively). Section C is an Astrolabe, a list of 3 stars (one per Path) that are to rise heliacally in each of the 12 months. The last section, Section D is a list of simultaneously rising and setting stars. Sumerian-only fragments of Section A 162 as well as fragments that contain a colophon immediately after Section A 163 may indicate that Astrolabe B is in fact a collection of once-separate texts, though it is possible that 158. See, for example, Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 252. 159. For the most recent edition, see Maria Casaburi, Tre-stelle-per-ciasun(-mese). L’As­trolabio B: Edizione filologica, AION 62 (2002) Supplimento 93. Copy from KAV 218; treated in Weidner, Handbuch, 66–68, 76–90; BPO 2, 151–52; Willem H. P. Römer in TUAT 2/1, 48–53. For Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian fragments of Astrolabe B, see G. Çağirgan, “Three More Duplicates to Astrolabe B,” Belleten 48 (1985) 399–416. See also discussion in Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 51–53. 160. Horowitz, MCG, 159, citing KAV 218 B ii 29–32. 161. Casaburi, however, rightly rejects the label menology for this section, since it does not list propitious or unpropitious days and is a bilingual, and thus it does not conform to other Akkadian menologies (L’Astrolabio B, 11). 162. VAS 24 120, cited in Horowitz, MCG, 159, is a MB fragment from Babylon. 163. Çağirgan, “Three More Duplicates,” 401, which the author, on paleographic grounds, dates to the NB period.

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The Contents of Iqqur Īpuš General Series Section 1–28 29–33 34–41 42–49 50–54 55–57 58 59 60 61–64 65–66 67 68 69–81 82–86 87 88–94

Topic work done on a house foundation or restoration to sacred structures or objects various sacred and ritual acts agricultural work work done on a house sickness (vomiting, fever, hallucinations) encountering a snake being prevented from exiting agricultural work marriage and birth fire conjunction of the moon and the sun new moon lunar and solar eclipses, halos rising and visibility of Venus red glow in the sky storms occurring or not occurring with various phenomena 95–99 showers, fog, south wind 100–101 earthquakes 102 mud 103–4 rising of the river Menological Series: Months I–XII

these texts are excerpts. That Sections B and C 164 were also independent texts is strongly suggested by the fact that the lists of stars from Sections A, B, and C do not agree in their associated months. 165 Horowitz once posited that farmers used Astrolabe B (and later astrolabes) for the purposes of timing their agricultural tasks. His suggestion may make 164. Sections C and D use the same stars in the same order, so it is presumed that D is based on C. 165. Horowitz (MCG, 160) takes the three sections’ general agreement in stars used and order as indicative of a common tradition, though not a common author or unity of text.

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sense in light of the previously reviewed references from The Farmer’s Instruc­ tions. 166 Indeed, Section A of the text often refers to agricultural activities, though they by no means constitute the bulk of the material. 167 Furthermore, because the year described in Astrolabe B is quite impossible astronomically (for example, Mars, Venus, and Jupiter are all expected to rise heliacally in certain months, and most stars in Section D are said to set 6 months after rising), 168 Horowitz suggests that perhaps the text is descriptive of one particular model year, a fact that could explain the use of planets as month-stars but would fail to explain the rising and setting time discrepancies. 169 The model year described in Astrolabe B, he argues, would be used for some observational procedure to determine intercalation for agricultural purposes. 170 It seems unlikely, however, that the text was used in this manner. As stated, much of Section A has more to do with religious practice, which is often related to agricultural matters and royal activity, rather than with agriculture alone. If we were to characterize the concerns in this section, we might describe them as concerns of the whole state; this is the same focus we see in celestial divination literature. In any case, few farmers would be able to read the text, and they would hardly have needed religious authorities to tell them when to initiate their agricultural tasks, which they had been performing without their help for several thousand years already. For Brown as well, Astrolabe B is a practical text—not for farmers but for celestial diviners. 171 It described, he maintains, the Ideal Year as it was employed in celestial divination and would have been used for mantic purposes to determine if the actual year and its stellar components were synchronized with the Ideal Year. 172 He is right that the schematic models presented by Astrolabe B are precisely of the type (though not in detail) that operate in celestial divination as it was practiced in the 1st millennium. On the other hand, Horowitz has refined his earlier evaluation and suggests that the text was “a sort of astronomical 166. Civil, The Farmer’s Instructions, 1:38–39 167. Astrolabe B: A I 12–25, 38–50; II 39–46; III 1–10. 168. Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 51; and Horowitz, MCG, 161–62. 169. Ibid., 162. 170. Ibid., 164. 171. See also, Casaburi, L’Astrolabio B, 6. 172. Brown, AA, 252. The Ideal Year is one facet of an Ideal Calendar that underpins the way in which Mesopotamian celestial diviners conceived of the ideal passage of time. Celestial phenomena were often considered ominous based on whether or not they occurred according to their assigned dates within this calendar. For further discussion of the administrative origin of the Ideal Year, see Lis Brack-Bernsen, “The 360 Day Year in Mesopotamia,” in Calendars and Years: Astronomy and Time in the Ancient Near East (ed. John Steele; Oxford: Oxbow, 2007) 83–100.

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handbook which had some practical applications, as well as a purely academic function as a statement of astronomical theory with religious overtones.” 173 He argues, quite convincingly, that the text of Astrolabe B is essentially an argument for the centrality of Marduk’s star in the sky, just as Enūma Eliš is an argument for the supremacy of Marduk over the gods. 174 I agree that the text reflects a Marduk-centered understanding of the sky that is undoubtedly related to the celestial system described in the Babylonian creation epic, and I believe that Brown is correct in saying that the text was both practical and served celestial divination. I suggest further, however, that Astrolabe B was a compilation of texts assembled specifically to introduce celestial theory. The basic aim of the text, I maintain, was to educate novices in the first steps of celestial divination. Section A, with its outline of months and associated lore and activities, sets the backdrop for what follows by reminding the student of the operative calendar used in celestial divination (that is, an idealized form of the Standard Babylonian Calendar) and certain common stars with which he is already familiar. 175 In addition to this, Section A’s scope of interests (associating particular months and rising stars, for example, with phenomena of communal interest) frame the broader concerns of the text vis-à-vis celestial divination. These concerns were, of course, the well-being of the state and land in general. Section B’s curious narrative catalog would serve a novice well, describing the sky in very basic terms. For example: 176 MUL GAL ša UGU MUL.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ The great star which is the brightest of the great stars, ša AŠ ZI imU17.LU GUB-zi which stands in the rising of the south wind, KI.GUB KÚR.KÚR MAŠ MU AŠ dUTU.È (whose) position changes, half the year in the east, MAŠ MU AŠ dUTU.ŠU.A MUL BI half the year in the west. That mul dil-bat star is Venus, a-lik pa-ni MUL.MEŠ šu-ut da-nim which precedes the stars of An. MUL ša EGIR-šu GUB-zi The star which stands after it mul GIR.TAB diš-ḫa-ra is the Scorpion, Išhara.

173. Wayne Horowitz, “The Astrolabes: Astronomy, Theology, and Chronology,” in Calendars and Years: Astronomy and Time in the Ancient Near East (ed. John Steele; Oxford: Oxbow, 2007) 106. 174. Ibid., 110–11. 175. Casaburi is correct in noting that deliberately relating celestial concerns and the calendar, on the one hand, with natural/civic cycles, on the other, is an innovation in Astrolabe B (L’Astrolabio, 6–7). 176. KAV 218 BII 1–7.

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Section B is essentially a verbal map of the night sky, in which the stars are described in relation to each other, both in terms of appearance (for example, “the brightest of the great stars”) and position (for example, “which stands in the rising of the south wind”). These simple descriptions would allow a novice to build on the basic knowledge that he already had of the sky (reviewed in Section A) to form a complete picture of the most important celestial features. Section C then takes the elaborated celestial geography learned in this verbal map and adds the dimension of time by prescribing in which month, ideally, the stars are to rise heliacally (by Paths, respectively). Section D further articulates the year presented in C by describing not only which stars in which Paths are expected to rise in each month but also which are simultaneously setting. Section D thus coordinates the data of the previous section and creates a significantly more sophisticated picture of the sky over the course of a model year—indeed, the Ideal Year, as it is known in celestial divination literature—than the reader had after reading merely Section A. Admittedly, Astrolabe B does not contain any omen material, as MUL.APIN does. Nonetheless, the Ideal Year that the text describes was used exclusively in celestial divination.

2.4.2. MUL.APIN 2.4.2.1.  Date and Contents.  MUL.APIN, much like Astrolabe B, is a compilation of celestial-science texts. That it was widely known and used, at least from the NA/NB period onward is clear from the several dozen exemplars from which Hunger and Pingree edited our current edition. 177 Hunger and Pingree have postulated that the composition of certain sections of the text is consistent with a date around the turn of the 1st millennium, 178 though, because it is a compilation, some sections of the text could be much older than this. 179 The earliest dated exemplar (VAT 942 + 11279) can be dated to 687. 180 MUL.APIN contains 13 sections on a wide range of celestial topics varying from simple star cataloging to intercalary schemes to omens. The contents are as follows: 181

177. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 3–8. 178. Ibid., 10–12. 179. Brown suggests that much of the content of MUL.APIN dates to the OB period, though his evidence for this is very speculative (AA, 115–20, 259). 180. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 7–8. 181. List adapted from ibid., 13. Wayne Horowitz and Rita Watson divide the contents of MUL.APIN somewhat differently in a number of sections (Writing Science before the Greeks: A Naturalistic Analysis of the Astronomical Treatise MUL.APIN [CHANE 48; Leiden: Brill, 2011] 61–122).

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A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O

I i 1–ii 35 I ii 36–iii 12 I iii 13–33 I iii 34–48 I iv 1–30 I iv 31–II i 8 II i 9–24 II i 25–37 II i 38–67 II i 68–71 II Gap A 1–7 II Gap A 8-ii 20 II ii 21–42 II ii 43–iii 15 II iii 16–iv 12

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Contents of MUL.APIN Star Catalog Dates of Ideal Heliacal Risings Simultaneously Rising and Setting Stars Time Intervals between Dates of Ideal Heliacal Risings Zenith or Ziqpu Stars Stars in the Path of the Moon First Intercalation Scheme Comments on Heliacal Risings and Winds Periods of the Planets Determining Direction at Night The Movement of the Sun Second Intercalation Scheme Determining Time during the Day: The Shadow Table Determining Time at Night: The Water Clock Celestial Omens

Since, like Astrolabe B, MUL.APIN is a systematic presentation of the operations of the night sky as employed in celestial divination of the 1st millennium, it is worth exploring in some detail. 2.4.2.1.1.  Star Catalog (I i 1–ii 35).  This first section of MUL.APIN is a descriptive catalog of stars, organized by Path. 182 Similar to Astrolabe B Section B, the positions of the stars (or groups of stars) are described in relation to each other or to other parts of their respective constellations. Occasionally, a star is 182. Reiner and Pingree understand the Paths of Enlil, Anu, and Ea to be variously defined sections of the horizon over which stars were expected to rise heliacally: Enlil the northern-most, Anu in the center and closest to the celestial equator, while Ea lay to the south (BPO 2, 7). This is in contrast to Weidner (Handbuch, 46–49) and Schaum­ berger (SSB III, 321–22), who interpret the Paths as precisely defined bands in the sky. Since the various astrolabes do not all agree about which stars belong to a particular Path, it seems that the precise limits of each Path probably varied according to the particular celestial observer and the circumstances of his locality (see BPO 2, 17; BPO 3, 15–16)—that is, which landmarks the individual would choose to define the limits of each Path. These variations thus support Reiner and Pingree’s understanding, because, if the Paths were defined by invariable celestial features, as Weidner and Schaumberger contend, we would expect much more consistency in the lists of stars assigned to each. Nevertheless, despite the variations in traditions regarding the Paths, generally speaking, it seems as though the Path of Enlil began at about 13 degrees north of east, Ea extended south beginning at about 11 degrees south of east, and Anu would have been the area between these two points (BPO 3, 15–16).

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identified with a deity. The number of stars listed is unevenly distributed among the three Paths, with 33 in Enlil (1 of which is Jupiter), 23 in Anu (4 of which are Mercury, Saturn, Mars, and Venus), and 15 in Ea. 183 This list provides the underlying star catalog on which many of the later sections of MUL.APIN are based. 2.4.2.1.2.  Dates of Ideal Heliacal Risings (I ii 36–iii 12).  The second part of MUL.APIN also provides groundwork for later sections of the compilation. It presents 19 dates on which 34 different stars or star groups (more than one star share the same date) are ideally to rise heliacally. These events always occur on the 1st, 5th, 10th, 15th, 20th, or 25th of the month. Also provided in this chronologically arranged list are the ideal dates for the equinoxes and solstices, which are to occur on the 15th of months I, IV, VII, and X. The ideal equinox and solstice are dates provided with water clock data, specifically the amount of water (in minas) to run through the clock during the day and night on these dates. The ideal day-night ratio for the summer solstice is 2 : 1. 184 2.4.2.1.3.  Simultaneously Rising and Setting Stars (I iii 13–33).  This section lists 16 sets of stars that rise while others are simultaneously setting. Unlike other sections of the MUL.APIN corpus, this section does not seem to be reliant on any other section, such as the star list or the dates of ideal heliacal risings, and Hunger has suggested that, this being the case, this section is actually based on observation. 185 However, given the author’s preference for ideal schemes over observed reality, a section based on observation would be anomalous. 2.4.2.1.4.  Time Intervals between Dates of Ideal Heliacal Risings (I iii 34–48). ​ Intervals between the dates of the heliacal risings of 15 pairs of constellations are generated using the ideal dates provided in I ii 36–iii 12. The list concludes with a summary statement explaining that the stars all have a daily procession of one UŠ, that is, 1/360th of the year in both time and celestial distance. 186 183. In Hunger’s opinion, the list originally had a total of 60 stars, with the planets and inclusion of 6 circumpolar stars (within the Path of Enlil) as later interpolations (Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 137). But the fact that the similar list in Astrolabe B Section B also includes the planets and some circumpolar stars in the Path of Enlil argues against this. Not only that but, even if we were to remove the circumpolar stars and the planets from the catalog, the remaining 60 stars would still be awkwardly arranged with 26 in Enlil, 17 in Anu, and 15 in Ea. 184. Brown, Fermor, and Walker have demonstrated this contra Neugebauer. See David Brown, John Fermor, and Christopher Walker, “The Water Clock in Mesopotamia,” AfO 46 (1999) 130–48; and Otto Neugebauer, “Studies in Ancient Astronomy, VIII: The Water Clock in Babylonian Astronomy,” Isis 37 (1947) 37–43. 185. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 140. 186. David Brown, “The Cuneiform Conception of Celestial Space and Time,” Cam­ bridge Archaeological Journal 10 (2000) 109–10.

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2.4.2.1.5.  Zenith or Ziqpu Stars (I iv 1–30).  Ziqpu stars are stars that cross the meridian (the imaginary line that divides the sky into two equal halves) at the zenith (the point directly above the observer). I iv 1–30 actually contains two lists of these types of stars. The first (I iv 1–9) is a listing of 14 stars with a statement of introduction and a conclusion. The introduction reads: 187 DIŠ MUL.MEŠ šá ziq-pi šá ina KASKAL šu-ut dEN.LÍL ina MURUB4 AN-e ina IGI-it GABA šá ŠEŠ AN-e GUB. MEŠ-ma GI6 KUR u ŠÚ-bi ša MUL.MEŠ ina li-ib-bi-šú-nu im-ma-ru

The ziqpu stars that stand in the Path of Enlil, which are in the middle of the sky, opposite the chest of the observer of the heavens, and by means of which at night he watches the rising and setting of stars.

The second list (I iv 10–30) is significantly more elaborate. There are 13 entries in total that include not only the name of the ziqpu star but the ideal date of its culmination (when the star reaches its highest position in the sky) as well as a star that is simultaneously rising. The dates, since they are mostly correlated to heliacal risings, are derived from the list of dates of ideal heliacal risings (I ii 36–iii 12). However, three of the dates given in the ziqpu list deviate from the earlier list. These anomalies have yet to be explained. 188 This second ziqpu list, like the first, begins with an introduction. The tone of this introduction, however, is much more instructional and serves as practical directions for all the entries that are to follow: 189 BE-ma zi-iq-pa a-na a-ma-ri-ka ina iti BAR UD-20-KAM ina šèr-ti la-am dUTU KUR-ḫa GUB-ma ZAG-ka imMAR.TU GÙB-ka imKUR.RA ni-iš IGI-ka imU18.LU qu-ma-ru šá mulUD.KA.DUḪ.A ina MURUB4 AN-e ina IGI-it GABA-ka GUB-ma mulGÀM KUR-ḫa

If you are to watch the ziqpu—on the 20th of Nisan in the morning before the Sun has risen, you should stand with the west to your right, east to your left and your glance to the south—the shoulder of the Panther stands in the middle of the sky, opposite your chest while the Crook is rising.

2.4.2.1.6.  Stars in the Path of the Moon (I iv 31–II i 8).  This section is really a practical definition of the ecliptic, for it not only contains a list of stars by which the moon passes and which it even touches but it also recognizes that the sun and the planets, as well, move along the same path. The section is introduced with the statement: 190 187. MUL.APIN I iv 1–3. 188. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 143. 189.  MUL.APIN I iv 10-14. 190. MUL.APIN I iv 31–32.

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Chapter 2 DINGER.MEŠ ša i-na KASKAL dSIN e-ma ITI ina pi-rik-šú-nu DIB.MEŠ-ma TAG. MEŠ-šú-nu-ti

The gods who are in the path of the Moon, through whose boundaries each month he passes, and whom he touches.

A list of 17 constellations follows. 191 After this and a summary statement, the sun, Jupiter, Venus, Mars, Mercury, and Saturn are all said to travel in the same path as the moon. 192 2.4.2.1.7.  First Intercalation Scheme (II i 9–24).  The so-called first intercalation scheme involves the observation of the position and movement of the sun, the moon, and the constellation mul ­ KAK.SI.SÁ (the Arrow) on the ideal solstices and equinoxes, in relation to the ideal length of the day (in NINDA) and night (in minas). At the end of the section, the content is summarized: 193 DIŠ ina itiBAR UD-15-KAM ina itiŠU UD15-KAM ina itiDU6 UD-15-KAM ina iti AB UD-15-KAM KUR.MEŠ šá dUTU NA.MEŠ šá dSIN IGI.DUH.1.MEŠ šá mulKAK.SI.SÁ ŠEŠ-ár UD.MEŠ DIRI.MEŠ IGI.LÁ

On the 15th of Nisan, 15th of Tammuz, 15th of Tishri, (and) 15th of Tevet, you will observe the risings of the Sun, the appearances of the Moon, the visibilities of the Arrow (and) you will determine (the number of) extra days.

In spite of its assigned title, the first intercalation scheme offers no method of actually intercalating a month, as does Section L (the second intercalation scheme, II Gap A 8–ii 20). This fact raises doubts regarding the actual purpose of the section. Lis Brack-Bernsen has argued that the methods in this section were used “to correct the day length on the first and fifteenth of each month, taking the ‘additional days’ [i.e., UD.MEŠ DIRI.MEŠ] into account.” 194 Rather than serving as a method to determine the necessity of the insertion of an intercalary month, this information would have been used in II ii 43–iii 15 (the water clock section) to determine if a solstice or equinox aligned with its assigned date in the Ideal Calendar. 195 2.4.2.1.8.  Comments on Heliacal Risings and Winds (II i 25–37).  The fact that Section G (the first intercalation scheme, II i 9–24) actually has little to do with intercalation is further supported by its obvious but enigmatic relationship to the section that follows it. Pingree and Hunger title this section 191. MUL.APIN I iv 33–37. 192. MUL.APIN II i 1–6. 193. MUL.APIN II i 22—24. 194. Lis Brack-Bernsen, “The ‘Days in Excess’ from MUL.APIN: On the ‘First Intercalation’ and ‘Water Clock’ Schemes from MUL.APIN,” Centaurus 47 (2005) 10. 195. Ibid., 15–16.

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“Observations of heliacal risings and wind directions,” though they are quite uncertain about its significance or even its basic meaning. The section begins: 196 DIŠ ina itiKIN UD-10-KAM mulNUN.KI UD-15-KAM mulŠU.PA IGI.MEŠ MUL.MEŠ-šú-nu ina UD-mi IGI.MEŠ SAR.MEŠ-šú-nu zi-me-šú-nu ri-is-ni-šú-nu ù IM šá DU-ku ŠEŠ ANŠE. KUR.RA.MEŠ ina ÍD A.MEŠ NU NAG.MEŠ

On the 10th of Elul the Eridu Star appears (and) on the 15th the ŠU.PA appears—on the day their stars appear, you will observe their risings, their appearance, their “soakings”(?), and the wind which is blowing. The horses must not drink water from the river. ki-i MUL.MEŠ-šú-nu ul-ta-ta-pu-ni When their stars are made clear you will present their offerings. maḫ-ḫu-ri-šú-nu tu-maḫ-ḫar ANŠE. The horses will touch bitumen and KUR.RA.MEŠ ESIR TAG.MEŠ-ma ina ÍD A.MEŠ NAG. (then) they may drink water from the river. MEŠ

Several things in this section and the following section (II i 38–67) remain unclear. First, the contextual meaning of risnīšunu, “their soakings(?),” a term that obviously refers to some observable phenomenon, is unattested in other celestial-science literature. There seems to be, as well, a ritual component (for example, maḫḫurīšunu tumaḫḫar) involving the presentation of an offering and, perhaps, a ceremonial act involving horses. 197 2.4.2.1.9.  Periods of the Planets (II i 38–67).  The outline of planetary theory is linked to the previous section with the following introduction: 198 SAG.ME.GAR muldili-bat mul[UDU. ID]IM.GU4.UD šá dMAŠ MU-šú mul ṣal-bat-a-nu mulUDU.IDIM.SAG.UŠ [KIMIM] mulzi-ba-ni-tu4 MUL dUTU mul

[. . . . N]A.MEŠ-šú-nu u zi-me-šú-nu KÚR.KÚR-ru [MUL.MEŠ AN]-e TAG.MEŠ MUL. MEŠ-šú-nu ina UD-me IGI.MEŠ KUR.MEŠ KUR.MEŠ-šú-nu SUH. MEŠ-šú-nu

Sagmegar (Jupiter), Dilibat (Venus), [Leap]er (Mercury), whose name is Ninurta, Ṣalbatanu (Mars), Constant One (Saturn), (the same is) the Scales, the star of the Sun. [. . . the]ir positions and their appearance they constantly change; they touch [stars of the sky]. On the day their stars appear you will observe their risings, their appearance, their “soakings”(?), and the

196. MUL.APIN II i 25–31. 197. Watson and Horowitz suggest that “horses” here (and below) is to be understood “as a metaphor for winds as they are in Mesopotamian astro-mythological writings” (Writing Science, 97; for the Sargonid Compilation/Great Star List [that is, the “astro-mythological writings”], see below; and Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 202–5). Their suggestion is appealing, but, as they admit, it does not explain the reference to “bitumen.” 198. MUL.APIN II i 38–43.

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Chapter 2 [ri-is-ni-šú-nu K]I IGI.MEŠ IM šá DU-ku ŠEŠ-ár ina UD IGI.MEŠ muḫ-ḫu-ri-šú-nu [tu-maḫ]-ḫa-ru ANŠE.KUR.RA.MEŠ ESIR TAG.MEŠ

wind which is blowing. On the day they appear you will present their offerings. The horses will touch bitumen.

Again, we see the unexplained ritual element and the involvement of horses. After this, the intervals between certain Greek Letter Phenomena are described in days, months, and years. First, periods of invisibility (Ω–Γ for the superior planets, Σ–Ξ and Ω–Γ for the inferior planets) are related in the order: Venus, Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, and Mercury. Then, the periods of visibility (Γ–Ω for the superior planets, Γ–Σ, and Ξ–Ω for the inferior planets) are given in the order: Jupiter, Venus, Mars, Saturn, and Mercury. Like most other periodic phenomena in MUL.APIN, the periods of the superior planets are assigned ideal values that approximate their actual periods. These are always in years, months and, if further subdivisions are required, either 10 or 20 days. The inferior planets, however, require more precision since their associated phenomena occur at much shorter intervals, sometimes as little as a few days. 2.4.2.1.10.  Determining the Direction at Night (II i 68–71).  This brief section provides a method for determining the direction of the wind at night. Four constellations (the Wagon, Fish, Scorpion, and Old Man) are said to mark the cardinal points, a scheme that will only work at a certain time of the year. 2.4.2.1.11.  The Movement of the Sun (II Gap A 1–7).  The seasonal positions of the sun are described relative to the Paths of Ea, Anu, and Enlil in this section. This relationship is further associated with the typical weather of each season. Interestingly, the seasons are described as running from the first of the month, rather than being aligned with the equinoxes and solstices. 2.4.2.1.12.  Second Intercalation Scheme (II Gap A 8–ii 20).  The second intercalation scheme is actually a series of related methods for determining whether an intercalary month should be added to the year. In these methods, if a phenomenon occurs according to its date in the Ideal Calendar, then the year is considered normal. If the phenomenon occurs on another specified date, almost always one 30-day month later, then the year is considered an intercalary year. 199 The phenomena in question are either the heliacal risings of particular stars or the conjunction of particular stars and the moon. The ideal dates are 199. The one exception to this is the first method listed (MUL.APIN II Gap A 8–9), in which a normal year is a year in which the Stars (MUL.MUL) and the Moon are in conjunction on 1 Nisan, while an intercalary year is a year when the two are in conjunction on 3 Nisan.

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all based on the data provided in Section B (the list of dates of ideal heliacal risings, I ii 36–iii 12) and Section C (the list of time intervals between dates of ideal heliacal risings, I ii 13–33). The section concludes, like other parts of MUL.APIN, with a summary statement that, in this case, provides the mathematical theory behind the intercalation. 200 šum-ma UD.DA.ZAL.LÁ-e UD-mi ITI u MU.AN.NA ana IGI-ka 1,40 UD.DA.ZAL.LÁ-e UD-me ana ITI ÍL-ma 50 UD.DA.ZAL.LÁ-e ITI IGI 50 UD.DA. ZAL.LÁ-e ITI ana 12 ITI ÍL-ma 10 UD.MEŠ DIRI.MEŠ ŠID-at MU.AN.NA tam-mar ina 3 MU.MEŠ MU BI DIRI.GA ME-bi

If you are to determine the intercalary value of the day, month and year, you are to multiply 1,40, the intercalary value of the day, by a month—you determine 50, the intercalary value of a month. You are then to multiply 50, the intercalary value of a month by 12 months and you will determine an extra 10 days for the measurement of a year. In three years, you will declare that year a leap year.

This breakdown is based on the estimate of one 30-day intercalary month for every three 360-day years—that is, 30 days ÷ 36 months = 5/6 or 0,50 extra day per month, then 5/6 day ÷ 30 days in a month = 1/36 or 0;1,40 extra day per day. This breakdown provides the workings of the intercalary theory of the Ideal Calendar. It also (theoretically at least) allows for the celestial diviner to calculate the number of extra days accrued at any date in the 3-year intercalary cycle, but there is no evidence that it was ever used to do this. Three final lines (II ii 18–20) associate the possible intercalary months (I2, XII2 and VI2) with the dynasties of Šulgi, Amurru, and the Kassites, respectively. Though the mention of these dynasties indicates a historical perspective going back as much as a millennium (something otherwise seen in texts such at the Sumerian King List), the contextual significance of these associations is unknown. 201 At the very least, the reference to the Kassites provides a terminus a quo to this section of MUL.APIN that is firmly in the MB period. 2.4.2.1.13.  Determining Time during the Day: The Shadow Table (II ii 21–42). ​ The shadow table was a method for determining time during the day. Unlike a sundial, which shows the passage of time by the angle of the shadow created by the sun during the course of the day, the shadow clock showed the passage of time by the length of the shadow. MUL.APIN II ii 21–42 describes the amount of time (in bēru, UŠ, and NINDA) that it takes for the shadow to lengthen 200. MUL.APIN II ii 13–17. 201. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 153.

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(in cubits) on the ideal equinoxes (1–3 cubits) and solstices (1–10 cubits). The elapsed time values are not based on observation but on a table of reciprocals and are thus another example of an ideal scheme. 202 2.4.2.1.14.  Determining Time at Night: The Water Clock (II ii 43–iii 15). This section lists the appropriate amount (in minas and shekels) of water required by the water clock to run through the night on both the 1st and the 15th of each month. Additionally, the amount of time (in UŠ and NINDA) that is required for the moon to set (on the 1st) and rise (on the 15th) is listed together with each date. The ratio of the weights of water for the solstices/equinoxes is 2 : 1 (as it was in Section B, the list of dates of ideal heliacal risings, I ii 36–iii 12). The associated lunar data is also based on a 2 : 1 ratio for the solstices/equinoxes. 203 As Brack-Bernsen has argued, the data determined in the so-called “First Intercalation Scheme” (II i 9–24) could be used in conjunction with the methods in this section to determine whether a solstice or equinox would occur on its assigned date in the Ideal Calendar. 204 2.4.2.1.15.  Celestial Omens (II iii 16–iv 12).  The list of celestial omens that concludes MUL.APIN can best be described as a sampling. There are 13 subsections of omens, each containing anywhere from one to six individual omens. The subsections themselves are primarily theme oriented (see, for example, II iii 22–27 on mul4U.RI.RI and II Gap B 1–6 on MUL dAMAR.UTU), but they do not follow any discernible order. Many topics are discussed, including omens associated with individual stars/constellations, planets, meteors, the appearance of the moon, the wind, and so on. As previously mentioned, there are several sections from MUL.APIN’s celestial omens that are duplicates of EAE. 205 This suggests that the omens in MUL.APIN were all gleaned from other sources and were assembled as a sort of anthology. 2.4.2.2. Purpose.  MUL.APIN is much more extensive in subject and detail than Astrolabe B. However, much like Astrolabe B, the particulars of MUL.APIN’s astronomy are far from accurate. For example, the dates given for Section B’s heliacally rising stars are impossible; Section I’s values for the planets’ respective periods seem to have been generated according to idealized schemes rather than derived from observation; in Section G, 90 days after the sun reaches its most easterly point (the vernal equinox), the sun reaches its most northerly point (the summer solstice). Precisely 90 days after this, it 202. See Neugebauer, HAMA, 544–45 for further elaboration. 203. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 154; the same method for generating lunar ratios is also found in EAE 14. 204. Brack-Bernsen, “The ‘Days in Excess,’” 15–16. 205. For a complete list of duplicated sections, see Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 9–10.

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reaches again its most easterly point (the autumnal equinox), and 90 days later it reaches its most southerly point (the winter solstice). 206 Only then does it cycles through again. This describes a year of 360 days, that is, the Ideal Year. Indeed, all the dates and calculations of MUL.APIN are based on the Ideal Year. 207 It is because of difficulties such as these that Brown posits that MUL. APIN is a composition written solely for mantic purposes, “a divinatory collection of ideal schemes.” 208 MUL.APIN’s Sections A–C are identical in topic (though not entirely in content) with Astrolabe B’s Sections B–D. MUL.APIN then proceeds beyond Astrolabe B’s coverage, through even more advanced topics until it culminates in Section O in an anthology of celestial omens, all of which seem to have been gleaned from EAE. 209 Clearly the point of MUL.APIN is not observation-based mathematical astronomy (though it is by no means devoid of this) but celestial divination, and I argue that, like Astrolabe B, MUL.APIN was assembled as a didactic text for celestial divination. 210 Like Astrolabe B, MUL.APIN has a progressive structure, 206. Furthermore, if Brack-Bernsen is correct, Section N (the water clock) builds on the methods and data derived from Section G (first intercalation scheme) (“The ‘Days in Excess,’” 10, 15–16). 207. For more details on MUL.APIN’s idealized cosmos, see Brown, AA, 115–20. 208. Ibid., 120. 209. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 10. 210. Brack-Bernsen argues that, because MUL.APIN’s ideal schemes are based, in part, on observation and because the text contains methods that allow for prediction of celestial phenomena (day length and dates of the solstices and equinoxes), it was an “astronomical-astrological compendium” (“The ‘Days in Excess,’” 6). But here she misses the point: it is not that the celestial diviners did not observe the sky and try to predict phenomena or that their ideal schemes had no grounding in reality. Rather, it is the ultimate purpose of the these two facts that determines whether or not a text such as MUL.APIN was “astronomical” or “astrological” (read here as “celestial divination”). Watson and Horowitz also go to great pains to explain away the significance of the final omen section of the text. On the one hand, they maintain that the omens are simply part of the received traditional knowledge, “without which the treatise would not have been deemed complete”; on the other hand, they posit that the omens were included simply to justify to the monarchy and general populace the large amounts of time spent in celestial observation (Writing Science, 121–22). They further claim that, just as the inclusion of horoscopes in modern-day newspapers does not indicate an underlying current belief in astrology, so too the mere inclusion of mantic material in MUL.APIN does not indicate belief in its legitimacy but is merely an expression of a fossilized cultural tradition (Writing Science, 172). Somehow, they maintain this, in spite of the fact that MUL.APIN is a text that is contemporary with the high point of the practice of celestial divination in ancient Iraq! Modern scholars seem intent on denying the obvious conceptual relationship uniting the data, procedures, and omens of MUL.APIN. Just as Ptolemy’s Almagest laid the groundwork for the Tetrabiblos, the progressive structure of MUL.APIN, which moves

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as noted above. Indeed, this fact and, more importantly, the use of second-person-singular verbs to explain procedure, as Watson and Horowitz have shown, indicates that the text should be considered a manual or handbook, a well-attested genre in the NA period. 211 However, its coverage, which was significantly broader and more sophisticated than that of Astrolabe B, meant it could also serve as an authoritative reference for individuals who were actually practicing the craft. This claim is supported by the fact that the Assyrian and Babylonian celestial diviners serving the Neo-Assyrian monarch of the 7th century referred to it on occasion. 212

2.4.3.  The Diviner’s Manual The Diviners’ Manual is an 8th-century document containing two text catalogs and a set of instructions. 213 The first catalog lists 14 terrestrial omen titles (lines 1–21 with summary, lines 22–24), while the second lists 11 celestial omen titles (lines 25–35 with summary lines 36–40). None of the titles have actually been identified in the known terrestrial or celestial omen corpora, though several of the titles in the celestial list have parallels to individual omens in EAE. 214 The set of instructions (lines 41–84) emphasizes the equal importance of both terrestrial and celestial omens for divination and stresses their use in conjunction with one another (lines 42–46). Furthermore, a namburbî ritual involving intercalation is prescribed for negative celestial omens (lines 57–71). 215 The instructions conclude with a unique description of omen validity based on month and watch of the night of occurrence (lines 72–83). The Diviner’s Manual is a significant document in the mantic corpus for a number of reasons. First, the Manual provides the clearest statement regarding the Ideal Calendar in celestial divination literature (line 57). Second, it provides evidence for the existence of many divinatory texts otherwise unknown. Third, it associates terrestrial and celestial omens as two complementary and integrated facets in a system of divination. This holistic purview is shared with a genre of mantic text, the inception of which is roughly contemporary with the Manual—namely, the diaries (§2.4.7). through data and procedures only to culminate in a collection of celestial omens, demonstrates a functional trajectory that ends with celestial divination. 211. Watson and Horowitz, Writing Science, 8–10, 169–71. See also the discussion of the Diviner’s Manual, below, in §2.4.3. 212. Cited explicitly in SAA 10 62 (= MUL.APIN I ii 36); without explicit reference in SAA 10 67:rev. 1–3 (MUL.APIN II Gap B 6) and SAA 8 254:7–8 (= MUL.APIN II iii 33). 213. Oppenheim, “Diviner’s Manual.” 214. Ibid., 208–9. 215. Clemency Williams has recently reconstructed the astronomical methods of intercalation as described in the Diviner’s Manual (“Signs from the Sky,” 473–85).

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2.4.4.  The Sargonid Compilation (“The Great Star List”) The Sargonid Compilation is a unique text that brings together many associative strategies in one work. 216 These associations include stars with other stars, stars with deities, stars with planets, stars with directions, months with other months, months with directions, parts of the moon with directions, lunar phases with deities, night watches with directions, winds with animals, and so forth. These associations served to broaden the protases of celestial omens. By making these associations, celestial diviners were able to apply omens to many more situations than those for which the omens were originally composed. This practice included omens the protases of which would otherwise be astronomically impossible, such as two fixed stars approaching each other. 217 Given the Sargonid Compilation’s composite character, Koch-Westenholz assumes that it was composed during the NB/NA period, but this sort of composite character is also observable in Astrolabe B and MUL.APIN, which seem to have originated in the MB/MA period. 218 Since all copies of the Sargonid Compilation originated in Assyria, it is quite possible that it was assembled there.

2.4.5. Astrolabes Astrolabes are texts that list three stars, one in each of the Paths of Ea, Anu, and Enlil, which are to rise heliacally in each month. 219 Called MUL.MEŠ 3.TA. ÀM, “3 stars each,” there are seven known astrolabes and astrolabe fragments. They are written in either simple list form or in circular form, in which each Path occupies concentric rings (Ea in the outermost ring, Anu in the middle ring, and Enlil in the center), and each month is listed radially. Some Astrolabes list, along with each month, numerical data related to the length of the night, while others list descriptions of the individual stars in relation to their respective constellations. 220 A single exemplar has both numerical data and description, while a few have neither.  221 216. Text published in Ernst Weidner, “Ein astrologischer Sammeltext aus der Sargonidenzeit,” AfO 19 (1959) 105–13; and Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 187–205. Since its beginning and end are not preserved in any of the copies that have survived, we do not know what its ancient title was. 217. For a discussion of these interpretive strategies, see Brown, AA, 75–81, 139–53; and Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 142. 218. Ibid., 94. 219. The most recent discussion of the astrolabes is found in Horowitz, MCG, 154– 66. Horowitz is currently preparing an edition of all the known astrolabes. 220. See ibid., 188–92. 221. An unusual variant of the 36-star astrolabe is the 30-star catalog. See Brown, AA¸258 for a brief discussion; and Joachim Oelsner and Wayne Horowitz, “The 30-Star Catalogue HS 1897 and the Late Parallel BM 55502,” AfO 44–45 (1997–98) 176–85 for

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A number of peculiar things about the astrolabes have led Horowitz and Brown to conclude that they are products of the Ideal Calendar that underpinned Mesopotamian celestial divination. 222 First, there is a significant amount of variation between texts of this sort. For example, the stars within each Path do not always agree among the individual astrolabes. While this could simply be a matter of diversity of tradition regarding which stars are assigned to which Path, other problems are more dramatic and demonstrate that they seem not to have functioned in terms of providing an accurate description of the night sky. 223 Occasionally, for instance, planets are listed as if they were fixed stars. Furthermore, though the Astrolabes indicate in which month certain stars are to rise heliacally, heliacal risings only occur in the same month in the 365-day tropical calendar. Thus, the conclusion presented by Horowitz and Brown— that the astrolabes in general are products of a system of celestial divination that employed the Ideal Calendar—makes great sense.

2.4.6.  Ziqpu Lists Ziqpu stars are stars that successively culminate (reach their highest position in the sky) at the zenith (the point directly above the observer). Ziqpu Lists record these stars together with the time intervals between their successive culminations expressed in minas (for measurement with a water clock), 224 UŠ (degrees of right ascension and its time equivalent), or bērū (taken as the true distance between celestial objects). 225 The oldest known Ziqpu List is in MUL.APIN I iv 1–30 (see above, §2.4.2.1.5), and the most recent originated in Seleucid Babylon. Other examples come from Sippar, Uruk, and Assurbanipal’s library in Nineveh. 226 editions of both texts and discussion. Witnessed by only two exemplars, the 30-star catalog is much like the conventional 36-star astrolabe but lists only 30 stars—10 assigned to each of the Paths. No information is given in relation to the expected times of their heliacal risings, nor are any numerical data related to the length of the night provided. However, descriptions similar to the kind found in Section A of Astrolabe B are found in one of the two exemplars. Its purpose is as unclear as is its origin. Oelsner and Horowitz’s assertion that the 10 star tradition can be found in the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night is dubious, though the parallels drawn to the Sumerian of Section A of Astrolabe B are intriguing, given the similarity in content (“Catalogue,” 182–83). 222. Horowitz, MCG, 162; and Brown, AA, 155. 223. See, for example, the discussion of Astrolabe B, Section 2.4.1. 224. For the most recent discussion of the water clock in Mesopotamia (including its use in astronomy, actual experimentation, and earlier bibliography), see Brown et al., “The Water Clock in Mesopotamia,” 130–48. 225. Horowitz determined the meaning of bērū in the Ziqpu Lists (in MCG, 185–86). 226. For full discussions of the Ziqpu Lists and bibliography, see J. Schaumberger, “Die Ziqpu-Gestirne nach neuen Keilschrifttexten,” ZA 50 (1952) 214–99; and more

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2.4.7.  Diaries and Eclipse Records Diaries are observational records, the earliest of which date to the mid-7th century, the latest to the mid-1st century b.c.e. 227 The diaries register observations of celestial phenomena (including the weather) alongside observations of what should be considered terrestrial phenomena (for example, river levels and market prices of important commodities). Both short-term diaries (describing a period of just a few days) and long-term diaries (typically documenting either the first or last six months of a particular year) are extant. It is normally assumed that the former were used to compile the latter. The authors of the diaries called them naṣāru ša ginê “regular observation.” As an observational record, phenomena are recorded in the order of their occurrence (that is, month, date, night, day), though not all phenomena are recorded for every night (for example, the planets’ positions are not necessarily recorded for every single night). On a given date, the situation at night is described first, the day having begun at sunset. Next, the weather is reported, lunar and planetary information is given, and finally the weather during the daytime is provided. Topics covered on any given date might include lunar phenomena (lunar six, proximity to Normal Stars, or even general appearance), planetary phenomena (Greek Letter Phenomena, with positional information), solstices, equinoxes, Sirius phenomena, meteoric/comet activity, weather, prices of various commodities (barley, dates, mustard, cress, sesame, and wool), river level, and historical events. The purpose of the diaries continues to be a matter of debate. The sideby-side recording of astronomical phenomena with variable historical realities (river levels and commodity prices) has led both William Hallo and A. Aaboe to posit that the diaries were, in a sense, an early scientific attempt to accumulate observational data for a new generation of empirically grounded celestial omens. 228 There is, however, absolutely no evidence to suggest that this was the case. Swedlow, Rochberg, and Brown all maintain that there is a basic

r­ecently Wayne Horowitz and F. N. H. Al-Rawi, “Tablets from the Sippar Library IX: A Ziqpu-Star Planisphere,” Iraq 63 (2001) 171–81; and Horowitz, MCG, 177–92. 227. The following is summarized from Sachs and Hunger, Diaries 1, 11–37. There is also significant evidence to suggest that diaries were kept beginning in the reign of Nabonassar, in the mid-8th century (compare mid-7th-century statement above). See Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 139, for details and bibliography. 228. William Hallo, “The Nabonassar Era and Other Epochs in Mesopotamian Chronology,” in A Scientific Humanist: Studies in Memory of Abraham Sachs (ed. Earle Leichty et al.; Philadelphia: University Museum, 1988) 188; A. Aaboe, “Babylonian Mathematics, Astrology, and Astronomy,” CAH2 3/2, 278.

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connection between the diaries and the practice of celestial divination. 229 On the other hand, citing the fact that the phenomena observed in the diaries were usually not the phenomena featured in the celestial divination texts, Hunger and Pingree argue further that, not only were the diaries not used for the creation of novel omina, but they had nothing whatsoever to do with the mantic enterprise. 230 I believe that Hunger, Pingree, and Slotsky are all correct in arguing that it is necessary to link the logic of the diaries to the belief, as expressed in Enūma Eliš V, that the world is ordered and that, as a result of this order, celestial phenomena are periodic in nature. 231 As we will see in the next chapter, however, this belief, as expressed in the Babylonian creation epic, cannot be separated from the belief that this celestial mathematical order was erected by Marduk for the express purpose of mantic guidance (§3.3.8). As Slotsky herself states, “[T]here was a fundamental belief in a relationship between celestial events on the one hand and terrestrial phenomena on the other.” 232 Furthermore, it should not be lost on us that the diaries began to be composed in the mid8th century and were thus contemporary with the composition of the Diviner’s Manual (which expresses this semantic celestial-terrestrial sympathy quite explicitly). They are also contemporary with the beginning of the culmination of celestial divination as the practical scholarship par excellence in the NeoAssyrian period. While the precise nature of the relationship between the prac­ tice of celestial divination and the diaries remains unclear, what is certain is that the diaries were conceived in the intellectual and practical context of celestial divination. As such, we must accept that, at least in their initial stages of conception, the diaries were a manifestation of the idea that celestial and terrestrial phenomena are semantically significant and, somehow, vitally connected to the determination of divine will. 233 That is to say, the diaries of the Neo-Assyrian and Neo-Babylonian period need to be categorized as expressing the same beliefs that underpin the practice of celestial divination. In addition to the general celestial observations recorded in the diaries, there are many, though mostly fragmentary, records of lunar eclipses. 234 Though 229. N. M. Swerdlow, The Babylonian Theory of the Planets (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998) 16–23; Brown, AA, 97–102; Rochberg, “Scribes and Scholars, 367–68. 230. Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 139–40. 231. Ibid., 140; A. Slotsky, The Bourse of Babylon: Market Quotations in Astronomical Diaries of Babylonia (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1997) 19. 232. Slotsky, Bourse of Babylon, 19. 233. It is possible that, as time went on and the diaries continued to be composed for reasons of tradition, the scribes’ understanding of their purpose evolved. 234. For a list and discussion of these texts, including dating, see Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 181–82.

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some of these tablets date to the Late Babylonian period and later, some of them record eclipses that occurred as early as the mid-8th century. Hunger and Pingree maintain that these data were derived from the observations recorded in the diaries. 235 Brown notes that, in both the diaries and the extant eclipse records, eclipses were both recorded and predicted. 236 This shows that, in later periods, scholars mined previous data collections for specific data for the purpose of eclipse prediction. While this is an important fact, indicating the continual use of the data collected in the diaries even in the Late Babylonian period, it is clear for our purposes here that we see a tremendous concern with lunar eclipses already in the letters and reports, which both mention and occasionally attempt to predict them. 237 What the later eclipse records of NA prediction efforts show—alongside the reports and letters—is that scholars were interested in this particular phenomenon for the purposes of celestial divination.

2.4.8.  Mathematical Astronomical-Astrological Texts: Ephemerides and Procedure Texts Dating entirely to the Seleucid period and later, the several hundred extant ephemerides and procedure texts represent the new predictive capability of Mesopotamian celestial sciences in the latest periods. All known ephemerides and procedure texts most likely come from Uruk and Babylon. 238 The goal of the ephemerides is to predict by mathematical formula the dates of certain lunar phenomena (1st of the month, conjunction, last visibility, eclipses) 239 and the position and dates of certain Greek Letter planetary Phenomena. 240 Procedure Texts, on the other hand, describe the methods for making these sorts of calculations. Ephemerides differ from almanacs (see below, §2.4.9.2) in that, while both mean to predict certain celestial phenomena, almanacs attempt to achieve this by observation of the preceding relevant period, while ephemerides attempt this task via mathematical formulas describing these phenomena. 241

2.4.9.  Nonmathematical Astronomical-Astrological Texts 2.4.9.1.  Goal Year Texts.  Goal Year texts 242 are referred to in their own colophons as U4-1-KÁM IGI(-DU8-A).MEŠ DIB(-qa).MEŠ u AN.MI.MEŠ šá 235. LBAT 1413–52; Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 181. 236. Brown, AA, 100. 237. Ibid., 200–206. 238. ACT I, 4. For a current synthesis of the ephemerides and procedure texts, see Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 212–70. 239. ACT I, 41. 240. ACT II, 279. 241. Brown, AA, 263. 242. The following is summarized from Abraham Sachs, “A Classification of the Babylonian Astronomical Texts of the Seleucid Period,” JCS 2 (1948) 282–85; see also

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DIŠ MU x kun-nu “the first day, appearances, passings-by and eclipses, which were established for year x.” 243 These texts date to the Seleucid period and later, and they contain summaries of observational records to generate predictive data for a specific year, the “Goal Year.” These summaries of observational records describe the respective previous periods of planets and the moon, including Greek Letter Phenomena and Normal Star positional information. 244 2.4.9.2. Almanacs.  Almanacs are summaries of the predicted astronomical events of a single given year. 245 Almanacs, called mešḫī ša MU “measurement of the year,” date to the Seleucid period and later. Categorized by month, the celestial phenomena predicted typically include: the date, Lunar Three information, planetary phenomena (that is, Greek Letter Phenomena), zodiacal entrances, planetary positions at the beginning of the month, dates of solstices and equinoxes, Sirius dates and eclipse dates. An important subcategory of almanacs is Normal Star almanacs which are very similar in content to the standard almanac described above; indeed, they too are referred to as mešḫī ša MU. 246 Normal Star almanacs, however, do not include zodiacal entrances or planetary positions at the beginning of the month. Normal Star almanacs typically list the date, Lunar Three or Six information, 247 planetary phenomena, planetary positions relative to Normal Stars, solstice and equinox dates, Sirius dates and eclipse dates. Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 167–72. 243. It may seem that these texts provide the data necessary for the composition of the almanacs (see §2.4.1.2), but this idea has been rejected by Hunger and Pingree (ASM, 173). 244. Normal Stars are stars that are dispersed irregularly around the ecliptic and are sometimes used as stellar cartographic reference points. See Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 148–51, for the most recent discussion. 245. The following section is summarized from Sachs, “Classification,” 277–82; see also Hunger and Pingree, ASM, 159–67. 246. It is important to note here that this distinction in genre is ours and not that of the ancient compilers. 247. The so-called Lunar Three data include: (1) Whether the previous month had 29 or 30 days; (2) on the first of the month, the time interval between sunset and moonset (na); and (3) the date and time interval between the last moonrise and sunrise in a month (KUR). The Lunar Six include: (1) and (2) = (2) and (3) of the Lunar Three; (3) the time interval between moonrise and sunset when the moon rose for the last time before sunset (ME); (4) the time interval between sunset and moonrise when the moon rose for the first time after sunset (GE6); (5) the time interval between moonset and sunrise when the moon set for the last time before sunrise (ŠÚ); (6) the time interval between sunrise and moonset when the moon set for the first time after sunrise (also called na). See Abraham Sachs, “A Classification of Babylonian Astronomical Tablets of the Seleucid Period,” JCS 2 (1948) 273, 278.

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2.5.  Celestial Divination Interpretive Material 2.5.1. Reports Several hundred reports (called uʾiltu) 248 come to us from the Assyrian archives of the late 8th to mid-7th centuries and were written by Assyrian and Babylonian celestial diviners to the kings of Assyria. 249 Though the vast majority of these reports concern the observation and interpretation of celestial omens, a few contain observations and interpretations of terrestrial and birth omens. A report normally contains an observed omen, usually copied from EAE, together with an interpretation. In addition to this, a report may provide additional notes on the specific observation or even, in some cases, an attempt at the prediction of a celestial phenomenon. For example, the diviner Rašil predicts the date of a lunar eclipse: 250 UD-14-KÁM AN.MI d30 i-šak-kan ḪUL šá KUR.NIM.MA.KI u KUR.MAR.TU.KI SIG5 šá LUGAL be-lí-ia

The moon will be eclipsed on the 14th. (This is) ominous for Elam and the west. (This is) portentous for the king, my lord.

Occasionally, personal correspondence (in the form of complaints and requests) to the king is appended. The majority of the reports are signed by the celestial diviner who made them. Only about a fifth of the extant reports are dated.

2.5.2. Letters The royal correspondence of the Neo-Assyrian monarchs includes almost two hundred letters that pertain to matters of celestial divination. 251 These letters originated with many of the same celestial diviners who composed the reports and often cover the same sort of information presented in the reports. The letters with mantic topics are confined primarily to the reigns of Assurbanipal and Esarhaddon. They occasionally contain attempts at the prediction of celestial phenomena, a practice that also appears in the reports. The chief 248. The following is summarized from SAA 8 xv–xxv. 249. The literal meaning of uʾiltu is “debt, obligation,” and the term, as it is applied to the reports, seems to connect the similarity of the shape of the tablets (the widths of which were typically about twice their length) to a certain type of promissory note. See LAS 2, 65; SAA 8 vi; and CAD U/W 51 for discussion. 250. SAA 8 388: 1–4. See Brown, AA, 197–205, for additional examples of predictions in the reports. 251. The following is summarized from SAA 10 xxiv–xxx; but see also Parpola, LAS 1 and 2.

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scribe, Issar-šumu-ereš, for example, wrote the king regarding contradicting predictions: 252 ša LUGAL be-li iš-pur-an-ni ma-a 1-en ina lúki-na-ta-ti-ku-nu is-sap-ra ma-a dUDU.IDIM ina ITI.BARAG IGI.LAL ma-a ITI an-ni-u mì-i-nu tu-ka-la ITI an-ni-u ITI.ŠE nu-ka-la UD-mu am-ni-u UD-25-KÁM nu-ka-la

Concerning what the king, my lord, wrote me, “One of your colleagues wrote, ‘The Planet (Mercury) will be seen in Nisan.’ What do you consider this month (to be)?” We consider this month (to be) Adar. We consider this day (to be) the 25th.

For Parpola and especially Brown, the nascent predictive material, included side by side with observations signifies a turning point in the history of Mesopotamian celestial sciences, marking the stage at which focus shifted from simply observing the sky to constructing mathematical models based on this observation, in order to predict ominous events before they occurred. 253

2.5.3. Horoscopes Of the 32 known horoscopes, 254 the earliest dates to the late 5th century, while the vast majority date to the last three centuries b.c.e. The horoscopes are quite different from the tradition of Mesopotamian celestial divination, because they reflect personal rather than judicial concerns—that is, concerns relating to an individual rather than to the state in general. 255 Additionally, they are the first known texts that use the zodiac as a means of dividing the ecliptic into 12 equal parts for reference, and they are also the first to feature nativities. Each horoscope refers to the specific date on which a person was born, the Lunar Three for this date, and the positions of the planets within the zodiac. Occasionally, the moon’s position in relation to Normal Stars is mentioned, as are the dates of that year’s eclipses, equinoxes, and solstices. The horoscopes present much of the same information found in the almanacs, and it is possible that the horoscopes based their information on the data provided by the 252. SAA 10 23: 6–12. See Brown, AA, 197–205, for more examples of predictions in the letters. 253. SAA 10 xxviii; and Brown, AA, 161–207. 254. The following is summarized from Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Babylonian Horoscopes and Their Sources,” Or n.s. 58 (1989) 102–23; but see also Sachs, “Babylonian Horoscopes”; and Francesca Rochberg, Babylonian Horoscopes. 255. Sachs first used this terminology in “Horoscopes,” 51–52.

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almanacs. Rarely do the horoscopes actually give the person’s name (only two cases) and only occasionally (six cases, one of which is a duplicate) is there any substantive interpretation of the data. 256 An example of a horoscope that does give an interpretation is MLC 2190: 257 . . . . dele-bat ina 4 MUL.MUL

. . . . Delebat (Venus) is in the 4(th degree of) the Stars (Taurus)— KI dele-bat e-ma DU-ku ŠE.GA the place of Delebat: wherever he goes will be agreeable. DUMU.MEŠ u DUMU.SAL.MEŠ TUK-ši He will have sons and daughters. GU4.UD ina MAŠ.MAŠ The Leaper (Mercury) is in the Twins (Gemini) KI 20 KI GU4.UD qar-ra-du 263 with Šamaš—the place of the Leaper: the hero SAG.KAL-du-tú DU.MEŠ will take first place UGU ŠEŠ.MEŠ-šú DUGUD-it É AD-šú over his brothers; he will possess EN!-el the honor of his father’s house.

Presumably, when there was no recorded interpretation of the data, the horoscope was given orally, perhaps in consultation with a nativity omen text. 258

2.6.  Miscellaneous Celestial-Science Material 2.6.1.  Prayers to the Gods of the Night Though having nothing to do with celestial divination per se, a number of prayers directed to celestial deities attest to the night sky’s importance outside celestial divination. 259 The earliest of these, the OB Prayer to the Gods of the 256. Rochberg, Babylonian Horoscopes, 50 (texts 2, 5, 9, 10, 11, and 27). 257. Ibid., 83–86 (text 10). 258. For a discussion of the few nativity omen texts from the late period, see KochWesten­holz, MAst, 172–73; and Sachs, “Horoscopes,” 65–75. 259. The secondary literature often ambiguously treats the OB prayers alongside a text from Boghazköy and some 1st-millennium texts. For example, Brown (AA, 250) considers them all to be genetically related. In actuality, the text from Boghazköy, KUB 4 47:39ff., is paralleled by another text, OECT 6 74–77 (K 3507), which is simply an incantation addressing the gods of the night and has nothing to do with extispicy. Furthermore, two 1st-millennium namburbî texts (STT 231, published in E. Reiner, “Another Volume of the Sultantepe Tablets,” JNES 26 [1967] 186–88; and Stephan Maul, Zu­kunftsbewältigung: Eine Untersuchung altorientalischen Denkens anhand der babylo­ nisch-assyrischen Löserituale [Namburbi] [BaF 18; Mainz: von Zabern, 1994] 432–38; as well as K 2315 + K 3125 + 83-1-18,469, published in Oppenheim, “A New Prayer,” 282–95) are often cited as later exemplars of the OB Prayer. Though both of these texts are appeals to nocturnal celestial deities to make an extispicy propitious, they are neither related genetically to each other (STT 231 is a description of the rituals required, while

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Night is preserved in two exemplars, both from the OB period. 260 The wellpreserved texts are copies of the same basic text with minor variants. 261 The prayers, described as ikrib mušītim (line 24 in both texts), are appeals to various nocturnal celestial deities to place a propitious sign in the extispicy to be performed the following morning. The gods of the night take the place of Šamaš, who has “gone to his bedchamber.” 262 As stated, these prayers, while related to mantic concerns, do not relate specifically to celestial divination. However, their setting in the OB period provides the names of some constellations that are not documented in later texts.

2.6.2.  Star Lists in Ur5-ra (ḪAR-ra) and Its Forerunners Five Sumerian OB star lists are extant. None of these is an independent text in its own right, nor are the lists part of a larger astronomical text, as is the case with the later MUL.APIN. 263 Rather, these lists are all incorporated into OB forerunners to the canonical lexical series, Ur5-ra. 264 As part of these early lists, K 2315 + K 3125 + 83-1-18,469 has a very high literary style) nor to the OB exemplars. I can only assume that this confusion can be traced back to Oppenheim’s article (“A New Prayer”), which treats both the OB Prayer and the 1st-millennium K 2315 + K 3125 + 831-18,469. He himself does not attempt to outline a genetic relationship. On the contrary, he writes that “it would be much too crude or naive to posit a single line of development linking the old and new fragments in any direct way” (ibid., 297). 260. For the most current copy of the first, see Wayne Horowitz, “Astral Tablets in The Hermitage,” 195–98; this text was originally published by W. Šilejko, “Tabletka molitvoj nočnym bogam v sobranii Lichačeva,” IRAINK 3 (1924) 147. The second, AO 6769, is treated together with IRAINK 3 147 in George Dossin, “Prières aux ‘Dieux de la Nuit’ (AO 6769),” RA 32 (1935) 179–87. See also translations in Wolfram von Soden, “Schwer zugängliche russische Veröffentlichungen altbabylonischer Texte, 1: Ein Opferschau­ gebet bei Nacht,” ZA 43 (1936) 305–8; A. Leo Oppenheim, “A New Prayer to the ‘Gods of the Night,’” AnBib 12 (1959) 295–96; and Benjamin Foster in COS 1:417. See also my treatment, “An OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night,” in Reading Akkadian Prayers and Hymns: An Introduction (ed. Alan Lenzi; ANEM/MACO 1; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2011) 71–83. 261. A fragment of another OB prayer to the gods of the night, CBS 574, was published in Wayne Horowitz and N. Wasserman, “Another Old Babylonian Prayer to the Gods of the Night,” JCS 48 (1996) 57–60. Other than the order in which a couple of the night deities are presented, CBS 574 is very different from AO 6769 and IRAINK 3 147, and it is clear that CBS 574 is not another exemplar of the prayer preserved in AO 6769 and IRAINK 3 147. 262. dUTU i-te-ru-ub a-na ku-um-mi-šu; IRAINK 3 147:13 and AO 6769:15. 263. MUL.APIN I i 1–ii 35 is the opening star catalog. 264. The so-called “Nippur Star List,” in the Nippur Forerunner 387–410 (MSL 11 107–8); AO 6447 viii, ix 9–10 (MSL 11 133–34); OECT 4 157 rev. ii′ 1′–8′ (MSL 11 136); OECT 4 161 x 13–28 (MSL 11 143); BM 78206 (= CT 44 47) iii 1–9 (MSL 11 144). For a summary of Ur5-ra, see RlA 6:626–28.

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the stars are listed among bodies of water, kinds of rope, fibers, and other such objects. These lists show that, by this period, the stars and constellations had been named and, more importantly, had begun to be cataloged. 265 However, these lists show no observationally based organization. 266 By the MB/MA period, Ur5-ra was a nascent series that was being transmitted to neighboring areas, such as Ugarit, where portions of a few recensions have been discovered. These portions include parts of the star list, now with an Akkadian column. 267 The canonical version of Ur5-ra, presumably from the late MB/MA–early NB/NA period, also includes this list of stars and follows the same order as the OB versions. 268

2.7.  Summary History of Mesopotamian Astronomy Because it is difficult to derive a general history of the Mesopotamian astronomical tradition from the preceding survey, given this chapter’s format, I provide a brief narrative here. This short narrative history puts the preceding survey in context. Additionally, it provides a means to introduce key concepts that could not be highlighted adequately in the preceding survey.

2.7.1.  Pre–Old Babylonian Periods Since there are no specifically celestial-science texts from the pre-OB periods, all reconstruction of the celestial sciences and their goals from this period is based on circumstantial evidence. Material from the Gudea Cylinder indicates that the sky was consulted when determining the circumstances for the construction of the temple, a fact which seems to indicate celestial divination. In addition to this, regular lunar observation was made not simply for the regulation of the lunar calendar but also for the regulation of this calendar with respect to festival days.

2.7.2.  Old Babylonian Period Unlike the previous periods, which are lacking in textual materials for the reconstruction of their celestial-science traditions, the OB period provides us with ample calendrical material and, for the first time, texts dealing explicitly with celestial divination. These materials give us a glimpse of the nascent stages of celestial speculation. 265. Though they do not specifically comprise a star list, several stars are invoked and therefore listed in the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night. See above for references. 266. Brown, AA, 250. 267. RS 23.83+23.364: 60–65 (MSL 11 49). 268. Ur5-ra XXII 9:22′–11:9′ (MSL 11 30–31).

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The early OB period evidences the first attempts to standardize a regional calendar. The Sumerian calendar became the standard in southern Mesopotamia, perhaps around the turn of the 3rd millennium. 269 In the north, at least as far as Mari, the calendar spread as well, though there it was not used exclusively. 270 The OB period also provides the first direct witness to the Ideal Year, though it is attested indirectly in the administrative circles of previous periods. 271 The Ideal Year, Brown argues, is one of the conceptual underpinnings for celestial divination, as typified in EAE, where omen phenomena are often propitious or negative depending on their agreement with their ideal dates of occurrence. There are two OB witnesses to the Ideal Year. The first of these (BM 17175 + BM 17284) is a description of the respective weights of water required for a water clock on the summer solstice, fall equinox, winter solstice, spring equinox, and again, the summer solstice. 272 These events are to occur exactly three months from each other (that is, in 15/XII, 15/III, 15/VI, 15/IX, and again in 15/XII). Since, in a lunar calendar, these dates for the solstices and equinoxes are, of course, quite impossible, this scheme obviously constitutes an ideal. The second text, an OB prayer to Ninsianna/Ištar, describes this Ideal Year even more explicitly: 273 iš-tu itiBÁR.ZÀ.GAR UD-20-KAM a-di iti BÁR.ZÀ.GAR UD-20-KAM 6 šu-ši ú-ma-tim 6 šu-ši mu-ši-tim a-di ša-tim e-ri-ib-tim

From the 20th of Nisan until the 20th of Nisan 6 (times) 60 days, 6 (times) 60 nights until the coming of the year. . . .

To summarize the year in this hymn: one full year equals 360 days and nights. Both of these texts can only be describing an ideal. Most importantly, they 269. Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 225. 270. Ibid., 226 and 248–68, for Cohen’s discussion of the Amorite calendars. See also Samuel Greengus, “New Evidence on the Old Babylonian Calendar and Real Estate Documents from Sippar,” JAOS 121 (2001) 257–67. Assyrian practice in this period was quite different. See Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 237–47. 271. This is summarized Brown, AA, 113–22, 211–15. Robert Englund, “Administrative Timekeeping in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JESHO 31 (1988) 122–33. Englund determines the ideal administrative calendar by extrapolation from administrative texts documenting workers’ monthly hours. See also Brack-Bernsen, “The 360 Day Year in Mesopotamia.” 272. Hunger and Pingree, MUL.APIN, 163–64. 273. L. de Meyer, “Deux prières ikribu du temps d’Ammī-ṣaduqa,” in Zikir Šumim: Assyriological Studies Presented to F. R. Kraus on the Occasion of His Seventieth Birthday (ed. G. van Driel et al.; Leiden: Brill, 1982) 274.

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demonstrate the extension of the ideal administrative year of previous periods into the ideal celestial year of the mantic tradition. Lunar eclipse omens and general celestial omens appear for the first time in the OB period. The lunar eclipse omens in particular already demonstrate many of the same ominous criteria that will be used in all later lunar eclipse omens, and some parts of EAE 15–22 may have been composed at this time. In addition to these omen texts, it is generally assumed that the Venus observations in EAE 63 originated in this period. If this is true, it demonstrates the recording of regular planetary observation in the OB period. The inclusion of star lists in the forerunners to Ur5-ra shows that a shared celestial lexicon was known (or at least being established) in scribal circles.

2.7.3.  Middle Babylonian/Middle Assyrian Period The MB/MA period evinces the first widespread use of celestial divination. Babylonian celestial omen texts are found in almost every region of the ancient Near East, from Ugarit to Susa to Anatolia. These omen texts include the earliest known sections from EAE. Additionally, important aids to celestial divination were composed in the MB/MA period; these aids include Astrolabe B and, perhaps at the very end, MUL.APIN. The Paths, a method of organizing the night sky, were introduced, as well as a fairly advanced stellar method of chronography epitomized in Ziqpu star lists. The very end of the MB/MA period probably saw the codification of EAE and Iqqur Īpuš. Since EAE, MUL.APIN, and Astrolabe B are the most important texts that define Brown’s Enūma Anu Enlil Paradigm, this paradigm must have finally coalesced in the practice of celestial divination by this period at the latest. 274 The EAE Paradigm assumes that the gods have encoded the sky to inform humankind of possible future events and that there exists a series of methods by which humankind can decode these messages. 275 These methods of decoding are based largely on a system of ideal celestial schemes (such as the Ideal Year, described above, §2.7.2) wherein celestial phenomena are expected to occur according to mathematically ideal periods. If a particular observed celestial phenomenon did not occur according to this ideal period, the event was to be considered ominous. 276 Other elements involved in decoding were part of the EAE Paradigm as well, such as the respective beneficence of the planets and 274. Brown assumes that these texts are the ultimate codification of the underlying EAE Paradigm that is evident in even the oldest extant celestial divination texts. If this is the case, then Brown is right in asserting that the basic principles of the EAE Paradigm (especially ideal-period schemes) were in place well before the OB period (AA, 126). 275. Brown, AA, 108–13. 276. Ibid., 113–26.

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stars (both singularly and in relation to one another), their brightness, colors, and so forth. The EAE Paradigm dominates MB/MA period texts and is also the underlying paradigm of the NB/NA period.

2.7.4.  Neo-Babylonian/Neo-Assyrian Period The NB/NA period is the high point of both the practice of Mesopotamian celestial divination and its practical documentation. Hundreds of reports and letters illustrate its day-to-day practice, and commentaries composed in this period elucidate its methods. Reports and letters also demonstrate the monarchic, especially Assyrian, reliance on celestial divination for policy making. This reliance ultimately generated a demand for predictions of periodic celestial phenomena so that policy and preparations could be made in advance of actual ominous phenomena. Brown sees these developments as the beginning of the ascendance of the Prediction of Celestial Phenomena (PCP) Paradigm. 277 The main difference between the EAE Paradigm and the PCP Paradigm is that, while in the EAE Paradigm events had to be observed in order to be interpreted, in the PCP Paradigm events were considered predictable and therefore interpretable before actual observation. The assumption that celestial phenomena are, in fact, predictable led to the creation of methods for calculating their actual periods, while not necessarily dismissing the ideal schemes as an interpretive tool. This new emphasis on prediction set the groundwork for the beginning of mathematical astronomy.

2.7.5.  Late Babylonian Period The increasing sophistication of mathematical methods for predicting periodic celestial phenomena based on long-term observation led to the disuse of the EAE tradition of celestial divination and the introduction of the Metonic cycle’s 19-year lunar calendar. Though no official use of EAE is documented in this period, its interest in scribal circles remained high. The zodiac was conceived in this period and, together with the practical methods of determining the dates and coordinates of celestial phenomena, this led to the development of personal celestial divination in the form of horoscopic astrology. The arrival of Alexander and increased interaction between the Near East and the Western Mediterranean allowed the spread of Mesopotamian techniques and concepts to much of the Mediterranean world, including Egypt, Greece, and, ultimately, Rome. Mesopotamian traditions even spread as far as India, the farthest eastern extent of Alexander’s Empire. 277. Ibid., 161–206.

Chapter 3

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature 3.1. Introduction 3.1.1.  Defining the Scope of This Chapter In this chapter, I focus on the reflexes of the celestial sciences in the literature of ancient Iraq. I base my definition of the admittedly modern category “literature” on the definitions proposed by W. Röllig and Benjamin Foster. Foster described “narrative literature” as a text that “tells a story about gods or people.” 1 Among works of this sort, Röllig included myths, epics, entitlement steles, and pseudo-autobiographies. I locate the lion’s share of my material in the first two categories. 2 My reasons for concentrating on the narrative material are essentially pragmatic and relate to previous work on this corpus, as well as what, I hope, will be the usefulness of this book for future scholars. First, the pan-Babylonianists focused primarily on what they considered to be astral content in myth and, since one of the purposes of this study is to serve as a corrective to their approach, I am treating the same corpus. Second, though I recognize that there is an abundance of astral references in Sumerian and Akkadian hymns, and these are by any definition literary in nature, I am excluding the hymn genre when it cannot be considered narrative. References to the celestial aspects of gods such as Ištar and Šamaš occur frequently in hymns dedicated to them, but most of these references, I believe, are quite transparent and have long been recognized and accepted by modern scholarship. Third, I wish to provide a methodological starting point for comparison between the astral lore of ancient Iraq and that of the classical world. As I note in chap. 1, 1. Benjamin Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 3rd ed. (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2005) 42. See also the outstanding overview of this discussion, including pertinent bibliography, in Joan Goodnick Westenholz, “In the Shadow of the Muses: A View of Akkadian Literature,” JAOS 119 (1999) 81–83. 2. W. Röllig, “Überblick über die akkadische Literatur,” RlA 7 (1987) 50–54.

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significant inspiration for this study was drawn from the latter, notably the collections of catasterisms composed by Pseudo-Eratosthenes and Hyginus, both of which are narrative in form.

3.1.2.  Criteria for Identifying Celestial-Science References A study such as this book necessitates a basic methodology by which reflexes of celestial science in the literature can be securely identified. I follow these fundamental criteria: 1. A text must feature an astral/celestial being or phenomenon. Because some deities are identified with celestial features on a basic level (i.e., Šamaš, Ištar, etc.), the text must feature the deity specifically in his or her astral manifestation, at least partly. Again, because some deities are fundamentally identified with celestial features, mere epithets that refer to them in their astral manifestations are insufficient. 2. A text must feature terminology that is commonly found in contemporary celestial-science texts. 3. A text must feature concepts that are demonstrably known and used in contemporary celestial-science texts and not simply be inferred.

Ideally, a piece of literature will exhibit all three of these criteria, though in some cases the celestial features of the work in question might be clear enough that fewer criteria are sufficient. It was, in part, the failure of the pan-Babylonianist school (in regard to its astral interpretations of Mesopotamian literature) to develop simple methodological safeguards that led to its haphazard speculation and ultimate refutation. In this book, I identify and discuss particular literary texts that, I believe, reflect knowledge of the Mesopotamian celestial sciences. I have organized them by the manner in which the celestial-science concepts are employed and incorporated by their authors. This organization is not meant to be definitive by any means; indeed, there is overlap between my categories. At the same time, other modern interpreters might suggest alternative interpretations and categories. However, I maintain that the categorization presented here reveals the concerns and motivations of the celestial sciences in Mesopotamia. At the very least, it is a useful tool for presenting the available material. The following presentation of texts is not exhaustive but is an entry point to the topic at hand. I am unable to identify all possible references to the celestial sciences in the known literature, and some of my suggestions are debatable. The continuing publication of celestial-science materials (such as the unpublished tablets of EAE) will expose new technical terminology and concepts that, in turn, may lead to novel insights into the literature of ancient Iraq. However, it is my hope that this book will provoke additional analysis and discussion.

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3.2. Divination 3.2.1. Introduction The primary consumer of celestial divination in ancient Mesopotamia before the Persian period was the state/monarchy. 3 It should come as no surprise, therefore, that the primary figures who are depicted using the practice in Mesopotamian literature were members of the ancient state. Furthermore, the gods themselves are portrayed as using divination for their own benefit.

3.2.2.  Divine Intent and Human Monarchs 3.2.2.1.  Bilgames and Huwawa.  Codified in the Ur III period, but almost certainly preserving an older tradition, the Sumerian poem en-e kur lu2-t il a-še3, “The Lord of the Mountain of the Living,” known in English as Bilgames and Huwawa, is the Sumerian prototype of tablets IV and V of the SB Gil­ gamesh epic. 4 As in the SB version, Bilgames, seeking eternal fame, plans to set out for the Cedar Mountain. Following Enkidu’s advice, Bilgames asks for Utu’s blessing and guidance as to what course of action he should take. He receives Utu’s answer in the form of a group of seven monsters: 5 34

utu a -ig i-na n i g2-š a3-a-g i m šu Utu accepted his tears as like a gift, b a -an -ši- i n-t i 35 lu2-ar ḫ uš-a - g i m ar ḫuš b a-ni -i n-a5 like a compassionate man he showed him pity. 36 u r-s ağ du mu-ama-d i li -m e -e š They were seven warriors, sons of im in -m e - e š one mother, 37 diš -am3 š e š-ga l-bi šu-pi r i ğ -ğ a2 the first, their eldest brother, had u mbin -ḫ u-r i2-i n -na paws of a lion, talons of an eagle, 38 m in -k am -ma muš-š a3-tur3 ka [ğa l3- the second was an [open-] t a k a] KU šu UŠ mouthed serpent . . . , d

3. See §2.1.2.1. Erica Reiner discusses a handful of texts in which a private individual might observe a shooting or twinkling star in order to determine a positive or negative oracular fate (“Fortune-Telling in Mesopotamia,” JNES 19 [1960] 28–30). These oracles, however, are incorporated in texts that concern a much broader range of ominous phenomena of the šumma ālu type; they are not part of the celestial divination series EAE, nor are they discussed in its commentaries. 4. Andrew George, The Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic: Introductions, Critical Edition and Cuneiform Texts (2 vols.; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) 1:9–11. 5. For the Sumerian text, see Dietz Otto Edzard, “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. II. Teil,” ZA 81 (1991) 165–233. Though the reconstructed text is highly composite, most of the variants are orthographic. English translation is based on Andrew George, The Epic of Gilgamesh: A New Translation (New York: Norton, 1999) 150–66.

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39 e š5-k am -ma muš ušum -ga l mu[š . . .] x RU 40 l im mu5-k am -ma i zi še ğ6-še ğ6 [ x x k]u4-r a 41 i a2-k am -ma muš-s ağ -KAL š a3-g i4-a ub KA . . . a b a-b a ḫur-s ağ-ğ[a3 . . .] 42 aš3-k am -ma a-g i6 a-gu l-gu l-d am ku r-r a g ab a r a-r a 43 im in -k a[m -ma . . . n]i m -g i m i3-g i r2g ir2-r e a2-bi lu2 nu-d[a-g]ur-d e3 44 im in -bi-e -ne ur-s ağ šu l dutu d bi l4-g a -me s-r a mu-u[n -n ] a -r a -an -sum

the third a dragon hurling . . . , the fourth spat fire . . . , the fifth a serpent whose tongue . . . the uplands, the sixth, a torrent in spate that batters the mountains, the seventh blasted like lightning none could deflect: these seven the warrior, the Young Hero Utu, gave Bilgames.

Though in most exemplars of the story the monsters seem to be simply powerful, magical beings, one version presents them as astral beings—perhaps, as George states, even constellations—who are able to guide Bilgames successfully through the treacherous mountains: 6 [. . .]d?n is ab a -k e4 i m -ma-r a-an-t aḫ [an -na mu l-l]a! -m e -e š 7 k i -a ḫarr a -an -na zu-m e -e š [.  .  . ḫ a]r-r a -an -na ḫu-mu-n i -i n p a d3-de3 ma2-u r3-ma2-ur3 ḫur-s aĝ -ĝ a2-k e4 ḫ u -mu -ni -i n -tum2-tum2-mu 8

[. . . the god]dess Nisaba has given you in addition, [in the heavens] they shine, on earth they know the paths, [. . .] let them reveal the path [to the east . . .] Through the mountain passes let them lead you.

The monsters are beings which “shine in the sky” (an-na mu l-l a-me-eš). Of course, the verbal root used here, mu l, is identical to the noun mul, the standard Sumerian term for a star, constellation or planet. It is, furthermore, the determinative for proper nouns indicating these celestial features, and is also the logographic writing for the Akkadian noun kakkabu. Yet it is important to note that none of the named monsters sent by Utu to assist Bilgames are known constellations from the celestial-science tradition. 7 Though fragmentary, the 6. George, Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 1:9. Text = Ni 9952; Kramer, ISET II 47. Edition and translation, including this particular copy (= NiO) in Dietz Otto Edzard, “Gilgameš und Huwawa A. II. Teil,” ZA 81 (1991) 165–233. 7. It is quite possible, even likely, that, like the calendar, the Mesopotamian constellation nomenclature at this early point varied greatly by region, in which case these names could have been some of the local constellations of the city in which the story was composed. Furthermore, while the parallel is not exact, this description of seven monsters in Bilgames and Huwawa does bear a resemblance to the description of the Sebitti

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reference to Nisaba, who is only mentioned again at the very end of the poem (202) in her capacity of scribal patron (dnisaba za2-mi2, “Nisaba be praised!”), is noteworthy and perhaps implies a celestial connection, since she is in the preOB periods the goddess associated with astral matters (see §2.2). The strongest parallel to this passage come from a hymn (UET 6/1 22) which describes the mourning of Geštinana, the sister of Dumuzi, as she discovers that her brother has died. 8 In response to this, two groups of lamentation singers offer their songs: 9

in Erra and Išum I 31–38, who in that 1st-millennium story are undoubtedly identified with MUL.MUL/the Pleiades (see §3.2.3.1.1 below): is-si-ma iš-ten i-šak-ka-na ṭ[é]-e-ma e-ma [ta-a]n-di-ru-ma ta-at-tal-ku ma-ḫi-ra e [t]ar-ši i-qab-bi ana šá-né-e GIM dGIŠ.BAR ku-bu-umma ḫu-muṭ GIM [n]ab-li i-t[a-mi] ana šal-ši zi-im la-bi lu šak-na-[t]a-ma a-mir-ka liš/liḫ4-ḫar-miṭ i-qab-bi ana ri-bi-i a-na na-še-e gišTUKUL. MEŠ-ka ez-zu-ti KUR-u li-tab-bit a-na ḫa-an-ši iq-ta-bi ki-ma IM zi-i[q]-ma kipta-ta ḫi-i-ṭa šeš-šá um-ta-a’-ir e-liš u šap-liš ba-a’-ma la tagam-mil mam-ma si-ba-a i-mat ba-áš-me i-ṣe-en-šú-ma šum-qí-ta ZI-ta

He addressed the first, giving (him) an order: “Wherever you rampage and roam, have no equal!” He said to the second, “Like Girra, blaze! Burn like a flame!” He spoke to the third, “Have the face of a lion and let the one who looks at you dissolve!” He said to the fourth, “When you bring your brutal weapons to bear, may the mountain be demolished!” To the fifth he said, “Like the wind blow and offend the circumference (of the world)!” The sixth he ordered, “Above and below, come on, do not spare anyone!” He loaded the seventh with serpent venom, “Strike down that which is alive!”

Some of the parallels are noteworthy. In Bilgames and Huwawa (37), one of the monsters has the “claws of a lion” (šu - pi r i ğ -ğ á); in Erra and Išum (I 34), a monster has the “face of a lion” (zīm lābi). In the Sumerian poem, another monster is called a muš-š à-tùr, which is the logographic writing of bašmu, as in imat bašme, “serpent venom,” in Erra and Išum (I 38). Another monster in Bilgames and Huwawa is said to spit “fire” (iz i; 40), while in Erra and Išum, the second of the Sebitti is urged to burn like a “flame” (nabli), which is semantically parallel. But, despite these interesting similarities, the authors could simply be drawing from the same traditions, since such language is indicative of mythic descriptions of beasts throughout Mesopotamian literature. 8. For text and commentary, see Bendt Alster, “Geštinanna as Singer and the Chorus of Uruk and Zabalam: UET 6/1 22,” JCS 37 (1985) 219–28; and the ETCSL 4.08.10, Jeremy Black, “A Song of Inana and Dumuzid (Dumuzid-Inana J),” http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/ cgi-bin/etcsl​.cgi?text=c.4.08.10&display=Crit&charenc=gcirc# [accessed 29 June 2011]; and http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.4.08.10#. 9. UET 6/1 22, lines 25–29. Transliteration and translation follow ETCSL.

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At that time there were seven, there were seven, the song performers of Uruk were seven; in Zabalam the lament singers z ab a l amki ad š a4-š a4 50-m e -e š were fifty. e -n e -n e an-na mu l zu-m e -e š k i They knew the stars of the heavḫ ar-r a -an zu-m e -e š ens, and they knew the roads of the earth. an -na d aĝ a l-b a n e s aĝ i l2-l a-m e -e š In the broad heavens, they carried the first-fruit offerings.

Alster, in his commentary on this text, notes the parallel to Bilgames and Hu­ wawa and suggests that this might refer their wisdom in general or, alternatively, to navigation employing celestial aids in support of a ritual procession from one city to the other. 10 Unlike Bilgames’s difficult journey through unknown mountain passes, the trip from Zabalam to Uruk does not seem especially perilous or confusing, and it is hard to imagine how astral navigation would be necessary or practical in this situation. Given that these lamentation singers, themselves divine characters from mythic antiquity, are able to bring their offerings into the heavens, it may simply be that, as deities, they know how to travel in the sky just as well as on earth. This understanding could apply to the seven guiding monsters in Bilgames and Huwawa as well. It is thus possible that Bilgames and Huwawa exhibits both terminology employed in later celestial-science texts (though not necessarily specific to them) and a basic concept known from these texts, the divine guidance of kings via celestial direction—that is, celestial divination. It is also possible that these lines in Bilgames and Huwawa do not represent the mantic situation of the period in which the story was originally written; instead, the story may have been amended in the OB period (to which this copy dates) to reflect the OB period’s divination practices. Otherwise, the lack of mantic texts in Sumerian, noted in the previous chapter, poses problems for such an understanding (§2.2). Furthermore, like the references to celestial guidance and knowledge in Gudea Cylinder A, UET 6/1 22, and other Sumerian sources, the astral references in Bilgames and Huwawa are not as clear as they appear to be. 11 The guidance offered by these celestial beings is confined, it seems, to terrestrial navigation. This is not a concern otherwise observed in Sumerian sources, yet it is similar 10. Alster dismisses this possibility as unlikely, however (“Geštinanna as Singer,” 221 and 225). Compare the character Paghit in KTU 1.19 II 1–11, who is familiar with precipitation and the courses of stars; §4.2.3.2. 11. See discussion in §2.2.

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to the nature of the celestial guidance articulated in Gudea Cylinder A, which deals with the layout and/or orientation of a temple to be constructed. In both these cases, the stars reveal an otherwise hidden terrestrial layout (mountain paths and building plans). 3.2.2.2.  The Kutha Legend.  The most widely spread of a series of tales told regarding the legendary Old Akkadian monarchs from Agade, the Kutha Legend (the Akkadian title of which is ṭupšenna pitēma, “Open the Tablet Box and Then”) tells the story of Naram-Sin’s hubris, confession, and the city of Agade’s ultimate salvation. Though the oldest surviving fragments of the story date to the OB period with a MB fragment from Boghazköy, it is known in its most complete form from eight NA/NB manuscripts from Nineveh, Sultantepe, and Kish. 12 Attacked by a massive barbarian army that had previously conquered the areas to the east and south of Agade, Naram-Sin consults the gods via extispicy about whether or not he should counterattack (lines 72–78). The results of the extispicies reveal that the gods’ decision is negative, yet Naram-Sin conducts a series of assaults. Each time, his army is not only repulsed but utterly destroyed (lines  79–87). At Ea’s recommendation, Naram-Sin makes appropriate sacrifices and again consults the gods via extispicy (lines 88–107). This time, the response of the gods is positive. Naram-Sin attacks but only manages to capture a handful of enemy soldiers before Ištar, in the form of Dilbat/Venus, intercedes, seemingly appearing from out of nowhere: 13 dil-bat KÙ-tim iš-tu AN-e ki-am is-sa-[an-qa] 129 a-na mna-ram-d30-mi DUMU L[UGAL(?)].GI.NA e-zib 130 e-zib NUMUN hal-qá-ti-i la tu-hal-laq 128

mul

ana ár-kat u­4-me den-líl ana HUL-ti i-na-áš-šá re-su-un 132 ana ag-gi líb-bi den-líl ú-qa-a re-e-šú 131

Pure Venus approached me thusly: “To Naram-Sin, son of Sargon: ‘Stop! Stop! You must not destroy the progeny of destruction! In the future Enlil will care for them fiendishly. He will take care of them with his heart’s anger!’”

This interruption by Venus, who is unambiguously described in astral form, mul dilbat, is very much an unsolicited celestial omen, unlike the previous extispicies in the story. This is an unmediated communication of the gods to Naram-Sin regarding his necessary course of action. Enlil, not Naram-Sin, is to 12. Joan Goodnik Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade: The Texts (MC 7; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1997) 263, 280–81, 332. 13. Text from ibid., 332–68.

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take care of the barbarian hordes. The outcome is framed in mantic language as a list of omen apodoses: 133 URU ERIN2.MEŠ šu-nu-ti in-[na-aq-qa-ar] 134 i-qam-mu-ú i-lam-mu KI.TUŠ.MEŠ 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145

“‘The city of those soldiers will be destroyed. They will burn down and besiege its homes. URU da-mu-šú-nu i-tab-ba-ku The city—they will pour out their blood. KI-tu iš-pi-ki-šá gišGIŠIMMAR bi-lat-sa The land—its crop-stores will ú-maṭ-ṭa diminish, its date palm its harvest. URU ERIN2.MEŠ šú-nu-ti i-mut-tu The city—those soldiers will die. URU KI URU [É] KI É i-nak-kir City will turn against city, household against household, AD K[I DUMU ŠE]Š KI ŠEŠ father against son, brother against brother, [GURUŠ] KI GURUŠ ru-u8-a KI it-ba-ri young man against young man, friend against colleague. [KI] a-ḫa-meš [k]i-na-a-ti ul i-ta-mu-u With one another they will not speak honestly. UN.MEŠ la ki-na-a-ti šu-ḫu-za-ma šá- People will be taught what is na-tim ma DI RA QU untrue and . . . the year(?)/ strange things(?). URU nak-r[u] šu-ú i-duk-ku That city is an enemy. They will be beaten. URU šá-a-šú [U]RU nak- That city—an enemy city will i-ṣab-ba-su capture it. a-na 1 [MA.NA KÙ.BABBAR] GIŠ.BAN A seah of barley will correspond ŠE.BAR i-maḫ-ḫar to one mina of silver.’”

Although René Labat thought that these apodoses would logically be found in the celestial divination texts that focus on Venus (EAE 59–63), 14 none has yet been identified there, though there are a few loose parallels. 15 Indeed, the apodoses listed, many with focus on a particular city, are more similar to the 14. “Suit l’énumération d’un certain nombre de presages, tels qu’on en trouve dans la littérature astrologique, où le scribe les a probablement pris, dans les chapitres consacrés à la planète Vénus” (René Labat et al., Les Religions du Proche-Orient asiatique: Textes babyloniens, ougaritiques, hittites [Paris: Fayard/Denoël, 1970] 313 n. 5). Note also Christopher Morgan’s interpretation that these lines “show some form of celestial divination in which Venus relays a rather lengthy message to the Akkadian monarch” (“The Cutha Legend,” in The Ancient Near East: Akkadian Historical Sources in Translation [ed. Mark Chavalas; Oxford: Blackwell, 2006] 34–35). 15. For lines 139–40, see BPO 3, 42–43:33–34, 44–45:44; for line 133, see BPO 3, 45:48.

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terrestrial omens of the šumma ālu type. Nevertheless, the unsolicited advice to Naram-Sin is clear enough and the gods plainly accepted the king’s repentance for his previous misdeeds. The story ends with Naram-Sin’s warnings to future rulers (lines 149–80). The Kutha Legend features a celestial goddess (Dilbat/Venus), but she is accompanied by no other language that can be derived from celestial-science texts. However, the general mantic nature of the material (the apodictic statements) in the passage containing the reference to Dilbat/Venus (lines 128–45) and, just as importantly, the oracular function of this passage within the overall narrative are highly suggestive of celestial divination. 16 And though it cannot be said with any confidence that the material on which this pericope is based is actually drawn from celestial divination texts, we must assume that its mantic character would have been understood in the NA period as specifically referring to celestial divination, given the practice’s prominence among the NeoAssyrian monarchs.

3.2.3.  Divine Intent and the Gods As has been stated repeatedly, the knowledge conveyed through celestial omens and interpreted through celestial divination was intended for the monarchy itself. The precise location of this target audience and its city of residence seems to have been largely irrelevant. The unaltered copying and use of Babylonian celestial divination texts within both Mesopotamia itself and neighboring areas suggest this (§§2.3.1.2 and 2.3.2.2). Underlying this basic principle was the notion that celestial omens simply revealed divine intentions regarding governments and lands to anyone who was able to interpret them. Thus, if celestial omens can reveal divine intentions and impending actions to a human monarch, then they can certainly serve the same purpose for the gods themselves. This concept serves as a central plot device in the last great piece of Akkadian narrative literature, Erra and Išum. 3.2.3.1.  Erra and Išum.  The cuneiform scribal art in the 1st millennium was, by and large, one of conservatism. 17 The creative activity of scribes at this time was often relegated to the composition of commentaries and explanatory works on the great canonical series. Out of this artistic torpidity came a last gasp of genius. The horrifying destruction of Babylon and the hope of its 16. Westenholz notes that this entire passage is out of place with the rest of the narrative (Legends of the Kings of Akkade, 295). 17. I am indebted to Andrew George and several anonymous reviewers for their many helpful comments, critiques, and corrections. The following is a modified form of my article “‘I want to dim the brilliance of Šulpae!’ Mesopotamian Celestial Divination and the Myth of Erra and Išum,” Iraq 70 (2008) 179–88.

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reconstruction inspired a certain scribe, Kabti-ilāni-Marduk (V 42), to compose Erra and Išum. 18 Originally comprising 5 tablets of about 750 lines altogether, the text in its current form is reconstructed from 37 exemplars from sites such as Assur, Nineveh, Babylon, Ur, and most recently Me-Turnat (T. Haddad). 19 The story, titled šar gimir dadmē, “King of the Entire Inhabited World,” presents little actual action. In almost Job-like fashion, the narrative primarily consists of dialogue between the deities Erra, Išum, the Sebitti, and Marduk, whose interactions in the divine realm ultimately lead to the destruction of Babylon and other major cities in southern Iraq. Indeed, much of the scholarly activity concerning Erra and Išum has revolved around the significant difficulties presented by this dialogue. 20 While the problems of the dialogue are by no means resolved, other important interpretive issues also remain unaddressed. One of these issues is the significant role that celestial divination plays in the text. In their publication of the new fragments of tablet II, Al-Rawi and Black noticed that the reference to the Fox Star (mulKA5.A, II iii rev. 6′, 14′) is undoubtedly related to the identification preserved in MUL.APIN I i 16–17. 21 They also noted the presence of another possible astral figure, the goddess Anunitu (who is normally identified with the eastern fish in Pisces), although, because the context is fragmentary, they did not speculate regarding its significance. 22 Later, David Brown noticed even more language related to celestial divination and suggested that the story describes the disappearance of Jupiter (Marduk) behind the sun together with an exceptionally bright Mars (Erra), both of which phenomena are considered 18. The most recent edition is Luigi Cagni, L’Epopea di Erra (Studi Semitici 34; Rome: Istituto di Studi del Vicino Oriente, Università di Roma, 1969); together with W.  G. Lambert, “New Fragments of Babylonian Epics,” AfO 27 (1980) 76–80; as well as F.  N. H. Al-Rawi and Jeremy Black, “The Second Tablet of ‘Išum and Erra,’” Iraq 51 (1989) 111–22. Recent translations of the myth appear in Stephanie Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia: Creation, the Flood, Gilgamesh and Others (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991) 282–315; Foster, Before the Muses: An Anthology of Akkadian Literature, 880– 911; and G. Müller, “Ischum und Erra,” TUAT 3/4, 781–801. 19. Luigi Cagni, The Poem of Irra (SANE 1/3; Malibu, CA: Undena, 1977) 5; and AlRawi and Black, “The Second Tablet,” 111. 20. For the most recent proposal and bibliography, see G. Müller, “Wer Spricht? Betrachtungen zu ‘Išum und Erra,’” in Vom Alten Orient zum Alten Testament: Fest­ schrift für Wolfram Freihherrn von Soden zum 85. Geburtstag am 19. Juni 1993 (ed. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz; AOAT 240; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1995) 349–60. My work here assumes the dialogue reconstruction of Cagni, Irra; and Al-Rawi and Black, “The Second Tablet.” For an approach to a thematic issue, see Peter Machinist, “Rest and Violence in the Poem of Erra,” JAOS 103 (1983) 221–26. 21. Al-Rawi and Black, “The Second Tablet,” 112. 22. Cf. MUL.APIN I i 43; iii 11, 22; iv 37.

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ominous. 23 Furthermore, he proposed that “the author was aware of celestial behaviour and possessed some knowledge of EAE.” 24 By comparison with the technical language of the celestial divination tradition, I demonstrate in the following analysis that the author of Erra and Išum indeed drew heavily on this tradition in a more than cursory fashion. 3.2.3.1.1.  Tablet I.  The story begins when the god Erra is roused from his rest and is urged to engage in rampant destruction. He orders his minions, the Sebitti and Išum, to prepare for the coming combat (I 1–45). 25 From the very beginning of the story, the deities are described with a standard repertoire of epithets and metaphors, some of which are astral in nature. Erra himself is described in unambiguous terms as a deity whose nocturnal activity is meant to guide royalty, a near perfect description of the Mesopotamian concept of celestial divination in its judicial use: I 21

EN.GI6.DU.DU EN mut-tal-lik mu-ši mut-tar-ru-u ru-bé-e

d

He is Engidudu, the lord who travels at night, guide of princes.

Similarly, when rousing Išum to the ready, Erra says: I 9 i-qab-bi-ma a-na ka-šá lu-ṣi-ma a-na And he said to you (Išum), “Let EDIN me go out to the field.  10 at-ta di-pa-ru-um-ma i-na-aṭ-ṭa-lu You are the torch, they will see nu-úr-ka your light.  11 at-ta a-lik maḫ-ri-im-ma DINGIR.MEŠ You are the one marching in front x[xxx] and the gods [ x x x ].”

Since Išum’s name is related to išātu, “fire,” the use of the epithet dipāru, “torch,” is not surprising. It should also be noted, however, that dipāru is used occasionally in celestial-science texts to describe celestial features, though it is more often used in this fashion in hymns and prayers. 26 Furthermore, Išum is to “march in front of the gods.” In celestial-science texts, the “gods in front,” ilāni šūt maḫri, are the stars that stand at the beginning of each of the Paths of Ea, An, and Enlil. 27 Išum, thus, is possibly being presented in an astral aspect. 23. Brown, AA, 256–57. 24. Ibid. 25. On a mundane level, the actual destruction will come at the hands of the Suteans (IV 54, 69; V 27). 26. In a mantic context, see SAA 8 335:5, DIŠ MUL šá GIM IZI.GAR, “If a star, which is like a torch. . . .” In a prayer, see, STC 2 78:35 (BM 26187, a ŠU.ÍL.LÁ prayer to Ištar): na-mir-tu di-par AN-e u KI-tim “(Ištar) shining torch of heaven and earth” 27. MUL.APIN I i 1, 40; ii 19. See also discussion of a similar phrase in the Exalta­ tion of Ištar, below (§3.3.7.2).

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If this is the case, it is entirely unclear with which celestial feature he is being associated, since he is not known to appear in celestial-science texts. The Sebitti (literally, “the Seven”), on the other hand, are well attested in celestial-science texts and in the NA period are associated with the constellation MUL.MUL, the Stars (the Pleiades). In this context, the Stars are associated with the planet Mars, itself identified with Nergal/Erra. 28 In Erra and Išum, this relationship is stated explicitly in I 39–40, which describes An’s (whose dominion, of course, is the sky) assignment of the Sebitti to Erra: 29 I 39 ul-tu ši-mat d7.BI nap-ḫar-šú-nu i-ši-mu After An decreed the fate of the d a-num Sebitti, all of them.  40 id-din-šu-nu-ti-ma ana dèr-ra qar-rad He gave them to Erra, hero of DINGIR.MEŠ lil-li-ku i-da-ka the gods: “Let them go beside you.”

In Erra and Išum, An charges the Sebitti to assist Erra in very specific destructive acts—namely, the annihilation of humans and their domestic livestock (būl d šakkan; I 43). As another designation for MUL.MUL, in the NA period, the Sebitti/Stars are noteworthy for their ominous association with the condition of būlu, “livestock.” This association must be related to the celestial proximity of MUL.MUL to the constellation mulGUD.AN.NA, the Bull of Heaven. For example, a commentary on EAE says quite explicitly: 30 DIŠ 7.BI a-na KÚ-ti bu-lim MUL.MUL u mulMAR TÉŠ.BI GUB. MEŠ [ŠÈG.MEŠ] u A.KAL.MEŠ DU.MEŠ-ma ŠE.GÙN TUR ina EN.TE.NA ŠUB-tim [bu-lim] UDU.IDIM ana MUL.MUL KUR-ud d 7.BI KUR KÚ

mul

‘The Sebitti are for the consumption of livestock.’ If the Stars and the Wagon stand together, rains and floods will come and the barley will be scant; in the winter an epidemic of livestock. If a planet reaches the Stars, the Sebitti will consume the land.

28. E.g., UDU.IDIM MUL.MUL dṣal-bat-a-nu, “(As a) planet, the Stars is Mars” (SAA 10 63:8). See also SAA 8 376:1–9, a series of Mars-Moon and Pleiades-Moon omens that summarizes the identification of the constellation and planet: MUL.MUL dṣal-bata-nu, “The Stars is Mars.” 29. Compare line 40 with Enūma Eliš VI 86–91, in which An installs Marduk’s bow in the sky and names it, establishing it as a constellation. 30. BPO 2, VI 2–2b (= IV 4–4b; V 2–2b; VII 3–3b). Note that one of the stars in the constellation of the Wagon, mulMAR, is the Fox, mulKA5.A, which is associated in MUL. APIN I i 16–17 with the god Erra. In this omen, the logic seems to be that, when the Stars, which are often associated with livestock, come into proximity with the Wagon, one of whose principle stars is associated with Erra, a plague god, the outcome could be miqit būlim, “a plague of livestock.”

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In our present story, after Erra orders Išum and the Sebitti to battle, the latter do their best to stoke Erra’s anger further and to strengthen his resolve by reminding him that inaction will only lead to the people’s spurning him further (I 45–93). Humankind and its produce should suffer, argue the Sebitti, and special wrath is directed toward livestock/būlu (I 74, 77, 83, 85), apparently the Sebitti’s target of choice. Išum, however, is unmoved by the Sebitti’s saber-rattling and remains inactive (I 94–99). Erra, attempting to move Išum into action, gives an order: I 96 ṭu-da pi-te-ma lu-uṣ-bat ḫar-ra-ni

“Open up a path so that I may take to the road!”

While ḫarrāna ṣabātu is a common idiom meaning “to strike out (on a campaign)” and is seen frequently, for example, in NA royal inscriptions, the author is no doubt conscious of the meaning of ḫarrānu, “way, path,” in celestialscience texts, where the word is used to describe the great bands of the sky known as the Paths of Enlil, An, and Ea. 31 Indeed, in one of Esarhaddon’s royal inscriptions, the author describes the stars as taking on a propitious arrangement specifically for the king: 32 MUL.MEŠ AN-e ina man-za-zi-šú-nu The stars of heaven stood in their DU.MEŠ-ma ḫar-ra-an kit-ti iṣ-ba-tú positions and took the correct ú-maš-še-ru ú-ru-uḫ la kit-ti path (and) left the incorrect road.

Here the idiom for setting out on a campaign (ḫarrāna ṣabātu) and the technical term referring to the Paths of the sky are made to overlap. Perhaps this is the case in Erra and Išum as well, and thus perhaps Erra’s order is not only a command to start campaigning but also an order to Išum to head out over the horizon and report to his appropriate section of the sky. 33 Though Išum questions Erra (I 100–104), Erra remains adamant, because the people do not fear him despite his obvious power, and so he must dole out an appropriate punishment (I 105–23). In his description of his raging might, Erra compares himself to a variety of natural forces and wild animals: I 109 ina A[N]-e ri-ma-ku ina KI-tim lab-ba-ku

“In the heavens I am a wild bull, on earth I am a lion!”

31. MUL.APIN I iv 1, 7; II Gap A 1, 4, 6. 32. Erle Leichty, The Royal Inscriptions of Esarhaddon, King of Assyria (680–669 bc) (RINAP 4; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) #48:58–59. 33. This is an admittedly uncertain suggestion, especially since the celestial identity of Išum, if there is one, eludes me.

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100 115 116 117

ki-i šá-a-r[i] a-za-qu ki-i dIM ur-[t]a-ṣa-an ki-i d[UT]U-ši a-bar-ri [k]ip-pa-ta [k]a-la-ma a-na ED[IN] uṣ-ṣi-ma bi-i[b]-ba-ku

“Like the wind I gust, like Adad I rumble. Like the Šamaš I observe the perimeter of all. I go out to the field and (there) I am like a wild sheep.”

In comparing himself with a bibbu, “wild sheep,” Erra is not only equating himself with another unwelcome wild animal (see I 109) but also with another celestial phenomenon (šāru, “wind,” and šamši, “the sun,” I 115–16), since bibbu is the common term in celestial-science texts to refer to a planet. 34 In spite of his rage, Erra cannot act while Marduk, the recognized king of the gods, remains in heaven. Erra therefore travels to the Esagila, Marduk’s residence in Babylon (I 124–25). In celestial divination literature, when Mars, who must be identified with Erra, approaches Jupiter, who is normally associated with Marduk, the outcome is disastrous. Thus, in one of the reports to the Assyrian kings, which lists a series of Mars-Jupiter omens, we read: 35 DIŠ dMAN-ma ana mulSAG.ME.GAR TE If the Strange One approaches LUGAL URIki ÚŠ-ma BURU14 KUR Jupiter, the king of Akkad will SI.SÁ die and the harvest of the land will prosper.

Similarly: 36 DIŠ mulṣal-bat-a-nu ana mulSAG.ME.GAR If Mars approaches Jupiter, TE mi-iq-ti dan-nu ina KUR GÁL-ši there will be a powerful epidemic in the land. DIŠ mulUDU.IDIM SA5 u mulGAL TE.MEŠ ŠUB-tim bu-lum mulUDU.IDIM SA5 mul ṣal-bat-a-nu mul GAL mulŠUL.PA.È.A

256.

If the red planet and the Great One approach: epidemic of livestock. ‘The Red Planet’ is Mars. “The Great One” is Jupiter.

34. E.g., BPO 2, I 5; III 6a, 14b. See also Gössmann 139. Brown first noted this, AA,

35. BPO 2, III 13b. dMAN-ma, “The Strange One,” is an alternative name for Mars. See CT 26 45:16–18 (K 2067) treated below. For a full discussion of the various names of Mars, see Frances Reynolds, “Unpropitious Titles of Mars in Mesopotamian Scholarly Tradition,” in Intellectual Life of the Ancient Near East (ed. J. Prosecký; CRRAI 43; Prague: Oriental Institute, 1998) 347–58. 36. SAA 8 288:6–7, rev. 1-3, 5-6.

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature DIŠ mulSAG.ME.GAR mulMAN-ma TE-šú ina MU BI LUGAL URIki ÚŠ-ma BURU14 KUR SI.SÁ

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If the Strange One approaches Jupiter, in that year the king of Akkad will die but the harvest of the land will be good.

To an audience educated in celestial divination, then, Erra’s approaching Marduk is a particularly ominous conjunction. When Erra arrives at Babylon, he sees the great king, Marduk. Erra is surprised to see that Marduk’s clothes are filthy, and Erra questions him as to why they are in such poor condition: I 127 mìn-su šu-kut-ti si-mat be-lu-ti-ka šá GIM MUL.MEŠ šá-ma-mi lu-la-a ma-la-at le-qa-ta [ú]-ru-uš-šá  128 a-ge-e bé-lu-ti-ka [šá G]IM é-te-meen-an-ki ú-nam-ma-ri é-ḫal-an-ki pa-nu-šu kàt-mu

“Why is your attire, the symbol of your lordship, which like the stars of heaven is filled with splendor, taken with filth, the crown of your lordship [which, li]ke Etemenanki, illuminates the Ehalanki, its surface is covered up?”

Marduk’s star-filled garments point to a celestial context, even if in the story they are probably patterned on stories in which the cultic image of Marduk is attired. 37 The same can be said of the term agû, “crown,” which is used often in celestial-science texts where it may refer to a particular phenomenon in which the light from a bright star or planet is refracted in the atmosphere, creating two or three images of the source stacked on each other. 38 More importantly, Marduk’s crown is described as being kàt-mu, “covered up, veiled.” In celestialscience texts, the verb katāmu seems to indicate the general dimming of a star or planet: 39 [DIŠ MUL.MEŠ DUL.LA] ana IM.ŠUB. BA [dUDU.IDIM.MEŠ] ú-tan-na-tu-ma

‘Covered stars are for falling wind.’ (This means) the planets are faint.

In celestial divination, a star’s relative luminosity is generally indicative of its mundane association’s condition: dimness is equated with diminishing power and brightness with growing power. 40 Thus, Marduk’s veiled adornment is 37. For references to star-studded cultic garments, see A. Leo Oppenheim, “The Golden Garment of the Gods,” JCS 8 (1949) 172–93. 38. BPO 2, 19–20; IV 3. 39. Ibid., 18; I 19; III 18; IV 13. 40. E.g., SAA 8 491:rev. 7–12.

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associated with his weakening power, and, commensurately, the waning power of the city he patronizes, Babylon. In order to clean his attire, Marduk will need to leave his throne temporarily and descend into the apsû, where he once banished the seven sages who originally manufactured this attire. But doing so, Marduk assures Erra, will bring certain calamity. With regret, Marduk recounts one similar instance: I 132 ul-tu ul-lu a-gu-gu-ma ina šub-ti-ia at- “A long time ago I was angry. I bu-ma áš-ku-na a-bu-bu rose from my throne and arranged the Flood.  133 ina šub-[t]i-ia at-bi-ma ši-piṭ AN-e u When I rose from my throne, the KI-tim up-ta-aṭ-ṭir judgment of heaven and earth disintegrated.  134 AN-[e] šá uš-tar-i-bu šá [M]UL.MEŠ The heavens quaked such that the šá-ma-mi man-za-as-su-nu iš-ni-ma stars of heaven changed their ul ú-tir áš-ru-uš-šu-un station(s), and I did not return them to their place(s).”

Marduk’s former momentary abdication changed the normal, ideal positions of the stars. The celestial situation portended an earthly disaster that resulted in agricultural/environmental collapse (I 135–37). In the celestial-science literature, the term manzāzu, “station,” refers to a celestial body’s position in the sky. In Enūma Eliš V, the manzāzū are described as the ideal celestial locations of the gods, established for them at creation by Marduk: 41 ú-ba-áš-šim man-za-za an DINGIR. DINGIR GAL.MEŠ  2 MUL.MEŠ tam-šil-šu-n[u] lu-ma-ši uš-zi-iz V1

He created the station for the great gods. The stars, their counterparts, the constellations he installed (in them).

As part of the ideal cosmos created from the corpse of Tiamat, the manzāzū in their proper places are indicative of Marduk’s sovereignty established after his victory. Therefore, a manzāzu which can be described as “stable, true,” kânu/ kīnu (GI.NA), is a positive omen in celestial divination. For example, a stable Venus bodes well for the ruler and the land: 42 DIŠ muldil-bat KI.GUB-sà ú-kin UD.MEŠ NUN GÍD.DA.MEŠ kit-tim ina KUR GÁL-ši

If Venus’s station is stable, the days of the prince will be long; truth will be in the land.

41. Benno Landsberger and J. V. Kinnier Wilson, “The Fifth Tablet of Enuma Eliš,” JNES 20 (1961) 156–57. 42. SAA 8 5:5–7 (= 8 27:rev. 1–2). For other examples, see SAA 8 39:1–5 (= 8 547:rev. 3–4); 8 323:8–10; 8 330:rev. 1–6; 8 506:3–4.

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If Marduk does indeed leave his throne again, it will surely bring cosmic chaos and disaster. This will be the case unless he finds a surrogate ruler who is powerful enough to keep the cosmos in order (I 169–78). His scheme working perfectly, Erra volunteers for the responsibility, and Marduk departs for the apsû (I 179–91; II A 1–10). 3.2.3.1.2.  Tablet II.  When Marduk arrives in the apsû, Šamaš, who is present, darkens himself: 43 II A 3 a-na [É šá]-a-šú i-ru-um-ma it-t[a-ziz pa-nu-uš-šum (?)]      4 [dUTU-ši iṭ-ṭul-]-šu-ma šá-ru-ri-šu ú-šam-qit x-ia RU? KU? [ x x x ]

Into tha[t house ] he entered and st[ood in their presence (?)]. [Šamaš] looked at him, and he dimmed his brilliance . . . [. . .]

In celestial-science texts, šarūru maqātu is a technical idiom used to refer to a celestial feature’s dimming brilliance. The result, as one would expect, is a diminishment of power in the celestial features’ mundane associations. For example: 44 ù mulUDU.IDIM.SAG.UŠ MUL šá KUR. MAR.TU un-nu-ut ù šá-ru-ru-šú ma-aq-tu ḪUL šá KUR.MAR.TU.KI. . . .

And Saturn, the star of the Westland, is faint and its brilliance is fallen: it is bad for the Westland. . . .

In the case of the sun, as it is in Erra and Išum II A 4, this dimming is catastrophic for the entire land: 45 DIŠ AŠ.ME šá gi-na-a ŠE.ER.ZI-šá ma- If a regular solar disc’s brilliance aq-tum ina KUR GISKIM.MEŠ GAR. dims, there will be omens in MEŠ-ma DINGIR.MEŠ šab-su SU.KÚ the land and the gods will be ina KUR GÁL : ÚŠ.MEŠ ina KUR angry; there will be famine in GÁL.MEŠ the land. Variant: There will be an epidemic in the land.

Just as Marduk predicted, when he departed his throne, the entire cosmos, including its celestial features, was upturned. For the land, this can only mean disaster. After a fragmentary portion, which seems to concern the issues surrounding the return of the seven sages from the apsû (II B 1/15–iii 5′), Marduk, in council with An, Antu, Enlil, Ištar, and Dagan, notes that mulKA5.A, the star of the Fox, has flared up: 43. Restoration based on fragments published by Lambert, “New Fragments,” 79. 44. SAA 8 491:rev. 9–11. 45. SOEAE 24 I 14.

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iii 6′ ina MUL šá-ma-mi mulKA5. A [ x x x x ] Among the stars of heaven, the Fox [. . .] 7′ um-mul-ma ana šá-ma-mi šá-ru-ru [ x sparkled and to heaven shining x x x] [. . .] 8′ šá DINGIR.MEŠ nap-ḫar-šú-nu ba-a’-lu (the stars?) of all the gods were MUL [ x x x x ] very bright [. . .] 9′ ki-i ik-tam-lu-ma NUN dAMAR. Because prince Marduk was angry, UTU a-na šá-kan ka-ma-ri pa-[šu] he decided to bring about iš-ta-kan destruction. 10′ kak-kab dèr-ra um-mu-lu šá-ru-ri i-na- The star of Erra sparkles, it bears áš-ši DA? KA? TIM? da-nu-ni-tim brilliance . . . Anunitu. 11′ me-lam-me-šú ú-tab-ba-ma nap-ḫar His aura will be made visible UN.MEŠ i-tab-bit x [ x x x ] and all of the people will be destroyed [. . .] 12′ šá kak-kab šá-ma-mi ba-a’-lu-te šá na- of the brightly shining star(s) of šú-u šá-ru[-ru heaven which bear a brillian[ce 13′ šá-ma-ṭi nab-ni-ti KUL? BA? BU? 48 ul sinking of appearance(?), the . . . i-tab-ba-ka [ x x x ] will not be scattered [. . .] 14′ ina bu-ul dSAKKAN ṣa-lam MUL-šú-nu In Šakkan’s herd the image/conšá še-le-bi [ x x x ]49 stellation50 of their star, which the Fox [. . .]

 46  47  48

In the celestial-science tradition, mulKA5.A/šēlebu, the Fox, is one of the seven alternate names of Mars: 49 MAN-ma ula-ḫu-ú ulna-ka-ru

ul

LUGAL-ru ulḪUL ulKA5.A ulELAM. [MA] ul ṣal-bat-a-nu 7 zik-ru-šu ul

The Strange, the Hostile, the Enemy, the King, the Wicked, the Fox, Elam. Mars: its 7 names.

46. These three signs are often interpreted as kulbabu = “ant” (see, e.g., Al-Rawi and Black, “The Second Tablet,” 119), but even within this fragmentary context this reading seems to be gibberish. Given the numerous celestial divination references, it is possible, however, that this is a mantic reference to ants, whose presence in a household are usually considered negative; see CAD K 502 for references. 47. The improved readings of 9′, 12′–13′ were provided by an anonymous reviewer as well as Andrew George. 48. Though not common in celestial-science texts, the term ṣalmu appears in some hymnic literature in which astral epithets are used to indicate something such as “constellation” (see CAD Ṣ 84 for references). 49. CT 26 45:16–18 (K 2067); see also Weidner, Handbuch, 19–20; as well as Reynolds, “Unpropitious Titles of Mars,” 347–58; and CAD Ṣ 397.

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Furthermore, the Fox is a particular star in the constellation mulMAR.GÍD.DA, the Wagon, part of our Ursa Major. In MUL.APIN I i 16–17, the Fox is identified directly with Erra: DIŠ MUL šá KI za-ri-i šá mulMAR.GÍD. DA GUB-zu mul KA5.A dèr-ra gaš-ri DINGIR.MEŠ

The star which stands in the pole of the Wagon is the Fox, Erra, the mighty one of the gods.

This fluidity of designating the same celestial body a planet and a fixed star was one of the interpretive principles that allowed the celestial diviners to expand the possibilities of observing a particular protasis. These were sometimes technically impossible—for example, in cases when two fixed stars approached one another. 50 When it was mantically convenient for a celestial diviner to equate the Fox with Mars, he did so. 51 In Erra and Išum, the Fox is most likely being identified with Mars. As noted above, in celestial-science texts, the relative luminosity of a star is indicative of its mundane associations’ condition. The terms baʾālu and um­ mulu are both technical terms and occur frequently in celestial-science texts. 52 Like bāʾālu and ummulu, the phrase šarūra našû is a technical idiom. All of these terms indicate exceptional luminosity: 53 ṣal-bat-a-n[u MUL šá] KUR.SU.BIR4. If Mar[s, the star of] Subartu, is KI ba-ʾi-il bright ù šá-ru-[r]u na-ši SIG5 šá KUR.SU.BIR4. and carries a brilliance: it is good KI šu-ú for Subartu. d

In Erra and Išum, the Fox, the star of Erra (II iii 10′), “sparkles,” ummulu, and “carries a brilliance,” šarūra inašši. 54 Naturally, in celestial divination, a particularly bright Mars was generally regarded with anxiety, as one of the reports sent to the Assyrian king indicates: 55 DIŠ dṣal-bat-a-nu ú-ta-na-at-ma SIG­5 ib-il-ma a-ḫi-tú

If Mars becomes faint, it is good; if it becomes bright, trouble.

50. See Brown, AA¸ 75–81. 51. E.g., in a partially fragmentary context, SAA 8 49:6–9. 52. For baʾālu, e.g., BPO 2, XV 31; MUL.APIN II iii 18, 33; SAA 8 491:rev. 7–8; SAA 8 114: 3; SAA 8 327:rev. 1′–6. For (w)amālu, see e.g., SAA 8 114:6–9. 53. SAA 8 491:rev. 7–8. But see BPO 2, 19, in which šarūru is suggested to be either a mirage or a meteor. 54. Brown first noted the connection between the uses of šarūra našû in Erra and Išum and celestial science texts (AA, 256). 55. SAA 8 114:rev. 3.

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With regard to Mars’ specifically “carrying a brilliance,” the outcome could be ambiguous. 56 Most often, however, a bright Mars foretold doom, as one would expect for a planet associated with Erra/Nergal. In the fragmentary Erra and Išum II iii 5′–14′, while the council is noting the brightness of the Fox, the goddess Anunitu is also mentioned, though her significance here is unclear (II iii 10′). The star mulanunītu is normally identified with the eastern fish of Pisces. Thus, the text could be noting Mars/Erra’s entering this constellation. It is important to note that mulanunītu is also occasionally associated with Ištar and sometimes, more specifically, with Venus/Ištar. 57 Following this divine assembly, Išum decides to convince Erra to allow him to initiate the pending destruction (II C 11/iii 39′–47/iv 35). It seems that Išum, though previously reluctant, can no longer resist what appears to be fate: 58 II C 12 ṭu-da pi-te-ma lu-uṣ-bat ḫar-ra-nu   13 u4-mu iq-ta-tu-ú i-te-ti-iq a-dan-nu

“Open up a path so that I may take to the road! The day has ended; the appointed time has passed.”

That is to say that the ideal celestial chronology is altered. The idiom adannu etēqu is a technical term in celestial-science texts and refers to the passing of an ideal date for a celestial event. When a date of this sort is missed, it is considered ominous. For instance, in EAE: 59 DIŠ ina itiGUD MUL.MUL d7.B[I In Iyyar the Stars, the Seven Gods (DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ) BE-ma ina (the Great Gods): if they rise at UD.DUG4.GA-šu-nu KUR.MEŠ-ni their appointed time, the great DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ NIGIN2. gods will assemble and give MEŠ-ma] GALGA KUR ana SAL. good counsel to the land; the SIG5 GALGA.MEŠ IM.[MEŠ DÙG. good winds will blow. GA.MEŠ DU.MEŠ]

56. See, for example SAA 8 274:3–6: 3 4 5 6

ṣal-bat-a-nu ŠE.ER.ZI it-tan-ši UDU.IDIM SA5 nu-ḫuš UN.MEŠ mul UDU.IDIM SA5 ÚŠ.MEŠ šam-ru mul UDU.IDIM SA5 mulṣal-bat-a-nu mul mul

Mars bore a brilliance. The red planet: abundance for the people. The red planet: plagues will be raging. The red planet is Mars.

57. MUL.APIN I i 42; iii 11, 22; iv 37. For the equation of Ištar and Anunitu, see, for example, Westenholz, Legends of the Kings of Akkade, 189, 192–95, lines 1–19. For the equation in celestial science texts, see the few references in Gössmann #27. 58. Note again, the use of ḫarrānu. 59. BPO 2, IX 13 (= SAA 8 275:6–rev. 3; 8 507:rev. 1–4).

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature [BE-ma ina la UD.DUG4.GA-šú-nu KUR.MEŠ-ni (DINGIR.MEŠ GAL. MEŠ NIGIN2.MEŠ-ma)] GALGA KUR ana SAL.ḪUL GALGA.ME IM.[MEŠ ḪUL. MEŠ DU.MEŠ ŠÀ.ḪUL UN.MEŠ GAR-an]

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If they rise not at their appointed time, (the great gods will assemble and) give bad counsel to the land; the evil winds will blow; there will be suffering for the people.

Likewise, in a namburbî and šu-ila prayer, the supplicant seeks to avert the calamity portended by Nergal/Mars, whose timing has been unpropitious: 60 um-ma ina ḪUL mulṣal-bat-a-n[u] ša a-dan-šú ú-še-ti-[qu-u-ni] ù ina ŠÀ mulLÚ.ḪUN.GÁ i[n-na-mir-u-ni] ḪUL-šu ia-a-ši KUR-ia UN.MEŠ É.[GAL-ia] ù e-mu-qí-ia l[a i-ṭe-eḫ-ḫa-a] NU i-qar-ri-ba la i-sa-an-[ni-qa] la i-kaš-šá-dan-n[i]

In the evil of Mars which missed its appointed time and was seen in the Hired Man (Aries): May its evil not approach, come near, draw close to, or reach me, my land, the people of my palace, or my army.

It seems that the reason that Išum has changed his mind about his participation in the upcoming destruction is that the passing of the ideal appointed time for a celestial event (perhaps his own rising?) has forced him into malevolent action. The cosmos is unraveling, and Išum is forced to react appropriately. Išum thus describes his war plan. His first act will be against the gods who rule the sky: II C 14 a-qab-bi šá dUTU-ši ú-šam-qa-ta šá-ru-ri      15 šá d30? ina šat mu-ši ú-kàt-tam pa-nu-[šú]

I say, I will dim the brilliance of Šamaš. As for Sin, at night I will cover his fa[ce.]

As mentioned above, šarūru maqātu is a technical idiom used to refer to a star’s diminishing brilliance, the consequence of which is a diminishment of power in the star’s mundane associations. 61 In the case of the sun, whose association is with nothing less than the land and with monarchy in general, the result is ruinous, as noted already. 62 In Erra and Išum, Išum will indeed devastate crops and livestock (II C 25–31). Though not stated explicitly, the loss of these crops 60. SAA 10 381:5–rev. 4. 61. Cagni (The Poem of Irra, 41 n. 80) suggests that this particular passage refers to a sandstorm, but, given šarūru maqātu’s technical and ubiquitous nature, it probably indicates an unspecified dimming. 62. SOEAE 24 I 14; see above discussion of II A 3.

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will inevitably result in famine. Išum, furthermore, will indeed make the omens negative, it-ta ú-lam-man-ma (II C 42), just as this omen from EAE predicts. It is Išum’s wish that he will obscure Sin as well (II C 15). Cagni suggests that this indicates a lunar eclipse. However, the standard terminology for an eclipse is attalû šakānu, while katāmu appears nowhere in the lunar eclipse tablets of EAE. Given the sophisticated knowledge of celestial-science terminology, we should consider it surprising if the author uses it in an unorthodox manner. 63 In any case, katāmu does indicate a general obscuration in celestialscience texts, as noted above. 64 3.2.3.1.3.  Tablets III–V.  The dialogue continues, and Erra again espouses his dreadful plans for the land (III A, B). Išum, yet again, is reluctant and questions Erra’s motivation and wisdom (III C). Išum notes, however, that the decision to strike out is Erra’s, since he holds all the power (III D). Erra finally acts and destroys Babylon (IV 1–35), while Marduk, who is impotent at present, can only lament its ruin (IV 36–49). Babylon is not enough for Erra, and he continues his rampage, destroying Sippar, Uruk, Dur-Kurigalzu, and Der as well (IV 50–86). The only resistance offered is a curse uttered by the deity Ištaran in response to the obliteration of his city, Der (IV 63–86). Išum, disgusted at the results of Erra’s frenzy, rebukes Erra for his actions. Charging him with treasonous speech, Išum quotes Erra as saying: IV 124 šá dšul-pa-è-a šá-ru-ru-šu lu-šamqit-ma MUL.MEŠ šá-ma-m[i] lu-šam-sik

“I want to dim the brilliance of Šulpae and wrench the stars from heaven.”

Again, the technical term šarūru maqātu is used, this time in reference to Šulpae, the most common name for the planet Jupiter in Mesopotamian celestial-science texts. 65 Erra is characterized as plotting not only to usurp Šulpae/ Marduk but also to undermine the entire night sky and thus upset the natural, 63. Ulla Koch-Westenholz, “Babylonian Views of Eclipses,” in Démons et Mer­ veilles d’Orient (Res Orientales 13; Bures-sur-Yvette: Groupe pour l’étude de la civilisation du Moyen-Orient, 2001]) 74. She does note (p. 74), however, that in EAE 20 and 22 (Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 216, 219–20) the Sebitti are given credit for continuously “blocking the moon” (d7.BI ma-ḫar d30 it-ta-nap-ri-ku). 64. See discussion of I 28, above (§3.2.3.1.1.). 65. Interestingly, in celestial divination, Jupiter can occasionally dominate the effects of Mars (SAA 8 288:1–2): DIŠ mulSAG.ME.GAR ana IGI mulṣal-bata-nu GUB-iz ŠE-im TUK-ši ú-ma-mu(!) ŠUB-ut KI.MIN ERIM GAL ŠUB-ut

If Jupiter stands in front of Mars, there will be barley, wild animals will fall. [Variant: a great army will fall.]

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regular order of the cosmos. This act is on par with the cessation of other fundamental processes, such as drying up nursing mothers’ breast milk and canalfilling springs, sabotaging growing trees, and undermining building foundations (IV 121–26). Ultimately, Išum describes Erra’s goal in unequivocal terms: IV 127 a-na šu-bat LUGAL DINGIR.MEŠ lu-’i-ir-ma la ib-ba-ši mil-ku

(Erra says,) “I want to go up to the seat of the king of the gods, so his command will not exist.”

Erra’s actions are, in short, a blatant act of rebellion against the divine pantheon and the cosmic order. The parallels between Erra’s actions and the similar acts of Athtar in KTU 1.6 I 43b–65 and ‫ הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬in Isaiah 14 are not insignificant. 66 In any case, the orderly cosmos created by Marduk in Enūma Eliš has descended into chaos, and Babylon, which had been created as the exalted seat of Marduk’s power, has been destroyed. Erra at last accepts Išum’s rebuke and orders the annihilation of all of Mesopotamia’s traditional enemies (IV 128–50). He then repents in front of the Anunnaki and praises Išum for his efforts in bringing him to such a state of contrition (V 1–19). Erra, abandoning Marduk’s throne in Babylon, finally enters his own temple in Kutha (Emeslam), occupies his own throne, and orders Išum to initiate the reconstruction (V 1–38). The story concludes as the author Kabti-ilāni-Marduk praises Erra and recounts the origin of the story, which he claims to have received from Erra in his sleep (V 39–47). Furthermore, Kabtiilāni-Marduk reveals that Erra will protect anyone who copies, studies, or sings the text (V 48–61), which in part explains the wide and prolific distribution of this late composition, not to mention the inclusion of portions of the text on amulets. 3.2.3.1.4. Conclusion.  There is no doubt that the author of Erra and Išum had a background in the then-contemporary celestial-divination literature. He employed a robust assortment of specific technical terms, such as bibbu, manzāzu, šarūru maqātu, šarūra našû, baʾālu, ummulu, and adannu etēqu. He was aware of specific identifications that are commonly used in celestial-science texts, such as Erra with mulKA5.A/šēlebu and the Sebitti, as well as Mars. Marduk also is clearly identified with Šulpae, and Anunitu is possibly identified with Ištar/Venus. He uses specific celestial-mundane associations that function in celestial divination. These include Mars/Erra with destruction and plague, the Sebitti with the well-being of livestock, Šamaš with the stability of the land in general, and Marduk with Babylon in particular. The author is also aware of the primary concepts of celestial divination, including the general principle that 66. For discussion of Athtar in the Baal Cycle, see §4.2.2.1. For Isaiah 14, see §5.2.2.2.

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the phenomena of the sky portend divine action, as well as specific principles such as relating a celestial feature’s relative brightness with its mundane associations’ condition. 67

3.2.4.  Divination: Conclusion The mantic power of the night sky was the core concern of those who observed it. These observers were often the same people who created narrative literature, and this literature, more often than not, featured human or divine royalty. Because the royalty of ancient Iraq had a controlling interest in celestial divination as a source for effective policy creation, it should come as no surprise that this mantic tradition occasionally played a crucial role in literary narratives.

3.3.  Catasterisms and Other Celestial Aetia 3.3.1. Introduction Unlike the classical tradition, in which are found Aratus’s Phaenomena, Pseudo-Eratosthenes’ Catasterismi, and Hyginus’s Poeticon Astronomicon, Mesopotamia had no systematic, deliberate anthology of the origins of the constellations or other celestial features and phenomena; rather, origin stories were scattered among the various mythological narratives. There were a number of divine situations that led to the current astral state of affairs. Nevertheless, most of the narratives that provided cosmic etiologies were conflict myths in which a hero deity slew a threatening monster. A common, though not necessarily universal component of this sort of narrative was an act of creation—creation of either a feature of the cosmos or the cosmos as a whole. Because of this last component, it is in these texts that we find the clearest and most frequent examples of catasterism. 67. I do not mean to imply that the astral metaphors, concepts, and terminology in Erra and Išum actually reflect a real series of celestial events, though this remains a distinct possibility (Brown, AA, 256–57). Indeed, the ancient author says explicitly that his work was inspired by a dream, and dreaming of celestial phenomena is not an uncommon motif in the ancient Near East (for example, Nabonidus’s dual celestial dreams; see A. Clay, Miscellaneous Inscriptions in the Yale Babylonian Collection [YOS 1; New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1915] #39 [pp. 55–56]; Gilgamesh I 245–74; and Gen 37:9–10). Nevertheless, these metaphors, concepts, and terms were clearly very familiar to Kabtiilāni-Marduk who incorporated them seamlessly and logically into his narrative. There they served as literary devices characterizing the actions of the story’s main players and foreshadowing the terrible and inevitable outcome. Furthermore, in the same manner in which the author of Enūma Eliš associated celestial order with mundane order, the author of Erra and Išum associated celestially disordering events with what must have been a mundane catastrophe. In this way, Kabti-ilāni-Marduk masterfully combined Babylonian celestial divination and literary traditions.

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3.3.2.  Enlil and Ninlil The Sumerian story of Enlil and Ninlil is mostly attested in OB manuscripts that originated in Nippur. 68 Though framed as a story about Enlil (the god of Nippur) and his consort Ninlil, the text relates the origin of several gods, the most important of which is the moon god Suen. In mythic times, the city of Nippur was the residence of several gods, including the young Enlil as well as Ninlil and her cautious mother, Nunbaršegunu. The mother warns her daughter to avoid bathing in a particular canal and its environs, lest Enlil see her and engage in (forced?) intercourse with her, impregnate her, and abandon her. Naturally the adolescent goddess ignores her mother’s caution and immediately, it seems, heads off and bathes in the canal, where she is spotted by the powerful adolescent Enlil. In part through the work of his attendant Nusku, Enlil is able to impregnate the goddess: 69 52

ĝ iš3 1 du g4-g a-ni ne 1 su-ub -b a-n i

53

a dsu e n -daš-i m2-b abb ar-r a š ag4 mu -na -ni -r i

In copulating this once with her, in kissing her this once, He ejaculated the semen of SuenAšimbabbar into her womb.

The moon god’s name, dsu-en-daš-im2-b abb ar, is not commonly used in celestial-science texts, which use d30 almost exclusively. 70 The names employed here appear frequently in hymnic and narrative literature, though Ašimbabbar is less common. 71 True to Nunbaršegunu’s warning, Enlil leaves the young woman and, while walking near the Ekur temple is seized by the gods in authority. Apparently, news of his sexual violation had traveled quickly, and the gods in authority ostracize him from the city. He departs, and Ninlil follows. Enlil then disguises himself as the city’s gate attendant and again attempts to initiate sexual congress 68. Herman Behrens, Enlil und Ninlil: Ein sumerischer Mythos aus Nippur (Studia Pohl: Series Maior 8; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1978) 2. 69. Translation based on Jerrold Cooper’s “Review of Hermann Behrens, Enlil und Ninlil: Ein Sumerischer Mythos aus Nippur,” in JCS 32 (1980) 175–88. Text from ETCSL 1.2.1, Jeremy Black, “Enlil and Ninlil,” http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text= c.1.2.1&display=Crit&charenc=gcirc# [accessed 29 June 2011]. 70. But compare with the Sumerian mythological introduction to EAE and the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night, which use de n -z u (= Suen) (Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 9; Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 196, line 6), as well the OB celestial omen tablet from The Hermitage, which utilizes warḫum and dNANNA (Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 204, lines 3 and 17). 71. For a dated but still outstanding overview of the literary evidence for the moon god in Sumerian sources, see Mark G. Hall, A Study of the Sumerian Moon God, Nanna/ Suen (Ph.D. diss., University of Pennsylvania, 1985) 389–584.

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with Ninlil. 72 The goddess cannot lie with the lowly gatekeeper and explains to masquerading Enlil, whom she believes to be the servant of the father of her unborn child: 73 83 84

a u3-mu -u n-zu a d ad ag -g a š ag4-ĝ a2 i3-ĝa l2 a dsu e n -na a d ad ag -g a š ag4-ĝ a2 i3-ĝ a l2

“The semen of your master, the brilliant semen, is in my womb, The semen for Suen, the brilliant semen, is in my womb.”

The proposition is shocking, as Cooper notes: “Intercourse would be doubly improper: she is already pregnant, and by the superior of her intended seducer.” 74 The phony gatekeeper, however, offers Ninlil something that is worth the overwhelmingly distasteful coitus: 85

a lu g a l -ĝ u10 an -še3 ḫe2-du a-ĝu10 k i-še3 ḫ e2-du

86

a -ĝ u10 a lu ga l-ĝ a2-g i n7 k i -še3 ḫ e2-e m -ma-du

“Let my master’s semen go heavenward, let my semen go toward the netherworld, Let my semen, instead of my master’s semen, go toward the netherworld!”

Apparently, the first offspring of Enlil and Ninlil would have gone to the netherworld. Instead, the child of the “gatekeeper” and the goddess, Nergal-Meslamtea, will take Suen’s place, and that firstborn god will instead take a position in the sky. Enlil goes through a similar routine two more times, leading to the conceptions of Ninazi and Enbilulu. The text ends with words of praise for Enlil. These three children of the divine couple, Nergal-Meslamtea, Ninazi, and Enbilulu, are all gods who reside in the netherworld, while Suen is a god who is visible in the sky almost daily. Undoubtedly, one of the main goals of this myth is to explain this awkward distribution of siblings—one above, three below. 75 It 72. Alternatively, Jacobsen understands Enlil as guiding the gatekeeper (as well as the succeeding servants) through the conversation with Ninlil, en style de Cyrano de Bergerac (Thorkild Jacobsen, The Harps That Once . . . : Sumerian Poetry in Translation [New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1987] 168). 73. Surprisingly, the term used to describe the semen for the moon god, d ad ag, “bright, shiny” (= Akk. ebēbu), is not normally used to describe a celestial body. 74. Cooper, “Review of Behrens,” 183. 75. Thorkild Jacobsen, “Mesopotamia: The Cosmos as a State,” in The Intellectual Adventure of Ancient Man: An Essay on Speculative Thought in the Ancient Near East (ed. Henri Frankfort et al.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1977) 156; and Cooper, “Review of Behrens,” 180. Later, Jacobsen read a great deal more into the tradition that the moon god is a sibling to three underworld deities (Harps that Once . . . , 170): Having been engendered in the world above and protected by having his younger brothers serve as substitutes for him in the netherworld, he is not of that dark realm. Wholly, though, he has not escaped it. One day every month he spends

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provides an undeniable etiology, yet the story is not at all technical in its terminology and does not show any hints at a sophisticated or informed understanding of the moon, its appearance, periodic activity, and so forth. Nevertheless, there may be a connection to the Sumerian version of the mythological introduction to EAE 1: 76 u d an de n -li l2 de n-k i d i ĝ i rg a l -g a l -e -ne ga lga-ne -ne g i-na -t a m e -g a l-g a l-ank i-a ma2-g ur8 dsu-e n-na mu -u n -g i-ne -e š u4-s a k ar mu2-mu2-d a it i u3 ĝ isk i m an -k i-a mu-un-g i -n e -e š ma2-g u r8-an -na i m -p a-e3 a k -a -de3 š a3-an-na i g i -b arr a -t a e3

When An, Enlil, and Enki, the great gods, through their immutable council, had established the great ordinances of heaven and earth and the boat Suen, (and) stared at the constantly shining crescent, the birth of the month, and the signs of heaven and earth. (Then) the celestial boat, after being made ​​visible, rose splendidly in the sky.

It is notable that in these brief words, which describe the initial cosmic arrangement established by the three great gods, only Suen is mentioned. Although this might be attributable to the fact that the very first section of the series focuses on lunar omens, the sole reference to the god [?] in this passage is striking when compared with the Akkadian introduction that immediately follows it: 77 ša-niš e-nu-ma da-num den-líl d é-a DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ ina mil-ki-šú-nu ki-i-nu GIŠ.ḪUR. MEŠ AN-e u KI-tim iš-ku-nu ana ŠU.II DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ ú-kin-nu u4-mu ba-na-a ITI uddu-šu ša ta-mar-ti a-me-lut-tum d UTU i-na ŠÀ KÁ È-šú i-muru qé-reb AN-e u KI-tim ki-niš uš-ta-pu!-ú

Alternatively: When An, Enlil (and) Ea, the great gods, in their certain counsel established the plans of heaven and earth, they imposed into the hands of the great gods the duty to create the day, for humanity’s observation. They observed Šamaš inside the gate of his house. In the middle of the sky and the earth they made (him) reliably appear.

While it is unclear just how reliant the Akkadian version of the introduction is on the Sumerian version, they differ quite dramatically in that the Sumerian version highlights Suen’s priority role in the sky, while the Akkadian refers to Šamaš. 78 Although I think it is unlikely that the Sumerian introduction to EAE there, and during the month light and darkness struggle in him, now one, now the other having the upper hand.

76. Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 9 (ACh Sîn 1 = VAT 7827), 13 (translation). 77. Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 9. 78. Wolfgang Heimpel suggests that the Akkadian version might be a feeble attempt at rendering the admittedly awkward Sumerian. See Heimpel, “The Sun at Night and the Doors of Heaven in Babylonian Texts,” JCS 38 (1986) 131–32 n. 19.

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is reflecting the specific circumstances of Suen’s conception as related in Enlil and Ninlil, it is quite possible that both texts reveal the Sumerian precedence of the moon, which was considered to be even more significant than the sun. Enlil and Ninlil accomplishes this by affirming primogeniture from Enlil, while EAE does the same by making Suen the first great god assigned to the sky for mantic purposes.

3.3.3.  Inana and An In Inana and An, the goddess decides to steal the sky from the sky god An (as well as, it seems, the E-anna temple). 79 Enlisting the help and advice of her brother Utu, Inana is able, through various machinations, to secure some authority in the heavens. 80 In exasperation, the sky god describes one of the outcomes of this partial usurpation: 81 146 i3-n e -e š2-t a ud -d a ši d -bi b a-d atu r u d ĝ i6-bi -a b a-d a-bur2 147 u d-d a -t a e n-nu-uĝ3-bi 3-am3 ud ĝ i6-bi-a b a-an -d a-s a2 148 [i3-n e]-e š2 dutu e3-a ne3 ḫ e2-e n -na-nam

From now on, the normal length of daylight becomes shorter; daylight converts to night-time. From today, when its watch is 3 (units) long, daylight is equal to night-time. Now, when day began, so it indeed was.

79. The present text is a composite of four different manuscripts. Like many Sumerian literary compositions, the earliest copies date to the OB period. For the text and philological commentary, see J. J. A. van Dijk, “Inanna raubt den ‘grossen Himmel’: Ein Mythos,” in Festschrift für Rykle Borger zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Mai 1994: tikip santakki mala bašmu . . . (ed. Stephan Maul; CM 10; Groningen: Styx, 1998) 9–38. The line numbering here follows van Dijk, while the transliteration follows the edition of text 1.3.5 on the ETCSL website (Gabor Zólyomi and Graham Cunningham, “Inana and An,” n.p., http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1.3.5&display=Crit&chare nc=gcirc#)[accessed 28 June 2011]. 80. There is some indication that the text may feature other celestial characters, including a little-attested asterism mulÉŠ.SÙ.NUN.ŠE.TU (= SAMAN, šummannu; see CAD Š/3 279–80; and Gössmann #384), the “Tethering Rope” (line 129), as well as what may be mulGÍRI.TAB, “the Scorpion” (line 133). The context, like the story as a whole, is extremely fragmentary. Since the supposed reference to the Scorpion is written simply ĝ ir i2, van Dijk is not even sure it refers to the (celestial) arachnid and not simply a “sword” (“Inanna raubt den ‘grossen Himmel’,’’ 27). Moreover, neither possible celestial name is written with the determinative MUL. 81. Note that the order of lines 146–47 follows van Dijk’s ms. A (CBS 1531). Manuscript B (YBC 4665) reverses the order of these two lines. See van Dijk, “Inanna raubt den ‘grossen Himmel’,’’ 19. Tranlsation and discussion are based on David Brown and Gábor Zólyomi, “‘Daylight Converts to Night-Time’: An Astrological-Astronomical Reference in Sumerian Literary Context,” Iraq 63 (2001) 149–54.

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The goddess appears to have managed to alter the previous undefined ratio of daytime and nighttime. The precise nature of the former situation is unclear, but from the time of Inana’s success onward, the length of the day shortened until it was equal to the length of the night. As Brown and Zólyomi have pointed out, this undoubtedly describes the shortening of the day from the summer solstice until the autumnal equinox. This presumably signifies that Inana’s authority—which is greatest in the evening, when the goddess is often visible—has commensurately expanded. Brown and Zólyomi further note that it is particularly striking that the terms used to describe this balance are common in a contemporary celestialscience text. Dating to the OB period, BM 17175 + 17284 describes the amount of water that passes through a water clock on the solstices and equinoxes, which date to the 15th days of Adar, Sivan, Elul, and Kislev (XII, III, VI, and IX), one month earlier than the dates in the Ideal Calendar typical of MUL. APIN and similar texts. It describes the changing amounts of water required to shift from the watch of the day to the watch of the night as a certain weight that “converts,” inappal, for example: 82 [i-na itiGAN.GAN.È UD 15.KAM 1 EN.] NU u4-mu a-na GI6 i-na-ap-pa-al

[On the 15th day of Kislev 1 (unit) of the wat]ch of the day converts to the night.

The normal logographic writing for the verb napālu is BÚR, the same verb used in Inana and An 146. 83 Furthermore, in Inana and An 147, the day and night watches are to measure three units each when equal. The same unstated unit is found in the equinox measurement in BM 17175 + 17284: 84 [i-na itiŠE.GUR10.KU3 UD 15.KAM 3 EN.] [On the 15th day of of Adar, 3 is NU u4-mi 3 EN.NU GI6 the wat]ch of the day, 3 is the watch of the night. [u4-mi ù GI6 mi]-it-ḫa-ru [Day and night are e]qual.

Though not stated explicitly, this equivalency must be in terms of minas, 85 units of measure that were employed in water clocks and are attested in EAE 14 and MUL.APIN: 86 82. BM 17175 +17284 line rev. 11; see also line 4 and line rev. 14 (MUL.APIN, 163). 83. CAD N/1 275. 84. BM 17175 +17284 1–2 (MUL.APIN, 163). 85. Brown and Zólyomi note that the number could also be referring to UŠ ( 1/60 of a mina) since 3 and 3,0 would be written identically (“‘Daylight Converts to NightTime,’” 150 n. 10). 86. MUL.APIN II ii 21. See also EAE 14 C 12 (Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil XIV,” 57.

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DIŠ ina itiBÁR UD 15.KAM 3 MA.NA EN.NUN u4­-mi 3 MA.NA EN.NUN GI6

On the 15th day of Nisan, 3 minas is the watch of the day, 3 minas is the watch of the night.

Although it could be that Inana and An here provides an etiology for an aspect of an ideal calendrical scheme of the type that later underpinned celestial divination in the 1st millennium, we should note that there is nothing particularly ideal about the equinox described in the story. 87 Though the contemporary BM 17175 +17284 places the dates of the equinoxes and solstices on the 15th of each month and, as such, provides a sort of ideal model, this model is not the model of the later Ideal Calendar, which places the dates in months I, IV, VII, and X. Moreover, although BM 17175 +17284 does assign specific dates and months, it is significant that Inana and An does not. However, Inana and An does provide an etiology for the shortening of the days up to and including the autumnal equinox. The story includes contemporary celestial-science terminology: bur2 (= napālu), as well as the concept that the day and night on the solstices can be measured by the technology of a water clock into three units (minas).

3.3.4.  Dumuzi’s Ascent There are, in Sumerian literature, a few references to Dumuzi in some sort of astral aspect, 88 perhaps reflecting traditions preserved in the antediluvian section of the Sumerian King List regarding his kingship in Bad-tibira. 89 In a difficult Sumerian poem preserved in an OB copy (BM 88318), Dumuzi’s unnamed lover, certainly Inana, laments the condition of her sick and dying companion. She requests of Ningal and Zertur that Dumuzi be brought up and positioned in the sky instead of being allowed to die: 90 87. Brown and Zólyomi, “‘Daylight Converts to Night-Time,’” 152. 88. See discussion in §2.2.3. 89. ddu mu - z i s ip a, “(divine) Dumuzi, the shepherd” (Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 118–19, i 14). Note, however, that Yizkhak Sefati maintains that the other Dumuzi in the Sumerian King List (ddu mu - z i šu kux, “(divine) Dumuzi, the fisherman”; Glassner, Mesopotamian Chronicles, 120–21 iii 14), who reigned in Uruk before Gilgamesh, and the Dumuzi known from Sumerian mythological literature are two separate characters. Sefati cites in support of this hypothesized divergence the different nature of the literature associated with the early kings of Uruk on the one hand, and the literature of Inana’s lover on the other hand (Love Songs in Sumerian Literature: Critical Edition of the Dumuzi-Inanna Songs [Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1998] 17). 90. Samuel N. Kramer, “BM 88318: The Ascension of Dumuzi to Heaven,” Recueil de travaux et communications de l’Association des Études du Proche-Orient Ancien 2 (1984) 5–9, which is filled with typographical errors and must be corrected with copy in CT 58 13. I am indebted to Jay Crisostomo for several improvements of my transliteration and translation; he graciously provided me his treatment of this text.

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51

am -e ma2 ma-a l-l a ma2 m i-n i-d e gx91 am -e ddu mu-zi d -d e3 ma2 ma-a l-l a g a -š a -an -ga l-e ama-ĝu10 g a -š a -an-g a l-e am -e ddu mu-zi d -d e3 g a -š a -an-g a l-e ama -ĝ u10 g a -š a-an-g a l-e am -e g a l -g a l -l a-k am d z e2-e r-tu r-r e ama-ĝu10 d z e2-e r-tur-r e a -m e ddu mu-zi d -d e3 dze2-e r-tur-r e ama -ĝ u10 dz e2-e r-tur-r e am g a l -g a l -l a-k am(?) lu2 k i-s i k i l an-ne2 gub-b a-ma-ab an -n e2 g ub - b a-ma-ab am -e g a l -g a l -l a-k am d du mu -z id -d e3 an -n e2 g ub -b a - ma-[ab] an -n e2 g ub - b a-ma-ab am -e g a l -g a l -l a-[k am]

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The wild ox took the boat, the existing boat, The wild ox Dumuzi (took the boat), existing boat, Oh Ningal, my mother Ningal, Oh Ningal, the wild ox Dumuzi— Oh my mother Ningal—he is the greatest of oxen. Oh Zertur, my mother Zertur, Oh Zertur , the wild ox Dumuzi— Oh my mother Zertur—he is the greatest of the wild oxen. Oh young woman, station for me in the sky, Station in the sky the greatest of the wild oxen, Station Dumuzi in the sky, Station in the sky the greatest of the wild oxen. . . .

It is unambiguous that Inana requests that Dumuzi be stationed in the heavens. The verb used for this, Sumerian gub, “station,” is the equivalent of the Akkadian šuzuzzu, a term used in EE V 4 to describe Marduk’s creation of the heavens: 91 12 ITU.MEŠ MUL.MEŠ 3.TA-ÀM uš-zi-iz

(For) each of the twelve months he set up three stars.

It should be noted, however, that šuzuzzu is a fairly common verb and is by no means exclusive to celestial-science texts. Furthermore, much of the meaning of the text is doubtful even in the context of the whole poem. It is possible, however, that Dumuzi’s boat (ma2) to which this passage refers is none other than the lunar boat itself, ma2-gur8 dsuen-na, “the boat of Suen,” which is mentioned in the Sumerian mythological introduction to EAE 1. 92 Identifying the boat in BM 88318 with the boat of Suen is appealing, especially since Ningal, to whom Inana pleads about stationing Dumuzi in the sky, is the spouse of the moon god. 91. = RI. 92. Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 9 (ACh Sîn 1 = VAT 7827), 13 (translation); see discussion of Enlil and Ninlil above, §3.3.2.

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There is also hymnic material that places Dumuzi in the sky and associates him in some way with the moon. In a difficult Sumerian hymn to Inana (BM 96739), Dumuzi, using the appellation Amaušumgalanna, is described as preceding the appearance of Inanna in the sky: 93 93. Copy in CT 36 33–34; translations include Adam Falkenstein, SAHG, 73–76, 364; Daniel Foxvog, “Astral Dumuzi,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. M. Cohen et al.; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993) 103–7; and Jeremy Black and Graham Cunningham, “A tigi to Inana (Inana E),” http://etcsl.orinst​ .ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.4​.07.5&​display=Crit&charenc=gcirc# and http://etcsl​ .orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=t.4.07.5 [accessed 29 June 2011]. The numbering here follows CT 36 33–34. The English translation is based on Foxvog. Foxvog proposes that the author is here referring to Inana in the form of mulAnunitu and Amaušumgalanna/Dumuzi in the form of mul.lúḪUN.GÁ—stars that appear next to each other in the sky. Ištar is occasionally identified in celestial-science texts with Anunitu, and Dumuzi is identified with the constellation mul.lúHUN.GÁ (in MUL.APIN I i 42–43) (“Astral Dumizi,” 106). Based on this, he argues that the hymn describes an ideal lunar cycle, in which the moon returns to a position in mul.lúHUN.GÁ every month. Since mulAnunītu and mul.lúHUN.GÁ are the last two stars in the path of the moon (according to MUL.APIN I iv 37), and ideal schemes are part of the underpinning framework of the later tradition of celestial divination, Foxvog’s hypothesis is very appealing. As he summarizes it: In such an ideal early second millennium calendar, in which the movement of the earth about the sun is disregarded, the moon would return each month to its starting point in its apparent course through the zodiacal belt, and the first visibility of the new crescent would invariably coincide with the first visibility of Aries, the constellation into which the spring equinox moved around 2000 b.c. (pp. 106–7)

Since knowledge of the Ideal Calendar is assumed in texts that reflect a knowledge of celestial science, such as EE, the discovery of a reflex of this sort in a text as early as this hymn would place the Ideal Calendar’s creation solidly in the third millennium. Unfortunately, there are several major problems with Foxvog’s hypothesis. In the extant Ideal Calendar preserved in texts such as MUL.APIN, the movement of the earth around the sun is not disregarded. On the contrary, it is assumed and meticulously planned out, necessarily framed as the ideal dates of stars’ heliacal risings (MUL.APIN I ii 36–iii 12). Thus, the location of the first visibility of the new crescent would necessarily, even in the Ideal Calendar, vary month to month. Furthermore, in the ideal lunar schemes described in EAE 14, no mention is made of the moon’s position relative to the stars of the ecliptic (Al-Rawi and George, “Enūma Anu Enlil,” 52–73). Rather, the overwhelming concerns are with the time and length of the moon’s visibility on each day of every month. Thus, Foxvog’s ideal calendar would be completely independent of the Ideal Calendar that is attested in Mesopotamian celestial science and literary texts, such as EAE and EE. Indeed, Foxvog’s ideal calendar would only be attested in this one Sumerian hymn! In another approach, Kramer suggested that this hymn, which notes the astralization of Dumuzi, hints at a broader monarchic concept of celestial apotheosis: Since, as is well-known the king of Sumer as the husband of Inanna, was identified with Amaušumgalanna, it may be, to judge from this hymn that there was current

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature 23 24

inana n e3-a-zu mu-un -na-sum lu g a l -am3 d ama -ušu mga l-an -na še -e r-zi š a -r a -ab -e3-d e394 d

119

Inana, you have given him your might, the king, you have made Amaušumgalanna rise before you in brilliance.

Further on in the hymn, the god’s relationship with the lunar cycle is also noted:

 94

46 47 48

49

n in -ğ u10 dama-ušumg a l-an -na-k e4 My lady, Amaušumgalanna has n ir š a -mu-u8-d a-ğa l3 relied upon you, tug2 M E -z u -g i m b ar-r a ši2-du l and you have cloaked him as with your (own) mantle of divine power. itu -d a u4-s a k ar-r a dsue n-g i m an- And so, for you, Heaven shall n e2 z a(!)-r a š a-mu-r a-an-u3-tu beget him (anew) each month on the day of the new moon, like the Moon (himself), lu g a l dama -ušumg a l-an -na š a3-za and King Amaušumgalanna, the k i-ağ2-bi(!)-im dutu e3-a-g i n7 beloved of your heart, they š a -mu -na-an -i -i -n e shall praise like the risen Sun!

Here Dumuzi/Amaušumgalanna should be compared, though not equated, with the moon with regard to some sort of periodic monthly activity. He also should be compared with the risen sun, though, in this latter comparison, Amaušumgalanna is not actually likened to any particular celestial phenomenon. Rather, he parallels the risen sun only in regard to the praise he receives, and it is unclear whether this is in reference to a specific cultic act centering on the rising sun. In any case, the particular epithet used to refer to the god in this text, Amaušumgalanna, has been interpreted by Bendt Alster to mean “The Lord (is a) Great Dragon of Heaven.” 95 The Sumerian ending an-na is also found in in Sumer, a theological tenet that the king upon his death was turned into a heavenly star situated close to the Venus-star Inanna. (Samuel N. Kramer, “CT XXXVI: Corrigenda and Addenda,” Iraq 36 [1974] 98 n. 32)

Given the star names in the Sumerian King List and the extant tradition regarding Šulgi’s ascent, this is an insightful idea. Indeed, most of the stars’ names that are undoubtedly attested on the Sumerian King List are, in fact, all in the path of the moon. This path is identical to that of the planets, including Venus, of course (see discussion above, §2.2.3 and §2.4.2.1.6; MUL.APIN I iv 31–37). 94. In line 24, Sumerian ŠE.ER.ZI = Akkadian šarūru, which is used in the technical idioms šarūru maqātu and šarūra našû. Sumerian È = Akkadian waṣû, which is used as a technical term to describe a star’s or planet’s rising. 95. Alster states, “ama is thus used, not it its normal sense, ‘mother’, but as a unique archaic spelling convention rendering en, ‘lord’, whose original form was a(n)me(n)” (“Tammuz ‫תמוז‬,” DDD, 830). See also Michael M. Fritz’s discussion and bibliography

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the names of well-attested constellations, such as mulGUD.AN.NA (the Bull of Heaven) and mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA (the True Shepherd of Heaven). 96 In addition to this, Dumuzi is associated with the month Tammuz and, in turn, Tammuz is associated with mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA in Astrolabe B (A i 45–50): ŠU ši-ta-ad-da-lu dPAP.SUKKAL SUKKAL ṣi-i-ru ša da-nim u dEŠ4.DAR ITI NUMUN šá-pa-ku iti

NUMUN.NI ḫar-pi šu-ṣi-i ši-si-it dNIN.RU.RU.GÚ ITI SIPA DUMU.ZI ik-ka-mu-ú

Tammuz: Šitadallu, Papsukkal, the exalted minister of An and Ištar. The month for piling up seed, for sprouting the early seed. The summoning of Ninrurugu. The month the Shepherd, Dumuzi, was bound up.

Here the author is playing on the words SIPA.ZI.AN.NA (written with the Akkadian equivalent Šitadallu; it is written logographically in the Sumerian version, A i 38) and SIPA DUMU.ZI. 97 The major obstacle, however, for identifying Dumuzi/Amaušumgalanna in BM 88318 and BM 96739 with mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA (Orion) is that neither it, nor any constellation or other celestial phenomena is similar to the moon in terms of its periodic cycles. Though I believe that, at least in part, BM 88318 is an etiological tale describing the origin of a celestial feature, I am at a loss to explain what that feature might be, if we are to understand it as identical to that described in the hymn BM 96739.

3.3.5.  The Labbu Myth Only partially preserved on a single NA tablet from Assurbanipal’s library, the Labbu Myth is thought to have been composed in the OB period. 98 Though the story is fragmentary, enough of the tablet is preserved to reconstruct the basic plot with reasonable certainty. The world is in disorder because of a ser(“. . . un Weinten Tammuz”: Die Götter Dumuzi-Amaʾušumgalʾanna und Damu [AOAT 307; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2003] 269–71). 96. Rochberg, “The Heavens and the Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia,” 124 97. The god also appears on the so-called planisphere (K 8536 = CT 33 10) as d dumu-zi DINGIR GAL, where, according to Koch’s reconstruction, he is to be identified specifically as α Orionis/Betelgeuse which is, of course, the brightest star in mulSIPA. ZI.AN.NA (Johannes Koch, Neue Untersuchungen zur Topographie des babylonischen Fixsternhimmels (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1989] 57 (copy), 69–74). 98. F. Wiggerman, “Tišpak, his Seal, and the Dragon Mušhuššu,” in To the Euphra­ tes and Beyond: Archaeological Studies in Honor of Mauits N. van Loon (ed. O. Haex, et al.; Rotterdam: A. A. Balkema, 1989), 126. Foster, in contrast, indicates he places the story’s composition in the second half of the second millennium by including the text is his “Mature Period (1500–1000)” corpus (see “The Lion-Serpent,” in the table of contents in Before the Muses, x).

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pent monster whom the Sea has spawned and Enlil has created. To deal with the crisis, the gods meet around Sin, who offers Tišpak kingship in return for his service in slaying the monster. Tišpak successfully dispatches the beast, and it is here that the text breaks off. The description of Enlil’s creation of the monster is significant to our discussion here: 99  5  6

man-nu-um-ma MUŠ.[ḪUŠ? x x x] tam-tu-um-ma MUŠ.[ḪUŠ? x x x ]

 7  8

d

 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

EN.LÍL ina AN-e i-te-ṣer [ x x x ] 50 DANA mu-rak-šu 1 DA[NA ru-pu-us-su] ½ NINDA pi-i-šú 1 NINDA [ x x x] 1 NINDA li-ma-a-ti NINDA šá u[z-ni-šu?] ana 5 NINDA iṣ-ṣu-ri i-[ x x x ] i-na A.MEŠ 9 KÙŠ i-šad-da-[ad x x x ] ú-še-eq-qí zi-im-bat-su i-[ x x x x x ] DINGIR.MEŠ šá AN-e ka-li-šú-nu [ x xx] ina AN-e DINGIR.MEŠ ka-an-šú ana IG[I d30?] ù šá d30 ina TÚG.SÍG-šú ur-ru-[ x x ] man-nu il-lak-ma lab-b[i x x ]

Who [brought forth?] the serpent? The sea [brought forth?] the serpent! Enlil drew in the heavens [. . . .] 50 double-hours its length, 1 double [hour its width] 6 cubits its mouth, 12 cubits [its . . . .] 12 cubits the circumference of its e[ars?] For 60 cubits he encloses? [. . . .] In the water 9 cubits he dra[gs . . . .] He raises his tail [. . . . .] The gods of heaven, all of them [. . .] In the heavens the gods were bowing before [Sin . . .] and by Sin’s fringe . . . . [. . .] “Who will go and [slay?] Labbu?”

It is unclear as to how the Sea was involved with Enlil’s creation of the serpent, which he draws in the sky. That this serpent is a constellation is fairly clear, however. The idiom (ina šamê) eṣēru, “to draw (in the sky),” is used to describe the creation of a celestial feature in the introduction to EAE: 100 MUL.MEŠ tam-ši-li-[šu uṣ-ṣ]i-ru lu-ma-ši

. . . the stars, their liken[esses they dr]ew (that is, An, Enlil, and Ea), the constellations . . .

It is also found in a NA mystical text from Assur, describing the composition of the sky: 101 99. CT 13 33–34 (Rm 282). See also English translations in Alexander Heidel, The Babylonian Genesis: The Story of Creation (2nd ed.; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951) 141–43, and Foster, Before the Muses, 581–82. 100. EAE 22: Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 20′). 101. KAR 307 (VAT 8917) 33. See the new copy in Horowitz, MCG, pl. 1; for transliteration and translation see Horowitz, MCG, 3-4.

122

Chapter 3 AN-ú KI.TA.MEŠ na4aš-pu-u ša MUL. lu-ma-ši ša DINGIR. MEŠ ina UGU e-ṣir

The lower heavens are jasper; they belong to the stars. The constellations of the gods he drew thereupon.

Because the lines are incomplete, precisely what constellation Enlil created is uncertain. 102 It is either MUŠ/ṣerru, “snake,” MUŠ.ŠÀ.TÙR/bašmu, “serpent,” or, most likely, MUŠ.ḪUŠ/mušḫuššu, “furious-serpent.” 103 All three are attested constellations. The star mulMUŠ is found in the celestial-science literature of the late second and first millennium. 104 On the other hand, MUŠ.ŠÀ.TÙR/bašmu and MUŠ.ḪUŠ/mušḫuššu are two separately addressed stars in the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night: 105 ši-ta-ad-da-ru-um mu-uš-ḫu-uš-šu-um giš MAR.GÍD.DA in-zu-um ku-sa-ri-ik-ku-um ba-aš-mu-um

Šitaddarum, the Furious Serpent, the Wagon, the Goat, the Bison, the serpent . . .

Both MUŠ.ŠÀ.TÙR/bašmu and MUŠ.HUŠ/mušḫuššu are only attested as constellations in the OB period. Later, in line 17, the monster is called by another name, labbu, which is a poetic term for “lion.” 106 Clearly, the monster is a Mischwesen, part-lion, part-serpent, a creature common in Mesopotamian iconography. 107 The terms used to describe the dimensions of the lion-serpent, DANA/ bēru, “double hour,” NINDA/12 ammatu, “12 cubits,” and KÙŠ/ammatu, “cu102. Heidel suggests that the lion-serpent is the Milky Way (The Babylonian Genesis, 142 n. 4). There is no evidence to support this proposal. 103. This is the most likely reconstruction because the hero of the myth is Tišpak, whose associated animal is the mušhuššu; Wiggerman, “Tišpak,” 120–22. 104. Normally identified as Hydra; Astrolabe B B iii 7 and MUL.APIN I ii 8; in both places, it is identified with Ningišzida. See other references in Gössmann #284. 105. Wayne Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 196–98, lines 18–20. See also MUŠ.ḪUŠ in another OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night (Dossin, “Prières aux ‘Dieux de la Nuit’,” 181, line 18). 106. This is the most likely reading, given the depiction on VAT 7851 discussed below. However, since the name is consistently written KAL-bu, other readings are possible, including, notably, kalbu and rebbu; W. Lambert, “Ninurta Mythology in the Babylonian Epic of Creation,” in Keilschrift Literaturen: Ausgewählte Vorträge der XXXII. Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale, Münster, 8.–12.7.1985 (ed. K. Hecker and W. Sommerfeld; Berlin: Reimer, 1986) 55 n. 1. If we read kalbu, “dog,” we could conceivably associate the monster with the constellation mulUR.GI7 (cf. MUL.APIN I i 25, etc.). If we read rebbu, it might have a cognate with Hebrew ‫( ָרהָב‬Job 9:13; 26:12; Ps 87:4; 89:11; Isa 30:7; 51:9). 107. For a discussion of the lion-serpent’s use in Mesopotamian iconography as well as its depiction in literature, see Theodore Lewis, “CT 13.33–34 and Ezekiel 32: LionDragon Myths,” JAOS 116 (1996) 28–47.

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bit,” are not only common units of terrestrial length; they are also commonly used to describe celestial distances. 108 In the so-called Hilprecht Text, which comes from MB Nippur and is probably based on an OB original, the terms DANA, NINDA, and KÙŠ were already being used to describe celestial distances but not distance in terms of fractions of an arc, as the same terms are employed in later, 1st-millennium texts. 109 Rather, the distances in the Hilprecht Text and the Labbu Myth seem to be describing actual distances in the sky. Furthermore, as Paul-Alan Beaulieu notes, the description of the monster in the myth is reminiscent of several other texts that offer the length of the circumference of the sun and moon. 110 In a commentary text from Nineveh (K 2310), we read: 111 DIŠ 40 DANA NIGIN2-rat 20 1 UŠ DANA NIGIN2-rat [30]

40 double-hours is the circumference of the sun; 60 doublehours is the circumference of the moon.

Another set of measurements for the sun and moon is given in a NA mythical explanatory work (VAT 8917): 112 40 DANA NIGIN2-rat dUTU 60 DANA 40 double-hours is the circumferNIGIN2-rat d30 ence of the Sun; 60 doublehours is the circumference of the Moon. ša ŠÀ dU[TU dAM]AR.UD ša ŠÀ d30 That which is inside the S[un is d NÀ ina ŠÀ dUTU ba-aš-mu BAL. Ma]rduk; that which is inside BAL(?)x [ x x x ] the Moon is Nabu. Inside the sun the serpent (?).

108. Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Stellar Distances in Early Babylonian Astronomy: A New Perspective on the Hilprecht Text (HS 229),” JNES 42 (1983) 209–17; and David Brown, “The Cuneiform Conception of Celestial Space and Time,” 103–22. 109. Previously HS 229, now designated HS 245. Rochberg, “Stellar Distances,” 209 n. 1 (bibliography), 212 (text and discussion); Brown, “The Cuneiform Conception of Celestial Space and Time,” 111; Horowitz, MCG, 177–86. 110. Paul-Alain Beaulieu, “The Babylonian Man in the Moon,” JCS 51 (1999) 91–99. 111. ACh Išt XXVIII 42 and PSBA 10 (1887–88) pl. 3. See also Beaulieu, “Man in the Moon,” 95. 112. KAR 307 rev. 4–6; Alasdair Livingstone, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works of Assyrian and Babylonian Scholars (Oxford: Clarendon, 1986; repr., Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2007) 82–85, 90–91. See also Beaulieu, “Man in the Moon,” 93. To modern sensibilities, it seems wrong for the size of the moon to be estimated as greater than the size of the sun. Perhaps, because it was understood that the moon was blocking the sun in the case of a solar eclipse, it only made sense for the sun to be larger.

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ina ŠÀ d3[0 u]m(?)-ma-šú GÍR ina UGU Inside the Moon is his (the UR.MAH šá ŠU [ x x ] serpent’s?) [mot]her; a dagger above the lion which . . . [. . .]

Beaulieu points out that this passage seems to describe the unique image of the surface of the moon on a Seleucid tablet from Uruk (VAT 7851); it depicts a hero with a hooked weapon in his right hand, while in his left he grasps a lionserpent that describes a lunar crescent. 113 Perhaps the description of the lionserpent in the Labbu Myth and the mythical description of the moon in VAT 8917 are related. 114 In any case, both texts have in common with celestial-science literature the use of DANA, NINDA, and KÙŠ to measure celestial dimensions. The Labbu Myth includes an etiology for a constellation, as well as specific technical terminology found in celestial-science texts (DANA, NINDA, KÙŠ). Furthermore, it features concepts known from the technical literature— namely, that constellations, which are measurable features, are animate beings that the gods have “drawn” on the sky.

3.3.6.  Girra and Elamatum With only the last of an original seven tablets preserved, the basic plot of the myth of Girra and Elamatum can nonetheless be reconstructed, if only in bare essentials. 115 This OB story, probably from Sippar or Tell ed-Der, originally contained about 350 lines of text. It recounts how the god Girra rescued the land from the wicked machinations of Elamatum, literally, “the Elamite woman,” who apparently had caused famine and cessation of livestock breeding. Enlil decrees that Girra, the god of fire, be the preeminent light above his divine brothers and illuminate humanity, as a reward for his heroism: 113. Ernst Weidner, Gestirn-Darstellungen auf babylonischen Tontafeln (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Philosophisch-historische Klasse Sitzungsberichte 254/2; Vienna: Böhlaus, 1967) pls. 1 and 2. 114. There are, however, significant differences between the description in the Labbu Myth and VAT 8917. First, the circumference of the moon is 60 double-hours in VAT 8917, while the length of the lion-serpent in the Labbu Myth is 50 double-hours. Furthermore, Nabu is the hero inside the moon in VAT 8917, while Tišpak is the slayer of the lion-serpent in the Labbu Myth. Moreover, as we have seen, the description of the lion-serpent’s creation in line 7 indicates that it is a constellation that is being drawn rather than the surface of the moon that is being inscribed, though conceivably the verb eṣēru could be used to describe either. But see Beaulieu, who makes the somewhat misleading statement that, in the Labbu Myth and another text (KAR 6 = Foster, Before the Muses, 579–80), “[T]he interest in cosmic measurements is not directed at celestial bodies, however, but at the mythical sea-serpent” (“Man in the Moon,” 95). While the monster in the Labbu Myth as a constellation is not a body per se, it is a celestial feature. 115. Christopher Walker, “The Myth of Girra and Elamatum,” AnSt 33 (1983) 145–52.

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

125

a-li-ik at-ta lu nu-ru te-ne-še-tim

“Go, may you be the light of humankind. tu-uš-te-pí ra-ma-nu-uk You made yourself appear! d BIL.GI lu šum-ka Let Girra be your name! a-di ta-ak-ka-lu-nim a-ia i-ku-lu Until you eat, may the gods, your brothers, not eat. i-lu aḫ-ḫu-ka a-di at-ta ta-ša-at-tu-nim Until you drink may the gods, your brothers, not drink. a-ia iš-tu-ú i-lu aḫ-ḫu-ka a-di nu-ra-am tu-ka-al-la-mu-šu-nu-ti Until you show them light may the nocturnal offering of a-ia ut-te-er ba-at DINGIR.DIDLI the gods, your brothers, not aḫ-ḫi-ka be. . . .118 d it-ti asal-lú-ḫi MAŠ.MAŠ DINGIR. Go with Asalluhi, the incantation DIDLI ba-a’-ma priest of the gods. i-na É DINGIR ù LÚ li-ib-ši šum-ka Let your name be in the house of god and man.”119

 116  117

Girra, as the god of fire, is normally described in language associated with light and fire, but there is more here than common epithets. Girra is called nūru, “light,” who has made himself appear/bright, wapû (Št). Both terms are common in divine epithets but are also featured in celestial-science literature. 118 The reference to bâtu, a kind of night ritual, might also indicate an astral manifestation of the deity. That this text refers, at least in part, to Girra’s astral manifestation is verified in the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night, in which Girra himself is the first of the gods of the night addressed: 119 16 21

nam-ru dBIL.GI qú-ra-du er-ra i-zi-iz-za-nim-ma

Oh light Girra, warrior Erra . . . stand!

Since most of the names of the gods addressed are known to be stars in the late 2nd and 1st millennium, it can be assumed that all the deities named in the prayer are stars and constellations. But identifying the astral manifestation of Girra is problematic, due to the fact that the god is not frequently featured in celestial science texts. There are, however, a couple of references, besides the 116. Walker suggests that ut-te-er is a contracted form of uttawir (Dt nawāru), meaning “to be illuminated,” though this is dubious since the form is otherwise unattested (“Girra and Elamatum,” 150). The only other option seems to be Dt târu, “to be returned,” though this makes no sense in the passage either. 117. Walker, “Girra and Elamatum,” 148–49. 118. See examples in CAD Š/3 328–29. 119. Dossin, “Prières aux ‘Dieux de la Nuit’,” 181; cf. Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 196–98, lines 15, 21.

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prayer, on which one can base a tentative identification The most decisive of these references comes from the menology in Section A of Astrolabe B: 120 SIG4 is le-e a-gi da-nim

iti

MU]L.BI dBIL.GI ša-nim

Sivan is the Jaw of the Bull,121 the crown of An. Girra is the same122 as this star.

 121  122

The equivalent of is lê in the Sumerian version of this passage in Astrolabe B is mul GÙ.AN.NA, “The Bull of Heaven,” 123 and it seems that the author is equating the god Girra with this constellation. Contributing to this identification is an otherwise enigmatic reference to astral Girra in an extremely fragmentary NA celestial-science explanatory text (K 7069): 124 EN.ME.ŠAR.R[A . . .] EN.ME.ŠAR.RA [. . .] MUL.MUL za-ap-pu [. . .] mul BIL.GI IZI.GAR [. . .] d d

[m]ulŠUDUN M[UL? . . .] [m]ulka-li-tum [. . .]

Enmešarr[a . . .] Enmešarra [. . .] The Stars, the Bristle [. . .] Girra, the light (nūru)/torch (dipāru) [. . .] [T]he Yoke s[tar? . . . [T]he Kidney [. . .]

Interestingly, the author of this text lists the Stars/the Bristle, which are just to the right of the Jaw in the sky (and are part of the larger figure of the Bull), while the Yoke, though not located near either constellation, is a related agricultural figure. Thus a portion of this list, at least, appears to catalog the 120. Astrolabe B A i 32–33. 121. Most specifically, is lê should only refer to the Hyades, which (in modern terminology) is a V-shaped asterism forming the face of Taurus. Nevertheless, the scribes often understood the part for the whole, e.g., the lexical series Ur5-ra 22 §10 3′: mulGUD. AN.NA = is le-e (Reiner and Civil, MSL 11 30). 122. Astrolabe B A I 32–33. Others translate the verb šanānu here as “to rival” (see, e.g., G. Çağirgan, “Three More Duplicates to Astrolabe B,” Belleten 48 (1985) 409, line 13; Casaburi, L’Astrolabio B, 33, line 33; but see how she translates the Sumerian equivalent on p. 32, line 25). It is hard to comprehend what this might mean other than in terms of luminosity, in which case Girra still must be a celestial feature. 123. The Sumerian version uses the writing mulGÙ.AN.NA rather than mulGUD. AN.NA (the more standard orthography), and I suggest that this is a logographic play on the Akkadian is lê, “jaw of the bull,” since GÙ (which is a homophone of GUD/GU4) = KA = pû, “mouth.” See also MUL.APIN I ii 1: DIŠ mulGUD.AN.NA dis le-e AGA d­­anim, “The Bull of Heaven, the Jaw, the crown of An.” 124. CT 26 49:4–9; see also Handbuch, 28. Though in this text Enmešarra does not appear to be referring to an astral feature, since there is no MUL determinative, in MUL. APIN I i 3 Enmešarra is equated with mulŠU.GI, “the Old Man.” This constellation is roughly equivalent to Perseus which is, interestingly, just above Taurus (BPO 2, 15).

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neighboring body parts and, possibly, accoutrements of the Bull of Heaven. 125 It is possible that this NA astral Girra could be a late scholarly association with an unidentified constellation. But K 7069 is best explained, I believe, by the association made in Astrolabe B. Furthermore, identifying Girra as the Bull of Heaven would explain the latter’s otherwise conspicuous absence in the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night. That prayer does invoke Girra—but not the Bull of Heaven—by name, even though it mentions other prominent constellations such as Šitadarru (the Akkadian equivalent of mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA). If this is the case in the OB period, then we should identify Girra in Girra and Elamatum with the mulGUD.AN.NA as well. After Girra is rewarded, Enlil commemorates Elamatum’s defeat by founding a festival that commemorates the event. He imaginatively disposes of her corpse: 126 36

ù elam-ma-tum ša te-ne-ru-ši-i-ma

37

li-ṣi-a-am-ma i-na qa-ab-li-tu ša-ma-i

38 39 40 41

[ x x x ] x li-iz-zi-iz-ma [I-na qa-ab-l]i-tu ša-ma-i [ x x x x ] x-tim a-na ni-ši-ša [ x x x x x ] li-iṣ-a-am-ma

“And the Elamite Woman whom you killed let her rise in the midst of the heavens. [  ] let her stand [in the mid]st of the heavens [   ] . . . to her people [   ] let her rise”

Thus, Elamatum is translated to the heavenly realm, undoubtedly in the form of a constellation. Elamatum, though not known as such in any late 2nd- or early 1st-millennium celestial-science text, is known from one of the OB Prayers to the Gods of the Night: 127 17 18

qá-aš-tum e-la-ma-tum z[a]-ap-pu ši-ta-da-ru MUŠ.ḪUŠ

the Elamite Bow, the Bristle, Šitaddaru, the Furious Serpent,

125. The Kidney (mulBIR/kalītu), identified as part of Puppis, is not particularly close to these other constellations (BPO 2, 11). 126. Walker, “Girra and Elamatum,” 148–49. 127. Dossin, “Prières aux ‘Dieux de la Nuit’,” 181. Walker himself rejected Dossin’s reading on the basis of the myth: “However our new text shows that elamātum is to be taken as the name of a separate star group. There is no evidence that Elamatum in this myth wielded a bow, and the natural interpretation of lines 36–38 is that Elamatum herself becomes a new constellation” (“Girra and Elamatum,” 147). Of course, Elamatum’s lack of a bow in the extant myth is irrelevant to her identification with the Elamite Bow in the OB prayer and by extention with the mulBAN in later texts. We must remember that Elamatum’s posture is, in the myth, undeniably hostile, and this alone could explain the Bow epithet. In any case, mulBAN’s other name, ištar elamātu, does not mention the weapon either.

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128 19

MAR.GÍD.DA UD­5 ù dku-sa-ri-ka

20 21

i-lu mu-ši-tim ra-bi-tim i-zi-iz-za-nim-ma

the Wagon, the Goat, and the Bison the gods of the great night stand!

It is sometimes assumed that there are, in fact, two constellations in this OB prayer, the first to be identified with mulBAN, the well-attested constellation, and the second, elamātum, with the constellation associated with the myth’s antagonist. This is because the other OB copy of the prayer replaces elamātum with another constellation altogether—nīrum, “the Yoke,” thus adding another constellation. 128 There is consensus that the Bow in both versions of the OB prayer is the Bow constellation that is mentioned in Astrolabe B, MUL.APIN, and EE. 129 In all three of these texts, the constellation is described with the additional epithet d ištar elamātu, “Elamite Ištar” (or perhaps, more generically, “the Elamite Goddess”?). This convergence of epithets makes it likely, I believe, that the other­ wise unidentified Elamatum from the myth, on the one hand, and the Bow, Elamite Ištar, on the other, refer to the same constellation. 130 If Elamatum is a hypostasis of Ištar, then the myth provides, in a certain sense, a celestial counterpart for the episode in the Inana’s Descent, in which the corpse of the goddess is hung on a hook (lines 171–72). In the myth (lines 36–41), the corpse of Elamatum is to “rise,” waṣû, and “stand,” izuzzu. Though both of these words are exceedingly common verbs, they are also employed frequently in celestial-science texts—waṣû normally indicating rising, izuzzu simply designating the presence of a celestial feature. 131 And, although related in a fragmentary passage, the astralization of Elamatum seems to have been tied to the establishment of a festival in her honor: 43 44 45

[x x x x li-i]š-ku-nu-nim i-si-ni-ša [x x x x li-i]š-ku-nu-nim [x x x x li-i]š-ku-nu-nim i-si-ni-iš

[. . . . l]et them put in her festival. [. . . . l]et them put. [. . . . l]et them put in the festival.

128. Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 196, line 17. 129. Astrolabe B B i 14–16; MUL.APIN I ii 7; EE VI 90. Reiner and Pingree reconstruct mulBAN as τ, δ, σ, and ε Canis Maioris (BPO 2, 11). See also Koch, who reconstructs mul BAN as δ, ε, η, κ, σ, τ Canis Maioris as well as ρ Puppis (Neue Untersuchungen, 74). 130. Casaburi, for example, is more cautious about equating the two (L’Astrolabio B, 21), perhaps because Elamatum in the OB myth is killed. This is a less significant problem if ištar in the epithets in Astrolabe B, MUL.APIN, and EE refers to a generic goddess, rather than the preeminent goddess of the Mesopotamian pantheon. For a more positive view linking the villain in the OB myth to the constellation in EE VI 90, see Stephanie Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia, 276 nn. 30, 39. 131. Compare with i-zi-iz-za-nim-ma in line 20 of the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night, quoted above.

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Though Walker posited that this festival was coordinated with the commemoration of a historical event, as Dalley notes it is also possible that the festival was coordinated with the heliacal rising of the constellation. 132 In both Astrolabe B and MUL.APIN, the Bow/mulBAN is scheduled to rise in the month of Ab, and we know that in the NA period, a festival of Ištar of Arbela was celebrated at the time of the heliacal rising of the Bow in that month. 133 In this sense, the story heralds Enūma Eliš, because it also features a conflict between divine beings that leads not only to the construction of constellations (even mulBAN itself) but also to a calendrical system. 134 Though the text is far from complete, one might posit on the basis of the extant fragment together with the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night that the myth of Girra and Elamatum was, at least in part, a catasterism explaining the origin of the constellation Elamatum, which involved conflict with another god in his astral form, Girra. If the two identifications I propose here are correct, the author envisioned this as a conflict between the constellations mulGUD. AN.NA (Taurus) and mulBAN (Canis Maior). This is noteworthy for a couple of reasons. First, in providing an etiology for the Bow, the text provides a forerunner (and perhaps the ultimate source) for the catasterism in EE VI 90. Also significant is the fact that in the sky the Bow/mulBAN is actually aimed at the Bull 132. Walker, “Girra and Elamatum,” 150; Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia, 276 n. 30. 133. Astrolabe B, D i 21 (= Casaburi, L’Astrolabio B, 60, §233); MUL.APIN I ii 44. But compare the alternate tradition preserved in the menological section of Astrolabe B A ii 16, 19, in which the Bow is associated with the month of Elul. For the Ištar festival at Arbela coordinated with the heliacal rising of mulBAN, see Assurbanipal Prism B V 15–19 (Borger, Asb., 99). 134. Furthermore, in the menological section of Astrolabe B, Girra is also featured in the same month: NE šu-ku-du dnin-urta KI.NE.MEŠ Ab: The Arrow, Ninurta. Braziers ut-ta-pa-ḫa di-pa-ru a-na da-nun-na-ke4 are lit. A torch for the Anunnake in-na-áš-ši dBIL.GI is carried. Girra iš-tu AN-e ur-ra-dam-ma comes down from heaven it-ti dUTU i-ša-na-an and compares to Šamaš. (Astrolabe B A ii 10–12; for the idiom itti X šanānu, see CAD Š/1 369–70) iti

While the precise meaning of this passage is unclear, it is noteworthy that there is a ritual lighting of a “torch” (dīparu), and Girra is said to descend from the sky. Yet this does not appear to be the heliacal setting of a constellation, since the expected terminology indicating “to set” would be ŠÙ/rabû. Rather ištu šamê arādu is more typical of a divine being’s descent from heaven in literary texts. Such divine beings include, notably, the Bull of Heaven in the SB Gilgamesh: [. . . a-l]a-a ta-na-ra šá TA AN-e ur-du, “[. . . the bu]ll you killed who descended from heaven” (Gilgamesh X 39 = George, Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 680, line 39). For other literary examples, see CAD A/2 216.

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of Heaven/mulGUD.AN.NA, an arrangement that is particularly obvious when one includes the constellation the Arrow/mulKAK.SI.SÁ (α Canis Maioris + α Orionis). 135 This latter constellation was imagined as shooting from the Bow in the direction of the Bull. 136 The OB myth of Girra and Elamatum features characters specifically in a celestial context. While we cannot be certain at this point, the protagonist and antagonist of this story could be identified with mulGUD.AN.NA and mulBAN, respectively. Furthermore, though there are few OB celestial science texts to which we might compare this fragmentary work, it does employ the terms waṣû and izuzzu, which are common in later technical literature, specifically regarding a celestial body. Assuming also that the festival celebrating the translation of Elamatum into a constellation was associated with the heliacal rising of that astral feature, the myth incorporates the concept that celestial phenomena can be used for calendrical purposes.

3.3.7.  The Exaltation of Ištar 3.3.7.1.  The Exaltation of Ištar: Introduction.  Though it does not necessarily fit the motif of the cosmic conflict myth, the text referred to as the Exal­ tation of Ištar nonetheless features a creative act as the direct result of conflict. The work (the Sumerian title of which is nin-maḫ ušu-ni g ir2-ra, “The Sublime Lady, Who Alone Is Mighty”) is noted in a NA list of texts and authors and comes to us from almost entirely LB copies (from Uruk and Babylon), with a single exemplar from NA Nineveh. 137 Though the text was originally five tablets in length, only the third and fourth have been recovered. The text is a Sumerian and Akkadian bilingual, the composition of which most likely dates to the MB period. 138 135. Koch, Neue Untersuchungen, 74 136. However, it is not a clear shot, as it were, since the True Shepherd of Heaven/ mul SIPA.ZI.AN.NA stands in between the Arrow and the Bull. 137. Sm 669, line 6, in Lambert, “A Catalogue of Texts and Authors,” 64–65. For the text itself, see B. Hruška, “Das spätbabylonische Lehrgedicht ‘Inannas Erhöhung,’” ArOr 37 (1969) 474–77. 138. The extant Sumerian text is partially in the e me-s a l dialect and is full of syllabic glosses that clarify the reading of the logograms, which were by the LB period becoming more and more difficult to read, especially in literary texts. It is because of these didactic aids that Hruška chose to characterize the text a “Lehrgedicht.” Hruška originally dated its composition to the OB period (“Inannas Erhöhung,” 480). However, Lambert suggests a Kassite date, which would explain the nature of the Sumerian and would vouch for the reliability of the Akkadian translation (W. Lambert, “Critical Notes on Recent Publications,” Or 40 [1971] 92–93). For my study here, I rely primarily on the Akkadian rendition, since, as Lambert notes, “With a Cassite period composition it is

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3.3.7.2.  Celestial Science in the Exaltation of Ištar.  The preserved account begins as the assembly of the gods urges An to grant Ištar great, even equal power on account of a sexual encounter between the two deities: 139 III 13 k i-si k i l dinana ḫi -li -bi mu-un-ši in -k ar- r a aa2-zu a-r i -a-an-ši -ib2   14 ana ar-da-tu4 diš-tar šá te-em-nu-ši id-ka i-din-ši   15 na -nam g i -na-zu an -g i m ze2e b -b e2- d a d a-gan -m e -a z u -z u -ab -t a   16 an-na-ka ki-na šá ki-ma AN-e kab-tu4 ina pu-uḫ-ri-ni ud-di-ši   17 din -n in di m­3-m e -e r ḫi -li -bi muu n -š i-i n-k ar-r a m e -ur-zu si3-mu - un -na-ab   18 ana dMIN i-lat te-em-nu-ši ḫi-im-mat par-ṣi-ka šu-ut-lilim-ši d   19 k i-š ar2 ni-id-la-amni d l am e -d a-s a2 ḫ e2-na - nam mu-zu-a ni r ḫe2ga g ax [GALAM]-ga l amga-la-ma   20 lu-ú an-tum ḫi-ir-tu4 šin-na-at-ka ši-ma ana šu-me-ka li-te-it-li

To the young woman Ištar, whom you loved, give her your strength. Your true consent for her, which is as important as the heavens, announce in the assembly. To Ištar, the goddess whom you loved, grant the collection of your divine ordinances. Let her be Antu, your wife and equal, and let her exalt your name.

The Akkadian term for their relationship, menû, “to love” (lines 14, 18) which refers to sexual intercourse, is extremely rare and occurs in a literary context only here. 140 Whether or not this term indicates consensual intercourse is entirely unclear. However, the Sumerian word chosen to express it, kar (lines 13, 17), offers a clearly negative connotation. Normally, KAR is the equivalent of eṭēru, “to take away, save,” ekēmu, “to snatch, deprive,” mašāʾu, “to abduct, rob,” or hamāṣu, “to tear off, ransack.” Given these options, it is likely that the sexual encounter, which is the basis for An’s forthcoming granting of power and status to Ištar, was not consensual. 141 But the gods do not suggest that An merely grant Ištar status. Power should be part of the deal: 142 extremely likely that the translation followed the Sumerian after a very brief interval and would reflect a good understanding of the author’s meaning” (“Critical Notes,” 93). 139. Hruška, “Inannas Erhöhung,” 483. 140. CAD M/2 19. 141. Hruška, “Inannas Erhöhung,” 497. 142. Ibid., 483. u n - gux = GÁ. Emendation in line 22 is suggested by CAD T 363. Compare EE tablet VII 142: gimri têrētiya šû littabbal, “Let him execute all of my commands” (see CAD A/1 23 for the idiom). The Gtn verbal form is used repeatedly in this

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III 21 u n -g ux gu-u3-bi2-t ab a2- ag2-de n -li l2- Moreover there is something d e n -k i- k e4 šu-na ḫe2-e n-d a-ab -x else: let her continually x tu m2-x xtum2-mu execute the command of Enlil and Ea.   22 li-iṣ-ṣip ap-pu-na te-ret den-líl u dé-a qaat-sa lit--bal   23 zi?-ir?e š2-k ir i2-an-k idi!-a aš-a-n e2 Let her by herself grasp the leada -b a -n i -i n-t ab a2-gag ar-m e ur rope of heaven and earth; let ḫ e2-m e -a-e -še her be our power.   24 lit-mu-uḫ e-diš-ši-šá ṣer-ret AN-e u KI-ti ši-i lu-u lit-ni

The term têrtu (line 22) can refer to an extispicy or its results, but this particular meaning does not seem to be indicated here; if it were, we would expect a reference to Šamaš and Adad, who are normally associated with the practice, rather than Enlil and Ea (III 21/22). The “lead-rope of heaven” ṣerret šamê (III 23/24) is also not something that appears in celestial-science literature. However, the term is common in literary contexts, 143 for example, in Erra and Išum: III D 3 [qu-r]a-du dèr-ra ṣe-ret AN-e tam-hat

“Warrior Erra, you grasped the lead-rope of heaven.     4 [nap-ḫa]r KI-tim-ma gam-ma-ra-ta ma- You dominate all the earth, you tùm-ma be-le-ta rule the land!”

Thus, to grasp the lead-rope of heaven is a metaphor for cosmic dominion. But it could also be an actual celestial feature. This is indicated in an OB incantation against diseases, which describes the celestial origin of sickness: 144 [iš]-tu ṣé-re-et [š]a-me-e ur-du-ni

(Diseases) have descended from the lead-rope of heaven.

Two closely related incantations replace ṣerret with kakkab, “star,” 145 and even ziqqurat, “ziggurat.” 146 Certainly in these cases, the term “lead-rope of heaven” is not being used as a mere metaphor for power. If it is a specific celestial feature, it is possible that it is, as von Soden suggests, the Akkadian term for the Milky Way, which has yet to be otherwise identified. 147 narrative not to express any stem-specific meaning but to indicate the now-decreed position, power, and responsibilities of Ištar (e.g., lines 24, 66, 70). 143. See CAD Ṣ 135–36. 144. A. Goetze, “An Incantation against Diseases,” JCS 9 (1955) 8 (text B, lines 10–11). 145. Ibid., 11 (text C, line 5). Goetze did not interpret ṣé-re-et in this text as “leadrope”; rather, he read it as a nominal form derived from ṣarāru, “to flash, drip” (ibid., 14). 146. Ibid., 8 (text A, line 10). Goetze sees this reading as corrupt, since this is the only place that the concept of a heavenly ziggurat is attested (ibid., 14 n. 34). 147. AHw, 1093. Wolfgang Heimpel offers no suggestion for identifying the Milky Way in “The Babylonian Background of the Term ‘Milky Way,’” in DUMU-E2-DUB-

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An is delighted with the solution that the gods have proposed and invites Ištar up to the highest heaven to share his throne (III 25–38). He then provides her with new names appropriate to her new status: Antu to correspond to his own (III 39–42) and Ninšubur/Iliabrat (III 43–45). It is noteworthy that Ninšubur/Iliabrat is identified with Ištar in a couple of NA celestial-science texts, though the nature of this identification is not clear. 148 To understand her new, lofty status, An explains to Ištar the background of the cosmic status quo: 149 III 47 t e -m e -e m-d a-r i2-an-k i -k e4 g išOn the eternal foundation of ḫ u r-g i-na-d i m3-m e -e r-e -n e heaven and earth the firm k a -a -t a plans of the gods,    48 ina da-ru-ti te-me-en AN-e u KI-tim ú-ṣu-rat DINGIR.MEŠ ki-na-a-ti    49 s ag -t ab an de n -li l2 de n -k i -k e4 n i g2- (in) the beginning An, Enlil, and ḫ a l -ḫ a l b a-an--e š-a-t a Ea divided the shares.    50 šur-ru-ú da-nu den-líl u dé-a ú-za-ʾi-i-zu zi-za-a-tì

Here, An recounts to Ištar the establishment of the cosmic order, when he himself, Enlil and Ea “divided the shares,” uzaʾizū zīzāti. The same terminology is used in the secondary mythological introduction to EAE, located at the end of tablet 22: 150 e-nu da-nu den-líl u dé-a DINGIR.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ AN-e u KI-ta ib-nu-ú ú-ad-du-ú gis-kim-ma ú-kin-nu na-an-za-za-[ti ú-š]ar-ši-du gi-is-gal-la DINGIR.MEŠ mu-ši-tim ú-[. . . . .] ú-zai-zu ḫar-ra-ni MUL.MEŠ . . .

When An, Enlil, and Ea, the great gods created heaven and earth, they revealed the omens, they established the positio[ns, they f]ounded the stations of the gods of the night, they [. . . . .] they divided the paths of the stars . . .

BA‑A: Studies in Honor of Åke W. Sjöberg (ed. H. Behrens et al.; Occasional Publications of the Samuel Noah Kramer Fund 11; Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989) 249–52. 148. In the well-known Assyrian Planisphere, CT 33 10 (K 8538), sector 3 lists: [dPAP. SUKKAL] SUKKAL AN.NA diš-tar dì-lí-ab-rat; the other text, CT 26 40 II 3 (K 250), notes mulì-lí-ab-[rat] in what appears to be a list of stars that are in some way associated with Ištar. 149. Hruška, “Inannas Erhöhung,” 484. 150. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 14′–18′).

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An then describes to Ištar the assigned duties of Sin and Šamaš: 151    51 [diĝ ir-m i n3]-na-bi e n-nu-e n-an - For both gods who guard heaven k i-a giši g -an -na g a l2-l a-ar and earth, who open the door of heaven,    52 ana DINGIR.MEŠ ki-lal-la-an ma-aṣ-ṣar AN-e u KI-tim pe-tu-ú da-lat da-nu    53 dnanna dutu-r a gig e6-u4-d a šu-t a-t a for Sin and Šamaš day and night an -n i-ši -ib2-si are equal.    54 ana d30 u dUTU u4-mu mu-ši ma-al-mališ ba-šim-ma    55 an -u r2-t a an-p a-šu2še3-a2-du3-a-bi From the horizon to the zenith im -t a -an -zu-zu-d e3 their tasks are assigned.    56 iš-tu i-šid AN-e ana e-lat AN-e a-dašú-nu ú-ta-ad-du-nu

The terms for “horizon,” išid šamê/AN.ÚR, and “zenith,” elât same/AN.PA, are broadly used in both the literary and celestial-science texts. 152 If this portion means to describe a specific point in time, rather than the equity of Sin’s and Šamaš’s responsibilities, then it must be referring to the vernal equinox, the ideal dates of which occur, according to MUL.APIN, on the 15th of Nisan and Tishri, respectively. 153 This interpretation makes little sense in context, however. With the portions divided and the responsibilities of night and day charged to the correct luminaries, An then describes the motion of the stars: 154    57 ab-sisin2-g i m i3-dur2-dur2-r e Like a furrow, all of the stars of e š -am3 mu l-an za3-t i l-bi heaven were put in order.    58 ki-ma ši-ir-’i su-un-nu-qu kak-kab AN-e gi-mir-šu-un    59 g u d-g im us2 b a-ab Like an ox, the gods in front se3-s e3- g a-e š-am3 were taught the way. dim3-m e -e r-dub -s ag -g a2-ar    60 ki-ma al-pi ú-sa šu-ḫu-zu DINGIR.MEŠ šu-ut maḫ-ri

As Lambert observed, though it does not use terminology identical to that in celestial science texts, this passage is clearly referring to the Paths of Ea, An

151. Hruška, “Inannas Erhöhung,” 484. 152. See also EE V 19–20. 153. MUL.APIN II ii 21, 31. Alternatively, this text could be referring to the OB dates for the equinoxes given in BM 17175 + 17284 (MUL.APIN 163–64), which are one month earlier. 154. Hruška, “Inannas Erhöhung,” 484–85.

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and Enlil. 155 The “gods in front” ilāni šūt maḫri are the stars which stand at the beginning of each Path: 156 DIŠ mul.gišAPIN den-líl a­ -lik pa-ni MUL. MEŠ šu-ut den-líl DIŠ mulAŠ.IKU šu-bat dé-a a-lik IGI MUL.MEŠ šu-ut da-nim DIŠ mulKU6 dé-a a-lik IGI MUL.MEŠ šu-ut dé-a

The Plow, Enlil, who goes in front of the stars of Enlil. The Field, the seat of Ea, who goes in front of the stars of An. The Fish, Ea, who goes in front of the stars of Ea.

If the Paths are like furrows, then the priority of mulAPIN, the Plow is—in the later canonical series that bears this name and from which these texts are excerpted—the perfect completion of the simile used by the author of the Exalta­ tion. Indeed, a commentary on EAE states this quite explicitly: 157 DIŠ mulAPIN a-na AB.SÍN šur-ri-i

The Plow is for the starting of the furrow.

In any case, as the first star in each Path, the Plow (mul.gišAPIN), the Field (mulAŠ. IKU) and the Fish (mulKU6) are the first to rise heliacally when the year begins on the first day of Nisan, and the remainder of the stars follow them through the horizon and along their path, like an ox in a furrow, through the course of the year. 158 Having clarified the heavenly order, An then declares Ištar’s authority, luminosity, location, and motion relative to the other celestial bodies: 159 155. Lambert, “Critical Notes,” 94; see also Brown, AA 253–54. 156. The three lines of the text presented here are from MUL.APIN I i 1, 40; and ii 19, respectively. 157. BPO 2, III 2 (= K 4292). 158. See also Francesca Rochberg, “Sheep and Cattle, Cows and Calves: The Sumero-Akkadian Gods as Livestock,” in Opening the Tablet Box: Near Eastern Stud­ ies in Honor of Benjamin R. Foster (ed. Sara C. Melville and Alice L. Slotsky; CHANE 42; Leiden: Brill, 2010) 351; as well as Wayne Horowitz, “Stars, Cows, Semicircles and Domes: Astronomical Creation Myths and the Mathematical Universe,” in A Woman of Valor: Jerusalem Ancient Near Eastern Studies in Honor of Joan Goodnick Westenholz (ed. Wayne Horowitz and Uri Gabbai; Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2010) 77. 159. The name and assignment given in the Akkadian (line 64), “Ištar, the Star of An,” is the equivalent of the Sumerian (line 63) dt i -mú-a. (“Brilliant-Life”?; mú = napāḫu). While the precise significance of the Sumerian epithet is not clear, dt i -mú-a is given as one of the names in AN = dA-nu-um IV 172–87, a section listing titles associated with dU+GÙN.MUL (= dIštar kakkabi); see Litke, AN: dA-nu-um, 160–61, line 176.

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III 61 k i-bi-a dinana nam -ni n -gu2-SA-bi To there, oh Ištar, to kingship, all s ag an -še3 u2-m i -n i -i n -[i l2]-l a of them exalt you!   62 a-šá-riš diš-tar a-na šar-ru-tu nap-ḫaršú-nu ru-tab-bi-ma   63 din -n in z a -e d i l-b ad -bi ḫe2-naIštar, you shall be the most brilnam dt i -mu2-a ḫe2-r i -i n-e -še liant of them, and let them call you “Ištar, the Star of   64 dMIN at-ti lu-ú na-bit-su-nu-ma diš-tar An”! MUL.AN liq-bu-ki   65 aa2-m in -na-bi -še3 an-t i -b a lTriumphantly, may your elevated dir i-g a-zu sunx-[BUR2]-na-bi position alternate next to ḫ e2-e n -b a l-b a l-e them.   66 i-da-as-su-nu šal-ṭiš lit-ta-kir šá-qu-ú na-an-za-az-ki

Ištar is exalted to “kingship,” šarrūtu, and, like Sin and Šamaš (lines 53–56, above), is assigned specific celestial motion. The planet Venus is the thirdbrightest object in the sky, after the sun and the moon. This trinity of assigned celestial authorities is described in an incantation against demons: 160 nanna dutu di nana-k e4 u l-ḫe2-a si - Sin, Šamaš and Ištar were ass a­­2-e -de­3 i m -ma-ni -i n-g ar signed to keep the firmament d in order. 30 d­UTU u diš-tar šu-puk AN-e­ana šute-šu-ri uk-tin-nu d

Ištar is to be the “most brilliant one of them,” nabīssunuma, in relation to the other stars and planets, obviously, rather than to the sun or moon. Forms of the verb nebû, “to be bright, brilliant,” are commonly used to describe Ištar, especially in her astral aspect of Dilbat/Venus: 161 dil-bad na-baṭ MUL.MEŠ ina imMAR. Venus, the brightest of the stars, TU appeared in the west [in the [ina KASKAL šu-u]t dé-a in-na-mir-ma path o]f Ea. mul

But Ištar is not simply the most brilliant star in the sky. She is to be the most brilliant of the leaders of the Paths (III 59/60). In Astrolabe B, recounting a different tradition from the tradition preserved in MUL.APIN I i 40 (above), the

160. The translation “firmament” follows Horowitz’s understanding of šupuk šamê (MCG, 239–40) as a part of the sky that is not necessarily the horizon, contra CAD Š/3 323–24. For the Akkadian line, see CT 16 19:59–61. For transliteration of a composite text, see Markham Geller, Evil Demons: Canonical Utukkū Lemnūtu Incantations (SAACT 5; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2007) 179 (tablet 16:25). 161. Leichty, RINAP 4 57 i 11′–ii 1.

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lead star of the Path of An is Dilbat/Venus. 162 As in III 63/64, Ištar’s status is also superlative here: 163 DIŠ MUL GAL ša UGU MUL.MEŠ GAL.MEŠ ša ina ZI imU17.LU GUB-zi KI.GUB KÚR.KÚR MAŠ MU ina d UTU.È MAŠ MU ina dUTU.ŠU.A MUL BI mul dil-bat a-lik pa-ni MUL.MEŠ šu-ut da-nim

The star which is greater than the great stars, which stands in the rising of the south wind – its position changes, half the year in the east, half the year in the west—that star is Dilbat, which goes in front of the stars of An.

Thus, in the Exaltation of Ištar, the gods should call her the “Star of An,” MUL. AN (III 64), not simply because she is a star of the sky/An but because she is considered the first star of the Path of An. Because Venus is a planet, its position is, of course, constantly changing. In the Exaltation of Ištar, this is described in specific celestial-science terminology. Ištar’s position, described here as nanzāzu (III 66), a by-form of the more typical manzāzu, is written orthographically in Astrolabe B (B ii 3) as KI.GUB. Notably, the alternate form, nanzāzu, is also used in lieu of the more common manzāzu in the secondary mythological introduction to EAE. 164 The verb used to describe the constant alteration of Ištar’s position is litta(k)kir (III 66), which is the standard verbal root (nakāru) used to describe the motion of the planets in celestial-science texts. 165 In Astrolabe B (B II 3), for example (cited above), it is written logographically KÚR.KÚR. An concludes Ištar’s astralization by noting the brightness of her radiance, which is so bright that it can even be seen next to Sin and Šamaš: III 67 k i-e n -nu -un dsue n-na d utu -bi-d a-t a si -zu gu2 ḫ e2-e n -m e -e r-m e -r e   68 it-ti ma-aṣ-ṣar-ti šá d30 u dUTU šá-ruur-ka li-iḫ-nu-ub

May your brilliance increase with the watches of Sin and Šamaš!

162. This is the case in several of the astrolabes, including such late texts as BM 82923 from Sippar, which dates to the second half of the 1st millennium; Christopher Walker and Hermann Hunger, “Zwölfmaldrei,” MDOG 109 (1977) 27. 163. Astrolabe B B II 1–5. See also BM 82923 (Walker and Hunger, “Zwölfmaldrei,” 27), line 2: [DIŠ mulDIL.BAT] 1,40 RI MUL.MEŠ, “Dilbat, 1,40, the brightest (RI = nebû/ nabāṭu) of the stars.” 164. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 16′). 165. See, for example, MUL.APIN II i 40.

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iz i- gar su-li m - BUR2-BUR2a -z u an-š a3-g a ši -i m -d a-k ar2kar2-r a -ab(?)   70 šá-lum-mat di-pa-ri-ki šit-pu-tu4 ina qírib AN-e lit-tan-paḫ i-[zi-ga]-ri

May the flaring spark of your torch light up in the sky!

As we have seen, the word šarūru is a particularly common term used to describe heavenly bodies in both celestial-science texts and literary texts. 166 The term maṣṣartu (“watch”) in 1st-millennium celestial-science texts can refer to either three specific time periods of the night or to celestial observation in general. 167 Although it comes from an extremely fragmentary context, a passage in EE tablet V 46 notes that the “watches of day and night” (ma-aṣ-rat mu-ši u i[m-mi] are created as part of the ideal celestial and chronological schemes established by Marduk after his victory over Tiamat. 168 In celestial science of the 1st millennium, watches of the sun or moon referred to specific occasions on which these bodies were being observed specifically for mantic phenomena. Watches of this sort were normally focused on whether or not a solar or lunar eclipse would occur, though occasionally it was the neomenia that was anticipated. 169 Thus Balasi, one of the celestial diviners working for the Neo-Assyrian monarchs wrote to calm the king: 170 ina UGU ma-ṣar-ti šá d30 šá LUGAL be-lí iš-pur-an-ni ú-še-taq la i-šak-kan ina UGU ma-ṣar-ti šá dUTU ša LUGAL be-lí iš-pur-an-ni LUGAL be-li2 la ú-da! ki-i da-aʾ-nu-tú-[ni]

Concerning the watch of the Moon about which the king, my lord, wrote to me, (the eclipse) will pass by, it will not occur. Concerning the watch of the Sun about which the king, my lord, wrote to me, does the king, my lord, not know that it is being

166. For references, see CAD Š/2 141–43. I am unaware of any use of the verb ḫanābu in any celestial-science text. It is attested, however, in personal names that have a theophoric element referring to Ištar (see CAD Ḫ 76). Interestingly, these names date to the MB period, as does the text under discussion here. 167. EN.NUN.AN.TA, “the evening watch,” EN.NUN.MURUB4.BA, “the middle watch,” EN.NUN.UD.ZAL.LI, “the morning watch”; see, e.g., Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 202–3 (Koch’s edition of the Sargonid Compilation, lines 290–92). 168. See discussion, §3.3.8.3 below. 169. For “watch of the moon” for possible lunar eclipses, see: SAA 8 87:rev. 1, 464:6; 10 128:8–9, 143:8, 146:2, 159:2, 538:rev. 7′–9′; for “watch of the sun” as referring to observation for a possible solar eclipse, see: SAA 8 47:1; 10 45:rev. 1–10, 170:rev. 5–7; see also SAA 10 347:rev. 8 and 363:9–10. For a “watch of the moon” to observe the new moon, see: SAA 8 79:5; 10 145:3′–5′. For uncertain lunar and solar watches, see SAA 10 119:3, 5; and 144:7. 170. SAA 10 46:8–rev. 4.

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature UD-mu ša ši-i-[a-ri] [š]u !-ú ú-de-e-šú ma-ṣar-tú ga-[am-rat] ú-še-taq-ma la i-šak-kan

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closely observed? The day of tomor[row] is the only (day left); once the watch is over, (this eclipse), too, will have passed by, it will not occur.

At the very least, the author of the Exaltation is expressing the desire that, even when the light of the sun or moon is darkened due to an eclipse, Venus itself should continue to be bright. It is possible that he is making specific reference to the planet Venus as it appears during the time in which a diviner might normally be focused on the sun or the moon. If this is the case, the author is asserting that Venus is still of principal importance even when the sun and moon are their most pregnant with mantic possibilities. 171 Ištar’s astral aspect is called her “torch,” dipāru, a common metaphor for celestial bodies and one that we have seen used to describe both the Sebitti and Išum in Erra and Išum (§3.2.3.1.1, above), as well as the astral Girra. 172 The verb napāḫu (logographically written KUR) is quite common in celestial-divination texts, where it refers to a celestial body’s rising. The narrative then departs completely from its celestial setting. An installs Ištar in the Eanna temple and bedecks her with the attire befitting a deity (III 71–91). This is followed by a lengthy hymn praising Ištar’s martial prowess and patronage (IV). Since the final tablet is missing, the conclusion of the story is unknown. 3.3.7.3.  The Exaltation of Ištar: Conclusion. The Exaltation of Ištar exhibits an abundance of direct and indirect reflexes of the celestial sciences in ancient Iraq. The story features Ištar in its lead role, often explicitly in her astral manifestation as the planet Venus, as indicated by the specific epithets and 171. It seems unlikely that the author was asserting that the planet was actually visible during the daytime when there was no solar eclipse, though such an unlikely phenomenon is known in the mantic corpus: muldil-bat ina ur-ri IGI DAM.MEŠ LÚ.MEŠ ana DAM-ši-na NU TUŠ.MEŠ EGIR NITA.MEŠ-ši-na i-dul-la, “If Venus becomes visible at daylight: men’s wives will not stay with their husbands but run behind their men” (BPO 3, 48–49: 91 = VAT 10218 iii 15′). See also the various appearances of Venus with a solar disc (šamšatu, precise meaning uncertain), SOEAE 24 III 5–9, 11, 36. The primary significant characteristics of lunar eclipses tend to be the months in which they occur, the direction of the shadow covering and then clearing the moon, the duration and watch of the eclipse, the direction of the wind, and so forth. Appearances of other celestial bodies, such as the planet Venus, during the eclipse (or potential eclipse) are less significant mantically. Nonetheless, there are several examples: Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 179–80, lines 5–8; 206, line 8 (both EAE 20); SAA 10 75:12–14. 172. CT 26 49; see also Weidner, Handbuch, 28.

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adjectives employed to describe her: Ninšubur/Iliabrat, nabīssunima, MUL. AN, dipāru napāḫu. Moreover, the author uses terminology common to celestial-science texts, such as zīzāti zûzu and nanzāzu nakāru. Furthmore, concepts that are typical of the celestial sciences are used, such as the (mantic?) significance of the watches of the sun and the moon. In both the Exaltation of Ištar and celestial-science literature, one can identify the idea that the stars are arranged in paths in the sky; these are likened to a furrow, šurru—and Ištar herself is the leader of one of these paths, the Path of An.

3.3.8.  Cosmic Conflict and the Foundations of Celestial Divination: Enūma Eliš The ultimate expression of the conflict myth in the Mesopotamian tradition is Enūma Eliš (EE). This well-known epic tells the story of the cosmic crisis initiated by the force of chaos, Tiamat, who creates an army of monsters in order to seize power among the gods. The gods offer Marduk supremacy in exchange for his martial services. He accepts, defeats Tiamat and her cohort, and ultimately fashions the cosmos from her carcass. Thus, EE is the Babylonian story of creation and, as such, is the text that is most abundant in catasterisms. Unlike the previous myths surveyed, EE provides a comprehensive description of the celestial order, the details of which provide us with certainty that this order is defined as the Ideal Calendar, and the primary purpose of the calendar was to provide a framework for the tradition of celestial divination. This is an aspect of catasterism in Mesopotamia that does not appear or is, at best, only hinted at in the myths examined above (see, for example, the allusion to the Paths of An, Enlil, and Ea, Ištar/Dilbat’s importance in the Path of An, and the watches of the sun and moon in the Exaltation of Ištar). Thus, as David Brown astutely argues, the main thrust of the creation account is the establishment of the new cosmic order, not solely in regard to the primacy of Babylon and its chief deity, Marduk, but also and not secondarily in regard to the establishment of the practice of celestial divination, perhaps even as a function of Babylon and Marduk’s supremacy. 173 3.3.8.1.  Tablets I–III.  Following a brief theogony, which describes the origin of the gods out of the primal beings Apsu and Tiamat (I 1–20), the new gods’ presence irritates Apsu, who together with his adviser Mummu complains to Tiamat (I 21–46). Tiamat is unresponsive, so Apsu and Mummu scheme on their own to destroy the new gods (I 47–54). The new gods are aware of Apsu and Mummu’s intentions, and one of their number, Ea, takes action. He slays Apsu, imprisons Mummu, and he and his wife set up their residence in Apsu’s corpse (I 55–78). 173. Brown, AA, 235–36.

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In their new homestead, Ea and his wife, Damkina, give birth to a son, Marduk, whose stature and might rival that of all of the gods (I 79–104). The proud grandfather, An, creates the winds as a toy for Marduk (I 105–6). The boy’s playing is obnoxiously loud, so the old gods complain to Tiamat, citing her inaction in the loss of Apsu (I 108–24). Tiamat is finally moved to act, and she sets about manufacturing an arsenal and an army of monsters with which to exterminate the new gods: 174

174. Text based on Phillipe Talon, The Standard Babylonian Creation Myth Enūma Eliš (SAACT 4; Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press, 2005), with minor modifications. See also W. Lambert, Enūma Eliš—The Babylonian Epic of Creation: The Cuneiform Text (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966). Stephanie Dalley reproposes the idea, originally expressed by F. Hommel (Aufsä­ tze und Abhandlungen arabistisch-semitologischen Inhalts [Munich: Franz, 1892–1901] 360–70) that at least some of these monstrous spawn are derived from constellations; she suggests further that, in EE, existence as these constellations is held to be the monsters’ final destiny: In Enūma eliš . . . Marduk’s role as the god who set the celestial bodies in the sky and regulated astronomical movements required the authority of the sky god Anu, and so he took the power of Anu, anūtu, from Qingu, and formed the sky and its heavenly bodies from his slain opponents, many of which have names which are also given to stars or parts of constellations. (Dalley, “Statues of Marduk and the Date of Enūma Eliš,” AoF 24 [1997] 170)

Dalley is correct that some of these monsters’ names are also those given to constellations; bašmu, MUŠ.ḪUŠ/mušḫuššu, and kusarikku are all constellation names addressed in one or another version of the OB Prayer to the Gods of the Night (see Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 196, lines 18–20). The constellation UR.IDIM/uridimmu, “the Wild Dog,” is a well-attested constellation in late-2nd and 1st-millennium celestial-science texts, such as MUL.APIN (I ii 28; I iii 1, 23, 33). Though some of these monsters are constellations, however, there is no reason to think that the author of EE conceived of them in their astral aspect. As Lambert has demonstrated, this list of monsters is, like other parts of EE, highly reliant on the Anzû and Lugal-e myths (Lambert, “Ninurta Mythology,” 56–57). These monsters are stock features of Mesopotamian conflict mythology. That Mesopotamian scribes do not conceive of such monsters as astral is further indicated by Šurpu VIII 6–9 (Erica Reiner, Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations [AfOB 11; Graz, 1958] 39): ÉN šu-ut A.MEŠ ÍD u na-ba-li ba-aš-mu [. . .] UR.IDIM.MA ku-sa-rik-ku KU6.LÚ.U18.LU SUḪUR.[MA]Š.ḪA u4-mu ša IGI EN pu-luḫ-tú ḫur-ba-šu nam[ri-ri . . .] na-din A.MEŠ ŠU.II DUḪ.[MEŠ-ka BÚR. MEŠ-ka]

An incantation. Those of the water, river, and land: the Serpent, [. . .] the Wild Dog, the Bison, the Fish Man, the Goat Fish, the tempest which is in front of the Lord, fear, cold-terror, rev[erence . . .] The one who supplies the water (for your) hands, may he release [you, may he free you.]

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I 141 uš-zi-iz ba-aš-mu MUŠ.ḪUŠ ù d la-ḫa-mu

She brought into being the Serpent, the Furious Serpent, the Hairy Monster,   142 UD.GAL.MEŠ UR.IDIM.MEŠ GIR.TAB. the Lion Monsters, the Wild LÚ.U18.LU Dogs, the Scorpion Man,   143 u­4-mi da-ab-ru-ti KU6.LÚ.U18.LU.U18 ù belligerent tempests, the Fish ku-sa-rik-kum Man, the Bison,   144 na-ši kak-ku la pa-du-ú la a-di-ru who wield merciless weapons, ta-ḫa-zi fearless of combat.

Tiamat also creates Qingu, her husband, as commander of her monster army and, in order to establish a foil for Marduk in his forthcoming ascendancy, commander of the gods in general (I 147–62). To confirm this power, she entrusts him with the tablet of destinies. Thus prepared, Tiamat sets her forces in battle array and informs Ea that she is prepared for combat (II 1–6). Ea apprises Anšar of the situation, and Anšar, blaming Ea on account of his killing of the Apsu, orders Ea to subdue Tiamat and her army (II 7–79). Terrified by the imposing sight of the enemy force, Ea does not even engage them, and he hurries back to Anšar (II 80–94). Anšar then sends An, who also succumbs to fear before he engages the enemy and returns to Anšar, who can think of no other champion (II 95–126). Though all seems lost, Ea realizes that the time is right for Marduk to present himself to Anšar (II 127–35). Marduk does so, offering to quash the menacing force in exchange for supremacy over the gods (II 136–63). Anšar sends his minister, Kaka, to inform Laḫmu and Laḫamu, Anšar’s ancestors, of the situation and the resultant offer that Marduk has made (III 1–124). The frightened Laḫmu and Laḫamu assemble the gods and, after feasting and drinking a great deal, make the decision to grant Marduk supremacy in exchange for his martial skills (III 125–38). 3.3.8.2.  Tablet IV.  The gods, rejoicing in their decision to bestow divine supremacy on Marduk, praise him and construct his throne (IV 1–18). The matter is, however, not wholly decided because, before they will truly anoint Marduk, they choose to administer a test of his powers: Of the monsters associated with constellations in EE I 141–44, only MUŠ.ḪUŠ/ mušḫuššu does not appear in this passage (though it could be in the lacuna in line 6); the scribe locates all of the others expressly in the water or on dry land. Even Dalley’s contention that Marduk “formed the sky and its heavenly bodies from his slain opponents” is misleading. Only parts of Tiamat herself had a celestial fate of this sort. Marduk disposes of her monster spawn less nobly. Marduk captures them (IV 115–18), leads them off into captivity, and ultimately sets them up as protective geniuses at the gate of the Apsu (V 73–76), not in the sky (see F. Wiggerman, Babylonian Prophy­ lactic Figurines: The Ritual Texts [Amsterdam: Free University Press, 1986] 268–323).

Celestial Science in Mesopotamian Literature IV 19 uš-zi-zu-ma i-na bi-ri-šú-nu lu-ma-šá iš-tin   20 an dAMAR.UTU bu-uk-ri-šu-nu šu-nu iz-zak-ru   21 ši-mat-ka be-lum lu-ú maḫ-rat DINGIR. DINGIR-ma   22 a-ba-tum ù ba-nu-ú qí-bi li-ik-tu-nu   23 ep-šú pi-i-ka li-ʾa-a-bit lu-ma-šu   24 tu-ur qí-bi-šum-ma lu-ma-šu li-iš-lim   25 iq-bi-ma i-na pi-i-šu i’-a-bit lu-ma-šu   26 i-tur iq-bi-šum-ma lu-ma-šu it-tab-ni   27 ki-ma ṣi-it pi-i-šu i-mu-ru DINGIR. DINGIR AD.AD-šu   28 iḫ-du-ú ik-ru-bu dAMAR.UTU-ma LUGAL

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They set up in their midst a single constellation. To Marduk their son they spoke: “Your fate, oh lord, will be foremost of the gods. Decree destruction or creation—it shall be so. Let your (mere) command destroy the constellation. Command it again and let the constellation be whole.” He commanded and with his word the constellation was destroyed. Again he commanded and the constellation was re-created. When the gods, his fathers, witnessed his utterance, they rejoiced, they honored (him), “Marduk is king!”

That the destruction and creation of a constellation is the sole test of Marduk’s worthiness is notable. Though Horowitz has suggested that this act is indicative of a specific celestial phenomenon (that is, the disappearance and reappearance of constellations on the horizon at sunrise and sunset), the significance of this passage is much more than etiological. 175 The gods wish to verify whether Marduk can, as he claims, destroy what a god has created. In the test, the target is a lumāšu, the common Akkadian term for a constellation. In the battle to come, the target will be the monster spawn of Tiamat. Indeed, the parallel drawn here between the constellation and Tiamat’s army seems to lend at least some credence to Dalley’s suggestion, which I have rejected (see n.  176 above). In any case, the question posed to Marduk is this: after destroying beings that are made from the very fabric of the cosmos, can you create a new cosmic order? In the old cosmic order, Tiamat created from her very own substance wicked monsters to oppress the gods. In the order that is to come, Marduk will create abodes for the gods and their images in the matrix of that same substance. 176 Moreover, this pericope establishes the groundwork for a Babylon/ Marduk-centered celestial etiology. In the mythological traditions preserved 175. “In nature, constellations appear to disintegrate and reassemble as the individual stars that comprise the constellation appear and disappear separately at dusk and dawn, or rise and set separately over the horizon” (Horowitz, MCG, 111). 176. Similarly, see Albani, Der eine Gott, 53–61.

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in EAE 1 and 22, An, Enlil, and Ea are responsible for the fabrication of the starry heavens. 177 This assumption is also the background for the Exaltation of Ištar (§3.3.7), but it cannot be valid if Marduk is to be supreme. Thus, the gods, including An and Ea, who in the previous tradition are responsible for the creation of the heavens, create a constellation (Enlil is irrelevant in the story, since his place is taken by Marduk). Marduk’s act of destroying that constellation and recreating it is indicative of the passing of the power of celestial creation from the gods formerly considered by the Mesopotamian tradition to be responsible to the one who is now, according to the new Babylon-centered theology of EE, considered similarly responsible. Their new champion authenticated, the gods outfit Marduk with weapons and transportation and send him off to Tiamat, so that the battle might be joined (IV 29–64). With the gods anxiously looking on, Marduk approaches the enemy force (IV 65–70). After Tiamat unsuccessfully attempts to confound Marduk by pointing out the fickleness of his entourage, Marduk challenges Tiamat directly by rebuking her for her endeavor to kill her own children (IV 71–86). An enraged Tiamat rushes Marduk, who captures her in his net, fills her with wind, and bursts her with an arrow (IV 87–103). Having witnessed this and seeing Marduk standing triumphantly on Tiamat’s corpse, her army scatters (IV 104–10). Marduk is nevertheless able to capture them all, including Qingu, from whom he seizes the tablet of destinies (IV 111–22). The victorious Marduk then mutilates Tiamat’s corpse, fashioning from it the highest heaven, the residence of An, with the Ešarra, the residence of Enlil, just below it and as a counterpart of the Apsu, the residence of Ea (VI 123–46). 178 3.3.8.3.  Tablet V.  Marduk proceeds to organize and decorate the canvas consisting of Tiamat’s body with the stars and other celestial features: 179 ú-ba-áš-šim man-za-za an DINGIR. DINGIR GAL.GAL  2 MUL.MEŠ tam-šil-šu-nu lu-ma-ši uš-zi-iz V1

He fashioned the position for the great gods, the stars, their counterparts, the constellations he installed.

177. EAE 1: Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 9 (ACh‚ Sîn 1 = VAT 7827), 13 (translation); EAE 22: Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 14′–20′). 178. For a more detailed description of the passage, including a diagram, see Livingstone, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works, 79–81. 179. For this passage, see also Landsberger and Kinnier Wilson, “The Fifth Tablet,” 154–79. It is uncertain why the singular “position” is used rather than the plural in line 1.

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Thus, Marduk officially takes the place of An, Enlil, and Ea as the creator of the stars and constellations; the three deities had been described as creators in the mythological introductions of EAE 1 and, especially, EAE 22: 180 e-nu da-nu dEN.LÍL u dÉ.A DINGIR. MEŠ GAL.MEŠ AN-e u KI-ta ib-nu-ú ú-ad-du-ú gis-kim-ma ú-kin-nu na-an-za-za-[ti ú-š]ar-ši-du gi-is-gal- la DINGIR.MEŠ mu-ši-tim ú-[. . . . .] ú-zai-zu ḫar-ra-ni MUL.MEŠ tam-ši-li-[šu-nu e-ṣ]i-ru lu-ma-[ši]

When An, Enlil, and Ea, the great gods created heaven and earth, they revealed the omens, they established the position[ns, they f]ounded the stations of the gods of the night, they [. . . . .] they divided the paths of the stars; (as) their counterparts they drew the constellations.

Both EE V 1–2 and EAE 22 refer to the positions of the gods (manzāzū and nanzāzū), their counterparts (tamšilū), and their constellations (lumāšū). 181 In Marduk’s new cosmos, these constellations are to be organized: 182 V 3 ú-ad-di MU.AN.NA mi-iṣ-ra-ta ú-ma-aṣ-ṣir  4 12 ITU.MEŠ MUL.MEŠ 3.TA-ÀM uš-zi-iz

He determined the year, laid out the plan, (For) each of the 12 months he set up three stars.

180. EAE 22: Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 14′–20′). 181. Landsberger and Kinnier Wilson argued that in EE V 1 man-za-za refers, not to the concept of “station” which is ubiquitous in celestial-science texts, but to the term’s use in regard to temple furniture (“The Fifth Tablet,” 170–72). Thus, EE V 1 does not indicate the concept of a star’s position but “is properly at home when used in connection with the temple, their application to the heavens being explainable because the ‘Standorte’ of ‘Sitzplätze’ of the gods in the temple have their replica in the heavens” (“The Fifth Tablet” 171). Although it is difficult to determine to what extent the scribes really separated these two concepts, the idea that the term manzāzu would be used here to the exclusion of its technical, astral meaning is absurd, given the density of specific, technical celestial-science terminology and concepts related in this passage! 182. Horowitz (MCG, 115), following Landsberger and Kinnier Wilson (“The Fifth Tablet,” 157), translates line 3: “He fixed the year, drew the boundary-lines.” He argues that this is referring to the circular astrolabes (e.g., CT 33 11–12) in which the “stars are located in individual zones that are delineated by lines” (MCG, 115). These lines, Horowitz suggests, “are comparable to the borders that Marduk draws in the sky.” Although it is tempting to read this in this way, the vast majority of the astrolabes are lists rather than circular (see list provided in Horowitz, MCG, 155). Furthermore, the circular astrolabes date entirely to the NA period, and we have no reason to believe that they are not a NA innovation and thus are too late to have inspired these lines.

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This refers to the astrolabes’ organizing principle, which ideally prescribes three stars to rise heliacally each month, one each for the Paths of An, Enlil, and Ea (§2.4.5). The astrolabes were known anciently as MUL.MEŠ 3.TA.ÀM, as attested in SAA 8 19:rev. 1–7: 183 LI.U5.UM am-mì-u ša UD AN EN.LÍL ša ni-iš-ṭur-u-ni lu-še-ri-bu-u-ni LUGAL be-li le-mur giš

ù gišle-’u ak-ka-du-u ša LUGAL lid-di-nu-na-ši MUL.MEŠ 3.TA.ÀM ina pu-u-ti ina ŠÀ-bi le-ṣi-ru

Let them bring in that writing tablet of Enūma Anu Enlil which we wrote, and let the King, my lord, see. And let them bring us the King’s Akkadian writing tablet. Let 3-Stars-Each be written on it according to it.

Thus, Marduk is depicted as setting out the ideal stellar scheme described in the astrolabes and MUL.APIN I ii 36–iii 12. Having established the general framework in which the stars find their places, Marduk creates a mechanism to regulate and guide the stars, as well as the portals through which they should enter:  5 iš-tu UD-mi ša MU.AN.NA uṣ-ṣ[i-ru] ú-ṣu-ra-ti  6 ú-šar-šid man-za-az dné-bé-ri ana uddu-u rik-si-šú-un  7  8  9  10

After he had drawn the demarcations for the year, He fixed the position of the Crossing to determine their bonds a-na la e-piš an-ni la e-gu-ú ma-na-ma And that none should act incorrectly, be neglectful at all. man-za-az dEN-LÍL u dÉ.A ú-kin it-ti-šu He established with it the position of Enlil and Ea. ip-te-ma KÁ.GAL.MEŠ ina ṣe-li Gates he opened on both sides (of ki-lal-la-an the heaven), ši-ga-ru ú-dan-ni-na šu-me-la u im-na Made fast the locks to left and right.

The star known as the Crossing, d/mulnēberu, is assigned the task of leading the stars. 184 Here, the Crossing is relegated to a particular duty, together with the position of Enlil and Ea. Horowitz astutely observed that, in Astrolabe B, the Crossing and the positions of “Enlil and Ea are identified with either the last month of the old year (Adar), or the first month of the new year (Nisan).” 185 In 183. The title was first identified by A. Schott, “Das Werden der babylonisch-assyrischen Positions-Astronomie und einege seiner Bedingungen,” ZDMG 88 (1934) 311 n. 2. 184. More specifics regarding the Ferry’s task as well as its identity will be discussed below, §3.3.8.4. 185. Horowitz, MCG, 116; see also idem, “The Astrolabes,” 109–10 .

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Astrolabe B, the Crossing is listed last in the Path of An: 186 MUL SA5 ša ina ZI imU17.LU EGIR DINGIR.MEŠ GE6-ti ug-da-mi-ru-nim-ma AN-e BAR-ma GUB-iz MUL BI dné-béru dAMAR.UTU

The red star which stands in the rising of the south wind after the gods of the night are completely accumulated(?) and divides the sky—that star is the Crossing, Marduk.

Similarly, stars that are identified with the god Enlil are placed first in the path of Enlil, and stars identified with Ea are placed last in the Path of Ea: 187 APIN . . . dEN.LÍL šá ši-mat KUR i-šim-[mu]

The Plow . . . is Enlil who sets the fate of the land.

KU6 dÉ.A

The Fish is Ea.

mul.giš

mul

Together, these three stars are to lead/follow the stars in their respective Paths and keep them in line and on time. 188 Horowitz even argues that this is not merely an abstract statement asserting an ideal principal (that the Crossing, since it is associated with Marduk, regulates the others) but that it is, rather, a reference to the physical layout of Astrolabe B, as it is preserved in KAV 218. On this particular copy, the description of nēberu (above) literally hangs below Section B in the center column listing the stars in the Path of An; it thus forms a visual bridge between the end of the year as described in that section and the beginning of the year in the following Section C. 189 Having established the ideal stellar pattern, Marduk moves on to creating the moon and its regular cycle:  11

ina ka-bat-ti-šá-ma iš-ta-kan e-la-a-ti

 12

d

 13

ú-ad-di-šum-ma šu-uk-nat mu-ši a-na ud-du-ú u4-mi

NANNA-ru uš-te-pa-a mu-šá iq-ti-pa

In her (Tiamat’s) belly he set the heights of heaven. He made Nanna appear, entrusted the night (to him). He confirmed him as the adornment of the night to define the days.

186. Astrolabe B B ii 29–32. 187. The two lines presented here are from Astrolabe B B iii 1–3; and i 27. In MUL.APIN I ii 19, mulKU6 is the first star in the Path of Ea: DIŠ mulKU6 dÉ.A a-lik IGI MUL.MEŠ šu-ut dÉ.A, “The Fish, Ea, who goes in front of the stars of Ea.” 188. This is the same situation described in Exaltation of Ištar III 57–66 (above, §3.3.7.2), which instead focuses on the role of Dilbat/Venus as leader of the Path of An. 189. Astrolabe B B ii rev. 10–13. The copy in KAV 218 obscures the physical layout of the actual tablet; see diagrams and discussion in Horowitz, “The Astrolabes,” 104–5, 109–10. Reference in EE to Astrolabe B’s textual arrangement is also found, Horowitz claims, in EE VII 124–27.

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 14 ar-ḫi-šam la na-par-ka-a ina a-ge-e ú-ṣir Every month, without ceasing, he marked off by a crown.  15 i-na SAG ITU-ma na-pa-ḫi e-li ma-a-ti “When the New Moon lights up over the land,  16 qar-ni na-ba-a-ta ana ud-du-ú 6 u4-mi you shine with horns to define six days,  17 i-na UD 7.KAM a-ga-a [maš]-la on the seventh day, as a half-crown.  18 [šá]-pat-tu lu-ú šu-tam-ḫu-rat mi-[šil On the fifteenth day, you should ar-ḫi]-šam be in balance (to the Sun) every half month.  19 i-nu-ma dUTU ina i-šid AN-e ina-[aṭWhen the Sun watches you from ṭa-l]u-ka the base of heaven,  20 ina si-im-ti šu-tak-ṣi-ba-am-ma bi-ni wane and grow backwards ar-ka-niš appropriately.  21 UD bu-ub-bu-lum a-na ḫar-ra-an dUTU On the day of disappearance, apšu-taq-rib-ma proach the path of the Sun,  22 šá [UD]30-KAM lu šu-tam-ḫu-rat dUTU that on the 30th day, you should lu šá-na-at again be in balance to the Sun.

Marduk sets the moon in the heights of heaven, elâti, and orders him to define the days, uddu ūmī. Thus, the moon’s motion is to define the daily passage of time. Each month is to be indicated by the moon’s crown, agû. Though in EAE, the moon’s crown seems to refer to a number of phenomena, in the reports, this is often merely a synonym for the appearance of the moon on the first day of the month, rather than on the 30th day of the previous month. 190 The completion of the 30-day ideal month, signified by the appearance of the crown of the moon on the first, was considered auspicious: 191 DIŠ 30 ina IGI.LÁL-šú AGA a-pir LUGAL SAG.KAL-tú DU-ak UD.1.KÁM IGI-ma

If the Moon, when it appears, is wearing a crown, the king will reach preeminence. It is seen in the first day.

The next phase of the moon (that is, the first quarter) is described as a halfcrown, an event which is to take place on the seventh day of the month. On the fifteenth day, šapattu, the moon’s position in relation to that of the sun is described as being šutamḫurat, “of equal size” or “in balance.” 192 This verb also 190. Lunar agû omens are the topic of Tablet 3 of the series; for possible meanings of agû in these contexts, see Lorenzo Verderame, “Enūma Anu Enlil Tablets 1–13,” in Under One Sky: Astronomy and Mathematics in the Ancient Near East (AOAT 297; eds. John M. Steele and A. Imhausen; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2002) 450 and Le Tavole I-VI, 59–100. 191. SAA 8 372:1–3. 192. The latter definition is suggested by Talon, Enūma Eliš, 95, see also 117.

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describes, in line 22, the 30th day of the month. The verb šutamḫuru does not occur in celestial science texts. 193 As Vanstiphout argues, the term therefore cannot be a technical term, indicating both opposition (when the moon and the sun are, at sunset, at opposite horizons, 180 degrees from each other) and conjunction. 194 The word in this context seems to mean just that the two are in balance and/or of equal size. 195 The moon is at its fullest at opposition, and it would then appear equal in size to the sun; at conjunction, the moon is capable of blotting out the sun’s disc altogether. It is logical, then, that at these points in the month, the two would be considered most equal. After mid-month, the moon wanes until, at the end of the month, it nears its disappearance, bubbulu (V 21). In celestial divination, this too must take place in an ideal manner. If it does not do so, it is ominous: 196 DIŠ ina ša-me-e i-lu-um i-na u4-mi bi-bu-li-im ar-ḫi-iš la it-ba-al a-ru-úr-tum i-na ma-a-tim iš-ša-ka-an

If the god (Sin) does not disappear promptly in the sky on the day of the Moon’s disappearance, there will be famine in the land.

According to EE V 21, the moon should, while approaching the day of its disappearance, also near the path of the sun (ḫarrān Šamši). 197 MUL.APIN maintains that the sun shares its path with the moon: 198 193. Note, however, that mitḫuru does occur in celestial science texts, meaning “to be in conjunction” (see SAA 8 288:8–10). Note also the verb’s use in ACh Supp. XI 12 and 14 (= Sm 1931, Verderame, Le Tavole I–VI, 130 line r3′ and 5′). 194. H. Vanstiphout, “Enūma Eliš: Tablet V 15–22,” JCS 33 (1981): 196. Vanstiphout argues that V 15–22 describes one and a half months and reconstructs line 22 as šá​ [-pat-tu MÌN.]KÁM lu šu-tam-ḫu-rat dUTU lu šá-na-at, “So that the next fifteenth day(‘s moon) will be again equal to the sun” (Vanstiphout, “Enūma Eliš: Tablet V 15–22,” 197) . This is not a time period with any mythical or celestial significance. His suggested reading has been rejected, as a survey of recent translation suggests (see, for example, Foster, BM, 463–64, who nevertheless translates the term as “conjunction” and “opposition” respectively; see also Talon, Enūma Eliš, 57 and 95, line 22). 195. This is in concord with the other uses of the verb in this stem; see CAD M/1 70 for references. 196. Horowitz, “Astral Tablets,” 204–5, lines 8–10. 197. I am tempted to interpret this as an indication that the author recognized that the sun and moon actually have different paths that intersect at two points (the lunar nodes), since the solar and lunar planes are not identical but differ in incline by about five degrees. It is possible that the author of EE recognized this and considered these nodes to be the ideal locations of the moon at the end of every month. There is no indication, however, that there was any understanding of this until the NA period, at the very earliest. 198. MUL.APIN II i 1.

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The path that Sin travels, Šamaš travels.

EE V 21 does not imply another tradition, that the sun and the moon have different paths, but that, as the lunar month comes to a close, the moon simply approaches the actual position of the sun. Marduk, having thus established the regular, ideal celestial motions of the night, summarizes their collective purpose: 199 V 23 ú-[ad-di-m]a GISKIM ba-’i-i ú-ru-uḫ-šá (Thus), I defined the omens; go on its course!  24 za-m[i- x x] šu-taq-ri-ba-ma di-na di-na ? . . . . . approach each other, render judgment  25 lip-[ dUTU NIM?-MA?-TÚ? da-a-ka] may . . . the Sun . . . killing, ḫa-ba-la lawlessness  26 áš-[ -in]-ni ia-a-ti . . . . . . . . me

GISKIM/giskimmu is the term commonly used to refer to omens in celestial divination literature. The secondary mythological introduction of EAE 22 describes creation in very similar wording: e-nu da-nu dEN.LÍL u dÉ.A DINGIR. MEŠ GAL.MEŠ AN-e u KI-ta ib-nu-ú ú-ad-du-ú gis-kim-ma

When An, Enlil, and Ea, the great gods created heaven and earth, they revealed the omens. . . .

The term giskimmu is not necessarily used to describe celestial omens alone, however. The Babylonian Diviner’s Manual considers giskimmu to be both celestial and terrestrial: 200 AN-e u KI-tim UR.BI GIŠ.GIM.MA ub-ba-lu-ni a-ḫe-en-na-a ul BAR.MEŠ AN u KI it-ḫu-zu

The heavens and the earth together bring us omens separately, (but) they are not adverse (to each other); the heavens and earth are related to each other.

Although the text of V 23–26 is incomplete, it seems clear from what remains that it links celestial omens with righteous judgments (V 23–26). It seems that Marduk’s heavens are a cosmic feature that exists primarily to provide guidance 199. Perhaps compare line 25 with the solar omen in SOEAE 27 III 4 [DIŠ MAN ina GAL-šú SIG7?] ḫa-ba-la-a-tum u š[ag-ga-šá-a-tum], “[If the sun, when it sets is yellow:?] there will be lawlessness and carnage.” 200. Oppenheim, “Diviner’s Manual,” 200, lines 39–40.

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through omens so that good judgments can be made. That is to say, the celestial order’s primary purpose is to provide a platform for celestial divination. Marduk continues his celestial construction. In an extremely fragmentary passage, he defines the ideal solar movement (V 27–44) and creates the weather from Tiamat’s phlegm (V 45–52). 201 He then forms the terrestrial water sources, the Tigris and Euphrates, from her decapitated head (V 53–58) and secures the whole cosmos with the sundry bits that remain (V 59–66). Marduk then entrusts the tablet of destinies to An and fixes Tiamat’s monster spawn army as prophylactic geniuses at the gate of the Apsu (V 67–76). Seeing that the conflict is over and that most of the combatants have been conclusively dealt with, the gods joyfully celebrate Marduk’s victory and confirm his kingship, while he appropriately dons royal regalia (V 77–116). With the heavenly abode of the gods having been previously established (IV 123–46), Marduk creates the city of Babylon as an earthly divine residence for the whole pantheon (V 117–56). 3.3.8.4.  Tablets VI–VII.  Having built celestial and terrestrial homes for the gods, Marduk decides to create humankind to serve them (VI 1–16). A god must be slain in order to do so, and Marduk summons the gods to inquire about who originally incited Tiamat to rampage (VI 17–26). Qingu is slaughtered, and humanity is formed from his blood (VI 27–38). Marduk then assigns the gods their respective duties and dominions in either the netherworld or in heaven (VI 39–44). As another token of their gratitude for rescuing them from Tiamat’s menace, the gods construct Marduk’s temple in Babylon, Esagila, and then fabricate their own shrines (VI 45–68). They then gather in Marduk’s temple for a great feast and, after eating and drinking their fill, the gods retire to their respective domains, fixing destinies and giving judgments (VI 69–81). With the enemies of the gods defeated and the cosmos created, Marduk can finally put down his arms. He takes his beloved weapon, his bow, and sets it before the gods to admire: VI 82 im-ḫur-ma be-lum gišBAN gišTUKUL-šu The lord received the bow, his ma-ḫur-šú-un id-di weapon he placed before them.   83 sa-pa-ra šá i-te-ep-pu-šu i-mu-ru The net which he made, his DINGIR.MEŠ AD.MEŠ-šú fathers the gods looked at,   84 i-mu-ru-ma gišBAN ki-i nu-uk-ku-lat They looked at the bow, how it bi-nu-tu was well crafted.

201. Solar movement and meteorological phenomena are, of course, also integral to celestial divination. But here, their fragmentary state and deliberate partition from the features that will produce omens (V 23) precludes them from further discussion.

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  85 ep-šet i-te-ep-pu-šu i-na-ad-du AD.MEŠ-šú   86 iš-ši-ma da-num ina UKKIN DINGIR. MEŠ i-qab-bi   87 gišBAN it-ta-šiq ši-i lu-ú DUMU.MÍ   88   89   90   91

His fathers were celebrating the feat he performed. An lifted it up, in the assembly of the gods he spoke; He kissed the bow, “Let it be my daughter!” im-bi-ma ša gišBAN ki-i-am MU.MEŠ-ša He named it, the bow; thus are its names: i-ṣu a-rik lu iš-te-nu-um-ma šá-nu-ú lu-u “Long Wood, let it be the first, ka-šid and the second, let it be Conqueror.” šal-šú šum-šá mulBAN ina AN-e ú-šá-pi Its third name is Bow Star; he made it visible in the heavens. ú-kin-ma gigiš-gal-la-šá it-ti DINGIR. He fixed its position with the MEŠ at-ḫe-e-šá gods, its brothers.

Out of his joy at witnessing the exaltation of the famous weapon, An gives the weapon three names. Together with its third name, mulBAN, the weapon is placed by An in the sky so that it might exist as a constellation. An even adopts the weapon as his very daughter. This provides an etiology for the tradition preserved in Astrolabe B, that the Bow is the daughter of An: 202 MUL ša EGIR.BI GUB-zi BAN dIŠTAR e-la-ma-tum DUMU.MÍ da-nim mul

The star that stands after it (mulKAK.SI.SÁ, the Arrow) is the Bow, Elamite Ištar, the daughter of An.

This tradition might be contrasted with another that describes the Bow as the daughter of Enlil rather than An. 203 Furthermore, if my understanding of the OB myth of Girra and Elamatum is correct, this etiology for mulBAN is an appropriation (or counternarrative) of an earlier tradition associated with the triumph of another god, Girra (whose identity Marduk assumes in VII 115!) (§3.3.6 above). In tablet V, it was Marduk who was responsible for the forming and ordering of the sky. Now that Marduk has assigned the gods their individual spheres of influence, for which they each determine destinies, An is now capable of assigning the Bow a permanent place among the gods in the night sky. The Bow’s 202. Astrolabe B B i 14–16. 203. MUL.APIN I ii 7: DIŠ mulBAN diš-tar NIM.MA-tu4 DUMU.SAL dEN.LÍL, “The Bow, Elamite Ištar, daughter of Enlil.” See also examples in inscriptions from Assurbanipal, who calls the Bow the daughter of Enlil as well as the daughter of Sin; Borger, Asb., 65 (A IX 9–10 = Luckenbill, ARAB 2 #825) and 99 (B V 16 = Luckenbill, ARAB 2 #858).

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position is described as gišgallu, a term that the ancient scribes considered synonymous with the more ubiquitous term manzāzu. 204 After this act, which symbolizes the cessation of hostilities, Marduk finally takes his throne, and the gods begin reciting a litany of Marduk’s 50 mystical names (VI 92–165, VII 1–144). The 49th of these names is nēberu, the Crossing, which was already mentioned in V 6. This is to be Marduk’s astral manifestation: VII 124 dné-bé-ru né-bé-ri-it AN-e u KI-tim lu-ú ta-me-eḫ-ma    125    126    127    128    129    130    131    132    133    134

May the Crossing be the one who grasps heaven and earth; e-liš ù šap-liš la ib-bi-ru li-qí-i’-šú Above and below they cannot šá-a-šu cross, so they wait for him. d né-bé-ru MUL-šú šá ina AN-e The Crossing is his star which ú-šá-pu-u he made appear in the heavens. lu-ú ṣa-bit kun-sag-gi šu-nu ša-a-šu lu-ú Let him be the turning point, let pal-su-šú them observe him, ma-a šá qer-biš ti-amat i-te-eb-bi-ru la The one who keeps crossing the na-hi-iš inside of Tiamat, tirelessly: šum-šu lu-ú dné-bé-ru a-ḫi-zu qer-bi-šu Let his name be the Crossing, who seizes its midst. šá MUL.MEŠ šá-ma-mi al-kàt-su-nu As for the stars of heaven, let li-k[in-ma] him establish their paths. ki-ma ṣe-e-ni li-ir-ʾa-a DINGIR. Like sheep, let him shepherd all DINGIR gim-ra-šú-un of the gods. li-ik-mi ti-amat na-piš-ta-šu li-siq ù Let him bind Tiamat, let him lik-ri abbreviate and shorten her life. aḫ-ra-taš UN.MEŠ la-ba-riš UD-me Forever after, (from) the people in days to come li-is-se-e-ma la uk-ta-lu li-ri-ik a-na Let her be distant without ṣa-a-ti obstacle, let her be distant forever.

Here nēberu is interpreted using the same kind of logographic hermeneutics that are applied to the other names acquired by Marduk. As mentioned above, the celestial feature nēberu is well attested in celestial-science literature and

204. CT 18 18 (K 4587) rev. iii 29 (a synonym list), gi-is-gal-lu = man-za-zu; MSL 3 96–128, 132–53 II 265, g i - iš - ga l GISGAL = man-za-zu. See also the second mythological introduction to EAE 22: ú-ad-du-ú gis-kim-ma ú-kin-nu na-an-za-za-[ti ú-š]ar-ši-du gi-is-gal-la DINGIR.MEŠ mu-ši-tim, “(when An, Enlil, and Ea) determined the signs, fixed the stations, established the positions of the gods of the night” (Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 [source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 14′–15′]).

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is associated most typically with Jupiter. 205 But, as Brown notes, attempts to identify nēberu with a single celestial feature are often done with complete disregard for date and genre. 206 For example, Astrolabe B B ii 32 describes nēberu as MUL SA5, “red star,” while MUL.APIN I i 36–38 explicitly equates nēberu and mulSAG.ME.GAR: ki-ma MUL.MEŠ šu-ut dEN.LÍL When the stars of Enlil have been ug-dam-mi-ru-ni completed, 1 MUL GAL UD.DA-su da-a’-mat AN-e one large star (its light is dim) BAR-ma GUB-zu MUL dAMAR. divides the sky and stands: The UTU né-bé-ri star of Marduk is the Ferry. DIŠ mulSAG.ME.GAR KI.GUB-su KÚR. Jupiter keeps changing its posiKÚR-ir AN-e ib-bir tion; it crosses the sky.

The descriptions “red” and “dim” can hardly be said to describe Jupiter, whose appearance is usually white, and whose brightness in the night sky is third only to the moon and Venus! Nonetheless, the equation with mulSAG.ME.GAR/ Jupiter is made indeed. Thus, identifying Marduk/nēberu with Jupiter in EE VII 124–34 is logical, since planets, despite their unfixed positions, are often assigned leadership of the Paths in the astrolabes. Furthermore, since Jupiter is the brightest of the 205. See, for example, MUL.APIN I i 36–38. Like most features in celestial texts, no one planet or star meets all the descriptions of nēberu, since there are more factors at work than simple observation. For the equation of nēberu and Jupiter, see A. Schott, “Marduk und sein Stern,” ZA 43 (1936) 124–45; and Johannes Koch, “Der Mardukstern Nēberu,” WO 22 (1991) 48–72. Rejecting later celestial science texts that undeniably identify nēberu with Jupiter, Landsberger and Kinnier Wilson originally attempted to associate nēberu with the Polestar, since: [T]he evidence particularly of āhizu qirbīšu (line 130), is conclusive that nēberu was centrally situated; the opposition of the latter phrase to itebbiru “who used to cross” suggests that nēberu was stationary; and the Pole-star well qualifies as one who “shall establish the roads of the (other) stars of heaven” (line 131) since they revolve around it. (Landsberger and Kinnier Wilson, “The Fifth Tablet,” 173–74)

Thus they argue, by reading itebbiru (VII 128) as describing past habitual action, that nēberu’s former activity was transitory. Now that nēberu is identified with Marduk, it is, they argue, stationary (āḫizu qerbīšu, “seizing her midsts”) and is capable of guiding the other stars. But to what former activity of nēberu is VII 128 supposed to be referring? Indeed, nēberu was already assigned stellar leadership when it was created in V 6, a task that the positions of Enlil and Ea are also expected to complete. As discussed above (§3.3.8.3), this most likely refers to stars that occupy either the first or last positions in the Paths of An, Enlil, and Ea and thus lead the stars in their courses, keeping them from straying. 206. Brown, AA, 58 n. 168, 75 n. 202.

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planets that completely cross the night sky, it only makes sense to equate it with the highest god, Marduk, whose regular motion guides the other stars. In particular, as Horowitz argues, the physical layout of Astrolabe B (or a text similar to it) may also have been a contributing factor to nēberu’s description as the one star that serves as the “turning point” (VII 127) “above and below” whom “they cannot cross” (VII 125). 207 In turn, it is likely that in MUL.APIN I i 36–38 the awkward equation of nēberu (whose description in that text does not align with Jupiter) with that very planet reflects the tradition that in EE authoritatively associates Marduk, nēberu, and Jupiter. 208 3.3.8.5.  Excursus: Celestial Divination and the Date of the Composition of Enūma Eliš.  The question of the date of the composition of EE has long been the matter of much debate. Since there are no preserved copies of the text from before the 1st millennium, all arguments on the topic are necessarily circumstantial and speculative. There are three schools of thought. Perhaps the best-received argument has been that of W. Lambert, who contends that EE was composed during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I, after his incursion into Elam, which resulted in the recovery of the Marduk statue that had previously been seized by the Elamites. 209 This triumphal homecoming not only spurred Babylonian theologians to assert Marduk’s supremacy over the pantheon but further prompted them to compose EE in order to support their assertion. Lambert based his case largely on the interpretation of then-available evidence, which suggested that Marduk was fairly insignificant through the OB and much of the Kassite periods. 210 Evidence of Marduk’s playing an important, even supreme role appears first during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I and especially in texts that describe his Elamite campaign. 211 There are many problems with Lambert’s hypothesis, however, not the least of which is the presumed mportance of the return of the Marduk statue. Stephanie Dalley has collected no less than three other documented homecomings of a Marduk statue 207. See discussion, above, and Horowitz, “The Astrolabes,” 110. 208. MUL.APIN, 139. 209. W. Lambert, “The Reign of Nebuchadnezzar I: A Turning Point in the History of Ancient Mesopotamian Religion,” in The Seed of Wisdom: Essays in Honour of T. J. Meek (ed. W. McCullough; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1964) 3–13. 210. Ibid., 5–6. Lambert, in light of the evidence put forth by Walther Sommerfeld (Der Aufstieg Marduks: Die Stellung Marduks in der babylonischen Religion des zweiten Jahrtausands v. Chr [AOAT 213; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukircherner Verlag, 1982]), later conceded that Marduk was more important in the OB period than he had previously thought (W. Lambert, “Studies in Marduk,” BCOAS 47 [1984] 2). 211. Grant Frame, Rulers of Babylonia from the Second Dynasty of Isin to the End of the Assyrian Domination (1157–612 bc) (RIMBP 2; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1995) 11–35.

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to Babylon, all of which precede the version that is dated to Nebuchadnezzar I’s reign. 212 The fact that Marduk’s temple in Babylon undoubtedly contained multiple images of the deity further diminishes the relevance of the historical loss and restoration of this particular Marduk statue. 213 Thus, the restoration of this single example, while indisputably a cause for celebration, would not inevitably necessitate immediate exaltation and justification of Marduk in EE. Although it is true that the event did inspire a handful of texts celebrating it, Lambert’s statement that “[t]he impact of this return on the period cannot be over­estimated” now seems a bit overzealous. 214 Even if we cannot disprove Lambert’s theory, we need not accept it a priori. Wolfram von Soden and Walther Sommerfeld place the composition of EE sometime in the Kassite period. Von Soden long ago noted that the adverbial ending -iš is never used in EE comparatively (that is, synonymously with kīma) but is instead used locatively/terminatively (that is, synonymously with ina or ana). Thus, the epic should have been composed before the comparative became common—that is, about 1300 b.c.e. 215 Sommerfeld adds to von Soden’s argument in pointing to the similarity of Marduk’s 50 names (tablet VII) and Marduk’s 50 associated appellations in the canonical god list AN = Anum. 216 Since the canonization of An = Anum is thought to date to the Kassite period, Sommerfeld asserts that the compiler of AN = Anum based his list on EE tablet VII. This is, as Lambert recognizes, poor logic. Since only four-fifths of the names actually agree, it makes much more sense to assert that they both derive from a common tradition. 217 Furthermore, though extant fragments of AN = Anum do date to the Kassite and MB/MA periods, they do not contain any of the relevant portions from tablet II of the list, where the names of Marduk are listed. 218 Thus, it is quite conceivable that Marduk was not included in the list before the 1st millennium. Furthermore, since the list in EE tablet VII is a literary version of a commentary, it is more likely that tablet VII is based on a god list rather than vice versa. Nevertheless, von Soden’s observation regarding the exclusive use of the locative/terminative ending -iš in the epic has yet to be 212. Dalley, “Statues of Marduk,” 164–66. 213. Ibid., 163–64. 214. Lambert, “The Reign of Nebuchadnezzar I,” 9. 215. Wolfram von Soden, “Der hymnisch-epische Dialect des Akkadischen,” ZA 41 (1932) 122–30. 216. Walther Sommerfeld, Der Aufstieg Marduks: Die Stellung Marduks in der baby­ lonischen Religion des zweiten Jahrtausands v. Chr. (AOAT 213; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukircherner Verlag, 1982) 176. For Marduk in the god lists, see Litke, AN: dA-nu-um, 89–95 (II 185–235). 217. Lambert, “Studies in Marduk,” 4–5. 218. Ibid., 4.

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refuted properly. It remains the only solid piece of evidence regarding the date of EE. 219 Stephanie Dalley pushes the date even further into the past and argues for a composition beginning in the OB period. Pointing out that the great Mesopotamian literary works evolved in stages, she maintains that the core of the story dates to the time of Hammurabi’s conquests and that this core was later augmented by successive generations of scribes; tablets VI and VII, which Dalley considers nonessential to the story, were probably the latest additions and should be assigned to the Kassite period. 220 Furthermore, this developing text would have had many local manifestations, depending on the city in which it was being used and the city god for whose exaltation it was reframed. 221 While it is true that most of the great literary works from Mesopotamia did evolve in stages, we know this because we possess portions of those earlier stages. Though texts such as the Anzû myth provide obvious inspiration for EE, there are no such stages attested for EE.  222 Furthermore, not all of the great literature evolved in stages. It is quite clear, for example, that the 1st-millennium work Erra and Išum was composed singularly in response to a particular event. Dalley’s hypothesis—in which many localities would have established local versions of EE and would have inserted their own patron deities in the place of Marduk—seems completely contrary to the evidence we possess. While it is clear that there was a version of EE with the god Assur in the place of Marduk, this is obviously a reflex of Neo-Assyrian imperial ideology and is not indicative of broader 2nd-millennium trends. If there had been many local editions of EE in the 2nd millennium, as Dalley suggests, certainly there would be at least fragmentary exemplars of the variation. 223 On the contrary, though there are a 219. Lambert summarily brushes this linguistic argument aside, offering little, if any, substantive counterevidence, stating simply, “Since the language in question is a poetic and literary idiom, not a spoken dialect, this evidence is inadequate to bear the burden of proof put on it” (ibid., 6). 220. Dalley, Myths from Mesopotamia, 230. 221. Idem, “Statues of Marduk,” 170–71. 222. See especially Lambert, “Ninurta Mythology,” 55–60. 223. Dalley does mention what she considers to be two significant variants to the text of EE (“Statues of Marduk,” 167). The first is Sennacherib’s description of the decoration of the doors of his akītu temple, which depicts a pericope from the epic that does indeed differ in many details from the text of EE; see Luckenbill, Records of Assyria and Babylonia, ##444–47. The second is in a LB ritual that features the recitation of EE together with the cultic reenactment of tablet V 83 in which Marduk’s mother, Damkina, presents him with a gift of a garment through the intermediary of Usmû. In the cultic reenactment, however, a palm frond takes the place of the garment, and a dumuniglalapriest takes the place of Usmû; see G. Çağirgan and W. Lambert, “The Late Babylonian kislīmu Ritual for Esagil,” JCS 43–45 (1991–93) 91 and 96 (lines 62–65). Dalley is right

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few minor textual variants attested in extant copies of EE, the overwhelming impression provided by these copies is one of tremendous homogeneity. Thus, from the evidence that we possess, there seems to have been one, singularly composed edition of EE. Since the evidence used to date is mostly circumstantial, can the celestialscience material reflected in EE be used to engage the problem? The epic employs many terms and concepts found in the celestial-science tradition, such as manzāzu, mulBAN, nēberu, MUL.MEŠ 3.TA-ÀM, and ideal celestial schemes. All of these terms and concepts reflect the orthodox conceptual background of the EAE Paradigm (§see §2.7.3). Since it is a logical assumption that the paradigm developed out of practice, it is apparent that EE validated its existence rather than defined its concepts. Though bits and pieces of the concepts composing the paradigm can be found in the OB period, the earliest, clearest statement of the EAE Paradigm is found in Astrolabe B, the earliest copy of which (KAV 218) dates to the reign of Tiglath-pileser I (ca. 1114–1076). 224 This MA copy must ultimately be traced back to a Babylonian original, as indicated by the use of Babylonian rather than Assyrian month names, as well as the preeminence of the Marduk star, nēberu. 225 It seems unlikely that our copy of Astrolabe B is the original autograph. Though it was copied by a Babylonian scribe (the colophon identifies him as Marduk-ballāsu-ēreš), he was working for the Assyrian monarch in Assur. I think it is fair to assume that, even if the scribe was a devotee of the Babylonian god invoked in his own name, it is doubtful that he would have authored such a Babylon-centered text while in the employ of the Assyrian Tiglath-pileser I. Minimally, we must permit reasonable time for this text to have been composed, copied, and transported to Assur, where it was copied again. Although it is conceivable that this chain of events could have taken as few as several days, it is much more likely, I believe, that the time separating Astrolabe B’s composition and the copy of KAV 218 was a generation at the least. Therefore, Astrolabe B as a unified work would date to sometime before Tiglath-pileser I’s reign. Since Nebuchadnezzar I (ca. 1125–1104) was a contemporary of Tiglath-pileser I, it is a safe assumption that it predates Nebuchadenezzar I’s reign as well. Astrolabe B contains many of the concepts related mythically in EE, such as MUL.MEŠ 3.TA-ÀM (“3 stars each”) and ideal celesthat both of these situations do not jibe with the text of EE. Nevertheless, they are not textual variants, since in neither case is the text itself cited. Rather, they indicate variation in the interpretation of the epic—the former visual and the latter ritual. 224. §2.4.1. For the texts once associated with the so-called library of Tiglathpileser I, see Ernst Weidner, “Die Bibliothek Tiglatpilesers I,” AfO 16 (1952–53) 197–215. 225. The standard Babylonian calendar was not adopted in Assyria until the reign of Tiglath-pileser I; see Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 297–99.

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tial schemes, as well as the association of nēberu with Marduk. Nēberu/Marduk is given central prominence in Astrolabe B. 226 Thus, all the key celestial-science concepts were already in place well before Nebuchadnezzar I’s reign. 227 It seems unlikely, then, that the dramatic events of his reign inspired the theology and composition of EE, as Lambert argued, since the Marduk-centered theology and celestial paradigm underlying EE were demonstrably extant before his reign. Dalley’s hypothesis, that EE dates primarily to the OB, is also difficult to maintain. Though the facets of the Ideal Calendar can trace their origins to the OB (or even earlier), we find nothing close to the sophisticated ideal celestial schemes that EE conveys and justifies (§2.7.2). Indeed, EE is familiar with a full theoretical system of celestial divination that is not evident in other texts from the OB period. Thus, celestial science as described in EE fits well with the EAE Paradigm, which is assumed to have taken shape in the MB period, sometime during the Kassite hegemony. Though hardly conclusive by itself, this evidence makes the dating of von Soden and Sommerfeld quite plausible. Nonetheless, there is an important difference between the theology of Astrolabe B and EE, on the one hand, and the theology of the EAE Paradigm, on the other—namely, the centrality of Marduk. It is quite striking that in both of EAE’s mythological introductions, preserved in tablets 1 and 22 of the series, there is no mention of the Babylonian god. As such, though Astrolabe B and EE reflect the operating principles of the EAE Paradigm, especially with regard to ideal schemes and their mantic purpose, they do not share the belief that Marduk is the central figure in this arrangement. In light of this, Horowitz is correct in highlighting the theological novelty of Astrolabe B and EE, though it is difficult to maintain with any certainty that they were composed during the reign of Nebuchadnezzar I. 3.3.8.6.  Conclusion: Enūma Eliš.  The author of EE demonstrates a sophisticated knowledge of the tradition of celestial divination. This knowledge is expressed not only by the many technical terms used in the text (manzāzu, mul BAN, nēberu, MUL.MEŠ 3.TA-ÀM, and numerous others) but also by the exploitation of the underpinning concepts of celestial divination, such as the stars as a means of guidance (V 23) and, most significantly, ideal celestial schemes (V). In no small part, EE serves as an etiology for the Mesopotamian (specifically Babylonian?) tradition of celestial divination, though it would be an exaggeration to claim that this is the story’s sole agenda. 226. Astrolabe B B ii 29–32. 227. Horowitz, in contrast, maintains Lambert’s dating, asserting, it seems, that Astrolabe B—and its Marduk-centered ideology—was a novel composition at the time (“The Astrolabes,” 111).

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3.3.9.  Conclusion: Catasterisms and Other Celestial Aetia Catasterisms in Mesopotamia were never collected into one piece of literature, unlike in the classical tradition. 228 Rather, they were incorporated organically into the fabric of myths, which served a broader range of topics. In Akkadian narratives involving conflict, in particular, catasterisms can provide either the very cause of the tension, as in the case in the Labbu Myth, or a significant part of its conclusion, as in Girra and Elamatum, Exaltation of Ištar, and Enūma Eliš. In these last two cases, not only are catasterisms part of the conflict’s resolution; they also provide the framework for celestial divination.

3.4. Miscellaneous In this section, I discuss literature that features celestial characters and/or phenomena but for which I cannot adequately demonstrate an etiological or mantic role.

3.4.1.  Inana and Šukaletuda 3.4.1.1.  Inana and Šukaletuda: Introduction.  The primary divine character in the story is Inana, 229 a deity who is associated on a basic level with the planet Venus. 230 Previous scholars on the text have recognized that Inana is, at several points, described in her astral manifestation. 231 Kramer in particular 228. For classical references, see §3.3.1. 229. For an earlier version of this section, see my “Inana and Šukaletuda: A Sumerian Astral Myth,” KASKAL 5 (2008) 161–72; see also idem, “Early Mesopotamian Astral Science and Divination in the Myth of Inana and Šukaletuda,” JANER 8 (2008) 75–98. Though I have included a few conclusions from it here, the JANER article goes further in its inferences linking the Sumerian story to later celestial divination practices than my methodology in this book will allow. I am indebted to Piotr Michalowski, Christopher Woods, Alexandra Kleinerman, and (in particular) Jerrold Cooper for their insightful, critical comments and encouragement in this section. 230. See Brown, AA, 67; as well as Richard L. Litke, A Reconstruction of the AssyroBabylonian God-Lists, AN: dAN-NU-UM and AN: Anu ša amēli (TBC 3; Bethesda, MD: CDL) 161 (IV 181). 231. Konrad Volk, Inanna und Šukaletuda: Zur historisch-politischen Deutung einers su­merischen Literaturwerkes (SANTAG 3; Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 1995) 177–79 and 182–83; Bendt Alster, “Review of Konrad Volk, Innana und Šukaletuda: Zur historischpolitischen Deutung einers sumerischen Literaturwerke,” JAOS 119 (1999) 687. Since a critical edition of the complete text was not accomplished by Volk until 1995, there has been very little in the way of comprehensive interpretation of the story. The tale was first brought to light by Samuel N.  Kramer, whose initial publication primarily discussed the obvious parallels between the second plague in the story, in which the wells turn to blood, with the biblical account of the blood plague in Exod 7:14–24 (“A Blood-Plague

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understood Šukaletuda’s gazing into the sky after his garden failed to be an obvious act of celestial divination. 232 It follows that not only is the description of Inana’s divinity astral, but also to some degree her actions and movements within the story might be related to her (i.e., Venus’s) actual celestial activities, an idea that Volk proposed, though he did not explore it fully. 233 Later, Jerrold Cooper, in his critique of historical interpretations of Sumerian myth, suggested that the story is primarily astral in nature, though he did not exclude other mythological motifs. 234 Building on Cooper’s astute proposal, I maintain that certain events of the story (namely, Inana’s movements) can be related to a specific series of observable celestial phenomena—specifically, the synodic activity of the planet Venus. 235 Motif in Sumerian Mythology,” ArOr 17 [1949] 399–405). Kramer returned to the text a number of times in the following decades, finally publishing a translation of a nearly completely reconstructed text in 1989 (From the Tablets of Sumer: Twenty-Five Firsts in Man’s Recorded History [Indian Hills, CO: Falcon’s Wing, 1956] 66–70; idem, History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Man’s Recorded History [Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1981] 70–74; and Jean Bottéro and Samuel N. Kramer, Lorsque les dieux faisaient l’homme: Mythologie mésopotamienne [Paris: Gallimard, 1989] 257– 71. Claus Wilcke, followed by Volk, both offered political interpretations of the myth that argued, among other things, that the story was an attempt to express the tensions between traditional Sumerian society and the rise of Akkadian power during the Sargonic Dynasty (Wilcke, “Politische Opposition nach Sumerischen Quellen: Der Konflikt zwischen Königtum und Ratsversammlung. Literaturwerke als politische Tendenzschriften,” in La voix de l’opposition en Mesopotamie: Colloque organize par l’Institut des Hautes Études de Belgique, 19 et 20 mars 1973 [ed. A. Finet; Brussels: Institut des hautes études de Belgique, 1973] 62–63; Volk, Inanna und Šukaletuda, 25–40). For Bendt Alster, the story is what it is: a darkly amusing tale about a sorry gardener who rapes a goddess, almost gets away with it, who in the end dies, but whose name lives on in song (“Review of Volk,” 687–88). For a more thorough history of scholarship, see Volk, Inanna und Šukaletuda, 9–14. 232. Samuel N. Kramer, “Mythology of Sumer and Akkad,” in Mythologies of the Ancient World (ed. Samuel N. Kramer; Garden City, NY: Anchor Books, 1961) 117. 233. This is a question proposed but left open by Volk, Inanna und Šukaletuda, 21, 39 (see especially n. 249). 234. Jerrold Cooper, “Literature and History: The Historical and Political Referents of Sumerian Literary Texts,” in, Historiography in the Cuneiform World (ed. Tzvi Abusch et al.; CRRAI 45; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2001) 142–44. 235. Many scholars accept that the Sumerian Inana’s Descent and its Akkadian version, Ištar’s Descent, describe, at least in part, the setting of the planet Venus in the west, followed by her journey through the underworld and eventual rising in the east. See, for example, Claus Wilcke, “Inanna/Ištar,” RlA 5 (1976) 83; H. Clyde Hostetter, “A Planetary Visit to Hades,” 7–10; Wolfgang Heimpel, “A Catalogue of Near Eastern Venus Deities,” Syro-Mesopotamian Studies 4/3 (1982) 59; Volk, Inana and Šukaletuda, 21; Dina Katz, The Image of the Netherworld in the Sumerian Sources (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2003) 95–97. In

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The story of Inana and Šukaletuda begins with a brief, hymnic introduction that praises Inana (lines 1–41). In this prologue, the goddess is described as departing from the sky and the earth and arriving in the mountains to dispense justice. A diversionary tale involving Enki and a raven (lines 42–88) follows the prologue. This story, the relation of which with the rest of Inana and Šukaletuda is a bit problematic, tells how Enki commissioned a raven to undertake various agricultural chores, such as watering a field with a shadouf and cultivating a plant that will become the very first palm tree.  236 contrast, Giorgio Buccellati takes a myth-and-ritual approach to Inana’s Descent (“The Descent of Inanna as a Ritual Journey to Kutha?” Syro-Mesopotamian Studies 4/3 [1982] 3–7). For the Sumerian story, see William R. Sladek, Inanna’s Descent to the Netherworld (Ph.D. diss., The Johns Hopkins University, 1974). For the most recent edition of the Akkadian myth, see Pirjo Lapinkivi, Ištar’s Descent and Resurrection (SAACT 6; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2010). The most elaborate of these explanations, that of Hostetter, for example, even goes as far as arguing that Ištar’s ritual of disrobing as she enters the successive gates to the underworld can be correlated to specific movements of the planet in relation to the moon and the planet Mercury over a single synodic period. He thus claims that Inana travels by lunar boat (that is, the crescent moon) to the underworld and that certain events in the story are thus conjunctions of the planet and the crescent moon. He identifies Inana’s servant, Ninšubur, with the planet Mercury, whose own wanderings in search of her mistress Hostetter equate to the various movements of that planet (Hostetter, “A Planetary Visit to Hades,” 8–9). It is almost needless to say that his associations are completely arbitrary. Neither the moon god nor his boat is mentioned in either the Sumerian or the Akkadian version of the story, and in no text is Ninšubur equated with the planet Mercury. I have little doubt that that Venus’s setting and rising—or, more accurately, the time between these two phenomena (either Ω-Γ or Σ-Ξ)—inspired the Sumerian story and its later Akkadian version. Other than noting this fact and relating this to other Inana/ Ištar stories, I will not address this story in any more depth, because the events in both Inana’s and Ištar’s Descent take place in the netherworld and not the sky. Thus, the stories are ex vi termini outside the scope of this monograph. 236. For the purposes of this book, I am not including the story of Enki and the Raven in the overall narrative arc. The main narrative and the subplot do have certain features in common, such as a general agricultural context, important trees, and roles for Enki. Both Enki and ravens can be associated with celestial features in later periods (Enki/Ea: MUL.APIN I ii 19–20, 26–27; II ii 7; the raven: MUL.APIN I ii 9; I iii 20; II Gap B 3). But within the pericope in Inana and Šukaletuda, the raven’s activities are confined to the ground and a tree; it does not interact with either Inana or Šukaletuda. Furthermore, the connection between Enki’s minor though crucial later appearance in the narrative (lines 245–50) and his first appearance is difficult to determine. If the crucial lines linking this passage with the introductory hymn (23–38, 41–46) had been better preserved, the connection would no doubt have been clearer. For my purposes here, since the subplot has no effect on Inana’s movements in the story, the larger narrative can be analyzed without it. Furthermore, I will not speculate here about the origin of the

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After this diversion, the story proper begins. We are introduced to a gardener named Šukaletuda, who is perfectly wretched at his task (91–96). Virtually all the plants in the garden plots for which he is responsible are uprooted or die under his care, with the notable exception of a broad, shade-providing poplar tree. Lamenting his obvious agricultural inadequacies and partially blinded by a storm, he looks to the gods in the sky for solace and perhaps guidance (97–102). There he sees Inana, who is thoroughly exhausted by her many travels (103–15). The goddess spots the inviting poplar tree in one of the plots in Šukaletuda’s care, and she decides to rest her weary eyes beneath its welcoming branches (116). Šukaletuda is amazed at the goddess’s presence in his very own garden. While she is sleeping, he removes her divine garments and has intercourse with her in a darkly comedic parody of the hieros gamos (117–25). When Inana wakes up, she senses immediately that something has happened. She inspects herself and determines that she has been violated (126–27). Infuriated, she sets out to determine who has perpetrated this horrendous crime. In her wrath, Inana strikes the land with a series of plagues, designed to force the country into revealing the person responsible for the heinous act. She first turns the water in the wells of the land to blood, so that it is unfit for consumption, but this fails to reveal her attacker (129–36). Witnessing the fury of the wronged goddess spilled out over the land and aware that her net is slowly hemming him in, Šukaletuda goes to his father for advice and recounts the events of the story up to this point (137–76). His father tells him to hide within the city, where he will disappear among the teeming throng of humanity, and the goddess will be unable to find him (177–84). This is an effective strategy: Inana searches for him in the mountains and is unable to locate him. Inana is not deterred by her failure, and she afflicts the land with a second plague, a vicious cluster of storms (185–91). Once again, the collective punishment fails to expose her attacker (192–93). Šukaletuda again recounts the situation to his father, who repeats his previously given advice (194–210). Once again, Inana is unable to find him by searching in the mountains (211–13). As a result, the goddess plagues the land a third time by blocking the roads, so that all traffic comes to a standstill, but this still does not produce the culprit (214–20). For a third time, Šukaletuda relates these events to his father, who yet again advises him to vanish in the anonymous masses of the city (221–35). The goddess, again looking in the wrong place, is unable to find Šukaletuda in the mountains (236–38). Inana, reminding herself of the wrong committed against her and frustrated with the failure of her previous attempts, travels to the city of Eridu, Enki and the Raven story or its role in the overall narrative. For this, perhaps, see Volk, Inanna and Šukaletuda, 29 (especially n. 171), 37.

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where she descends into the apsu to seek aid from the ever-wise Enki (239–45). Threatening permanent absence from her own sanctuary, the E-ana temple in Uruk, she demands to be allowed to bring her attacker to justice (246–49). Enki consents (250), and Inana spans across the entire sky like a rainbow. With this spy-satellite-like purview, she finally locates the terrified gardener (251–55). Šukaletuda attempts, by detailing the events that led up to his wicked offense, to explain himself and his actions to Inana (256–89). Not surprisingly, she is utterly unmoved and sets his fate: he is to die, but his name will live on in the musical whimsy of the palace and pasture, in songs sung by court bards and lonely shepherds (296–310). 3.4.1.2. Celestial Science in Inana and Šukaletuda.  If we assume that Inana can be identified, within Inana and Šukaletuda, as the planet, the goddess’s movements in this story should correspond to the peculiar movements of Venus. The planet, which is the second-brightest object in the night sky, is erratic in comparison with the stars and most of the other planets, due to its inferior positioning between the earth and the sun. To earthly observers, most other celestial bodies rise in the east and move across the dome of the sky until they set on the western horizon. When Venus, on the other hand, rises in the east just before sunrise (Γ), it never visibly crosses the entire sky. Each night, the time interval between the planet’s rising and sunrise increases because the planet’s distance from the sun increases. The length of its nightly visibility increases commensurately. But the planet never really escapes from the horizon (no more than 46 degrees from the sun), at one point becoming stationary, after which the time interval between its rising and the sun’s decreases, until it seems to disappear from the eastern horizon (Σ), whence it came. During this period of visibility, it can be seen nightly before sunrise for about eight months. Because it moves behind the sun (superior conjunction), it is subsequently not visible in the sky at all for approximately 80 days. Venus then reappears, but this time on the western horizon just after sunset (Ξ). Its western movements are similar to those in the east. Venus is visible after sunset for about eight months in the west as well, again no more than 46 degrees from the sun, at one point becoming stationary and returning to the western horizon (Ω). This second period of invisibility, which is due to Venus’s passing in front of the sun (inferior conjunction) can last anywhere from three days (in the winter) to over two weeks (in the summer). Venus then rises again in the east (Γ) before sunrise and the whole cycle, which lasts 584 days, begins again (synodic interval). Furthermore, after five repetitions (about eight years), this cycle begins at about the same time of the year (characteristic period). It is crucial to remember that, unlike the stars, Jupiter, Saturn, or Mars, Venus never appears high overhead.

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The apparent movements of Venus are indeed odd, and it takes some cultures time to come to the realization that the eastern and western manifestations are in fact the same celestial body. A cylinder seal from the Erlenmeyer collection (if we presume its authenticity) attests to the knowledge that the eastern and western appearences of the planet are in fact the same celestial body as early as the Late Uruk/Jemdet Nasr Period. 237 The archaic texts of the period attest to this knowledge as well. 238 Thus, the understanding that the morning and evening appearances of Venus are the same celestial body dates at least to the beginning of the 4th millennium. 239 Whether or not one accepts the seal as authentic, the fact that there is no epithetical distinction between the morning and evening appearances of Venus in any later Mesopotamian literature attests to a very early recognition of the phenomenon. It is less certain, however, when an understanding of the specificities of Venus’s movements were realized. The so-called Venus Tablets of Ammiṣaduqa, which most likely originated in the OB Period, describe not only Venus’s synodic 584-day cycle but also the eight-year characteristic period. 240 If the observations on which the Venus Tablets are based do indeed date to the OB period, then we can assume some knowledge of Venus’s synodic period before these long-term sightings were made and recorded. Since the requisite knowledge of Venus’s movements was probably in place at the time Inana and Šukaletuda was composed, it does appear that Inana’s movements within the story could be 237. See §2.2.1; and Nissen, Archaic Bookkeeping, fig. 18. Depicted on the seal is a bull, over which are three stars (or DINGIR signs). In front of this (or behind) is Inana’s characteristic reed bundle, grouped together with several signs, including: EZEN, “festival”; UTU, “sun,” that is, “morning”; SIG (Akk. šaplu), “lower, western,” that is, “evening”; DINGIR, which is taken as representing simply a star, normally MUL (written as three DINGIR signs). The whole group seems to indicate “the festival of the morning and evening Inana/Venus” (Nissen, Archaic Bookkeeping, 17); see also briefly Brown, AA, 246. 238. For the festivals of Inana as evening and morning stars in archaic texts, see M.  W. Green, “Animal Husbandry at Uruk in the Archaic Period,” JNES 39 (1980) n. 34; K. Szarzynska, Sumerica: Prace sumeroznawcze (Philologia Orientalis 3; Warsaw: Wydawnictwo Akademickie DIALOG, 1997) 115–53; and Robert Englund, “Texts from the Late Uruk Period,” in Mesopotamien: Späturuk-Zeit und Frühdynastische Zeit: An­ näherungen 1 (ed. Robert Englund et al.; OBO 160/1; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht / Fribourg: Universitätsverlag, 1998) 127. 239. Contra G. Kurtik, who places the identification of Inana with the planet Venus in the mid-3rd millennium (“The Identification of Inanna with the Planet Venus: A Criterion for the Time Determination of the Recognition of Constellations in Ancient Mesopotamia,” Astronomical and Astrophysical Transactions 17 [1999] 501–13). 240. See §2.3.1.1.; and BPO 1.

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related to regular Venus phenomena, specifically Venus’s celestial movements over a single synodic period. 241 In the introductory hymn to Inana, the goddess is described as departing the sky and the earth in order to head to the kur: 242 15 16

u4-b a [. . .]-e an mu-un-šub k i mu- Then the . . . . . . left heaven, left u n -šub kur-r a b a-e -a-i l2 the earth and climbed up into the kur. d inana -[k e4] [an m]u-un-šub k i Inana left heaven, left the earth mu -u n -šub kur-r a b a-e -a-i l2 and climbed up into the kur.

Inana’s departure from the sky and the earth (both places where she would be visible) and her entering the kur, must be understood as a setting. If kur is to be understood as “mountain,” from the perspective of the plains of southern Iraq, the mountains that Inana is climbing lie in the east. Thus, Inana’s movement here could be understood as her disappearance in the east (last visibility in the east, Σ). But the semantic spectrum of the term kur is quite wide, ranging from “mountain” to simply “land” or even “underworld.” In the story, both the east and west are called kur (lines 101–2). Alster took kur in the passage to refer to the underworld in accordance with its usage in Inana’s Descent to the Underworld; in fact, Inana and Šukaletuda 15–16 are nearly identical to Inana’s Descent 4–5. 243 Wilcke asserted that the term is used here in parallel with the two locations Subir and Elam (113), both of which are, from the perspective of southern Iraq, mountainous. 244 Volk further strengthened this understanding by noting that Inana is very clearly said to “ascend” (i l2 = elû) 245 and “descend/ ascend” (e11 = warādu, elû) the kur in Inana and Šukaletuda (4–5, 8, 15–18), as opposed to simply “descend/ascend” (e11) as she does in Inana’s Descent to the Underworld (4–5). 246 These reciprocally vertical movements may indicate actual mountains, but it is unclear whether the description of Inana’s movements in the introductory hymn (15–20) and the movements that take place at around the time Šukaletuda spots her (112–15) are referring to the same event. The text is ambiguous. Nevertheless, as Cooper notes, regardless of how we 241. Here, I diverge from Volk (Inana und Šukaletuda, 21), who assumes that all of the events take place while Inana/Venus is visible. 242. Transliterations and translations of Inana and Šukaletuda follow Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda. 243. Bendt Alster, “On the Interpretation of the Sumerian Myth, ‘Inanna and Enki,’” ZA 64 (1974) 30. For a full discussion of the parallels, see follow Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda, 20–12, 142. 244. Claus Wilcke, “Der Anfang von “Inanna und Šukaletuda,” AfO 24 (1973) 86. 245. Normally, i l2 is the equivalent of Akk. našû, “to raise,” but in this context it seems to mean “ascend.” 246. Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda, 20–21.

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understand kur in this passage, it is clear that Inana, though not necessarily entering the underworld or the mountains per se, is leaving the sky and is no longer visible. 247 Given the fact that her next appearance is probably in the east (see below, lines 181–238), it seems likely that the description of her movements in the prologue encompasses the interval between her last appearance in the west (Ω) and the point just before her first eastern visibility (Γ). It is at this time that the story of Enki and the Raven is inserted. When the main story resumes, Šukaletuda, who has been working on his land, gets his first glimpse of the goddess: 248 101 102 103

[sig -še3 ig i mu-un-i l2 d i ĝ i r] u n3-na kur utu e3-k e4-n e i g i bi2-in -du8-r u [n im -š e3 ig i mu-un-i l2 d i ĝ i r u n3]-na kur utu šu2-k e4-n e i g i bi2-in -du8-r u [dg idim di li du-r a i g i] mu -n i-[i n-du8]

He looked down and saw the exalted gods of the land where the sun rises. He looked up and saw the exalted gods of the land where the sun sets. He saw a lone traveling ghost.

Here, Šukaletuda is scanning the heavens. Perhaps he is looking first to the east, where the sun rises, then to the west, where it sets, but it is more likely that he is simply scrutinizing the entire sky. During this inspection, he sees what appears to be a g idim, “ghost.” It is Inana, who, with her eerie, ghost-like form seems to be returning from the underworld. 249 If the goddess is returning from the underworld, she must be in the process of rising. Šukaletuda’s observation of the rising Inana is described further thus: 104 [diĝir dili] du-ra [ĝiškim mu-ni-in-zu]

He recognized the lone traveling god and (her) sign.

Her appearance is labeled explicitly a ĝ išk im, “omen,” and most commentators have understood it as such. 250 This term, of course, is found quite frequently 247. Cooper, “Literature and History,” 143 n. 58. 248. Volk (Inana und Šukaletuda, 177) and Jeremy Black et al. (The Literature of An­ cient Sumer [Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004] 200) understand sig, “lower, below,” and n i m, “upper, above,” as referring to “lowlands” and “highlands” respectively, with Volk arguing that one cannot look below to search for high gods (i.e., ig i i l2 = īni našû) downward (though Enki, presumably one of the high gods, resides within the earth in the apsu!). Consequently, Volk understands the two pairs sig ↔ nim and ku r u d e3 ↔ ku r u d šu2 to be in poetic opposition rather than assuming that the highlands are to the east and the lowlands are to the west. 249. Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda, 178–79. Cf. Inana’s Descent, 78–84. 250. Bottéro and Kramer, Mythologie mésopotamienne, 260; and Volk, Inana und Šuka­letuda, 179. But note Black et al.: “He recognised a solitary god by her appearance” (The Literature of Ancient Sumer, 200).

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in later canonical mantic literature. For example, in the Diviner’s Manual, the term giskimmu describes both celestial and mundane omens: 251 AN-e u KI-tim UR.BI GIŠ.GIM.MA ub-ba-lu-ni a-ḫe-en-na-a ul BAR.MEŠ AN u KI it-ḫu-zu

The heavens and the earth together bring us omens separately, (but) they are not adverse (to each other); the heavens and earth are related to each other.

Of course, the term is also used in celestial divination literature to refer specifically to celestial omens, as in the secondary mythological introduction to EAE: 252 e-nu da-nu dEN.LÍL u dÉ.A DINGER. MEŠ GAL.MEŠ AN-e u KI-ta ib-nu-ú ú-ad-du-ú gis-kim-ma

When An, Enlil, and Ea, the great gods, created heaven and earth, they revealed the omens . . .

After observing Inana in the sky, Šukaletuda is astounded to see her, tired from her journey, land in his field and lie down to rest under his own tree: 112 113 114 115 116

u4-b a n in -ĝ u10 an mu-un-ni ĝ i n2na -t a k i mu-un-ni ĝ i n2-[na-t]a

Once, my lady had roamed the heaven, she roamed the earth, d Inana roamed the heaven, inana an mu-un-ni ĝ i n2-na-t a k i roamed the earth, mu -u n -n i ĝ i n2-n[a-]t a she roamed Elam and Subir, e l amki su -bi r4ki-a mu -u n -n i ĝ i n2-na-t a dubu r a[n] g i16-g i16-i l-l a she roamed the stretching horimu -u n -n i ĝ i n2-na-t a zon of heaven, nu -g ig kuš2-a-ni -t a i m -ma-te she became tired, she approached du r2-bi- še3 b a-nu2 and at its roots she lay down.

Cooper suggests that, since Inana is described as moving from Elam to Subir, the text is actually describing Venus’s northward movement as it follows the sun between the winter and summer solstices. 253 This would only take place after the winter solstice, when the sun changes its course and begins its slow, sixmonth journey to its northernmost point at the summer solstice. This could be the case, especially since Šukaletuda’s responsibilities include watering (a sig10; 93, 141, 263) and “building wells” near the plants (pu2 a k; 94, 142, 264), both of which indicate summer activities. But there are few other seasonal indicators 251. Oppenheim, “Diviner’s Manual,” 200, lines 39–40. 252. Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 270 (source E = VAT 9805 + 9808 14′–15′). 253. Cooper, “Literature and History,” 143.

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in the story. In any case, Elam and Subir lie east and north of southern Iraq, so Inana’s brief appearance in the night sky (104), followed by her resting on earth (116), describe Venus’s brief celestial appearance before sunrise in the east (Γ) and her quick disappearance, shortly after which the planet is lost in the light of dawn just before sunrise. In the story, Inana spends some time sleeping under a poplar tree, because she is exhausted from her travels. The gardener sexually assaults the goddess in the brief period after she disappears in the light of dawn and when the sun actually rises. The goddess discovers this terrible fact after sunrise: 126

u4 im -z a l dutu i m -t a-e3-a-[ra]

127

mu nus-e ni2-te -a-n i i g i i m -k ar2k a[r2] ku3 dinana - k e4 n i2-te -a-n i i g i i m kar2-k ar2

128

When the day came, and Utu had risen, The woman carefully examined herself. Shining Inana carefully examined herself.

Enraged, Inana searches for Šukaletuda three times unsuccessfully. She searches for him in the mountains, but his father cleverly advises him to hide himself in the city, where he will disappear in the anonymous urban mass. The goddess, consequently, is unable to locate her attacker:  254 184

[mu nus -e š a3 kur-kur]-r a-k a nuu m -ma - n i -i n -[p]a3

The woman did not find him among the mountains.254

For her investigation, Inana searches the kur-kur, “lands, mountains.” As previously noted, the term kur is a broad one. It could simply be indicating the borders of the land in general, the eastern kur where the sun rises and the western kur, where it sets (as in 101–2)—that is, the two places to which astral Inana’s celestial activities are confined. The previous episodes in which Inana is said to have entered the kur in some way (4–5, 8, 15–18) were understood as periods of Venus’s invisibility. Here, however (181, 184, 210, 213, 235, 238), she is simply searching the mountains and is not necessarily entering them. Indeed, the second plague, which comprises a cluster of meteorological activities, assumes her presence in the sky. In these passages, then, the kur-kur may refer to actual mountains in the east over which the goddess is hovering. From there, she is able to hunt for her attacker and instigate the plagues. If this is the case, the mountain searches and the three plague episodes refer to Venus’s eight-month period of visibility in the east (Γ to Σ). This is an appealing option, since, having failed in her attempts to bring her attacker to justice, Inana inspects herself yet again by the morning light (239–41). Previously (126–28), 254. Also 210, 235.

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this temporal designation seemed to indicate her first visibility in the east just before sunrise (Γ). Now it seems to be indicating her last visibility in the east (Σ), also just before sunrise. Irritated by her inability to discover her attacker, Inana travels to Eridu, the home of the wise god Enki, for advice: 245 abz u e r idugki -g a de n -k i k a3-š e3 ku3 [di nana-k]e4? ĝ i r i 3 im -ma - an -gu[b]

Pure Inana directed her steps to the apsu of Enki’s Eridu.

If she is visiting Enki in the apsu in Eridu, she must no longer be visible in the sky, since Eridu is an actual city, and the apsu is Enki’s freshwater abode, located within the earth. Following Inana’s appearance over the eastern mountains, this descent and consultation with Enki may refer to an 80-day period of invisibility (superior conjunction) following her disappearance in the east (Σ–Ξ). But Inana’s visit to Enki is fairly brief in the narrative, and it does not seem long enough to indicate the approximately 80-day absence that a superior conjunction necessitates. Perhaps she is simply visiting Enki during the day, when she is always invisible. Enki agrees to Inana’s demands that she be allowed to locate the perpetrator. Inana departs Eridu and the apsu and, in an impossible celestial event, crosses the entire sky like a rainbow: 251 252

253

With that, holy Inana rose from [k]u3 dinana abzu e r i duki-t a the apsu of Eridu. im -ma - d a-r a-t a-e3 d [n]i2-t e -a -ni t i r-an-na-g i m an-na She stretched herself like a b a -an -g i16-ib k i b a-d a-an-us2 rainbow across the sky and reached thereby as far as the earth. u lu3? i3-dib -b e2 m e -e r i3-d ib -b e2 She let the south wind pass across; she let the north wind pass across.

Inana’s path spans from east to west, and thus, both the north and south winds are able to cross it. Since it is not feasible for Inana (as Venus) to cross the entire sky, this must be understood as a miraculous event. 255 It is noteworthy, too, that Inana is likened to a rainbow, since later scholarly tradition, in general, as well as the celestial divination tradition, in particular, equate Inana/Ištar/Venus with dTIR.AN.NA. As Volk noted, for example, Inana/Ištar is associated with 255. Of course, a rainbow does not actually span the entire sky, and the simile could simply be referring to an arc-like movement of Venus that is other than her normal, horizon-bound motion. In this case, the novel movement is still to be considered miraculous within the context of the story.

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the divine Rainbow in the god list AN: da-nu-um. 256 There is also a specific star called mulTIR.AN.NA 257 that is, in celestial divination practice of the LB period, related specifically to the planet Venus. 258 There are also several omens in which Venus appears with a rainbow. 259 These connections are appealing, but it must be remembered that Inana is not equated with the rainbow in Inana and Šukaletuda; rathers she is said to be like a rainbow, dt ir-an-na-g im. With her novel expansive purview, the goddess is able to locate her attacker. Most translators reconstruct the lacuna in 255 to read: 260 255 mu nus-e š[a3? kur-kur]-r a-k a im -ma - na-ni -i n-p a3

But the woman found him among the mountains.

Alternatively, Jerrold Cooper suggests that we reconstruct the line thus: 261 255 munus-e š[a3? ki-en-gir]-ra-ka im-ma-na-ni-in-pa3

But the woman found him in the heart of [Sumer].

256. CT 25 31 rev. ii 8: [d]TIR.AN.NA: MIN (ma-an-za-at) dMIN (ištar). See Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda, 202. See also Litke, AN: dAN-NU-UM, 166–67 (IV 288, 291). 257. MUL.APIN I i 33. 258. LBAT #1576 ii 7: mulTIR.AN.NA dMIN (= ddil-bat). 259. While most of these are too fragmentary to offer useful comparisons (BPO 3, 42–43:18; 140–41:rev. ii 35–37), one Neo-Assyrian report mentions an interesting assemblage of celestial phenomena (SAA 8 31:1–8; cf. 33:3; 43:2; 453:4): A.AN GÙ dIM an-ni-[u] ša a-dan-ni ša ta-mar-t[i] ša ddil-bat šu-u

This rain and thunder concerns the appointed time of the sighting of Venus.

DIŠ ina ITI.NE dIM GÙ-šú ŠUB-ma UD ŠÚ AN ŠUR-nun d TIR.AN.NA GIL NIM.GÍR ib-ri-iq A.KAL-MEŠ ina IDIM LÁ-MEŠ

If in Ab, Adad thunders, the day becomes cloudy, it rains, a rainbow arches, lightning flashes: the floodings will become scarce at the source.

Here, the diviner notes that stormy weather, seen with a rainbow at the time that the planet Venus is supposed to be sighted, indicates (contrary to what one may assume) that water will be scarce. Alternatively, we have an explanation followed by an omen citation. Rain and thunder occurring at the same time that Venus is sighted are equated with rain and thunder occurring with a rainbow. In either case, the practical upshot is the same: there will be an unexpected lack of water. This could be related to the events in Inana and Šukaletuda in that, in both the omen and the story, all signs (in both cases involving Venus’s appearance, storms, and a rainbow) seem to point to agricultural prosperity and yet result in the exact opposite. 260. Black et al., The Literature of Ancient Sumer, 204. But compare with Volk, Inana und Šukaletuda, 132 (“Die Frau hatte ihn [doch] innerhalb [aller Länder?] gefunden”) and 206, in which Volk expresses his doubts regarding this restoration. 261. Personal communication.

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Inana is able to move away from both horizons, which lie to the east and west of Sumer, respectively and, with Enki’s help, position herself directly over the densely urbanized region in which the culprit is hiding. By describing Inana’s movements in this manner, the ancient author has revealed his knowledge of the normal movements of the planet. In the context of the story, the wondrous phenomenon’s corresponding event within Venus’s synodic cycle is the planet’s eight-month period of visibility in the west (Ξ–Ω). Inana’s extraordinary ability to cross the entire sky becomes the fulcrum event in the story, a true deus ex machina, which allows the goddess to find her attacker. Thus, Šukaletuda can be brought to justice, his name can go down in song and legend, and the story can be resolved. Inana’s Movements in Inana and Šukaletuda and Associated Venus Phenomena Lines Inana’s Movement 15–16 Inana in the kur 104

Inana appears, is raped, and inspects herself at sunrise 181–238 Inana launches plagues and searches 239–41 Inana inspects herself again at sunrise 245–50 Inana visits Enki in Eridu 251–55

Sigla Venus Phenomena Ω–Γ? 3 days–2 weeks of invisibility: inferior conjunction? Γ First visibility in the east Γ–Σ

8-mo. period of eastern visibility

Σ?

Last visibility in the east?

Σ–Ξ? Ca. 80 days of invisibility: superior conjunction? Inana miraculously spans the Ξ–Ω? 8-mo. period of western visibility? entire sky like a rainbow Ξ–Σ! First visibility in west to last in east!

3.4.1.3. Inana and Šukaletuda: Conclusion.  The story of Inana and Šukale­tuda depicts the goddess Inana in her astral manifestation, epithetically and in regard not only to her appearance but also, I maintain, to her particular movements. In the story, Inana is seen bound to the eastern and western horizons. Since there are no celestial-science texts contemporary with the composition of Inana and Šukaletuda, we cannot look to them for specific terminology. Nonetheless, the present story does employ terms that are used in later material. The specific terms ĝ išk im, “sign, omen,” and t ir-an-na, “rainbow,” are striking in terms of their use in later celestial-divination literature. Furthermore, the fulcrum of the story, which takes place when Inana receives permission to step miraculously out of Venus’s prescribed movements, hinges on knowledge

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of the concept that the planet’s normal movements are bound to the horizon. Only by doing so is Inana able to discover her attacker and bring him to justice.

3.4.2.  Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven and Gilgamesh VI The Bull of Heaven (mulGUD.AN.NA) is a rare character in Mesopotamian literature; he appears only in the SB Gilgamesh VI, the Sumerian composition, šu l-mè-kam, “Hero of Battle,” on which the former is based, and perhaps Girra and Elamatum (though with the epithet Girra rather than mulGUD. AN.NA). 262 In contrast to this, the Bull of Heaven (Taurus) is understandably 262. For Girra and Elamatum, see §3.3.6 above. For the most in-depth treatment of the SB version see George, Babylonian Gilgamesh Epic, 470–78, 624–29, 839–43. For the Sumerian version, see A. Cavigneaux and F. N. H. Al-Rawi, “Gilgameš et Taureau de Ciel (Šu l - mè - k am): Textes de Tell Haddad IV,” RA 87 (1993) 97–129. Though these are the only two literary texts that feature the Bull of Heaven as a character, the opening lines (1–3) of the Curse of Agade does make reference to the Sumerian composition: s ag-k i-g id2-d a den-l i l2-l a2-k e4

After Enlil’s frown

k iški gud-an-na -g im i-im ug5-ga-a-t a e2-k i unuki-ga g u d -ma ḫ -g im s aḫar-ra m i-ni-ib -g a z-a -t a

Had slain Kish like the Bull of Heaven, Had slaughtered the house of the land of Uruk in the dust like a mighty bull . . .

Text and translation of the above are from Jerrold Cooper, The Curse of Agade (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1983) 50–51. There is, in addition to this, a reference to a “Great Bull of Heaven” in the Inana’s Descent. Upon attempting to enter the netherworld, Inana is questioned by Neti, the chief gatekeeper, about why she wishes to enter. Inana replies: nin9 ga l-ĝu10 ku g dg a -š a -an-k iga l-l a-ke4 mu d am-a-ni u3-mu -u n g u d ga l-an-na b a -an-u g5-g a

“Because Lord Gudgalana, the husband of my elder sister pure Ereškigal, has died.”

Text and translation of the above are from ETCSL 1.4.1, Graham Cunningham, “Inana’s Descent to the Netherworld,” n.p., http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text=c.1​ .4​.1&display=Crit&charenc=gcirc# and http://etcsl.orinst.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/etcsl.cgi?text​ =​t​.1​.4​.1#, lines 86–87 [accessed 28 June 2011]; see also Sladek, “Inanna’s Descent,” 159. Whether this character should be identified as mulGUD.AN.NA is a matter of some debate. Several scholars maintain that the two are identical. Tzvi Abusch argues that, in the Gilgamesh and the Bull of Heaven stories, the king’s refusal of marriage to the goddess leads Ištar to marry the Bull (her sister’s husband!) and let him loose on Uruk. This results in the Bull’s death at the hands of Enkidu and Gilgamesh and, according to Tzvi Abusch, this is this event that the goddess is mourning in the Descent of Inana 86–87 (“Ishtar’s Proposal and Gilgamesh’s Refusal: An Interpretation of ‘The Gilgamesh Epic,’ Tablet 6, Lines 1–79,” HR 26 (1986) 161, 176–80). See also Diana Wolkenstein and

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well featured in celestial-science texts. 263 In the mantic literature, it is frequently associated with the well-being of cattle and other livestock. 264 The Sumerian and SB accounts tell very similar, though not identical stories. In both accounts, it seems, Ištar/Inana is enraged at Gilgamesh because he rejects her amorous advances. Ištar/Inana runs to her father and begs him to release for her the Bull of Heaven, that she may exact revenge on Gilgamesh: 265 a -a -mu g u d-an-na ḫu-mu-un Oh my father, please give me the na -ab sum(!) Bull of Heaven! e n g a -mu -un -ga e n g a-mu-un -ga Let me kill the lord, let me kill the lord, e n dGIŠ- bi l2-ga-m e s e n the lord Bilgames, let me kill the g a -mu -nu(?)-ga lord!” Samuel N. Kramer, Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer (New York: Harper and Row, 1983) 157–58. Indeed, for Abusch, the Bull of Heaven in the Gilgamesh stories and Inana’s Descent has its roots in a seasonal myth in which the Bull slayed and is “never again to descend and rise with the seasons” (Abusch, “An Interpretation,” 178). The problem is, of course, the Bull still does ascend and descend; see, for example, MUL.APIN I ii 39. If GUD.GAL.AN.NA and mulGUD.AN.NA are not actually identical, just what is the former? Ereškigal’s husband is listed as dGÚ.GAL.AN.NA, “The Canal Inspector of An” (Leichty, AN: da-nu-um, 188 [tablet V 217]). This title is a more fitting moniker for the spouse of a chthonic goddess such as Ereškigal, and Sladek suggests that the version we see in Inana’s Descent is a “folk etymology” of the actual name (“Inanna’s Descent,” 194). This would explain the complete absence of this specific name in later texts. However, the appended Sumerian an -na, “of heaven,” does suggest the possibility that the name refers to an astral body (compare mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA) as well as the fact that Inana’s Descent is commonly understood as Inana as Venus during her travels below the horizon. Even if we accept GUD.GAL.AN.NA as the more genuine reading, this does not necessarily indicate that it is identical to mulGUD.AN.NA. There are several pairs of astral features whose names are similar, though the features themselves are quite distinct: mulMAR.GÍD.DA (= Ursa Maior, Gössmann #258) vs. mulMAR.GÍD. AN.NA (= Ursa Minor, Gössmann #259), mulMAŠ.TAB.BA.GAL.GAL (= α and β Geminorum, Gössmann #286) vs. mulMAŠ.TAB.BA.TUR.TUR (= ζ and λ Geminorum [?], Gössmann #269), dNIN.SI4 (= Mars, BPO 2, III 13–13a) vs. dNIN.SI4.AN.NA (= Venus, Gössmann #327). I am, thus, uncertain whether GUD.GAL.AN.NA is a celestial feature that may or may not be identified with mulGUD.AN.NA. But for the purposes of this book, the fact that this epithet is unknown in the celestial-science corpus means that I will exclude the possible identification from discussion. 263. For example, MUL.APIN I ii 1; iii 15, 45–46; iv 33; SAA 8 163:rev. 1–3. 264. For example, BPO 2, XI 30–31; SAA 8 49:10–rev. 2; 8 86:4; 8 461:5; 8 459:4, 8; 8 503:rev. 1. 265. Text from Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi, “Gilgameš et Taureau de Ciel,” 115–16; for the English translation, see George, The Epic of Gilgamesh, 171.

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Similarly, in the SB version: 266 a-bi a-la-a bi-nam-ma GIŠ-gim-maš lu-nir-r[u i]na šub-ti-šú

d

“Father, would you give me the Bull so I can attack Gilgamesh in his home?”

In both versions, An is reluctant to release the beast, since on earth it would not have the food it needs to survive: 267 lu2-tu r-mu g ud -an-na u2-gu3-bi in -nu an-nu [var. an -ur2-ra] u2-g u3- bi k i-si k i l dinana k i -dutu-e3 na-r i a nag a

“Oh my child, the Bull of Heaven would have no food, at the horizon is its food! Oh maiden Inana, it grazes where the sun rises!”

Here, the Bull of Heaven is described specifically in an astral aspect—as a constellation, it feeds either in the sky, an-nu, or, according to a variant, when the constellation is closest to the earth, that is, when it is near the horizon, an-ur2r a. The term an-ur2-ra is the Sumerian equivalent of the Akkadian išid šamê, “base of heaven,” which is the common term for the horizon in all genres, including of course, celestial-science texts. 268 The SB version, on the other hand, makes no reference to the location of the Bull’s normal food source: 269 š[u]m-ma a-la-a ter-ri-ši-i[n-ni] al-mat-ti UNUGki 7 MU.MEŠ pi-i [l] i-pa-ḫi-i[r] [lúENGAR UNUGki? l]i-rab-bi Ú.ḪÁ

“If you want the Bull from me the widow of Uruk must gather chaff for 7 years, [the farmer of Uruk? m]ust grow grass.”

The resolution to this impasse in these two accounts differs: in the Sumerian story, Inana screams and wails until An simply relents, while in the SB version, Ištar informs An that the requisite food has already been stored up (VI 106–12). An thus releases the Bull of Heaven into the hands of Ištar/Inana, and the goddess leads the Bull down from heaven. In both stories, the Bull immediately consumes all of the land’s agricultural resources of both water and grain. The SB version adds to this destruction—every time the Bull snorts, the earth splits to reveal a massive hole, into which hundreds of men plummet to their deaths (VI 119–22). After almost falling into one of these pits, Enkidu approaches 266. VI 94–95. 267. A ii 18–20. 268. For example, SAA 8 453:3–4. 269. VI 103–5.

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Gilgamesh with a plan of attack (VI 123–40). Enkidu will grab the animal’s tail and step on one of its hind legs while Gilgamesh drives a knife into its back. The two companions do so and are able to dispatch the creature. In the Sumerian story, it is Gilgamesh alone who slaughters the Bull, and he does so with a blow to the head from his enormous axe (Ma ii 127). 270 In both accounts, the Bull is then dismembered; in the SB version, Gilgamesh and Enkidu remove the heart and offer it up to Šamaš (VI 148–50). In both versions, the hero(es) then remove the animal’s haunch, which is spitefully thrown at the goddess. The occasion is marked in the SB version by Ištar’s instituting a period of mourning: 271 up-taḫ-ḫi-ir diš-tar ke-ez-re-e-ti fšam-ḫa- Ištar gathered the prostitutes, a-ti u fKAR.KID.MEŠ harlots, and courtesans; ina UGU i-mit-ti GUD.AN.NA bi-ki-ta she established lamentation over iš-kun the shoulder of the Bull of Heaven.

This memorializing act parallels the celebratory feast, isinnu, which is instituted to commemorate the slaying of the Elamatum in Girra and Elamatum. 272 There is no indication, however, that the mourning initiated by Ištar is anything other than a one-time event. The dismemberment continues. In the Sumerian story, Gilgamesh distributes the Bull’s flesh to the hungry orphans of Uruk (Ma ii 134–37). 273 In both versions, the Bull’s horns become exceptional ritual oil containers. In the Sumerian account, these are used by Inana: 274 si-bi m in -ab2-bi gišš ag an i3 du10From flasks made of its two horns g a -k e4 ku3 di nana-k e4 e2-an-naInanna in Eanna did pour k e4 ḫ e2-em -t a-d a-b a l a-e sweet oil.

In the SB version, Gilgamesh is to use them in the royal ancestral cult: 275 is-si-ma dGIŠ-gím-maš um-ma-na kiškàt-te-e ka-la-ma ku-bur qar-ni-šu ú-na-ʾa-du DUMU. MEŠ um-ma-nu 30 ma-naàm na4ZA.GIN ši-pi-ik-ši-na 2 ma-naàm ta-ah-ba-tu-ši-na

Gilgamesh called the experts, all the craftsmen. The experts celebrated the thickness of its horns. 30 minas of lapis was their weight, 2 minas their casting,

270. Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi, “Gilgameš et Taureau de Ciel,” 108–9. 271. VI 158–59. 272. Walker, “Girra and Elamatum,” 148–49, lines 43–46 and §3.3.6, above. 273. Cavigneaux and Al-Rawi, “Gilgameš et Taureau de Ciel,” 108. 274. Ibid.; translation from George, The Epic of Gilgamesh, 175. 275. VI 160–66.

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6 kors of oil the volume of both. For the anointment of his god, Lugalbanda, he presented them. He brought them in and hung them in his main bed chamber.

That the Bull’s horns are described as na4ZA.GIN/ûqnu is significant, because, in some traditions, the heavens are described as being made of lapis lazuli, though this is hardly unanimous. 276 Since, as a constellation, the horns of the Bull of Heaven are not entirely visible in the sky but consist only of select points along their length, this use of “lapis” could reflect the idea that the reason for their predominant invisibility is the fact that they are composed of the same material as the sky itself. One relic of the pan-Babylonianist school’s interpretations that has survived in Assyriological circles is the idea that the story recounted in Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven and Gilgamesh VI (specifically, the severing of the imittu in the SB text and of the zag-dib-b a in the Sumerian) is a partial catasterism for the appearance of Taurus; the classical constellation is missing its hindquarters. Peter Jensen was the first to espouse this interpretation; 277 he also identified Gilgamesh and Enkidu as the twins in Gemini—indeed, he read the entire story astrally. 278 P. Felix Gössmann propagated this reading in his otherwise sober opus, noting Jensen’s interpretation in his article on mulGUD. AN.NA. 279 Wolfgang Heimpel later presupposed this analysis when introducing his study of Near Eastern Venus deities. 280 Indeed, the presentation of a character known otherwise only as a constellation in celestial-science texts is peculiar, and interpreting the story as a catasterism, similar to the mulBAN/Bow account in EE VI 81–91 (§3.3.8.4) (or, perhaps more appropriately, the Girra’s construction of the Elamatum after his victory over that beast in Girra and Elamatum, §3.3.6) offers an appealing explanation of the Bull’s singular literary occurrence. Despite these tempting parallels, the fact remains that, though the Bull is certainly perceived as astral, the return/ascendance of the Bull of Heaven 276. In VAT 8917 30–33 (Livingstone, Mystical and Mythological Explanatory Works, 82–83), the various parts of heaven are made of na4lu-lu-da-ni-tú, na4sag-gil-mut, and na4 aš-pu-u (jasper?), while the dais on which the throne of Bēl rests is made of na4ZA. GÌN/ûqnu (lapis). For the sky itself being composed of lapis, see Horowitz, MCG, 166– 67; note also Nisaba’s star tablet, which is also said to be made of lapis (§2.2.2.). 277. Jensen, Das Gilgamesch-Epos, 1:91–92. 278. Ibid., 1:77–112. 279. Gössmann #77. 280. Wolfgang Heimpel, “A Catalog of Near Eastern Venus Deities,” 9.

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to the sky is mentioned nowhere in Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven or in Gil­ gamesh VI. Indeed, in both accounts, the Bull is hacked to pieces, and its most prominent features (its horns) are used cultically, either in the Eanna or in Gilgamesh’s ancestral cult. Furthermore, and perhaps most decisively, in the few images of the Bull of Heaven that we actually have preserved from the Meso­ potamian tradition, the Bull is depicted whole! Two of these are preserved on Seleucid tablets from Uruk. The first is the image on TCL 6 pl. 91 (O 175), a copy of a Nippur original, which contains a theological text. The tablet features a number of images, including a whole recumbent bull, under which the caption unambiguously reads mulGUD.AN.NA. 281 The second tablet is one of the famous Gestirn-Darstellung tablets (VAT 7851), which depicts the Bull of Heaven together with the stars and the moon. 282 The text accompanying the image is a list of the zodiacal signs, beginning with MUL.MUL mulGUD.AN.NA, together signifying zodiacal Taurus. Though VAT 7851 is broken through the Bull, and the hind section is missing as a result, we can be sure it was originally there, because the Bull is depicted leaping. In addition to these depictions on tablets, Seleucid seal impressions from Uruk feature many complete bulls, both alone and in conjunction with other zodiacal signs. 283 Thus, the assertion that Bil­ games and the Bull of Heaven and Gilgamesh VI record a (partial) catasterism explaining why the Bull is missing his hindquarters cannot be assumed, since this tradition is documented nowhere in Mesopotamian literature or iconography—in fact, only the opposite is recorded. While both Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven and Gilgamesh VI feature the Bull of Heaven being released by the sky god An, neither story features any other terms that are specific to celestial-science literature. It seems that the only astral knowledge reflected in these two texts is the mere existence of the constellation mulGUD.AN.NA and possibly its regular appearance near the horizon, a fact that is clear to any observer and requires no knowledge of the contemporary celestial sciences other than the name of the constellation. 284 In the Sumerian tale and the Akkadian epic, the Bull of Heaven is a feature player that is largely, if not entirely, independent of its role in celestial science.

281. See also F. Thureau-Dangin, “Un acte de Donation de Marduk-zâkir-šumi,” RA 16 (1919) 154. 282. Weidner, Gestirn-Darstellungen, pls. 1–2. 283. R. Wallenfells, “Zodiacal Signs among the Seal Impressions from Hellenistic Uruk,” in The Tablet and the Scroll: Near Eastern Studies in Honor of William W. Hallo (ed. M. Cohen et al; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1993) 281–89. 284. See above, Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven A ii 18–20.

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3.5. Conclusion The use of celestial science in the literature of Mesopotamia reflects the concern with and use of celestial science in that culture as a whole. In all aspects, the starry heavens are the privileged sphere of the royalty. In the pre-OB period, this manifested itself in the royal astral mythology indicated in the Dumuzi folklore and, as we saw in chap. 2, the Sumerian King List and the tradition surrounding Šulgi’s ascent (§2.2.3). Thus, one of the possible final fates of kings, especially those of the hoariest antiquity, appears to have been inclusion in the celestial sphere. The most ubiquitous manifestation of the royal benefits of the night sky, however, was ithe use of celestial divination. The ultimate expression of the use of celestial divination may be found in Erra and Išum, where divine royals use divination to decode each other’s movements and intentions and to predict the final results of conflicts. Even the celestial science reflected in Enūma Eliš is mostly indicative of celestial divination, because the system it defines in tablet V is the system used exclusively in the practice. Incorporated in Enūma Eliš’s foundation of the system of celestial divination is a system of calendrical regulation, which is in part also expressed in Girra and Elamatum, where a constellation is established together with a festival. Thus, the use of the celestial sciences in Mesopotamian literature reflects the monarchy’s primary goals: celestial divination and the establishment and/or regulation of the calendar (§2.1.2.1).

Chapter 4

Celestial Science at Ugarit and in Ugaritic Literature 4.1.  The Celestial Sciences at Ugarit 4.1.1. Introduction There are only three published astronomical texts known from Ugarit, 1 one in Akkadian (RS 23.038), and the other two in Ugaritic (KTU 1.163 and 1.78). 2 These sources are admittedly scant; however, by investigating these texts in some detail, we can attempt to determine the goals of celestial science at Ugarit, even if the specifics of its methods are not reconstructible. 4.1.1.1.  Chronology and Provenance of Sources.  All of the texts discussed in this chapter date to the Late Bronze Age. Two texts (RS 23.038 and KTU 1.78) were discovered in the city of Ugarit itself, while the third (KTU 1.163) was unearthed at the associated palace at Ras Ibn Hani. KTU 1.78 and 1.163 were both found in palaces—the former in the west archives of the Royal Palace and the latter in the Northern Palace. RS 23.038 was uncovered in the southern city, in the so-called House of Literary Texts. 4.1.1.2.  Note on Astral Religion at Ugarit.  Astral religion was seamlessly incorporated into the religious life of ancient Ugarit. The people of Ugarit, like their neighbors in ancient Iraq, observed the sky for devotional purposes. Some astral features were considered visible manifestations of the gods and were therefore appropriate objects of veneration through cultus. 1. Portions of §4.1 of this chapter appear in my “Astral Religion in Ugarit and Ancient Israel,” JNES 70 (2011) 181–87; and “Celestial Divination in Ugarit and Ancient Israel: A Reassessment,” JNES 71 (2012) 28–30. 2. T. de Jong and W. van Soldt describe two other unpublished astronomical texts in Akkadian, RS 25.440A; 25.141 + 25.454, as almanacs (“Redating an Early Solar Eclipse Record [KTU 1.78]: Implications for the Ugaritic Calendar and for the Secular Accelerations of the Earth and Moon,” JEOL 30 [1987–88] 69 n. 8). P. Bordreuil and Dennis Pardee label RS 25.141 + 25.454 as “Présages”; both RS 25.440A and RS 25.141 + 25.454 were discovered in the so-called “House of Magical Texts” (TEO 1, 314, 318).

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In Ugaritic mythology, some gods were specifically identified as stars or planets, such as Athtar, the failed usurper of Baal’s throne, who is to be identified as the planet Venus. 3 The gods in general, ilm, are readily equated with stars, kbkbm, in Ugaritic mythological texts. For example, in Aqhat, the Ugaritic Daniel begins a ritual of mourning for Aqhat (KTU 1.19 IV 22–25): wyq[ry] // dbḥ . ilm yšʿly . dtṯ[h]m // bšmym . dǵṯ . hrnmy . [bk]//bkbm

He presents a sacrifice to the gods. He sends incense up into the heavens, incense, the Harnemite, up into the stars.

Here, the heavens, the gods, and the stars all occur in semantic parallel. In addition to this, in the rather saucy myth of Shahar and Shalim, the birth of the two gods requires the appropriate celebratory ritual directed to the gods in the sky (KTU 1.23:54): 4 šu . ʿdb . lšpš . rbt . wlkbkbn . knm

Raise up, prepare (an offering) to Lady Shapshu and to the fixed stars.

Furthermore, in KTU 1.10, a fragment of a myth, bn il, “sons of El,” seem to be equated with pḫr kkbm, “assembly of stars.” Cultic texts also clearly identify astral deities. KTU 1.43, which was discovered in the library of the high priest, describes an official sacrificial ritual in which the cultic images of a group of gods (ʿAṯtartu Ḫurri and the Gaṯarūma) travel to the “temple of the star gods,” bt ilm kbkbm, a structure that appears to have been a temple located in the royal palace. 5 In this temple, the visiting deities deliver offerings and make sacrifices for the star gods, who are identified as Šapšu, Yariḫu, Gaṯaru, and ʿAnatu. 6 Šapšu and Yariḫu are obviously the sun and moon. Gaṯaru, and ʿAnatu must be identified with other celestial features (either planets, conspicuous stars, or constellations) since, of course, they are being worshiped in the same bt ilm kbkbm. This sampling of texts demonstrates that elements of the Syro-Canaanite religion of Ugarit were astral in nature. Indeed, the astral references in the 3. KTU 1.6 I 44–65. See W. Heimpel, “A Catalog of Near Eastern Venus Deities,” Syro-Mesopotamian Studies 4/3 (1982) 13; and discussion below, §4.2.2.1. 4. Nicholas Wyatt translates the last two words “and to the stars who have been begotten” (Religious Texts from Ugarit [2nd ed.; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002] 333). Regardless of how one translates the passage, there is general agreement that the terms refer to fixed stars. 5. For KTU 1.43 in general, see G. del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion according to the Liturgical Texts of Ugarit (Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1999) 282–91; and Dennis Pardee, Les Textes Rituels 1–2 (RSO 12; Paris: Éditions Recherche sur les Civilisations, 2000) 214–64. 6. For a brief discussion of the possible identities of the ilm kbkbm in KTU 1.43, see Pardee, ibid., 230–32.

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mythological texts cited above are seamlessly incorporated into their narratives and, for Ugarit at least, it is perhaps not helpful to think in terms of astral religion but, rather, in terms of astral facets of Ugaritic religion.

4.1.2.  The Calendar That the calendar in use at Ugarit was basically lunar is unequivocal. Month names at Ugarit are typically preceded by the word yrḫ, or, in the few Akkadian cases, the logogram ITI, for example, yrḫ riš yn 7 and ITI pag-ri-ma. 8 Furthermore, the days of the new moon (ym ḥdṯ) and full moon (ym mlat) are noted and play an important role in the cult, for example, b yrḫ . ḫy[r . b ym] ḥdṯ ḫḏrǵl, “In the month of Hiyyar, on the day of the new moon, the cultic servant. . . . 9 That ym mlat is indeed the date of the full moon is illustrated by KTU 1.109:1–4: b arbʿt . ʿšr[t] yrtḥṣ . mlk . b[rr] b ym mlat tqln alpm

On the fourteenth he washes himself—the king is p[ure.] On the day of the full moon the cattle fall. . . .

While it is clear that the calendar at Ugarit was lunar, neither the names of all months nor their proper order is similarly clear. 10 Based on a handful of cultic texts as well as economic records, the names and a tentative order of the months have been reconstructed by de Jong and van Soldt. The relevant texts and reconstruction are summarized in the chart on p. 183. 11 This reconstruction is based on a few important and reasonable presuppositions. The first is that riš yn in the fall is the first month of the year, a pattern shared by the Gezer 7. KTU 4.387:21. 8. RS 25.455A+B, iii 3′ in M. Nougayrol, “Noveaux Textes d’Ugarit en Cuneiformes Babyloniens,” AAAS 14 (1964) 39; W. van Soldt recollated and published the text together with T. de Jong, “Redating,” 69–70. 9. KTU 1.112:1–2. 10. J. Olivier published the first systematic study of the calendar at Ugarit, but he was apparently unaware of RS 25.455A+B, which would have significantly altered his reconstructed order (“Notes on the Ugaritic Month Names I,” JNSL 1 [1971] 39–45; and “Notes on the Ugaritic Month Names II,” JNSL 2 [1972] 53–59). Cohen (Cultic Calendars, 377–83) is also unaware of the text. 11. Chart based on de Jong and van Soldt, “Redating,” 70 (see also p. 71). Pardee places riš yn in the 12th rather than 1st month (Les Textes Rituels, 156–59). The month ibʿlt is only attested in KTU 1.119, which is a list of sacrifices and rituals b yrḫ . ibʿlt (KTU 1.119:1). It is important to note here, contra Cohen (Cultic Calendar, 374–75, who is unaware of de Jong’s and van Soldt’s study; see above) and Durand (MARI 1/1, 121–22), that ḫyr at Ugarit, which takes place in February/March, does not correspond chronologically to Iyar in the Standard Mesopotamian calendar, which takes place in April/May.

Celestial Science at Ugarit and in Ugaritic Literature

KTU 4.182 KTU 4.387 riš yn riš yn nql mgmr pgrm

KTU 4.219/ 4.220

ḫyr ḥlt gn iṯb

iṯtbnm

Reconstruction RS 455A+B (Mo. #, Name) 1. riš yn 2. nql ma-ag-ma-r[i 3. mgmr pag-ri-ma 4. pgrm ib-a-la-ti 5. ibʿlt ḫi-ia-ri 6. ḫyr ḫa-la-ti 7. ḥlt 8. gn 9. iṯb 10. ? 11. ? 12. iṯtbnm

183 Time of Year Sept./Oct. Oct./Nov. Nov./Dec. Dec./Jan. Jan./Feb. Feb./Mar. Mar./Apr. Apr./May May./Jun. Jun./Jul. Jul./Aug. Aug./Sept.

Calendar. 12 The second is that there are no gaps in our lists of months, and the 12. §5.5.1. This is based mostly on Johannes C. de Moor’s reconstruction of the year, which, though reasonable is nevertheless highly conjectural (The Seasonal Pattern, 57–60, 77–78). De Moor, based on his reading of KTU 1.14 II 31–32, also posits that there were both a cultic and a civil calendar at Ugarit, parallel to the model developed by some scholars to solve the calendrical problems in the Hebrew Bible (Seasonal Pattern, 61–62). For the idea of a civil calendar in ancient Israel, see most recently David Miano, The Shadow on the Steps: Time Measurement in Ancient Israel (SBLRBS 64; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010) 42–46. Although multiple calendars in operation simultaneously may explain the calendrical issues presented by the Hebrew Bible, I prefer a diachronic model, which I believe is both heuristically more powerful and parsimonious; see §5.5. Related to the question of the first month of the year, the observation of the equinoxes (specifically autumnal) may or may not have played an important role in the religious calendar of Ugarit. The people of Ugarit were certainly aware that the days began to lengthen in the middle of the season of winter and shorten in summer. Yet it is unclear just what importance they assigned to specific days on which the respective durations of light and dark were in balance. De Moor in particular believes that observation of the equinoxes was integral to the cultic calendar at Ugarit, and he links the autumnal equinox to the beginning of story of the Baal Cycle. He understands two ritual texts (KTU 1.41 and KTU 1.104) as referring to cultic observations of the day of the autumnal equinox (An Anthology of Religious Texts from Ugarit [NISABA 16; Leiden: Brill, 1987] 121–22, n. 26, 164–65). This would, of course, require some astronomical observation. Though there are undoubtedly seasonal elements in the Baal Cycle, it is impossible to maintain that the events of that story were meant to be understood as unfolding over the course of a single year, as Mark Smith and others have amply demonstrated (The

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third is that there was a single native calendar used in Ugarit. Regarding this last issue, it is noteworthy that there are parallels to month names attested at Alalakh. 13 The Ugaritic months pgrm, ḫyr, and iṯtbnm have the Alalakh cognates pa-ag-ri, 14 ḫi-ia-ri, 15 and aš-ta-bi-na-tim. 16 Since the months are associated with agricultural activities, it can be assumed that, as in Mesopotamia, some sort of regular intercalation was practiced in order to keep the calendar year and the agricultural/tropical year synchronized. There is no solid evidence that astronomical means were employed to establish when the insertion of an intercalary month was necessary. 17 It is most likely that when to add a month was determined on an ad hoc basis. While the new moon and full moon obviously had primary importance in the cult, a septenary week grounded in the monthly lunar cycle had some significance. 18 This is most evident in KTU 1.112, a royal cultic text for the month ḫyr in which the major sacrificial cycles begin on the 1st, 8th, and 15th days of the month, separated by the king’s ritually washing and purifying himself on the 7th and 14th. 19 Echoes of a septenary week can also be seen in KTU 1.106, 1.41/1.87. 20

4.1.3. Divination 4.1.3.1.  Solar Divination: The Akkadian Solar Eclipse Omen Text (RS 23.038).  RS 23.038 is a fragment of what appears to have been a large tablet containing Ugaritic Baal Cycle, 1:60–69). De Moor’s understanding of KTU 1.41 and KTU 1.104 is also not certain (compare G. del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion according to the Liturgi­ cal Texts of Ugarit [Bethesda, MD: CDL, 1999] 111, 309). Thus, while the people of Ugarit were undoubtedly aware of the changing length of days over the course of a year, it is unclear what religious significance they assigned to this phenomenon and what, if any, observational activity they dedicated to it, since there is no textual evidence for it. 13. Olivier, “Month Names I,” 43–44. 14. Wiseman, Alalakh Tablets, 35:7, 10; 44:7; 252:21; 254:28; 269:17, 25. 15. Ibid., 6:35. 16. Ibid., 263:20. M. Dietrich, O. Loretz, and J. Sanmartín (“Zur Ugaritischen Lexikogra­phie [XI]: Lexikographische Einzelbemerkungen,” UF 6 [1974] 28–29) read aš-ta-bi-na-tim, while Olivier (“Ugaritic Month Names I,” 43) and Cohen (Cultic Calen­ dar, 272) follow Wiseman in reading aš-ta-bi and thus posit a cognate with iṯb instead. 17. Dijkstra proposes an elaborate system of intercalation at Ugarit based on coordinating the periodic activity of Venus with the lunar cycle (Dijkstra, “Astral Myth of Shahar and Shalim,” 265–87). Dijkstra bases his reconstruction on his reading of KTU 1.23. That the people of Ugarit could have employed such an elaborate system is unlikely; see discussion below, appendix 4.3.2 of this chapter. 18. Del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 27. 19. Ibid., 232–46; compare KTU 1.109:1–4 above. 20. Del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 219–32, 107–12.

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solar eclipse omens in Akkadian. 21 What remains of the obverse most closely resembles a solar eclipse text known from Boghazköy, testifying to the international interest in Babylonian scholarship during the Late Bronze Age. 22 If RS 23.038 is in fact a copy of the Boghazköy text, then we can assume that it contained only solar omens, since the latter is labeled the first tablet in a solar omen series (DUB.1.KÁM AN.TA.LÙ dUTU). 23 Practically speaking, RS 23.038 would have had little value. Solar eclipses are not frequently visible to observers in any single place on earth, unlike lunar eclipses. Consequently, in later Mesopotamian celestial-divination practical literature, they are commensurately rare: of the 567 mantic reports recovered by archaeologists that were sent to the Assyrian monarch between the late 8th and mid-7th centuries, only 11 make any reference to solar eclipses! 24 That there would have been a Babylonian celestial-divination text at Late Bronze Age Ugarit is not surprising, because texts of this sort were widely distributed in many regions that used the Akkadian koiné of this period. 25 It is vital to note, however, that these mantic exports end, together with the international use of Akkadian, in the Late Bronze Age. What this text tells us of the reception of Babylonian celestial divination (itself in its adolescence) at Ugarit is difficult to judge, especially since this is the only attestation to the practice among the many hundreds of Akkadian tablets uncovered at the site. Though I reject the theory that KTU 1.78 records a solar eclipse (see below), is it possible that RS 23.038 was brought to Ugarit in response to the eclipse observable from the city in either the 14th or 13th centuries? 26 In this case, the solar eclipse omen text would have been imported to deal with an obviously ominous celestial phenomenon, with which the natives of the city were unable to deal within their own mantic traditions. In any case, we can say that 21. Daniel Arnaud, “L’edition ougaritaine de la série astrologique ‘Éclipses du dieu-Soliel,’” Sem 45 (1996) 7–18. 22. KUB 4 63 (Leibovici, “Un texte astrologique,” 11–12). 23. Leibovici, ibid., 15–16. 24. SAA 8 3, 47, 100, 104, 207, 280, 320, 344, 346, 384, 502. In one of these texts (100), the reference to the eclipse is in the apodosis rather than the protasis (i.e., it was not the ominous phenomenon in this case), and in another text (320), the omen’s reference to coincidental lunar and solar eclipses is interpreted as simply a lunar eclipse. 25. As discussed in §2.3.2.2, celestial omen texts have been found at Late Bronze Age Susa, Emar, Qatna, Alalakh, and Boghazköy. For references, see Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 32–35; Arnaud, Emar VI/4, ##650–65; and Koch-Westenholz, “Mesopotamian Astrology at Hattusas,” 230–46. 26. M. Dietrich et al., “Sonnenfinsternis in Ugarit. PRU 2,162 (= RS 12.61): Das älteste Dokument über eine Totaleklipse,” UF 6 (1974) 464–65; J. Sawyer and F. Stephenson, “Literary and Astronomical Evidence for a Total Eclipse of the Sun Observed in Ancient Ugarit on 3 May 1357 b.c.,” BSOAS 33 (1970) 467–89; de Jong and van Soldt, “Redating.”

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RS 23.038 bears no relationship whatsoever to the sole Ugaritic celestial omen text (KTU 1.163, below) and that there are no references to solar divination in any of the literature of Ugarit. 4.1.3.2.  Lunar Divination: The Ugaritic Lunar Omen Text KTU 1.163 (RIH 78/14). ​The sole extant lunar omen text in the Ugaritic language is KTU 1.163. 27 The text is extremely fragmentary and contains the remains of a mere fourteen lines (seven per side). It would be worthwhile to look at the text: 28  29  30  31  32

KTU 1.163 (RIH 78/14) hm . b ḥd[ṯ]. y[-].[. . . . .]ršn . ykn If, on the (day of) the new moon [   ] there will be poverty [   ].29 2 hm . yrḫ. b ʿl[y]h . w pḥm If, when the moon rises, it is red, 3 nʿmn . ykn [b?]h there will be happiness in it (the month). 4 [hm .] yrḫ . b ʿlyh . [-–-]q [If], when the moon rises, [  ],30 5 [  ] bhmtn . tḫlq [and . . .  ], cattle will perish. 6 [   ]yh. w pḥm [If, when the moon ris]es, it is red, 7 [      ] qbṣt [       ] a reunion(?). 8′ [          ] ḫlq [      shall] perish. 9′ [     ] ḥdṯ . yrḫ . bnšm . [      ] the new moon, the moon is among “the men”(?),31 10′ [   ]. thbẓn [    ] will strike it down. 11′ [  ]ym . yh . yrḫ . kslm. mlkm [   ]YM YH the moon KSLM, kings will tbṣrn spy. 12′ [hm .] ṯlṯ . id . ynphy . yrḫ . b yrḫ [If] the moon appears three times 32 in the . aḫrm month, (and) afterwards 13′ [ ]lt . mẓrn ylk [  ]LT, rain will flow. 1

27. P. Bordreuil, and A. Caquot, “Les Textes en Cunéiformes Alphabétiques Découverts en 1978 a Ibn Hani,” Syria 57 (1980) 352–53, photo 369, fig. 5; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik in Ugarit, 166–67; and Pardee, Les Textes Rituels 2, 860–62. 28. Translation and text are based on Pardee’s reconstruction in ibid., 859. 29. According to Dietrich and Loretz, in every case where the -n suffix is used, the noun to which it is attached is the first word in the apodosis (“The Syntax of Omens in Ugaritic,” Maarav 5–6 [1990] 106). 30. Pardee (Textes Rituels 2, 856) suggests reading w yrq “it is yellow/green.” Compare Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 191–92. 31. Pardee (Textes Rituels 2, 866) interprets bnšm as the first word of the apodosis rather than the last word of the protasis. 32. Though id normally appears as a temporal adverb, in this context it is clearly a separate word, though in KTU 1.18 IV 23, it occurs as ṯlṯid . ʿl . udn, “three times on the ear” (Pardee, Textes Rituels 2, 869; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 180). The precise meaning of the root phy is not entirely clear in this context. If it indicates the first appearance of the moon in a month, then it is an impossible protasis.

Celestial Science at Ugarit and in Ugaritic Literature 14′

[hm .] kbkb . yql. b ṯlṯm . ym mlkn . [ ]

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[If] a star falls on the thirtieth day, the king [  ].

A single new moon omen (line 1) is followed by several omens regarding the appearance of the moon at its rising (2–7); additionally, another new moon is mentioned later in the text (9′). 33 Aside from the new moon and the reference to the 30th day of the month, there are no other references to lunar phases. 34 KTU 1.163 lacks the organization and the sophistication of then-contemporary and later Akkadian sources due to its lack of an obvious principle of arrangement. This absence of organization is a characteristic it shares with teratological omens from Ugarit, KTU 1.103 + 1.145. 35 While it is difficult to assess the level of depth of such a fragmentary text, it is hard to imagine that any single tablet could supply the comprehensive list of omens necessary to be useful for anything more than amateurish celestial divination. Furthermore, the fact that, among the many hundreds of texts from Ugarit, KTU 1.163 is the sole example of a native celestial-divination text should indicate the practice’s ancillary place among the city’s mantic conventions. Although KTU 1.163 is incomplete, we can nonetheless draw some tentative conclusions. Though some very loose parallels between KTU 1.163 and canonical Mesopotamian celestial omens can be made, KTU 1.163 is profoundly different from Mesopotamian sources in ways that suggest a lack of practical applicability. It is a disorganized, solitary example. Professional celestial divination, at least as known from Late Bronze and Iron Age Mesopotamia, is fairly comprehensive in the scope of celestial phenomena treated, and this required dozens of thematically organized tablets to cover a robust variety of possible and impossible celestial phenomena. The impression one receives from KTU 1.163 is that it is simply a short list of folklorish celestial omens. There is little reason to believe that it is a representative example of a lost textual or oral tradition. 4.1.3.3.  The Ugaritic Celestial Observation and Extispicy Text KTU 1.78 (RS 12.061).  The second and last relevant Ugaritic text, the highly controversial KTU 1.78, is only six lines long and refers to the observation of some sort of celestial activity: 36 33. Ibid., 863. 34. Ibid., 863. 35. Idem, Ritual and Cult at Ugarit (SBLWAW 10; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002) 135. 36. Charles Virolleaud, “Les nouvelles tablettes de Ras Shamra (1948–1949),” Syria 28 (1951) 25–26; A. Jirku, Der Mythos der Kanaanäer (Bonn: Habelt, 1966) 36; Otto Eissfeldt, “Die keil­alphabetische Texte aus Ugarit,” AfO 16 (1952–53) 119; J. Aistleitner, “Ein

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KTU 1.78 (RS 12.061) 37 1 2 3 4 5 6

b ṯṯ . ym ḥdṯ ḥyr . ʿrbt špš ṯǵrh ršp kb[d]m . tbqrn skn

During the six days38 of the new moon (festival) of Ḫiyyar, the Sun set; its gate 39 was Resheph. They should examine livers: 40 danger(?).

 37  38  39  40

This tiny monster has generated an enormous amount of secondary literature and has been variously interpreted as a record of the heliacal setting of Mars 41 Opfertext aus Ugarit (No. 53.) mit Exkurs über kosmologische Beziehungen der ugaritischen Mythologie,” AcOr 5 (1955) 22; J. Gray, The Legacy of Canaan (2nd ed.; Leiden: Brill, 1965) 194; Johannes C. de Moor, “Review of A. Jirku, Der Mythus der Kanaanäer,” BiOr 26 (1969) 103; Manfreid Dietrich et al., “Sonnenfinsternis in Ugarit”; de Moor, An­ thology, 164 n. 56; J. Sawyer and F. Stephenson, “Literary and Astronomical Evidence”; S.  Loewenstamm, Comparative Studies in Biblical and Ancient Oriental Literatures (AOAT 204; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980) 31; Alan Cooper, “MLK ʿLM: ‘Eternal King’ or ‘King of Eternity’?” in Love and Death in the Ancient Near East: Essays in Honor of Marvin J. Pope (ed. J. Marks and R. Good; Guilford, CT: Four Quarters, 1987) 5; de Jong and van Soldt, “Redating,” 67; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 39–85; Pardee, Textes Rituels  1, 416–27; del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 350–51; Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, “Der Untergang von Ugarit am 21. Januar 1192 v.Chr.? Der astronomisch-hepatoskopische Bericht KTU 1.78 (= RS 12.061),” UF 34 (2002) 54–74; Jan Wagenaar, “In the Sixth Month: The Day of the New Moon of Ḫiyaru. Text and Interpretation of KTU 1.78: A New Proposal,”UF 34 (2002) 913–19; E. Lipiński, Resheph: A Syro-Canaanite Deity (OLA 181; Studia Phoenicia 19; Leuven: Peeters, 2009) 110–15. 37. Text and translation based on Pardee’s hand copy (Textes Rituels 1, 1271). 38. Since ṯdṯ is the ordinal for the number six in Ugaritic, b ṯṯ ym cannot be read as “on the sixth day”; though note J. Tropper’s “an der Sechszahl der Tage (d. h. am sechsten Tag)” in Ugaritische Grammatik [AOAT 273; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 2000] 385). Furthermore, since a solar eclipse takes place for only a few moments on a single day during the interlunium, the text cannot be referring to such an event. 39. Many interpret ṯǵrh as “gatekeeper” (e.g., Pardee, Textes Rituels 1, 419; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 49) primarily because they understand ršp as an astral body. Given the lack of certainty regarding this identification as well as the meaning of the preceding verb, ʿrbt, it makes the most sense to translate the word “her/its gate” (ṯǵr with the 3rd fem.-singular-possessive suffix) or “into the gate” (ṯǵr with the directive -h). 40. Pardee reads [w a]dm and thus translates, “Les hommes s’enquerront auprès du gouverneur,” meaning that the official should find appropriate experts to determine the significance of the phenomenon (Textes Rituels 1, 417, 426–27). 41. In my opinion, neither interpretation has much merit. That KTU 1.78 is a record of the observation of the heliacal setting of Mars comes with a serious difficulty. The foundation of this interpretation is the identification of Mars with Resheph. This identification is based on the equation of the deities Resheph and Nergal at Ugarit, and

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or of the sighting of Mars at the time of a solar eclipse. Anne Jeffers even cites this text as evidence of “astrology” at Ras Shamra. 42 the association of Nergal with the planet Mars in the Mesopotamian astronomical literature. That Resheph was equated with Nergal at Ugarit is a fact that is beyond dispute. The canonical list of gods at Ugarit, KTU 1.118, also exists in an Akkadian version from Ugarit, RS 20.24, which provides the Mesopotamian equivalents of the Ugaritic deities. (For RS 20.24 see M. Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens des archives et bibliothéques privées d’Ugarit,” Ug 5 [1968] 42–64, especially pp. 45, 57. For a discussion of the god lists in general from Ugarit, see del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 71–78.) The entry for KTU 1.118:26 is ršp and its parallel entry, RS 20.24:26, is dNERGAL, thus confirming the equivalence. What remains to be demonstrated, however, is the association of Nergal with the planet Mars. Mars, normally ṣalbatānu, is not associated with Nergal in MUL.APIN, Astrolabe B, the horoscopes, diaries, almanacs, ziqpu lists, etc., or any of the published portions of EAE. In fact, the only texts in which Mars/ṣalbatānu is associated with Nergal are two of the NA reports (SAA 8 114:8; 8 502:11); and two NA letters (SAA 10 100:18–25; and SAA 10 381), and this rarity was noted by Christopher Walker (“Eclipse Seen at Ugarit,” Nature 338 [1989] 204). We cannot simply assume, therefore, that the Mars/Nergal association was typical of 2nd-millennium celestial science in Mesopotamia. If we cannot assume this association for Mesopotamia, how can we possibly assume this association for contemporary Ugarit, whose astronomical traditions are not documented beyond this and two other texts? There remains no real reason to interpret KTU 1.78 as describing a solar eclipse, because it is clear that, whatever the event was that the text is describing, it took place over a number of days. In order to bypass the obvious incongruity of the eclipse lasting for six days (or even on the sixth day of the month—a grammatical impossibility that was nevertheless suggested by Aistleitner: “Ein Opfertext aus Ugarit,” 22), Sawyer and Stephenson read b ṯṯ as an L-stem of bwṯ (though they recognize that the stem is not attested elsewhere in Ugaritic!), thus rendering the first line “the day of the new moon in the month of Hijar was put to shame” (“Total Eclipse,” 470). Similarly, Dietrich and Loretz disregard the obvious reading of the first line and choose to render it as “In der Stille des Neumondtages,” reading b ṯṯ as cognate to the Akkadian šiššu, “silence, quiet” (Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 56–57; for šiššu, see CAD Š/3 127 and AHw 1250). De Jong and van Soldt, followed by del Olmo Lete, suggest (and in the latter case, translate) that b ṯṯ be rendered “at six”—that is, a specific hour of the day—though all admit that no such system has been identified at Ugarit (de Jong and van Soldt, “Redating,” 68; and del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 350). Note, too, that in their most recent discussion of the text, Loretz and Dietrich maintain that it refers to an eclipse and argue that b ṯṯ refers to a time of the day, a reading that Lipiński follows as well (“Der astronomisch-hepatoskopische Bericht KTU 1.78,” 64–65; Resheph, 112–13). Jan Wagenaar also maintains reading the text as a report of a solar eclipse and suggests rendering the first line “[i]n (month) six: the day of the ‘new moon’ of Ḫiyaru”—a profoundly redundant chronological label for such a miniscule and otherwise brief note (“In the Sixth Month,” 918–19). 42. Jeffers, Magic, 148–49. Surprisingly, she does not present KTU 1.163 as evidence; RS 23.038 was not yet published. She further offers KTU 1.19 II 2–3, 6–7; IV 37–38, noting that Paghit’s “knowing the course of the stars” (ydʿt hlk . kbkbm) “seems to be part of the

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Certainly KTU 1.78 describes some sort of celestial observation. The only certain celestial phenomenon in the text, however, is the setting of the sun during the first six days of Hiyyar. Although the “gate of Resheph” sounds like it might be a celestial location or body, it could just as easily be a geographical feature or even a man-made structure in a religious precinct. 43 Even if the “gate of Resheph” is astral in nature, this alone does not equal celestial divination. Indeed, several readings of the tablet conclude that, whatever the observed celestial phenomenon was, the phenomenon was not interpretable by itself. Rather, it needed to be interpreted via hepatoscopy. 44 To date, all of the discussion surrounding KTU 1.78 has revolved around the identification of the specific celestial phenomena that the text describes. But as I have noted, aside from the setting of the sun, the ultimate identification of the gate of Resheph is impossible without additional texts. This being the case, it is surprising that no scholar has explored the significance of the celestial phenomena in KTU 1.78 from a cultic perspective. Del Olmo Lete notes that Hiyyar was the “principle month of the funeral ‘liturgy’” and “can therefore be described as the ‘month of the dead.’” 45 Whatever the “gate of Resheph” was, whether it was a celestial feature or even a religious structure, its association with the setting sun at the beginning of Hiyyar would have been considered ominous, because this god was the lord of the netherworld. Hiyyar was considered a propitious time to evoke and sacrifice to the dead. KTU 1.112, for example, is an evocation ritual set in Hiyyar during which the royal family sacrifices to the inš ilm and receives responses from the gṯrm, two titles associated with divine royal ancestors. 46 Perhaps the “gate of Resheph” would have hindered the efficacy of the sacrifices and evocations. Another possibility is that the appearance of a celestial feature associated with Resheph at the beginning of the month was considered early, since in KTU 1.112:11, 14, and 20, sacrifices normal accomplishments of well-brought-up people (women?)” (p. 149). See discussion of this passage below, §4.2.3.2. 43. In Mesopotamian literature, at least, common metaphors for the place at which celestial bodies enter the horizon are bāb šamê and abūl šamê, and Alan Cooper suggests that ršp in KTU 1.78 is merely the technical designation for a section of the horizon (Cooper, “MLK ʿLM,” 5 n. 59). For an extensive study of this metaphor, see W. Heimpel, “The Sun at Night and the Doors of Heaven in Babylonian Texts,” JCS 38 (1986) 127–51. 44. See, for example, M. Dietrich et al., “Sonnenfinsternis in Ugarit,” 464–65; de Moor, Anthology, 261–62; de Jong and van Soldt, “Redating,” 68–69; and Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 60–61. 45. Del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 26. 46. Ibid., 245–46. For the identification of inš ilm and gṯrm with royal ancestors, see del Olmo Lete, “Los nombres ‘divinos’ de los reyes de Ugarit,” AuOr 5 (1987) 62–62, 66.

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to the various manifestations of Resheph are assigned to the 18th of the month. This assemblage of celestial circumstances at this point in the cultic calendar might have required clarification by extispicy. Thus, I read KTU 1.78 as the report of the sun’s setting during the first six days of Hiyyar, which was somehow associated with something called the “gate of Resheph.” This coincidence was considered particularly ominous because of Resheph’s association with the netherworld and Hiyyar’s association with the royal cult of the dead but not because of an inherited, systematic practice of celestial divination. The locus of its discovery (the archive of the western palace) indicates that KTU 1.78 was a matter of importance to the government of Ugarit. The priests needed to interpret this phenomenon, and to do so the order was given to perform an extispicy. KTU 1.78, then, records the order (or the report of this order), having been given together with its negative result. 47

4.1.4.  Celestial Sciences at Ugarit: Conclusion In addition to the lunar omens of KTU 1.163, both teratological omens (animal and human) and oniromantic (dream) omens are extant from Ugarit in Ugaritic. In the case of all of these genres at Ugarit, there are surprisingly few direct associations with their respective Mesopotamian counterparts in either content or form. This observation has led Pardee to the conclusion that “the Ugaritic texts we have reflect an old West Semitic tradition.” 48 In spite of the existence of celestial divination materials from Mesopotamian at Ugarit (RS 23.038), this assertion is startling and, if true, calls into question the relevance of the Mesopotamian material for comparison and explanation of the Ugaritic texts. Pardee’s assertion, however, is difficult to accept given the presence at Ugarit not only of RS 23.038, but also of the 22 known models of exta 47. A report about an extispicy is not without precedent at Ugarit. The inscribed liver model KTU 1.143, for example, gives the situation surrounding an extispicy. Similar to KTU 1.78, the sacrifice was presumably performed to determine whether or not the coming month was propitious or ominous: 1 2 3

kbd . dt ypt bn yknʿ k yptḥ. yrḫ hnd

The liver of Ypt son of Yknʿ when this month began.

Unlike KTU 1.78, the extispicy described in KTU 1.143 pertained to a private individual and was instigated not by the observation of a celestial phenomenon, which would not directly concern a private individual, but by a coming business transaction or some other common event. 48. Dennis Pardee, “Ugaritic Science,” in P. Michèle Daviau et al., eds. The World of the Aramaeans III: Studies in Language and Literature in Honor of Paul-Eugène Dion (JSOTSup 326; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2001) 233–34.

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discovered at the site. 49 The practice of fashioning models of exta falls squarely in the Mesopotamian traditions of divination. While it is impossible to generalize with certainty on the practice or even relevance of astronomy at Ugarit, we can nevertheless make a few informed observations. First, we can be certain that regular lunar observation, a necessity for the regulation of the calendar and the related cult, was practiced. Second, celestial divination based on this regular lunar observation, as well as observation of obvious solar irregularities (eclipses and, perhaps, unusual settings) seems to have been attempted. The primary concern of the meager celestial divinatory material is judicial rather than personal, as it is in the contemporary Mesopotamian tradition. There seems to have been a very modest attempt at celestial divination at Ugarit. However, the practice must have been ultimately ancillary to other methods of divination, such as teratology, oneiromancy, and, above all, extispicy. This is an admittedly tentative conclusion due to the small number of texts and these few texts’ lack of practicality and sophistication. As we shall see in the following sections of this chapter, this mantic gap is borne out in the literary material.

4.2.  The Celestial Sciences in Ugaritic Literature 4.2.1. Introduction 4.2.1.1.  Chronology and Provenance of Sources.  All of the literary texts discussed in this chapter share the same basic chronology as the Ugaritic astronomical texts discussed in §4.1—that is, the Late Bronze Age. The tablets containing the Baal Cycle (KTU 1.1–1.6) were discovered in the House of the High Priest, mostly from Room 7, as were portions of Aqhat (1.18–1.19; 1.17 was discovered on the surface). Shahar and Shalim (KTU 1.23) was also uncovered in the House of the High Priest, though in Room 1, while Yarikh and Nikkaland-Ib (KTU 1.24) was found on the Acropolis. 4.2.1.2.  Criteria for Identifying Celestial-Science References.  The identification of celestial-science references in Ugaritic literature involves a problem that is also encountered when one works with biblical literature. The relative (or in the case of biblical literature, complete) paucity of true celestial-science texts makes it impossible to search literary texts for specific astral terminology. In addition, our understanding of the literary texts is often tentative, and they are often ambiguous. This lack of clarity often makes the task of connecting 49. See especially J.-W. Meyer in Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 241–80. See also Courtois, “La Maison,” 101–16; Dietrich and Loretz, “Beschrifte Lungen- und Lebermo­ delle,” 166–79; Dietrich and Loretz, Mantik, 5–38; Pardee, Textes Rituels 1, 707–11; Textes Rituels 2, 766–76, 811–12.

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them to specific astral features and phenomena uncertain. The method employed in chap. 3 features three criteria for identifying relevant literature: (1) a celestial character/phenomenon, (2) technical terminology, and (3)  technical concepts (§3.1.2). Despite the existence of a handful of astronomical texts from Ugarit, the terminology employed there is rather generic (for example, ʿrb, “to enter,” that is, “to set”; phy N, “to be seen,” that is, “to appear”) and is not specific enough to justify labeling the references in the literary texts celestial science. Obviously, then, criteria 2 and 3 cannot be met by the materials from ancient Ugarit, since these criteria must be based on information gathered from technical literature. Furthermore, other than the general existence of celestial divination, there are too few, if any, real celestial-science concepts described in the technical literature to be of any value for identification. Thus, only the first criterion, that a text must feature a celestial phenomenon/character, is applicable to the texts in this chapter. Though it is very clear that the people of Ugarit venerated astral bodies as visible hypostases of particular gods, 50 using this sole criterion—without the checks and balances of the others—introduces the real possibility of falling into the methodological morass of the pan-Babylonianists. I hope to avoid this hazard by identifying celestial characters/phenomena only conservatively. Although I necessarily employ comparative data, I assume that the techniques and concepts used at Ugarit were not more sophisticated than those exhibited in contemporary and later Mesopotamia. This assumption is admittedly based on the fact that the few native celestial-science texts thus far discovered at Ugarit are unsophisticated in comparison to their Mesopotamian contemporaries.

4.2.2.  The Baal Cycle The most important piece of literature extant from ancient Ugarit is undoubtedly the Baal Cycle (KTU 1.1–1.6). It shares significant themes with Mesopotamian literature, especially Enūma Eliš, such as a battle between a hero deity and the sea. 51 Since the Baal Cycle, like EE, revolves around cosmic themes, it is quite possible that it contains astral references. In the case of EE, the astral references were systematically presented and integral to the plot and agenda of the work. Two schools of interpretation of the Baal Cycle have historically offered the possibility that the myth presents extensive astral pericopes. If the story were seasonal in nature, as is argued in the interpretations proffered by 50. See discussion above, §4.1.1.2. 51. See, for example, Thorkild Jacobsen, “The Battle between Marduk and Tiamat,” JAOS 88 (1968) 104–8.

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Theodore Gaster and Johannes C. de Moor, 52 then we might expect, alongside reference to the changing seasons reference to the yearly transformation of the sky in concert. Alternatively, if the Baal Cycle is to be understood primarily as a cosmogony, à la L. Fisher, Frank Moore Cross, and Richard Clifford, the Ugaritic text would, like Enūma Eliš, describe the creation of the cosmos, perhaps including the starry heavens, as the people of ancient Syria understood it. Unfortunately, though both of these categories of approaches have provided important insights for understanding the myth, they are both deeply flawed. 53 If the Baal Cycle is not a cosmogony and is not structured around the ritual/ season year, just what is its overarching theme, and how do the few clear references to celestial phenomena in the Cycle fit into this theme? Mark Smith proposes a comprehensive interpretation of the Baal Cycle in which the primary theme is kingship, specifically Baal’s kingship. 54 That the concept of royalty is a primary concern of the Cycle is indicated not only in features such as the preponderance of royal epithets but also and most significantly in the plots of the three stories that together compose the myth. All three episodes revolve around the issue of Baal’s kingship and the stability of his throne. Thus, ritual, seasonal, and cosmogonic mechanisms are all featured and framed in such a way that they highlight Baal’s power and sovereignty, which is admittedly limited. Hence, the power of Smith’s reading to explain the Baal Cycle as a whole and to incorporate the foci of previous interpretations is enormous. It is in this context that the Baal Cycle’s sole clear reference to a celestial phenomenon, which is our focus here, is most productively read. 4.2.2.1.  KTU 1.6 I 44–65.  After Baal’s descent into the netherworld and subsequent death, the gods seek out a successor who can fulfill Baal’s duties in the cosmos. El poses the problem to his wife and mother of the gods, Athirat. She first suggests the enigmatic Ydʿ-Ylḥn, 55 but El rejects him because he is 52. For the interpretations of Gaster and de Moor, as well as those of Fisher and Clifford, see the first appendix to this chapter, pp. 214–217. 53. For a full critique of all of the following interpretations and the source from which my own discussion is largely drawn, see M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 58–114. 54. Ibid., 96–114. Also see Mark S. Smith, “Interpreting the Baal Cycle” (UF 18 [1986] 332–39), for his earlier thoughts on the matter. 55. The significance of the name, which means “He-knows-he-comprehends,” is entirely unclear. Baruch Margalit reads the epithet Ydʿ-Ylḥn as “He who knows how to make moisture” (A Matter of “Life” and “Death”: A Study of the Baal-Mot Epic (CTA 4-5-6) [AOAT 206; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980] 143, 145). N. Wyatt translates Ydʿ-Ylḥn not as an epithet but (with the context) “Shall we not make king one who has knowledge and wit” (compare John C. Gibson, Canaanite Myths and Leg­ ends [2nd ed.; Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1977] 75); Wyatt’s translation of lines 50–52 is

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unable even to bear Baal’s spear. 56 Athirat then suggests Athtar, who jumps at the offer: 55 56 57 58–59

ymlk . ʿṯtr . ʿrẓ apnk . ʿṯtr . ʿrẓ yʿl . bṣrrt . ṣpn yṯb . lkḥṯ . aliyn // bʿl

Athtar the Furious was made king. Then Athtar the Furious ascended the heights of Zaphon. He sat on the throne of Mighty Baal.

Upon occupying the throne, however, Athtar discovers a serious problem—it is physically too large for him to occupy: 59–60 60–61 61 62

pʿnh . ltmǵyn hdm rišh . lyǵmy apsh . wyʿn . ʿṯtr . ʿrẓ lamlk . bṣrrt . ṣpn

His feet could not reach the footstool! His head could not reach its (the throne’s) top! Athtar the furious answered, “I cannot rule on the heights of Zaphon.”

Dejected and perhaps humiliated, Athtar comes down from the throne and occupies another region instead where, apparently, his diminutive stature is not an issue: 57 63 yrd . ʿṯtr . ʿrẓ . 63–64 yrd // lkḥṯ . aliyn . bʿl 65 wymlk . b arṣ . il . klh

Athtar the Furious descended, he descended the throne of victorious Baal and he ruled the underworld as god of it all.

Since it is now fairly clear that Athtar at Ugarit is to be associated with the planet Venus, it is obvious that KTU 1.6 I 44–65 is employing the planet’s observable celestial movement as inspiration. 58 As discussed above in regard to the Sumerian story of Inana and Šukaletuda, the planet’s motion is irregular in comparison with the stars and most of the other planets, because, like Mercury, it is physically located between the Earth and the sun (§3.4.1.2). Most other celestial bodies move from the eastern horizon to the western horizon across the sky’s dome. However, after Venus rises in the east just before sunrise, it does not completely cross the night sky. Rather, the period of time between its rising and sunrise increases because the planet’s distance from the sun increases each night. Venus does not really break free from the horizon (never more than 46 also dramatically different; see Religious Texts from Ugarit (2nd ed.; London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002) 132. 56. KTU 1.6 I 50–52. 57. See also my discussion of KTU 1.6 I 44–65 and Isaiah 14 in §5.2.2.2. 58. Mark S. Smith, “The God Athtar in the Ancient Near East and His Place in KTU 1.6 I,” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Stud­ ies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (ed. Z. Zevit et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995) 627–40; for further discussion, see chap. 5, n. 86.

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degrees) and eventually become stationary. After a time when the planet does not appear to move, the amount of time between its rising and the sunrise decreases, and the planet dips below the eastern horizon. This eastern visibility of the planet had lasted about eight months. Now it does not reappear in the sky for about 80 days, and then it reappears just after sunset in the west, where its progress is similar to the progression it had followed in the east. It is visible for about eight months, once again no more than 46 degrees from the horizon. Again, it becomes stationary at one point, and then it heads back to the western horizon. This second period of invisibility is variable and can take three days to two weeks to complete, depending on the time of year. The planet then rises again in the east, beginning the cycle, which takes 584 days total, anew. Throughout all of this, the planet never appears high overhead. Thus, though it is the third-brightest object in the sky, Athtar/Venus attempts to ascend but is unable to do so; he instead returns to and descends below the horizon, to the netherworld, where he reigns. Because he is unable to fulfill Baal’s role as king, Athtar and his insufficient celestial movements highlight Baal’s power and kingship. Baal is, unlike Athtar, zbl, “(the) exalted one/prince”; 59 the cognate term ‫ ְזבֻל‬in Hebrew can refer to a celestial position, probably culmination. 60 Thus, the story in part explains the movement of Venus/Athar, but this is not the primary goal of the celestial reference. As with the seasonal, ritual, and (other) cosmogonic references in the Cycle, the primary goal of the pericope is to emphasize Baal’s kingship and power. It is only Baal, not Athtar, who is able to fill the throne, and this is demonstrated repeatedly in nature by Athtar’s celestial movements. 61 4.2.2.2.  KTU 1.4 IV 8–19.  Though KTU 1.6 I 44–65 is the sole certain astronomical reference in the Baal Cycle, the language of KTU 1.4 IV 8–19 suggests that it, too, may be related to some sort of astronomical phenomenon. After Anat and Baal convince Athirat to intercede with El regarding the construction of Baal’s palace, the three of them set out for El’s abode in order for Athirat to persuade him. Anat and Baal will set out on foot, but the honored and elderly Athirat is to travel on donkey back, led by her servant(s?) Qudš-and-Amrar: 62 8 9

yšmʿ . qd . wamr[r] Qudš-and-Amrar obeyed. mdl .’r . ṣmd . pḥl He saddled an ass, tied a mule.

59. For example, KTU 1.2 I 38, III 8, and others. 60. Hab 3:11. 61. M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 103. 62. I use the terms “donkey” and “ass” here, but see also M. S. Smith’s discussion of the ambiguity of the terms used in this passage to refer to the equid upon which Athirat rides (Baal Cycle 2, 503–6).

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št . gpnm . dt . ksp dt . yrq . nqbnm ʿdb . gpn . atnth yḥbq . qdš . wamrr yštn . aṯrt . lbmt . ʿr lysmsmt . bmt . pḥl qdš . yuḫdm . šbʿr amrr . kkbkb. lpnm // aṯr . btlt . ʿnt wbʿl . tbʿ . mrym . ṣpn

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He set the reigns of silver, the tackle of gold. He prepared the reigns of her she-ass. Qudš-and-Amrar takes hold, he places Athirat on the back of the ass, on the comfortable part of the mule’s back. Qudš ignites as a flame, Amrar like a star, ahead of the position of the Virgin Anat, while Baal departs for the heights of Zaphon.

Much debate has centered on yuḫdm . šbʿr in line 16, which has been taken to mean either “begins to burn” (as above—that is, the inchoative use of ʾḫd followed by Š infinitive of bʿr), 63 or “he (Qudš) takes a torch” (reading šbʿr as a nominal form). 64 In either case, the parallel with kkbkb “like a star” in the following line is without question. 65 The use of the term kbkb may indicate that the whole passage is meant to be read in a celestial context. 66 This could be further underscored by kbkb’s parallel šbʿr, “torch,” the Akkadian equivalent of which, dipāru, is commonly used to describe stars in Mesopotamian celestial-divination literature. 67 This reading is appealing, considering that the gods, ilm, are occasionally equated with stars, kbkbm, in Ugaritic texts. 68 Since El’s abode is at the “sources of the rivers,” mbk nhrm, and “the springs of the deep,” apk thmtm, 69 which presumably lie at or below the horizon, one could interpret the whole procession of gods as the successive setting of a series of stars that the people of Ugarit named or identified with Qudš-and-Amrar, Athirat, Anat, and, presumably rising simultaneously, Baal. The passage would be relating a specific series of possibly 63. Ibid., 510–12; and DULAT, 212. 64. Wyatt, Religious Texts, 99; W. Watson, “Parallels to Some Passages in Ugaritic,” UF 10 (1978) 399; Gibson, Canaanite Myths, 59. 65. The only dissenter is G. Rendsburg, who thinks that “illuminate,” etc., does not “seem to fit the present context” and derives šbʿr from the Modern South Arabian root bʿr, “travel/go out at night” (G. Rendsburg, “Modern South Arabian as a Source for Ugaritic Etymologies,” JAOS 107 [1987] 624–25). Although Rendsburg’s suggestion might render the single line and overall context well, it is nevertheless extremely difficult to justify in light of the parallel kkbkb in the following line. 66. R. R. Stieglitz goes as far as saying that kbkb here is actually a name/epithet of a deity also found in the Ebla tablets (“Ebla and the Gods of Canaan,” in Eblaitica: Es­ says on the Ebla Archives and Eblaite Language, vol. 2 [ed. Cyrus H. Gordon and Gary A. Rendsburg; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990] 79–89). 67. E.g. SAA 8 335:5 DIŠ MUL šá GIM IZI.GAR, “If a star, which is like a torch. . . .” 68. KTU 1.19 IV 22–25, 29–31; 1.10 I 4; 1.23 54, see discussion above, §4.1.1.2. 69. E.g., KTU 1.4 IV 22–23.

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yearly celestial phenomena and would be similar to other seasonal phenomena that the author of the Baal Cycle employs to emphasize Baal’s place in and over the cosmos. Although this is appealing, it is impossible to verify, since we have absolutely no idea what constellations, star names, and other phenomena the people of Ugarit ascribed to their night sky; therefore, we have thus far no hope of reconstructing it. In any case, Qudš-and-Amrar is not described as being a star; rather, his appearance is said to be “like a star,” kkbkb. Furthermore, Baal’s parallel destination, Mount Zaphon, is decidedly not a metaphor for the night sky but a real mountain located to the north of Ugarit. 70 Nevertheless, astrally related terminology is used in this passage as well as the parallel passage in the Aqhat story, KTU 1.19 II 1–11, in which Daniel’s daughter Paghit, who is described as one “who knows the course of the stars,” ydʿt hlk kbkbm, prepares a donkey for her father and leads him on a tour of the drought-stricken countryside. Perhaps, as I suggest as a possible interpretation for this epithet below, the equation of messengers with stars in KTU 1.4 IV 8–19 is related to the use of the night sky in navigation. As I further note below, however, celestial navigation is most common as an aid to maritime navigation, rather than navigation on land, which can more readily use invariably reliable geographical features that are unavailable at sea (§4.2.3.2). If KTU 1.4 IV 8–19 is not an astral reference, then what is it? Both Nicholas Wyatt and Mark Smith suggest that the passage reflects ritual procession: “The passage evokes the scene of a cultic procession: the images of Qadesh-andAmurr (two gods or one?) precede that of Athirat, while that of Anat brings up the rear.” 71 Given the undeniable ritual elements in the Baal Cycle, not to mention other Ugaritic literature, this is certainly a possibility. Perhaps it mimics a processional similar to the one described in KTU 1.43, in which a series of deities (in this case, ʿAṯtartu Ḫurri, the Gaṯarūma) travel to the “temple of the star gods,” bt ilm kbkbm (which appears to be a temple located in the royal palace) and deliver offerings and make sacrifices for the star gods, who might be identified as Šapšu, Yariḫu, Gaṯaru, and ʿAnatu. 72 Unfortunately, no extant ritual text corresponds to the names and order found in KTU 1.4 IV 8–19. As previously mentioned, Qudš-and-Amrar is not described as being a star; rather, his appearance is said to be “like a star,” kkbkb. Additionally, the 70. J.-L. Cunchillos, “Le Temple de Baʿal à Ugarit et la Maison di Grande Prêtre,” École practique des hautes études V e Section—Sciences Religieuses. Annuaire 103 (1984– 85) 232. 71. Wyatt, Religious Texts, 99 n. 125; and M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 2, 512–13. 72. For KTU 1.43 in general, see del Olmo Lete, Canaanite Religion, 282–91; and Pardee, Les Textes Rituels 1, 214–64. For a brief discussion of the possible identities of the ilm kbkbm in KTU 1.43, see Pardee, Rituels 1, 230–32.

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group of deities does not seem to be ascending the sky but the actual Mount Zaphon. Perhaps it is best, then, to abandon astral interpretations of the passage altogether. It seems rather more likely that Qudš-and-Amrar’s bright, burning appearance is not related to a celestial phenomenon but to his role as the messenger or servant of a major deity. In KTU 1.2 I 30–33, for example, Yamm’s messengers to the divine assembly have a fiery appearance: aḫr . tmǵyn . mlak . ym[.] tʿdt. ṯpṭ . nhr . 30–32 lpʿn . il // [lt]pl. ltštḥwy . pḫr . mʿd . qmm . a[mr] . amr // [ṯn]y . dʿthm . 32–33 išt. ištm. yitmr . ḥrb. lṭšt // [lš]nhm 30

Afterwards the messengers of Yam arrive, the embassy of judge River. In front of El they do not fall, they do not bow down for the council of assembly. Standing, they recite a speech, relay their message. As a fire, two fires they appear, a sword is their sharp tongue.

Lesser or servant deities are often described as having a fiery appearance in the ancient Near East. 73 In the Hebrew Bible, examples include the Messenger of Yahweh in Exod 3:2, who appears in ‫ ַלּבַת־אֵׁש‬, “a flame of fire”; Yahweh’s servants in Ps 104:4, who are ‫אֵׁש ַלהֵט‬, “a burning flame”; and the ‫ָפים‬ ִ ‫ׂשר‬, ְ “burners,” who consult with Yahweh in Isa 6:2. 74

4.2.3.  Aqhat (KTU 1.17–1.19) The incomplete story of Aqhat presents a number of interesting parallels with Mesopotamian, biblical, and other Ugaritic literature, such as these motifs: a child being granted to a childless family, the gods’ jealousy of humanity, divine murder of a human, lost agricultural fecundity, and revenge. 75 Shortly after the text’s initial publication, Theodore Gaster offered an astral interpretation grounded in the methods of the comparative mythology school. 76 Although his interpretation is not relevant to this study, there are nevertheless two significant celestial references within Aqhat that need to be addressed. 4.2.3.1. KTU 1.18 IV 7–11.  Aqhat relates that the childless Daniel is granted a son by Baal. Upon his birth, Daniel’s son, Aqhat, is presented a fine bow by the craftsman god Kothar-and-Hasis. Anat sees this bow, becomes 73. For a full discussion and bibliography, see M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 306–7. 74. See also Erra’s servant, the deity Išum from Erra and Išum (§3.2.3.1.1). 75. As with most Ugaritic texts, there are a great number of editions available. See D. Pardee, “The ʾAqhatu Legend,” in COS 1:358; see also the most recent study by David Wright, Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2001). 76. For Gaster’s interpretation of Aqhat, see appendix 4.2, pp. 217–221.

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jealous, and wants it for herself. She attempts to trade with Aqhat, but he rejects all of her offers. Thus Anat, after receiving permission from El, schemes to rob Aqhat of his bow. She confers with her servant Yṭpn on how best to proceed. 77 She gives him her orders: 78 6–7 8 9–11

[tšu gh] // wtṣḥ . yṯb . yṭp . [. . . .] qrt . ablm. ablm . [qrt zbl yrḫ] ik . al . yḥdṯ . yrḫ . bq[. . . .]// bqrn . ymnh . banšt[. . . .] // qdqdh .

She raised her voice and cried out: . . . . . The town of Abiluma, Abiluma, the [town of Prince Yarikh.] How will Yarikh not be renewed? In [. . . . hor]n(?) in his right horn, in the weakness [. . . .] his head/crown.

The precise meaning here, like so many other passages in Ugaritic literature, is not clear. Nevertheless, the passage is clearly referring to the features of a new moon. The root ḥdṯ (in yḥdṯ, line 9) is, of course, used twice in the sole Ugaritic lunar omen text, KTU 1.163, to refer to the new moon (§4.1.3.2). Though not attested at Ugarit otherwise, the use of qrn, “horn,” to refer to the tips of the new moon’s crescent is common in Mesopotamian celestial-science texts, and its use here together with yḥdṯ . yrḫ seems to remove any doubt regarding the general nature of the phenomena. In light of this commonly accepted background, the gaps in the passage have been filled in various ways. Several scholars have followed the reconstruction posited by Dietrich and Loretz, who restore bq[rn . šmalh], “left horn,” as a parallel to bqrn . ymnh, “right horn.” 79 Their reconstruction is sensible, though by no means provable. More problematic has been the sense of lines  10–11 banšt[. . . .] // qdqdh. It is generally agreed that banšt means “with/in weakness” (cognate with Akk. e/anšutu), 80 or something similar, 81 while qdqdh is clearly “his head/crown.” Although these terms’ literal meanings seem apparent, it is 77. The name of Anat’s servant, Yṭpn, is enigmatic, and there is no consensus about how the name should be vocalized or to what it refers. See Dennis Pardee, “Ugaritic Proper Nouns,” AfO 36–37 (1989–90) 406, for bibliography. 78. Regarding line 8, see KTU 1.19 IV 1–2. 79. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, “Die ‘Hörner’ der Neumondsichel: Eine Keilschrift-parallel (Ee V 13–18) zu KTU 1.18 IV 9–11,” in Mélanges bibliques et orientaux en l’honneur de M. Mathias Delcor (ed. A. Caquot et al.; AOAT 215; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1985) 114. The text presented in the 2nd edition of KTU follows this reconstruction. See also Wyatt, Religious Texts, 283. 80. CAD E 172; see also CAD A/2 145–46 for anšu, “weakened,” and anšūtu, “weak condition.” 81. Thus, for example, Wyatt, Religious Texts, 283; Dietrich and Loretz, “Die ‘Hörner,’” 114; Gibson, Canaanite Myths, 112. But see also Pardee, “Aqhatu,” 349.

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not obvious to what they are actually referring. It is reasonable to assume that the lines continue the description begun in line 9 and are therefore still describing the moon. In this case, banšt could indicate the moon’s waning and thus parallel the new moon mentioned in line 9, as Parker translates. 82 Alternatively, Wyatt rather confidently suggests that “[t]he ‘head’ undoubtedly refers to the darkened sphere of the moon which can be seen as a ghostly presence against the crescent.” 83 For Wyatt, then, this is the “weakened head,” and he interprets the whole passage to describe the particularly dark night during which the attack on Aqhat is to take place.  84 In a similar vein, Margalit takes the passage as Anat’s and Yṭpn’s orchestration of their plan and thus reads the al of line 9 asseveratively, “As soon as the new moon appears.” 85 Because Margalit places the whole story within nomadic culture, he posits that their plan is based on standard nomadic traveling practice: The significance of Anat’s proposed synchronization is more fully appreciated when one is conscious of the fact that, as a nomad, Yṭpn is accustomed to traveling (and ‘operating’) at night, by moonlight; and that as a worshipper of the moon-god Yṭpn could hardly be persuaded to conduct an operation on a moonless night. 86

Hence, according to Margalit, the meaning of the passage is straightforward. As a nomad who lives in the town of Abilam (for Margalit, the ruins of the EB town of Khirbet Kerak), Yṭpn plans to travel at night, when it is coolest. 87 Although it would be best to travel on a moonless night for the sake of stealth, it would be inauspicious to undertake something on a moonless night. The nextbest night would be that of the new moon, when it is almost as dark but more auspicious. Gaster also thought that the reasoning behind this passage revolved around doing the deed at an auspicious time, though he concluded just the opposite of Margalit: Yṭpn and Anat must act before the new moon, because the new moon would be beneficial to Aqhat. 88 Needless to say, Gaster’s and 82. Parker, “Aqhat,” 65. 83. Wyatt, Religious Texts, 283 n. 145. 84. Note that Wyatt does not indicate the lacunae in the line in his translation! 85. Baruch Margalit, “Lexicographical Notes on the Aqht Epic (Part I: KTU 1.17– 18),” UF 15 (1983) 99. In this, he is followed by K. Aitken, The Aqhat Narrative: A Study in the Narrative Structure and Composition of an Ugaritic Tale (JSSM 13; Manchester: University of Manchester, 1990) 53. 86. Margalit, “Lexicographical Notes,” 99. 87. Idem, The Ugaritic Poem of Aqhat (BZAW 182; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989) 329. 88. Gaster, Thespis, 351–52. Gibson (Canaanite Myths, 112 n. 2) follows Gaster, “apparently Anat wished the deed to be done quickly before the moon waxed and Aqhat was protected by its beneficence.”

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Margalit’s opposite interpretations of the same celestial phenomenon within a single piece of literature highlight the problem of attempting to understand these astral references without any real knowledge of the celestial science of the culture that produced the literature! However, there are problems with Margalit’s interpretation. First, Margalit fails to demonstrate adequately that Yṭpn is actually a nomad. He assumes so on the basis of his identification of the character as a Sutean, equating Yṭpn’s epithet mhr št (for example, KTU 1.18 IV 6) with the ṣābê sūtû, who are often taken to be nomads and are known from the Amarna archive and the Idrimi inscription. 89 If Margalit’s interpretation were correct, however, we would expect mhr šty (gentilic), because, as Pardee notes, “sutû is identified as a geographical entity in the cuneiform sources.” 90 Even if we concede Yṭpn’s nomadic identity, however, Margalit takes for granted that nomads always travel at night, and he does so without offering any textual, ethnographic, or anthropological data to support his claim. The overall significance of the passage remains largely ambiguous. The reason for this ambiguity rests, naturally, not only on the lacunae, but also on the meaning of banšt and qdqdh in lines 10–11. Neither anšt nor qdqd occurs in the few Ugaritic astronomical texts in our possession. Outside Ugarit, the Akkadian cognate of qdqd, q/kaqqadu, is only rarely, if ever, used to describe the moon or its features. 91 However, AGA (agû), “crown, tiara,” does appear frequently in Mesopotamian celestial-science literature, especially the reports, to indicate the first day of the month following a full 30-day month (rather than a 29-day month) (see §3.3.8.3). If this is indeed a true parallel, qdqdh in line 10 could be referring to the phenomena of the new moon as well, more specifically, the new moon following a 30-day month. What anšt would be indicating in this case is, however, not apparent. 89. Margalit, Aqhat, 476. His reading of mhr št is followed by Simon Parker, “Aqhat,” in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry (ed. Simon Parker; SBLWAW 9; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997) 65. Wyatt also follows Margalit, but rather than rendering the term sociologically as “Sutean,” he prefers to translate “mercenary,” since this is the literary role the character is playing (Religious Texts, 282 n. 141). 90. Pardee, “The ʾAqhatu Legend,” 349 n. 64. Both Pardee and Gibson (Canaanite Myths, 111, 159) equate the Ugaritic št with Arabic sittu, “lady,” and interpret the term as an epithet of Anat. In contrast to this, A. Caquot and M. Sznycer derive št from the verbal root šty, “to drink,” and translate “soldat buveur” (Textes Ougaritiques, I: Mythes et legends [Paris: Cerf, 1974] 437). 91. See possible use in a LB commentary on EAE 16–20, in which Rochberg-Halton reads SAG as qaqqadu, though even she admits that we would expect SAG.DU for this reading and that SAG. DU normally refers to a part of a constellation rather than the moon; see Rochberg-Halton, ABCD, 284, line 30, and p. 288. For SAG.DU belonging to a constellation, see, for example, SAA 8 98:8.

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A possible Mesopotamian parallel may elucidate the meaning of the passage. SAA 8 257:6–7 reads: [1 30] ina IGI.LAL-šú SI.MEŠ-šú If the moon’s horns, when it apud-du-da pears, are quite pointy, LUGAL URI.KI e-ma DU-ku KUR KÚR wherever the king of Akkad goes, un-na-áš he will weaken the enemy.

In the logic of the celestial omens, the relative pointiness of the moon’s horns is indicative of the king’s ability to subdue others. 92 Of course, even outside the mantic tradition in the ancient Near East, the horn is a common metaphor for strength. 93 In SAA 8 257:6–7, the effect of the pointy horns is a weakened (Akk. enēšu, cognate with Ugaritic anšt) enemy. If this is a true parallel, perhaps Anat is asking whether, when the new moon comes, the appearance of its horns will indicate a weakened Aqhat (whose head will be smitten?). As appealing as this interpretation is, we must be cautious. The Mesopotamian tradition of celestial divination is, after all, not the Ugaritic tradition. Approaches to KTU 1.18 IV 7–11 such as Wyatt’s, Margalit’s, and even my own as offered above have focused on what seems to be an obvious description of the new moon and its constituent parts. I suggest, however, that the passage may not describe the new moon but instead a sacrificial ritual offered by Yṭpn to the moon god Yarikh on the evening of the new moon. It has been noted, most recently by David Wright, that the Aqhat narrative is exceptionally laden with ritual activity; indeed, he estimates that 82% of the extant narrative of Aq­ hat relates to ritual acts and contexts. 94 We know that the evenings of the new and full moon were preeminent days for sacrificial rituals at Ugarit and that both bulls and rams were offered. 95 Of course, since bulls and rams have horns and heads, it is possible that the qrnh and qdqdh of lines 10–11 refer to parts of a sacrificial animal, rather than the moon. If this points to the correct reading, then the reason for this sacrifice to the moon god would be fairly straightforward. Anat had previously sought, via threats, El’s permission and blessing for her insidious activity in general in KTU 1.18 I. Anat then sent Yṭpn to Abilam ahead of her to offer sacrifice to the moon god Yarikh. This was to be done on the appropriate day of the month in order to seek Yarikh’s blessing in the town under his jurisdiction for the underhanded activity that they are about to undertake—namely, the ambush and murder of Aqhat. Abilam’s complicity in this 92. See also SAA 8 256:4–5, 8–rev. 1. 93. For Akkadian and biblical examples, see CAD Q 140; and HALOT, 1145–46. 94. Wright, Ritual in Narrative, 8. 95. For full moon sacrifices, see, e.g., KTU 1.46:11; 1.109:3; for new moon sacrifices, see, e.g., KTU 1.112:2.

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matter eventually results in Daniel’s cursing the city (after two other towns) in KTU 1.19 IV 1–6. Ultimately, however, whether KTU 1.18 IV 7–11 is setting a time for an attack (as Wyatt and Margalit would have it), indicating an omen propitious to Anat’s cause, or is describing a sacrifice to the moon god cannot be determined with any certainty because of the poor condition of this portion of the story. 4.2.3.2.  KTU 1.19 II 1–11.  Anat and Yṭpn establish their plan, and Yṭpn takes the form of a bird and murders Aqhat. With Aqhat’s death, the rains sympathetically cease, the land dries up, and the crops fail. For a long time, there is drought, and Daniel calls his daughter Paghit to lead him on donkey-back to tour the withered countryside: šmʿ . pǵt . ṯkmtmy ḥspt. lšʿr . ṭl . ydʿ[t] // hlk . kbkbm . 3–5 mdl . ʿr // ṣmd . pḥl . št . gpnydtksp // dt . yrq . ngbny . 5–7 tš[mʿ] // pǵt . tkmt . my . ḥspt . [lšʿ]t . ṭl // ydʿt // hlk . kbkbm 8 bkm . tmdln . ʿr 9–10 bkm . tṣmd. pḥl . bk[m] // tšu . abh . tštnn . l[b]mtʿr 11 lysmsm . bmt. pḥl 1 2–3

“Listen, Paghit, who shoulders water, who collects dew from hair/fleece/barley(?), who knows the course of the stars: Saddle an ass, tie a mule, set the reigns of silver, the tackle of gold.” Paghit, who shoulders water, who collects dew from hair/fleece/barley(?), who knows the course of the stars, obeyed. Weeping, she saddled an ass, weeping she tied a mule, weeping she picked up her father and placed him on the back of the ass, on the comfortable part of the mule’s back.

In this passage, which closely parallels an episode in the Baal Cycle (KTU 1.4 IV 1–18), the significance of Paghit’s epithet, ydʿt hlk kbkbm, “one who knows the course of the stars,” has been the subject of much debate. 96 On the surface, it seems as though this is a clear statement regarding Paghit’s knowledge of celestial divination, and several scholars have chosen to interpret it in this mantic activity; thus, Paghit’s ability to divine via the stars gives her special insight into the fate of her brother, as Ginsberg suggested. 97 Indeed, she may already know that her brother is dead when she leads her father on his tour of the parched land on donkey-back, and this would explain her secret mourning (KTU 1.19 I 34–35). However, it is important to note that Daniel also begins mourning by rending his garment immediately after the report of Paghit’s sorrow, and the most likely explanation is that the two are simply lamenting the 96. See §4.2.2.2. The same epithet is used later in the story, KTU 1.19 IV 37–38. 97. H. Ginsberg, “Ugaritic Myths, Epics, and Legends: Aqht,” 153 nn. 32, 36.

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drought. 98 Though the mantic suggestion is tempting and has its supporters, it is nevertheless difficult to imagine that celestial divination, which is so poorly attested at Ugarit, actually played any crucial role in Aqhat. A second possibility is that Paghit’s knowledge refers to her ability to navigate celestially. It thus makes sense for the author to note this knowledge on the verge of Daniel’s tour of the countryside, led by Paghit. Navigation is, of course, one of the classic applications of celestial knowledge and one that certainly would have been practiced by not a few residents and visitors at Ugarit, since the city was a major sea port. Nevertheless, no texts discovered at the site indicate this activity, and it is questionable whether a woman would have been skilled in navigation methods. Furthermore, celestial navigation develops as an aid to maritime navigation rather than navigation on land, which more readily uses reliable geographical features which are unavailable at sea. A third option, which Wyatt notes but does not explore, rests in the fact that in Aqhat as well as other Ugaritic texts the gods themselves (ilm) are equated with the stars (kbkbm). 99 After Daniel and Paghit discover the fate of Aqhat in the contents of the bird’s stomach and curse the surrounding towns, Daniel begins a ritual of mourning for Aqhat (KTU 1.19 IV 22–25): 22–23 wyq[ry] // dbḥ . ilm He presents a sacrifice to the gods. 23–24 yšʿly . dǵṯ[h]m // bšmym . He sends incense up into the heavens, 24–25 dǵṯ . hrnmy . [bk]//bkbm incense, the Harnemite, up into the stars.

Is it possible that Paghit’s epithets as a whole refer to her familiarity with the gods and their associated rituals? Müller and de Moor completely dissociate Paghit’s epithets from divinatory or magical allusions, and Gibson proposes outright that her first two epithets refer to “spells associated with midwifery.” 100 Given the intermediary functions that these scholars have assumed for Paghit’s epithets, it is surprising that none of them relates the “stars” in these epithets to the gods later in the story. This seems to be a logical conclusion, given the equation of the gods with stars and Paghit’s supposed role as an intermediary. Nevertheless, no specific rituals or magic skills have been associated with Paghit’s epithets, so this theory remains merely an undemonstrated possibility. Ultimately, any explanation of Paghit as “one who knows the course of the stars” must take into account her other epithets, both of which refer to water collection. Paghit is one who ṯkmt my, “shoulders water,” and ḥspt . lšʿr . ṭl, 98. Though some scholars believe that it is Paghit who tears her father’s garment. See, for example, ibid., 153. 99. Wyatt, Religious Texts, 297 n. 208; KTU 1.19 IV 22–25, 29–31; 1.10 I 4; 1.23 54; see also the brief discussion above, §4.1.1.2. 100. Gibson, Canaanite Myths, 115 n. 9.

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“gathers dew from barley/hair/fleece.” Although the precise nuance of the second of these epithets is in doubt, it is without doubt that the activity, whatever it is, involves the collection of dew. 101 In this reading, as one “who knows the course of the stars,” Paghit is familiar with the proper stars associated with the rainy season. Because the epithets are used in the broader context of the drought, in this scenario, they would further highlight her knowledge of and thus concern for the agricultural situation. Ginsberg noted that the activities mentioned in Paghit’s epithets were “apparently forms of weather-wisdom bordering on divination.” 102 A few Mesopotamian texts, too, such as the bilingual introduction to Astrolabe B, mention the rising of stars in relation to agricultural and, arguably, mantic activities. 103 In Mesopotamia, however, it appears that, although agricultural activity could be astronomically scheduled, as in the Sumerian Farmer’s Instructions, it was much more the norm that the two did not cross professional, and thus textual, paths, since celestial divination was the activity of priests and trained specialists, while farming was the activity of farmers. 104 If the two activities ever overlapped—and they well might have— they parted ways well before either tradition could have been written down, either in Mesopotamia or at Ugarit.

4.2.4.  KTU 1.23 The myth and ritual described in KTU 1.23 has been variously interpreted as a description of heiros gamos, 105 new year festival, 106 as well as a ritual to break a famine. 107 Needless to say, there is no real consensus regarding the 101. Caquot and Sznycer (Textes Ougaritiques I, 445) and Watson (“Puzzling Passages in the Tale of Aghat,” UF 8 [1977] 378) read lšʿr as “dew for (her) hair,” and Gibson (Canaanite Myths, 115 n. 8) notes it as a possibility. De Moor (Anthology, 251 n. 181), followed by Margalit (Aqhat, 365–67) and Wyatt (Religious Texts, 297 n. 208), understands lšʿr to refer to fleece used in morning water collection, à la Judg 6:36–46. Gaster (Thespis, 360), Gibson (Canaanite Myths, 115), and Pardee (“Aqhatu,” 352) take lšʿr to mean “for/ from the barley.” 102. Ginsberg, “Aqht,” 153 n. 36. 103. See §2.4.1. As noted there, however, Horowitz argues that Astrolabe B has a purely agricultural purpose; see MCG, 164. 104. M. Civil, The Farmer’s Instructions: A Sumerian Agricultural Manual (AuOr Supple­menta 5; Barcelona: Ausa, 1994) 1:38–39. 105. De Moor, Anthology, 117–18; and Wyatt, Religious Texts, 324–35; but see the thorough critique by Mark S. Smith (as well as a thorough bibliography on the text), The Rituals and Myths of the Goodly Gods of KTU/CAT 1.23: Royal Constructions of Op­ positions, Intersection, Integration, and Domination (RBS 51; Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2006) 127–44. 106. Dennis Pardee, “Dawn and Dusk,” in COS 1:274–83. 107. B. Cutler and J. Macdonald, “On the Origin of the Ugaritic Text KTU 1.23,” UF 14 (1982) 33–50; for a full bibliography of works written up through 2002, see Wyatt,

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meaning of this myth and ritual. Even many details of the myth are disputed. What is agreed on, however, is that the text contains both mythic and ritual material whose interrelationship, as Smith has shown, is complex. Because of its undeniable celestial features, that is, Shahar and Shalim (52–53) and the fixed stars (54), both Theodore Gaster and Dijkstra have offered elaborate and highly speculative astral interpretations of KTU 1.23. 108 Though I believe both of their approaches to be fundamentally deficient, they are correct that the text relates aspects of the people of Ugarit’s understanding of the sky. Indeed, Smith considers the time of the ritual during which the myths are used liturgically to be around “the fall interchange period” (presumably the time leading up to the autumnal equinox). 109 He cites as evidence the viticultural pruning of Mot (lines 8–11) and the implication of a feast in the late summer (lines 30–76). He maintains that, as a time when the harvest is gathered and the nights become increasingly longer, fall is a period of both mundane fecundity, in terms of agricultural harvest, and celestial abundance, in terms of increased visibility of the starry skies (because of the increasing length of the night). 110 In the story, El notices, while strolling along the seashore, ladies (goddesses?) frolicking, and he becomes sexually aroused. He shoots a bird from the sky, thus acquiring dinner, apparently to seduce the two, with whom he mates. The two conceive and give birth: 111 52–53 rgm . lil. ybl . aṯ[ty] // il . ylt . mh . ylt . yldy . šḥr . wšl[m]

Word is brought to El: “The two wives of El have given birth. What have they borne? Two have been born, Shahar and Shalim.”

The children’s names literally mean “Dawn” and “Dusk.” Apparently, this is a joyous occasion, and the proper rituals are undertaken: 112 54

šu . ʿdb . lšpš . rbt . wlkbkbn . knm

Raise up, prepare (a food offering) for Lady Shapshu and for the fixed stars.

Religious Texts, 324. For a recent overview of the text’s history of interpretation, see M. S. Smith, Rituals and Myths, 8–16. 108. See appendix 4.3 for Gaster’s and Dijkstra’s interpretations (pp. 221–224). 109. M. S. Smith, Rituals and Myths, 149. 110. Ibid., 152. 111. KTU 1.23:52–53. 112. Wyatt (Religious Texts, 333) translates “and to the stars who have been begotten,” but, as M. S. Smith points out, this meaning of the root kwn normally is presented in the D-stem (Rituals and Myths, 101). Compare Ps 8:4: ‫ְּתה‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר ּכֹונָנ‬ ֶ ‫ָבים א‬ ִ ‫וכֹוכ‬.ְ

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Smith notes that the identities of the children and the divine recipients of the following offering are significant inasmuch as they are members of El’s “astral family.” 113 Then El again beds the two ladies, and this time they bear the ilmy nʿmm, “gracious gods.” 114 In stark contrast to the astral gods, who gently receive a food offering (“raise up, prepare,” šu . ʿdb), the gracious gods’ appetite is truly enormous: 115 špt // larṣ . špt lšmm . A lip to the ground, a lip to the sky, wyʿrb . bphm . and into their mouth ʿṣr . šmm . wdgbym . the bird of the sky and the fish of the sea entered. . . . 63–64 yʿdb . uymn // ušmal Right and left, they put into their mouths, with no satisfaction. bphm . wl bšbʿn 61–62

As has long been noted, the description of the gracious gods’ hunger parallels that of Mot in the Baal Cycle (KTU 1.5 II 2–3). Because the gracious gods and Mot are, in fact, addressed separately in the ritual section of KTU 1.23 (ilm nʿmm in lines 1–7 and mt wšr in lines 8–11), Smith suggests, that rather than equating the gracious gods and Mot, the shared description is revealing their destructive character. 116 El, observing the gracious gods’ devouring, seems 113. Rituals and Myths, 102. For a full discussion, see Mark S. Smith, The Origins of Biblical Monotheism: Israel’s Polytheistic Background and the Ugaritic Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) 61–66. 114. There is no consensus. Pardee (“Dawn and Dusk,” 274), for example, equates Shahar and Shalim with the gracious gods, in which case the conception of Shahar and Shalim is being recounted, while M. S. Smith (Rituals and Myths, 105–10) maintains that the gracious gods are yet another generation. In my discussion here, I follow Smith’s understanding. 115. For the idiom ʿdb b p, see also KTU 1.6 I 22. My reading of wl bšbʿn follows the reconstruction by Dennis Pardee (“Two Epigraphic Notes on the Ugaritic Šaḥru-waŠalimu Text [RS 2.002 = CTA 23], Semitica et Classica 2 [2009] 219–22). What is clear is that M. S. Smith’s reconstruction ending in wl tšbʿn, “but they are unsated,” is unlikely, though the sense is maintained in Pardee’s reconstruction. David Tsumura maintains that the gracious gods in the passage should be identified with the Pleiades and number seven (“Revisiting the “Seven” Good Gods of Fertility at Ugarit: Is Albright’s Emendation of KTU 1.23,64 Correct?” UF 39 [2007] 629–41). Thus he proposes reading wld . šbnʿy, “The Seven has been born,” and appears to identify this Seven with the Sebitti (= MUL.MUL) of the Mesopotamian tradition. Although this is intriguing, especially given KTU 1.23’s other celestial facets, it appears that in the West Semitic world the asterism of the Pleiades was named Kīmah, a fact that is attested as early as the Ebla archive and as late as the Hebrew Bible (Amos 5:8; Job 9:9; 38:31; see discussion in §5.2.1.2). Nonetheless, it is possible that the gracious gods, though not astral in nature, are seven in number, though Tsumura’s reading would negate the parallelism in KTU 1.23 63–64. 116. M. S. Smith, Rituals and Myths, 109.

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to recognize that they have no place among the astral gods, despite their descent from the high god, and he sends them into the uncultivated countryside (mdbr). This is not enough for the gracious gods, however, and they manage to penetrate the cultivated land (mdrʿ). For Smith, who applies a structuralist method to the text and whose interpretation I believe to have the most explanatory power, the myth in part elucidates why the gracious gods are descended from El, even though they are not part of El’s astral family. The role of the actual astral gods (though perhaps “celestial” would be a better adjective) in the myth, Shahar and Shalim/Dawn and Dusk, is primarily to serve as a foil to the wild, non-astral gracious gods. 117 Thus, though the basic purpose of the mythic portion of KTU 1.23 is to describe the liminal nature of the gracious gods, the text provides an etiology for Dawn and Dusk that explains their celestial location via their relationship with El as well.

4.2.5.  KTU 1.24 Yarikh and Nikkal-and-Ib Despite the astronomical readings that have been heaped on Ugaritic texts such as the Aqhat story and KTU 1.23 by the interpretations of Gaster and Dijkstra, KTU 1.24 features the most astral deities. Though not necessarily depicted in their astral manifestations, these gods demand our attention simply due to the sheer number of them. The unorthodox familial relationships and the appearance of the goddess Nikkal-and-Ib have led most to believe that KTU 1.24 is not a native Ugaritic myth but is a Hurrian myth that was adopted in Syria; 118 thus, the account probably does not reflect Ugaritic astromythological thought. Nevertheless, its appearance in the Ugaritic language attests to at least some cultural acceptance of the thoughts and ideas that it conveys. The account begins by singing of the goddess Nikkal-and-Ib, who is described as the daughter of Ḫrḫb, the king of summer. 119 The first element of the goddess’s double name, nkl, is an Ugaritic transcription of the Sumerian NIN.GAL. In the Mesopotamian tradition, Ningal is the spouse of the moon god Nanna. 120 The second element, ib, is a bit more problematic, but it is now 117. Ibid., 152–53. 118. H. Ginsberg, “Two Religious Borrowings in Ugaritic Literature,” Or 8 (1939) 317–27; and Nicholas Wyatt, “Some Problems in the Nikkal Poem (CTA 24),” UF 9 (1977) 285; and idem, Religious Texts, 336. 119. The name Ḫrḫb has long been interpreted as Hurrian, though to date, no Hurrian deity by this name has come to light (Ginsberg, “Religious Borrowings,” 323). Alternatively, Wyatt suggests a Semitic etymology based on the roots ḫrr and ḫrb, both of which suggest “dryness” or “bareness” (Wyatt, “The Nikkal Poem,” 289–90). Wyatt’s suggestion is appealing given the current lack of a Hurrian original and the god’s relationship to the summer season. 120. A. Zgoll, “Ningal, A.I: In Mesopotamien,” RlA 9 (2000) 352.

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commonly accepted that this epithet also harks back to Mesopotamia, where an occasional epithet of the moon god Sin is enbu, “fruit.” 121 Apparently, one day, the moon god Yarikh observes Nikkal-and-Ib and apparently wastes little time before approaching her: 122 3 4–5

bsrr .špš yrḫ . ykḥ. yḥbq . d // tld

When the sun set, Yarikh undressed; he embraced the one who will give birth.

The encounter takes place at night, of course, when the sun has set. It is tempting to read this literally: that is, just as the sun set, the two moon deities embraced. In this case, it could be describing the middle of the month, when the sun and the moon are in opposition and the moon rises when the sun sets. Perhaps the two lunar identities Yarikh and Nikkal-and-Ib are meant to refer to the two halves of the moon (first and last quarters). We know that, in some of the ritual texts from Ugarit, the 8th and 25th days of the month are highlighted, and these dates correspond to the first and last lunar quarters. 123 The two gods embracing, then, could be referring to the two halves of the moon coming together to form the full moon in the middle of the month, when this scene might be set. Otherwise, it is tempting to read this as a conjunction of the moon and another celestial body, but we have no reason to believe that Yarikh and Nikkaland-Ib are anything other than male and female hypostases of the moon. And it seems most likely, despite the specific chronological reference, that this is not referring to any specific celestial phenomena but is simply a mythical scene. The Kotharat, who are also addressed in the Aqhat story, 124 the divine matrons of childbearing, are then invoked: 5–6 7

[k]//ṯrt . lbnt . hll . [snnt] Oh Kotharat, oh bright daughters of the Shining One/the New Moon, hlǵlmt . tld bn behold, the young woman will bear a son!

121. It is used, for instance, in the name of a now-lost multitablet hemerological series, Inbu bēl arḫim, “Fruit, Lord of the Month” (cited in SAA 10 221:rev. 7). For other examples, see CAD I/J 146. The exact meaning of this epithet has not been discussed. It seems to me that it relates to the moon’s monthly growth and withering, just as a piece of fruit grows and withers. Additionally, enbu could be a play on the name Nabû. 122. Reading according to KTU. Compare with Hebrew ‫רוס‬, “to fall down, leave, retreat.” We would have expected the verb ʿrb, as in KTU 1.78:3–4, ʿrbt špš; see §4.1.3.3. Perhaps the choice of idiom here reflects the Hurrian original? 123. KTU 1.106. 124. Ibid., 1.19 II 27–40.

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There is quite a bit of debate regarding the epithets of the Kotharat, specifically hll and snnt. Given the overall astral content of this text however, it seems most likely that the names refer to an astral appearance. That the epithet hll is cognate with Hebrew ‫ הֵילֵל‬of Isa 14:12 (“shining one”) is hard to deny, especially because in both passages the root is being used to describe a celestial body. 125 We should not simply equate the identities of the celestial bodies to which the epithets in KTU 1.24: 6 and Isa 14:12 refer, however. The Arabic cognate hilāl is used specifically to refer to the new moon, and hll’s parallel epithet in line 42, bʿl gml (likely to be translated “lord of the sickle moon”; see below) in this Ugaritic text points to a similar identity. 126 The Kotharat are also described as bnt . . . snnt. Again, given the overall astral content, it seems best to treat snnt as cognate with the Arabic root sny, “shine, gleam.” 127 Whether snnt functions as a substantive (“the bright ones”) or adjective (“the bright daughters of . . .”) in the epithet is irrelevant to my purposes here. 128 In love (and perhaps now obligated), Yarikh tries to initiate arrangements to marry Nikkal-and-Ib formally, so he sends word to Ḫrḫb, who acts as a marriage broker: 16–17 17–19

[y]lak yrḫ n[yr] šmm [ʿm] // ḫr[ḫ]b mlk qẓ . tn nkl [y]//rḫ ytrḫ . ib tʿrbm b[bh]//th

Yarikh, the light of the heavens, dispatches to Ḫrḫb, king of summer: “Give away Nikkal so that Yarikh can marry her! Let Ib enter into his house!”

In these lines, Yarikh is referred to as nyr šmm, “light of the heavens,” which is an unsurprising appellation for the moon and is found in parallel use in Mesopotamian sources for many luminous deities. 129 Ḫrḫb, however, is either quite good at haggling or is not ready to make arrangements to marry off Nikkal-and-Ib. Instead, he tries to convince Yarikh to marry another: 125. See discussion in §5.2.2.2. 126. For example, Goetze, “The Nikkal Poem,” 360. For additional references, see W. Herrmann, Yariḫ und Nikkal und der Preis der Kuṯarāt-Göttinen: Ein Kultischmagischer Text aus Ras Schamra (BZAW 106; Berlin: Alfred Töpelmann, 1968) 6. 127. Baruch Margalit, “Lexicographical Notes on the Aqht Epic, Part I: KTU 1.17– 18,” UF 15 (1983) 75–76. See also Dennis Pardee, “Kosharoth,” DDD, 492; and A. van Selms, Marriage and Family Life in Ugaritic Literature (POS 1; London: Luzac, 1954) 86 n. 24. Compare with Jewish Aramaic ‫סנן‬, “refine (metal); glitter”; Jastrow, Dict. 1007–8. 128. Either of these readings makes significantly more sense than the often-accepted alternative, “swallows,” cognate with Akk. sinuntu (CAD S 295–96). It should be noted that there is a Mesopotamian constellation mulSIM.MAḪ/Šinunūtu (for example, MUL. APIN I i 41), but there is no evidence that the people of Ugarit shared knowledge of or the name of this constellation with Mesopotamia. 129. For examples, see CAD N/2 348–49.

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212 23–26 26 27 28–29

w//yʿn ḫrḫb mlk qẓ l//nʿmn . ilm lḫtn//m . bʿl trḫ pdry bt [ar] aqrbk abh bʿ[l] yǵtr . ʿṯtr t//rḫ lk ybrdmy . bt . . .(?)

And Hrhb, king of summer, answers: “Oh favorite of El, oh brother-in-law of Baal, marry Pdry, the daughter of light! I will present you to her father, Baal. (Or) let Athtar intercede so you can marry Ybrdmy, daughter of. . . .”

The first alternate bride that Ḫrḫb offers is Pdry, whom we recognize from the Baal Cycle as one of the daughters of Baal. 130 In that context, the adjective bt ar, together with Pdry’s sisters’ respective epithets, is often interpreted as a kind of precipitation, “daughter of dew.” 131 Nevertheless, given Baal’s relationship with lightning and KTU 1.24’s astral content, ar, “light,” makes the most sense here. 132 Thus, Ḫrḫb is offering the hand of another luminary in marriage to Yarikh. The identity of the second option that Ḫrḫb presents, Ybrdmy, is obscure since the character does not appear in any other text. 133 However, the context seems to indicate that Ybrdmy is a relative of Athtar, who is responsible for her. Again, since Athtar himself is a celestial body, it makes sense that Ybrdmy is as well, though she cannot be identified. As in the case of Pdry (whom we assume is also a luminary), with Ybrdmy, Ḫrḫb is offering Yarikh yet another bright alternative to Nikkal-and-Ib. Yarikh refuses these lesser offers, demanding Nikkal-and-Ib. He and her family determine and agree to a bride price, which Yarikh pays. The last line of the story proper contains a lunar benediction: 38–39 ar yrḫ wy//rḫ yark

Yarikh illuminates, and may Yarikh illuminate you!

It is unclear whether this is addressed to Nikkal-and-Ib or to the intended audience, which is often assumed to be couples who are getting married. The last ten lines (40–50) of KTU 1.24 contain a hymn to the Kotharat themselves. They are addressed with their standard epithet, but now with one addition: 134 130. KTU 1.3 I 23, III 3; 1.4 I 17. 131. Dennis Pardee “The Baʿlu Myth,” COS 1:250 n. 69. 132. Following M. S. Smith, “The Baal Cycle,” 106; D. Marcus, “The Betrothal of Yarikh and Nikkal-Ib,” in Ugaritic Narrative Poetry (ed. S. Parker; SBLWAW 9; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1997) 217; and Herrmann, Yariḫ und Nikkal, 16; Wyatt, Religious Texts, 71 (though he reconstructs bth in KTU 1.24:26). 133. B. Margalit interprets Ybrdmy as an epithet for Athtar (A Matter of “Life” and “Death”: A Study of the Baal-Mot Epic (CTA 4-5-6) [AOAT 206; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1980] 149 n. 2), meaning “water-dispenser.” 134. Compare the last word with Akk. gamlu, “first quarter of the moon.”

Celestial Science at Ugarit and in Ugaritic Literature 40–42 ašr ilh[t] kṯr[t bn]//t hll . snnt . bnt h//ll bʿl gml .

213

I sing of the goddesses, the Kotharat, the bright daughters of the Shining One, the daughters of the Shining One, lord of the Sickle-Moon.

In the Mesopotamian celestial sciences, there is a constellation called the Sickle (mulGÀM/gamlu, commonly equated with Auriga) that stands in the Path of Enlil. 135 Indeed, the term gamlu itself is only very rarely used to describe the moon in Mesopotamia. 136 Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that gamlu, “crook,” is a fitting term to describe the new crescent moon, and given the significance of lunar references in KTU 1.24 in general, it would be difficult to associate the epithet bʿl gml with anything else. Thus, the Kotharat are daughters of the new moon, hll, also appropriately described as the daughters of the sickle moon, gml. Although KTU 1.24 is teeming with lunar references, its relationship with celestial science as practiced at Ugarit is difficult to assess. Though the astral characters in the story are mostly given Ugaritic identities, we cannot forget that the story itself—along with, presumably, the cultural-specific celestialscience concepts—originates in Hurrian circles. Nonetheless, the fact that effort was made to translate the story for an Ugaritic-speaking audience indicates that it was thought to have potential resonance in a West Semitic context. Thus, while its astral particulars might elude us, KTU 1.24 demonstrates, on the whole, the importance of the lunar cycle and deities in the religious tradition at Ugarit, even if the text ultimately has its origin outside the West Semitic world.

4.2.6.  The Celestial Sciences in Ugaritic Literature: Conclusion Celestial sciences, it seems, had a limited effect on Ugaritic literature. References to specific celestial phenomena are few (KTU 1.6 I 44–65; 1.18 IV 7–11; and 1.24), while the purported references to celestial divination are uncertain at best (1.18 IV 7–11?; 1.19 II 1–11?). This latter observation is not surprising, given 135. This is one of the main reasons that W. Gallagher (“On the Identity of Hêlêl Ben Šaḥar of Is 14:12–15,” UF 26 [1994] 136) identifies hll in KTU 1.24 with Enlil. Since mul GÀM stands in the Path of Enlil, Gallagher, in his own terms, calls him “the lord of the gamlu.” Wyatt (Religious Texts, 340 n. 27) mistakes Gallagher’s term with an actual epithet of Enlil, and thus he equates hll with Enlil! 136. Is this perhaps because of its possible confusion with the constellation? For moon-gamlu associations in Mesopotamia, see the series Maqlû VI 4: dgam-lum šá d30 MAR.TU (G. Meier, Die assyrische Beschwörungssammlung Maqlû [AfOB 2; Berlin, 1937] 41). See also a possible comparison to the moon’s horns in EAE 5 II 11′–12′: DIŠ SI ZAG-šú ana ŠÀ-nu GIM gam-[lim? . . .] // etc. DIŠ SI GÙB-šú ana ŠÀ-nu GIM gam[lim? . . .] (Verderame, Le Tavole I-VI, 141).

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the general lack of celestial-divination texts relative to other mantic literature attested at Ugarit. It must be noted, however, that divination in general seems to missing from the literature. 137 What does come into focus, however, is the fact that celestial bodies in general were considered objects of cultic veneration. This is attested in the nonliterary texts from the site as well and is the primary reflex of celestial thought in the literary tradition (§4.1.1.2). Such religious practice/instances of cultic veneration may be found in KTU 1.4 IV 8–19; 1.18 IV 7–11(?); 1.19 IV 22–25; 1.23:54; and 1.24.

Appendix 4.1: Interpretations of the Baal Cycle App. 4.1.1.  Gaster’s Interpretation The most comprehensive ritual interpretation of the Baal Cycle undoubtedly originates with Gaster, who combined the myth’s royal, seasonal, cultic, and cosmic aspects into one overarching interpretation. 138 In short, Gaster considered the myth a script for the autumn New Year’s festival. 139 There are many fundamental problems with Gaster’s approach. 140 For my purposes, however, it is merely necessary to highlight the problems that would deny the Baal Cycle its ritual and seasonal connections, since it is these connections that would make a systematic presentation of the year’s celestial phenomena possible. Gaster reads the myth as one synthetic whole, which is, in essence, “a nature myth and its theme is the alteration of the seasons.” 141 In order to fit the myth into the Syrian seasonal cycle, however, Gaster rejects the order of the tablets as they are currently accepted by scholarly consensus: KTU 1.2 and 1.4 (autumn), KTU 1.5 and 1.6 I (summer), 1.6 II–VI (late summer), then KTU 1.1 III. 142 If the Cycle does not occur in the order of the seasons, it cannot systematically present celestial activity of these seasons. Furthermore, Gaster anchors his entire interpretation of the Cycle in a New Year’s festival occurring in the autumn. Not even a hint of such a festival has been recovered from the many ritual texts 137. The possible reference to hepatoscopy using an eagle, in Aqhat (KTU 1.19 III 38), is rather unlikely (see Jeffers, Magic and Divination, 157, for bibliography). 138. Theodore Gaster, Thespis: Ritual, Myth, and Drama in the Ancient Near East (2nd ed.; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1961) 114–242. 139. Ibid., 129. 140. For a summary and associated bibliography, see M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 61–62. 141. Gaster, Thespis, 124. 142. Ibid., 128–29; for a summary of opinions regarding the order of the tablets as well as the arguments in favor of the current academic consensus concerning this order, see M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 2–28.

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from Ugarit. 143 In sum, any cultic or seasonal references in the Cycle seem to be completely removed from specific cultic or seasonal contexts because they do not appear in the Cycle in the order in which they occur in nature. Indeed, it is even questionable to what extent KTU 1.1–6 was even meant to present a single unified narrative or whether it is simply a series of myths related to Baal’s kingship that are otherwise unconnected. 144 In any case, as M. S. Smith states, “Both the characters and plot are removed from a purely seasonal setting. The cycle sometimes draws on seasonal or ritual elements for descriptions, but this usage need not indicate a seasonal or ritual setting for the cycle.” 145 In short, Gaster’s interpretation requires fundamental assumptions, such as the relationship with a fall New Year festival or a strict linear seasonality in the Baal Cycle itself, which are simply not supported by the evidence.

App. 4.1.2.  De Moor’s Interpretation In contrast to Gaster’s, de Moor’s interpretation focuses primarily on the seasonal aspects of the myth, which in turn formed the basis for the cult. 146 Thus, de Moor correlates a series of episodes in the Cycle with specific seasonal events; for example, KTU 1.4 V 6–9 and VII 25–31 both indicate the onset of Baal’s rain. 147 Like Gaster, de Moor also must rearrange the tablets against scholarly consensus in order for his seasonal pattern to work: KTU 1.3 (beginning of autumn), 1.1 (winter), 1.2 (winter), 1.4 (late winter–early spring), 1.5 (spring–summer), 1.6 (summer–late summer). 148 The primary problem with de Moor’s interpretation is the utter ambiguity of the meteorological references in the Cycle. It is not clear, for example, if the rains of Baal in KTU 1.4 V 6–9 and VII 25–31 refer to fall or winter rains. 149 Furthermore, many of de Moor’s meteorological readings rely on philologically obscure or incomplete passages, for which equally plausible readings offer nonmeteorological interpretations. 150 Additionally, de Moor’s reconstruction 143. Ibid., 62; for more detailed critiques of reconstructing the New Year’s festival at Ugarit, see D. Marcus, “Review of Johannes C. de Moor, New Year with the Canaanites and Israelites,” JAOS 93 (1973) 589–91. 144. For example, G. del Olmo Lete, “Notes on Ugaritic Semantics III,” UF 9 (1977) 31. 145. M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 62; see also p. 97. 146. Johannes C. de Moor, The Seasonal Pattern in the Ugaritic Myth of Baʿlu accord­ ing to the Version of Ilimilku (AOAT 16; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1971) 61. 147. Ibid., 148–51, 59–63. 148. Ibid., 36–43, and, especially, pp. 245–49. 149. M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 66. 150. See L. Grabbe’s critique, “The Seasonal Pattern and the ‘Baal Cycle,’” UF 8 (1976) 57–63.

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is based on the assumption that the events of the Baal Cycle constitute one seasonal year, but the seven-year-long drought described in KTU 1.6 V 7–9 indicates that the Baal Cycle’s author conceived of a longer, perhaps mythical scope of time.

App. 4.1.3.  Fisher’s Interpretation Drawing in part on biblical passages that steep creation language in the terminology of temple construction, L. Fisher maintains that the construction of Baal’s palace in KTU 1.4 V–VII is nothing less than a metaphor for the construction of the cosmos itself. 151 It is important to note, however, that Baal does not build his own house. This task is contracted out to Kothar-and-Hasis. 152 Furthermore, the purpose of building the house is not framed in terms of organizing the universe; rather, the text is explicit: El grants permission to construct so that the already existent cosmos may receive Baal’s nourishing waters. 153

App. 4.1.4.  Cross and Clifford’s Interpretation In contrast to Fisher’s approach, which at least preserves the normally accepted definition of what a cosmogony should be (namely, an account of the creation or origin of the cosmos), both Cross and Clifford redefine the term and are thus able to fit the Baal Cycle into their own definitions. For Cross, a cosmogony relates the warfare between the olden god or gods and the young god, or gods, a conflict out of which emerges victory for the young god and the establishment of kingship among the gods, an orderly, cosmic government. Kingship and its hierarchical institutions are thus fixed in the orders of creation, and human kingship, patterned after the cosmic government, gains religious sanction. 154

Thus, cosmogony is not simply an account of the origin of the current universe; it must specifically contain divine generational struggles, and the establishment of divine kingship as a model for the human institution. A myth such as the Baal Cycle that contains these elements is a cosmogonic account, regardless of the fact that it does not contain an account of the creation or origin of the

151. L. Fisher, “Creation at Ugarit and in the Old Testament,” VT 15 (1965) 313–24. 152. KTU 1.4 V 50–55. 153. KTU 1.4 V 6–9. 154. Frank Moore Cross, “The Olden Gods in Ancient Near Eastern Creation Myths,” in Magnalia Dei: The Mighty Acts of God. Essays on the Bible and Archaeology in Memory of G. Ernest Wright (ed. F. M. Cross et al.; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1976) 318.

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cosmos. Clifford adapts this idea further. 155 He seeks to distinguish between the modern, scientific concept of creation and the ancient concept of cosmogony. As Smith summarizes, Clifford “redefines cosmogony in a manner which fits the Baal Cycle by arguing that cosmogony does not constitute creation out of nothing (creatio ex nihilo) or primary creation of the physical universe, but the formation of conditions suitable for human society.” 156 That the Baal Cycle does not contain any account of creation of the cosmos is irrelevant to Cross and Clifford, who contend that any one of the component parts is enough to suggest the whole. 157 The logic of Cross and Clifford approaches circularity. They have redefined “cosmogony” largely on the basis of the contents of the Baal Cycle; since the Baal Cycle fits this definition, it is a cosmogony! The fact remains that it is fundamental to the definition of cosmogony that there must exist some explanation for the existence of the cosmos. Baal, ostensibly the chief cosmogonic deity in Cross and Clifford’s readings, neither creates nor (re)organizes anything in the Cycle. Rather, if their epithets are to be trusted, creation is an act that has been ascribed to El and Athirat, even if there is no myth extant to explain their appellations fully. El is called both ab adm, “father of humankind” 158 and, more explicitly, bny bnwt, “creator of creatures,” 159 while Athirat is qnyt ilm, “creator of the gods.” 160 Such epithets are strongly suggestive of these deities’ roles in the still-unknown Ugaritic creation tradition. Baal, on the other hand, does not possess epithets that imply a creator role. Indeed, Baal’s relationship with (an already existing!) humanity in the Baal Cycle is one of nourisher and sustainer. 161 In short, although the Baal Cycle certainly does use cosmic language, we cannot say that it is a cosmogony in the strict sense.

Appendix 4.2: Gaster’s Interpretation of the Aqhat Text As early as 1936, and later fully incorporated into his opus Thespis, T. Gaster sought to situate Aqhat in a synthesized approach to ancient Near Eastern mythology. As part of the myth and ritual school, Gaster employed comparative 155. Richard Clifford, “Cosmogonies in the Ugaritic Texts and in the Bible,” Or 53 (1984) 183–201. 156. M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 80. 157. Cross, “The Olden Gods,” 333–34; Clifford, “Cosmogonies,” 188. 158. KTU 1.14 I 37. 159. KTU 1.4 II 11; 1.6 III 5; 1.17 I 25. 160. KTU 1.4 I 23; III 26; for additional references, see M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 83 n. 159. 161. KTU 1.4 VII 49–52; 1.5 VI 23–24; 1.6 I 6–7.

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methods and thereby argued that Aqhat was derived from the same Urmythos— thus, celestial phenomena—as the Orion myth of the classical tradition. The Orion myth tells the story of how the hunter Orion insults Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, and is therefore killed. 162 The constellation Orion disappeared from the night sky for about a month in May/June (in the Late Bronze Age). In classical mythology, the myth is a catasterism, explaining this disappearance and reappearance of Orion and associated constellations such as Canis Maiorum in the summer night sky. According to Gaster, the Aqhat story was essentially the Semitic version of this tale, in which the hunter Aqhat affronts the goddess of the hunt, Anat, and is punished, ultimately appearing in the sky as a constellation. Gaster, however, did not argue that the stories were identical; rather, he considered Aqhat to have incorporated aspects of the Mesopotamian agricultural myth of Tammuz, which involves the same summer season. By the time the combined tale was being recorded by the scribes of Ugarit, however, the initial inspiration for the story (that is, the heliacal setting and rising of Sirius in the summer) was, in Gaster’s own terms, “entirely forgotten.” 163 In spite of this, Gaster argues that Aqhat referred to the same seasonal phenomena and the same constellations as the Orion myth. The two stories served identical seasonal/ritual and catasterismic purposes—to explain the summer dry season and its associated astronomical phenomena. In Gaster’s own words, the Aqhat story: “mythologizes in astral terms the climatic and agricultural condi­ tions prevalent during this time of year. The drought and desiccation on earth are correlated with and explained by the discomfiture and disappearance of the Great Huntsman.” 164 Since the two stories serve the same purpose, Gaster identified both the character and the constellation of Orion with Aqhat. In line with his use of the late 19th- and early 20th-century comparative method, Gaster “filled in the gaps” of Aqhat with details from traditions from neighboring cultures that he identified as reflexes of the same Urmythos. For instance, in some versions of the classical Orion myth, the constellation Canus Maiorum is Orion’s hunting dog. The functional equivalent to Orion’s hunting dog in the Aqhat story is, of course, Aqhat’s hunting aid, his god-given bow. The two are astrally identical to Gaster, since the stars that constitute Canis Maiorum in the Mesopotamian tradition of astronomy form a bow (that is mulBAN); this is none other than Aqhat’s bow! For Gaster, the correspondence between the constellations in the two myths is also supported by a NA astronomical explanatory 162. Theodore Gaster, “The Story of Aqht,” Studi e Materiali di Storia della Religioni 12 (1936) 126–49; 13 (1937) 25–56; 14 (1938) 212–15; Gaster later re-presented the material in Thespis, 316–76. 163. Ibid., 326. 164. Ibid., 323, italics his.

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list, which describes Orion (mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA) as šá ina gišTUKUL maḫ-ṣu, “who was struck with a weapon.” 165 Furthermore, this constellation, according to Gaster, is identified with Ninurta in the Sumerian tradition. 166 The motivation of Gaster’s interpretation was less to situate Aqhat in Ugaritic culture specifically, than to find the inspirational phenomena for a general form of myth for the Mediterranean and ancient Near East. Unfortunately, Gaster’s use of Mesopotamian and classical evidence lacks any consistent methodology or even an admission of caution other than noting that similar comparative approaches are used by some 19th- and early 20th-century folklorists. 167 Thus, he assumes that the entire ancient Near East (Israel, Ugarit, and Mesopotamia) is a single culture, and so he selectively chooses examples that support his readings while ignoring important data that are often overwhelmingly contradictory to his argument. This deficiency in methodology fundamentally undermines Gaster’s reading as a whole. This deficiency is thoroughly illustrated by the illuminating connections that Gaster makes for Aqhat. For example, while he identifies the Mesopotamian constellation of the Bow (mulBAN) as the undocumented Ugaritic equivalent, thereby associating it with Aqhat’s bow, he does not associate the Mesopotamian Orion-equivalent, mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA, “The True Shepherd of An,” with its assumed Ugaritic equivalent. Instead, he chooses an obscure and inexplicable epithet of that constellation, šá ina gišTUKUL maḫ-ṣu, “who was struck with a weapon,” in order to demonstrate his argument that the Orion constellation in the ancient Near East was a killed opponent of the gods. Indeed, Gaster does not even mention that the principal name of Orion in Mesopotamia is mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA, presumably because this would severely cripple his comparative argument. His identification of Ninurta with Orion was based on Jensen’s late 19th- and early 20th-century assumption (which Dhorme later developed) that Ninurta should be identified as Orion. 168 Jensen’s association was not based on celestial-science texts or commentaries, of course, but on his pan-Babylonianist interpretations 165. Ibid., 322; CT 26 40 iv 2 (K 250), treated in Ernst Weidner, “Ein astrologischer Sammeltext aus der Sargonidenzeit,” AfO 19 (1959) 105–13; and Koch-Westenholz, MAst, 187–205 (esp. pp. 194–95, lines 163–64). 166. P. Dhorme, “Nin-ib,” Hilprecht Anniversary Volume: Studies in Assyriology and Archaeology Dedicated to Herman V. Hilprecht (ed. E. Mahler; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1909) 365–69. 167. Gaster, Thespis, 326; for a basic critique of the comparative method, see summary and bibliography in Eric Csapo, Theories of Mythology (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2005) 57–79. 168. Peter Jensen, Das Gilgamesch-Epos in der Weltliteratur (2 vols.; Strassburg: Truebner, 1906) 1:87 n. 1; and P. Dhorme, “Nin-ib,” 365–69.

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of ancient Near Eastern literature. Needless to say, Jensen’s identification is not accepted today. 169 However, it is not only in detail that Gaster’s argument is lacking; actually, the basic components of his comparison are flawed. For Gaster, Orion the hunter and Artemis the goddess of hunting are simply the classical manifestations of Aqhat the hunter and Anat the goddess of hunting. But, as Margalit points out, the parallels between the two stories are not really parallels. 170 Aqhat is not really depicted as a hunter in the story, and Anat is by no means the goddess of hunting at Ugarit! Furthermore, for Gaster’s reconstruction to work, we must accept that the son of the human King Daniel, Aqhat, should be identified as the constellation Orion and that Aqhat’s missing conclusion recounted Aqhat’s transformation into a constellation. But this would be contrary to accepted Ugaritic beliefs regarding the afterlife of royalty and the identity of the stars in general. Dead kings, while considered deified, descended into the netherworld, where they were to be counted among the rpʾm. 171 Stars, on the other hand, seem invariably to be equated with the gods rather than with dead heroes. 172 Even Gaster’s overarching interpretation of Aqhat, that it describes the meteorological and celestial conditions of the summer, is problematic. Similar to Smith’s critique of seasonal/ritual interpretations of the Baal Cycle: while the earth’s fecundity is an undeniable aspect of the Aqhat story, the events, especially the agricultural events, of the Aqhat story take place over a period of more than one year. 173 For example, KTU 1.19 I 40–46 states that the drought following Aqhat’s murder lasts a symbolic seven years/eight years. While the language is metaphorical, it is nevertheless safe to assume that the idiom relates a lengthy period of time that is certainly longer than a single year. If this is the case, the story in the form in which it existed and was understood in ancient Ugarit cannot be relating a yearly, seasonal cycle of events, even if it once did so. And though it is true that Aqhat does display significant seasonal/agricultural elements, it seems, as in the Baal Cycle, that these elements are subservient to other, overarching themes. In Aqhat, these themes include the nature of the monarchy’s relationship to the gods and the bearing of this relationship on the well-being of the land in general. In spite of these critiques, it is important to reiterate that Gaster with his reading was not attempting to situate the myth within Ugaritic culture per se but within the cultural traditions of the Mediterranean and ancient Near East. 169. See, for example, Gössmann #348. 170. Margalit, Poem of Aqhat, 34–35. 171. KTU 1.113 and 1.161. 172. For example, KTU 1.19 IV 22–25, 29–31; 1.10 I 4; 1.23 54. 173. M. S. Smith, Baal Cycle 1, 62.

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Therefore, even though his interpretation is saturated with celestial phenomena, in Gaster’s own opinion these aspects of the myth were unknown to its Ugaritic audience. It therefore cannot logically reflect Ugaritic astronomical tradition. Obviously, we cannot ascertain with our current sources whether the people of Ugarit saw Aqhat and his bow in the constellations of Orion and Canis Maiorum. Gaster could very well be correct that the Orion myth and Aqhat can ultimately be traced back to the same Urmythos. Currently, however, the best that can be done with his reading is to acknowledge that the Ugaritic story of Aqhat may reflect a forgotten astronomical tradition of some Urkultur, long extinct by the time of the Late Bronze Age.

Appendix 4.3: Interpretations of KTU 1.23 App. 4.3.1.  Gaster’s Interpretation Because the relatively minor KTU 1.23 included both myth and ritual elements, Gaster, a proponent of the myth and ritual school, was quick to offer a comprehensive treatment of it not long after the original discovery and decipherment of the alphabetic cuneiform texts from Ugarit. 174 Gaster viewed KTU 1.23 as a description of the Canaanite spring firstfruits festival, incorporated with the myth that explained it. For Gaster, the two ladies (with whom El mates) are none other than Athirat and Anat, who are addressed in the ritual introduction. 175 Similar in method to his approach to Aqhat, Gaster equates the Shahar and Shalim with the sons of Zeus, Castor and Pollux—that is, the Dioscuri of the classical world. In classical myth and astronomy, the Dioscuri are associated sometimes with Venus as the morning and evening star, and, more commonly, the constellation. With classical mythology filling the gaps, Gaster then not only equates Shahar with ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬, “Shining One, son of Dawn,” in Isa 14:12 but also equates Shahar and Shalim with the constellation Gemini. In Babylonian and Jewish tradition, Gemini is dominant in Sivan. Thus, the ritual and myth are associated with the Canaanite festival of firstfruits, which, in its Israelite manifestation of Shavuot, often takes place in Sivan. The problems with Gaster’s interpretation of KTU 1.23 are similar to those that hinder his astral reading of the Aqhat story. Because of his use of the comparative method, there are many, many weak links in Gaster’s chain of associations. First, Gaster equates Shahar with ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬, “Helel, son of Dawn.” 174. Theodore Gaster, “A Canaanite Ritual Drama: The Spring Festival at Ugarit,” JAOS 66 (1946) 49–76; and later, Thespis, 406–35. 175. KTU 1.23:13; Anat is actually referred to here as rḥmy, which is commonly assumed to be one of her epithets; compare KTU 1.15 II 6.

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While the latter seems to refer to Venus in Isa 14:12, šḥr/‫ ׁשַ חַר‬is quite simply “Dawn”—there is no reason to extend this name alone to Venus. But Gaster favors this equation to further associate Shahar and Shalim with the Dioscuri who, while they are occasionally associated with Venus in the classical world, are most often identified as Gemini. Equating Shahar and Shalim, via the Dioscuri, with Gemini allows Gaster to place the ritual in Sivan and thus associate it with a firstfruits festival. But there is absolutely no other reason to believe that Gemini was a Canaanite constellation. In line with his treatment of all ancient myth, his overall goal was to place KTU 1.23 alongside the cultural traditions of the Mediterranean and the ancient Near East, and his comparative methods supported this goal. Obviously, as in the case Aqhat, Gaster’s goals and methods make his results questionable for this book, because he does not seek to locate KTU 1.23 within Ugaritic culture.

App. 4.3.2. Dijkstra’s Interpretation Dijkstra accepts the interpretation of Dietrich and Loretz that KTU 1.23 is basically an incantation to be performed within a larger ritual associated with a fall festival in the month of rišyn. 176 In this incantation, Shahar and Shalim (= the gracious gods), to be identified as Venus in the morning and evening, are called on to appear together with the Sun and particular stars. This conjunction of Venus, the Sun, and stars, argues Dijkstra—based on the people of Ugarit’s knowledge of Venus’s eight-year period—was used in ancient Ugarit as an intercalary scheme, corresponding to an eight-year lunar cycle. Dijkstra has an extremely high regard for Ugaritic celestial science: Ugaritic material shows convincingly that astronomical observations of the Sun, the Moon, the planets and fixed stars were used as early as the Later Bronze Age in the Levant to establish the seasonal cycle, to proclaim leap-years and to draw omina from celestial events. 177

To support the claim that the people of Ugarit had the sophisticated astronomical knowledge to develop and employ such a scheme, Dijkstra cites KTU 1.163 (the lunar omen text), 1.4 IV 14–19 (Athirat’s preparation for travel to El’s abode), 1.13 (an enigmatic incantation with mythical elements that merely uses 176. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz, “Beschwörung gegen die Schädliche Naturkrafte (KTU.1.23),” TUAT 2/3 350–57; Dijkstra, “Astral Myth of Shahar and Shalim (KTU 1.23),” in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf ”: Studien zum Alten Testament und Alten Orient—Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahrs mit Bei­tragen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen (ed. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz; AOAT 250; Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1998) 265–87. 177. Ibid., 274–75.

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stars, kbkbm, in simile), 178 1.18 IV 8, and 1.19 II 2–3 (the two possible astronomical references in the Aqhat story), 1.78 (the so-called astronomical report), and 1.92 (an extremely fragmentary mythological text that mentions stars, kbkbm and kbkbt, in a wholly unclear context; for an interpretation and recent bibliographical references). 179 The problems with Dijkstra’s reading are manifold. First, for Dijkstra’s understanding to be correct, it is absolutely necessary to assume that Shahar and Shalim should be identified as Venus in the morning and evening at Ugarit. However, as has been noted above, Venus should be identified with Athtar at Ugarit, and Shahar and Shalim appear to be exactly what their names mean, “Dawn” and “Dusk.” 180 Furthermore, Dijkstra interprets the idiomatic step parallelism 66–67 šbʿ . šnt // tmt ṯmn . nqpt . ʿd

Seven years were completed, eight turns of time. . . .

to refer specifically to the length of Venus’s period. But this idiom is not a scientific description of time measurement in Ugaritic literature, as Dijkstra would have it. It is merely a stock phrase used to refer to a lengthy period of time, perhaps ideally, “completed time.” 181 Second, Dijkstra’s reading assumes that the people of Ugarit had an extremely sophisticated astronomical knowledge, including not only a knowledge of long-term lunar movements but also an understanding of the periodic phenomena of Venus and the ability to synthesize these data together with a knowledge of yearly stellar movement into a fantastically complicated scheme of intercalation. It is true that, in Mesopotamia at least, the so-called Venus Tablet of Ammiṣaduqa might attest to knowledge of the periodic activities of Venus as early as the 2nd millennium, though there is no reason to believe that it was ever employed in determining intercalation. 182 Additionally, the Di­ viner’s Manual, which dates to the NA period, includes a scheme for determining intercalation based on the conjunction of the Pleiades and the new moon, a method vaguely similar to the method that Dijkstra is proposing. 183 However, 178. For this text, see Johannes C. de Moor, “An Incantation against Infertility (KTU 1.13),” UF 12 (1980) 305–10; and G. del Olmo Lete, “Le myth de la Vierge-mère ʿAnatu: Une nouvelle interpretation de CTA/KTU 13,” UF 13 (1981) 49–62. 179. See Wyatt, Religious Texts, 370–74. 180. M. S. Smith, “The God Athtar,” 627–40. 181. See idem, Rituals and Myths, 119–20. 182. See Reiner and Pingree, BPO 1. 183. A. Leo Oppenheim, “A Babylonian Diviner’s Manual,” JNES 33 (1974) 204–5, lines 57–65.

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the texts that Dijkstra cites to demonstrate that the people of Ugarit engaged in celestial science in order “to establish the seasonal cycle, to proclaim leap-years and to draw omina from celestial events” do little of the sort. 184 Although a few texts do attest to some interest in celestial divination, most are merely poetic references to the stars in mythology. Indeed, as has been demonstrated above, celestial science at Ugarit seems to have been mostly if not entirely relegated to regular lunar observation and occasional celestial divination. Neither of these undertakings requires the sophisticated astronomical knowledge that Dijkstra’s reconstruction implies. 184. Dijkstra, “Astral Myth,” 275.

Chapter 5

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel 5.1. Introduction 5.1.1. Sources The primary sources for this chapter and the next are various texts contained in the Hebrew Bible. The composition and/or redaction of the individual texts and sources that together constitute the Hebrew Bible date anywhere from perhaps as early as the 12th–11th century (Judges 5) to as late as the 2nd century (Daniel). Equally as wide-ranging as the dates of composition are the places of composition; these include Egypt (the Hebrew Vorlage of the LXX’s Jeremiah 1–51), Babylonia, and, of course, the land of Israel. There is also a broad spectrum of literary genres represented in the Hebrew Bible, from legal material and quasi-philosophical texts to narrative, cultic texts, and erotic poetry. Given this situation, the source material from ancient Israel is quite unlike the material from the previous regions studied, which were largely homogeneous regarding date of composition (Ugarit) or at least region of composition (Mesopotamia). This difference, as well as the nature of the primary source material from ancient Israel (there are no extant celestial-science texts), poses certain methodological problems.

5.1.2.  Methodological Concerns Unlike the situation at Mesopotamia and Ugarit, ancient Israel has revealed no surviving celestial-science texts per se. We are left, then, to reconstruct the goals and methods of Israel’s celestial-science tradition entirely from archaeological material, incidental references embedded in the Hebrew Bible, and reconstructed ancient calendars. The biblical testimony is filtered through literary materials, the purpose of which was not the imparting of celestial-science traditions and that quite possibly were composed by people who did not understand those traditions. The resulting situation is something like the results of my investigation into pre-OB celestial sciences in Mesopotamia. Despite the 225

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lack of technical literature, the investigation was able to reach general conclusions regarding the goals of celestial science in the OB period (§2.2.5). This situation leads us to ask whether relevant Jewish sources dating to the Second Temple period and later should be used to reconstruct exilic and preexilic Israelite and Judahite traditions. Early Jewish sources on the celestial sciences are surprisingly abundant and include sections from 1 Enoch, texts from Qumran and the Cairo Geniza, and discussions preserved in the Babylonian and Palestinian Talmuds and other rabbinic texts. 1 Because some of these Second Temple texts are not postbiblical, per se—portions of the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch are commonly dated to the third century b.c.e., that is, before the commonly accepted date of authorship of Daniel—they come under consideration, especially given that they explicitly refer to celestial-divination practices that are only implied by the biblical material. 2 In particular, the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch 72–82 attempts to describe the astronomical aspects of the calendar underlying the dated events of the Priestly material in the Hebrew Bible. But the bulk of these texts do, in fact, postdate the composition of the vast majority of the biblical texts that will be analyzed in chap. 6 and, thus, the traditions presented in these early Jewish texts are largely irrelevant to the task at hand.

5.2.  Celestial Terminology in the Hebrew Bible Biblical Hebrew shares its basic celestial terminology with the other Semitic languages, and the meanings of fundamental terms such as‫ ו‬ ‫יָרֵ ַח‬, “moon,” ‫ׁשמֶׁש‬, ֶ “sun,” and ‫ּכֹוכָב‬, “star” are therefore not in doubt. There are, however, several other celestial terms in the Hebrew Bible the respective meanings of which need to be addressed. The tendency of similar discussions in the history of scholarship has been to attempt to identify individual terms with actual celestial features. Although this is a reasonable goal, it poses a significant problem. Comparative philology or, better yet, a relatively unbroken pedigree 1. For the Qumran material, see most recently Mladen Popović, Reading the Hu­ man Body: Physiognomics and Astrology in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Hellenistic–Early Roman Period Judaism (STDJ 67; Leiden: Brill, 2007); and Jonathan Ben-Dov, Head of All Years: Astronomy and Calendars at Qumran in Their Ancient Context (STDJ 78; Leiden: Brill, 2008). For rabbinic material, see W. M. Feldman, Rabbinic Mathematics and Astronomy (New York: Hermon, 1931); and Sacha Stern, Calendar and Community: A History of the Jewish Calendar, 2nd Century bce–10th Century ce (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001). 2. Józef Milik, The Books of Enoch: Aramaic Fragments of Qumrân Cave 4 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1976) 273.

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of interpretation may illuminate some of the terms. In these cases, a plausible identification is indeed possible. Many of the terms, however, have no such pedigree, and scholars have often attempted identification with elaborate sets of philological associations and completely imaginary reconstructions of ancient Israelite constellations. 3 Such reconstructions are not only unverifiable; they can be misleading inasmuch as other arguments are built on them. I will therefore refrain from this kind of speculation.

5.2.1.  Star/Constellation Names The psalmist states ‫ִקרָא‬ ְ ‫ָבים ְלכֻּלָם ׁשֵמֹות י‬ ִ ‫מֹונֶה ִמ ְסּפָר לַּכֹוכ‬, “[Yahweh] counts the number of stars; he names them all” (Ps 147:4); unfortunately, the biblical authors employed only a handful of these star names. This situation is at least in part the result of authorial and editorial attitudes reflected in Deut 4:15a, 19: ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ְואֶת־‬ ֶ ‫ית אֶת־ה‬ ָ ‫ָא‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ַמ ְימָה ְור‬ ָ ‫ּׂשא עֵינֶיךָ ה‬ ָ ‫ֶן־ּת‬ ִ ‫ ּופ‬. . . ‫ִשמ ְַר ֶּתם ְמאֹד ְלנ ְַפ ׁש ֹתֵ יכֶם‬ ְׁ ‫ְונ‬ ‫ֲשר ָחלַק‬ ֶׁ ‫ית ָלהֶם ַועֲב ְַד ָּתם א‬ ָ ‫ֲו‬ ִ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְונִדַ ְּח ָּת ְו ִה ְׁשּתַ ח‬ ָ ‫ָבים ּכֹל ְצבָא ה‬ ִ ‫ַהּיָר ֵַח ְואֶת־הַּכֹוכ‬ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם׃‬ ָ ‫יְהוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ א ָֹתם ְלכֹל ָהע ִַּמים ּתַ חַת ָכּל־ה‬ Be very careful . . . lest you raise your eyes to the sky and you see the sun, the moon, the stars—the whole Host of Heaven—and you are seduced and you bow down to them and worship them whom Yahweh your God has assigned to all the peoples under all of heaven.

This attitude seems to have dominated Israelite and later Jewish celestialscience tradition so much that most of the details of preexilic traditions—including definitive identification of the star names in the Hebrew Bible—were ultimately lost. Nonetheless, the versions attest to early Jewish and Christian interpretation of the few star names mentioned in the Hebrew Bible and provide us with the earliest attempts to identify the various star names. Each name is briefly discussed here. 5.2.1.1.  ‫ ַהחֶדֶר‬and ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬.  Many scholars equate ‫( ַהחֶדֶר‬Job 37:9), “The Chamber,” and ‫( ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬Job 9:9), “Chambers of the South,” and understand the two terms to refer solely to a cosmic locality where the south wind is stored. 4 It nevertheless seems clear on the basis of Job 9:9—which lists ‫ח ְַדרֵ תֵ מָן‬ 3. See, for example, G. Driver, “Two Astronomical Passages in the Old Testament” JTS 4 (1953) 208–12; and JTS 7 (1956) 1–11. 4. Schiaparelli, Astronomy, 67–69; Maunder, The Astronomy of the Bible, 251; Sigmund Mowinckel, Die Sternnamen im Alten Testament (Saertryk av Norsk Teologisk Tidsskrift 5; Oslo: Groendahl, 1928) 9; and more recently, John Gray, The Book of Job (Text of the Hebrew Bible 1; Sheffield: Phoenix, 2010) 195.

228

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alongside other definite constellations, ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬and ‫—ּכימָה‬that ִ these terms do in fact refer to a specific constellation rather than an unseen cosmic storehouse. 5 The versions offer little to identify ‫ ַהחֶדֶר‬in that they simply translate the term. Both the targum and the Hexapla, however, offer specific interpretations of ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬. The targum’s ‫א ְדרֹונֵי ִׂש ְטרֵי ַמּזַ ַליָה ִב ֶסטַר דַ רֹומָא‬, ִ “chambers of the sky of constellations in the south,” and the πάντα τὰ ἄστρα τὰ κυκλοῦντα νότον, “all the stars that encircle the south,” of ὁ ἑβραῖος (the Hexaplaric variant) both seem to imply a set of celestial features approximating zodiacal signs rather than a single constellation, and thus they both reflect a Hellenistic-style zodiacal astrology. 6 Since the composition of Job predates this practice, the interpretations offered by the targum and Hexapla are misleading, because it is clear in context that the author is referring to a single constellation. The term ‫תימן‬, albeit in Aramaic, seems to appear as part of a constellation name on an unprovenanced bronze bowl attributed to the 8th century, now in a private collection. 7 Although it is entirely unclear what stars are being indicated on the bowl, the constellation partially designated with ‫ תימן‬appears as a partial circle of eight stars. At the very least, the evidence from the bowl may indicate that the term ‫ תֵ מָן‬was used in West Semitic constellation names and, thus, ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬ could indicate a constellation. The notion that ‫ ַהחֶדֶר‬and ‫ ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬are the same feature seems likely, but it is not certain. One could easily assert on grammatical grounds that they refer to two different features: the two terms disagree in number, a fact that most scholars ignore when equating them. 8 Furthermore, the specifying use of ‫ ּתֵ מָן‬in Job 5. H. Tur-Sinai, The Book of Job: A New Commentary (Jerusalem: Kiryat Sepher, 1967) 510. 6. The zodiacal signs (that is, 30-degree portions of the ecliptic), as opposed to constellations, were first used in the mid-5th century; Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Between Observation and Theory in Babylonian Astronomical Texts” JNES 50 (1991) 112–16. 7. R. Barnett, “Homme masque ou dieu-ibex?” Syria 43 (1966) 259–76. For a reading of the inscriptions, see André Lemaire, “Coupe astrale inscrite et astronomie araméene,” in Michael: Historical, Epigraphical and Biblical Studies in Honor of Prof. Michael Heltzer (ed. Y. Avishur and R. Deutsch; Tel-Aviv: Archaeological Center, 1999) 195. The bowl, which is unusually decorative and which surfaced on the private antiquities market, features a number of stars and constellations, including an ibex, fish, and bull’s head, as well as the sun and the moon. Several of the constellations are labeled in Aramaic. The writing, however, is painfully small, and most of the readings are highly conjectural. Only one of the constellations, a large figure of a man with a staff labeled in part ‫כסלא‬, corresponds to any of the Israelite constellations attested in the biblical text. See further comments below, §5.2.1.2. 8. Mowinckel attempts to deal with this difficulty by revocalizing ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬, asserting that the yod was not, in fact, the sign of the plural but rather a hiriq compagnis; thus

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel

229

9:9 could indicate that this is a feature that needs to be distinguished from ‫ַהחֶדֶר‬ in 37:9. Nonetheless, the southern locus of ‫סּופָה‬, “(the) storm wind,” which issues from ‫ ַהחֶדֶר‬in 37:9, is confirmed by Isa 21:1. 9 Thus, the two halves of Job 37:9 are antithetically parallel: ‫ּומ ְּמזִָרים ָקרָה‬ ִ ‫מן־ ַהחֶדֶר ָּתבֹוא סּופָה‬, ִ “From the (Southern) Chamber comes the storm wind, while from the mezarim 10 the cold.” Though several scholars have made suggestions for identifying ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬ and ‫ ַהחֶדֶר‬, 11 there is simply not enough information either in their original contexts or in the later interpretive traditions to make a meaningful identification other than noting the feature’s southern location. 5.2.1.2.  ‫ ִּכימָה‬and ‫ּכ ִסיל‬.  ְ The word ‫ּכימָה‬, ִ “the Cluster (?),” always occurs with its companion ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ “the Fool” (Amos 5:8; Job 9:9; 38:31), and is one of the star names in the Hebrew Bible that we can identify with near certainty. The versions generally agree about its identification with the Pleiades. 12 Furthermore, it is the only star name from the Hebrew Bible that is attested in cuneiform literature. A Sumerian-Eblaite lexical text reads mu l-mu l kà-ma-tù, thus equating the well-known Mesopotamian constellation mulMUL/zappu—which is unquestionably the Pleiades—with a very early attestation of the name later found in the Hebrew Bible. 13 The meaning of ‫ ִּכימָה‬is less certain, but it appears ‫ ח ְַד ֵרי תֵ מָן‬is simply “the Chamber of the South” (Sternnamen, 10). 9. ‫נֹוראָה‬ ָ ‫ּכסּופֹות ַּבּנֶגֶב ַלחֲלֹף ִמ ִּמ ְדּבָר ּבָא ֵמ ֶארֶץ‬, ְ “Just as the storm winds through the Negev, from the wilderness it comes, from a terrifying land.” 10. For a discussion of ‫מזִָרים‬, ְ see §5.2.1.3. 11. Schiaparelli simply invents an enormous constellation that was near the ancient southern horizon and contained the brightest stars (which included α and β Centauri, α, β, and γ Crucis, γ Velorum, α, ε, η, and ι Carinae; Astronomy, 65–66). More thoughtfully, Mowinckel assumes on the basis of Job 37:9 that the constellation in question rises heliacally when the south wind picks up, that is, at the end of September. This is when Corvus would have risen heliacally in 1000–500 b.c.e., and thus he identifies ‫ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬ as Corvus (Sternnamen, 14–16). 12. The LXX of Job 9:9 and 38:1 offers Πλειάς; interestingly, the Vulgate and Aquila translate the term Arcturus and Ἀρκτοὺρος, respectively. For an outstanding and wellinformed discussion of the identification of ‫ ִּכימָה‬and ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ see Matthias Albani, “‘Der das Siebengestirn und den Orion Macht’ (Am 5,8): Zur Bedeutung der Plejaden in der israelitischen Religions­geschichte,” in Religionsgeschichte Israels: Formale und materiale Aspekte (ed. B. Janowski and M. Köckert; Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 15; Gütersloh: Chr. Kaiser, 1999) 139–207, especially pp. 144– 46. Albani, in addition to briefly summarizing the opinio communis regarding the identity of ‫ ִּכימָה‬and ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ also addresses the former’s possible calendrical and religious significance in ancient Israel; I address his conclusions on these topics in §5.5.3. 13. W. Lambert, “The Section AN,” in Il Bilinguismo a Ebla: Atti del Convegio inter­ nazionale (Napoli, 19–22 Aprile 1982) (ed. L Cagni; Naples: Istituto Universitario Orientale, 1984) 396–97.

230

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to be related to Akkadian kimtu, “family,” or Arabic kūmu, “herd.” 14 Thus, ‫ִּכימָה‬ seems to mean something to the effect of “group, aggregation,” which is a fitting designation for the loose stellar cluster of the Pleiades. There is also little doubt that the constant companion of ‫ ִּכימָה‬in the biblical text, ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ “the Fool,” should be identified with Orion (Amos 5:8; Job 9:9; 38:31). Many of the Greek and Latin versions translate the word Ὠρίων or Orion outright, 15 while the targums and Peshitta translate the term ‫ נפלא‬or ‫גברא‬, “the Giant,” respectively. A derived generic meaning of “constellation” seems to be used in Isa 13:10, an oracle delivered against Babylon, where the term appears in the plural: 16 14. CAD K 375–76; HALOT 472. 15. Thus the LXX of Isa 13:10 and Job 38:31; as well as Amos 5:8 in Aquila. But the LXX of Job 9:9 and Theodotian’s Amos 5:8 render it Ἓσπερος, while the Vulgate translates the occurrence in Job 38:31 as Arcturus. 16. Compare Wildberger, who suggests that ‫ ְּכ ִסילֵיהֶם‬in Isa 13:10 is “an ancient scholarly gloss,” presumably explaining the preceding ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ּכֹוכבֵי ה‬, ְ “stars of heaven” (Hans Wildberger, Isaiah 13–27: A Continental Commentary [Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997] 8). This is unlikely, at least as Wildberger understands it, because one would hardly use a more obscure term (‫ילים‬ ִ ‫)ּכ ִס‬ ְ to explain a readily transparent one (‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫—)ּכֹוכבֵי ה‬ ְ unless, of course, the latter phrase was truly ambiguous, possibly referring, for example, to single stars, planets, etc., and the suggested gloss was meant to specify stars that form picture groups in particular. Johannes Koch suggests that the author of the oracle in Isaiah 13 is intimately familiar with the language of Babylonian celestial divination, specifically the astronomical diaries, and believes ‫ ְּכ ִסילֵיהֶם‬to refer neither to the Babylonian equivalent of ‫( ְּכ ִסיל‬which would be mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA) nor to constellations in general; instead, it is a dual form that refers to his reconstruction of mulKAK.SI.SÁ (the Arrow), which he maintains comprises the two stars Betelgeuse (α Orionis) and Sirius (α Canis Majoris). This constellation is associated in some late astronomical diaries with eclipses. In addition to this, for Koch, the verb used in Isa 13:10 to describe their lack of luminosity, ‫לֹא יָהֵלּו אֹורָם‬, is the functional equivalent of NU GUB.MEŠ (lā izuzzū, “they did not stand”) in the diaries. The words ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ּכֹוכבֵי ה‬ ְ in Koch’s reconstruction are not stars in general but are the planets (mulUDU.IDIM; “Der Finsternisbericht Jesaja 13,10,” UF 25 [1993] 201–17). The darkening of the sun and moon mentioned in the passage refer to specific solar and lunar eclipses observed on February 5th and 20th of 561 b.c.e., respectively. The major planets (i.e., ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫)ּכֹוכבֵי ה‬ ְ and mulKAK.SI.SÁ (i.e., ‫)ּכ ִסילֵיהֶם‬ ְ were invisible during these eclipses. The anonymous prophet, Koch claims, made use of Mesopotamian astronomi­ cal knowledge in order to articulate his oracular message of the coming ‫יֹום יְהוָה‬, “Day of Yahweh” (Isa 13:6, 9). As intriguing as Koch’s reconstruction is, it is also highly problematic. His identifications of the Hebrew terms appear to be completely arbitrary. While it is likely, for example, that the term ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ּכֹוכבֵי ה‬ ְ (or any variant that involves the word ‫ )ּכֹוכָב‬includes planets, there is no reason to think that it ever specifically and exclusively means planets. Moreover, though the Hebrew term ‫ ְּכ ִסילֵיהֶם‬is undoubtedly unusual, identifying it

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel ‫י‬

231

‫יה‬ ַ ‫הּׁשמֶׁש ְּבצֵאתֹו ְויָר ֵַח לֹא־י ִַּג‬ ֶ ‫ּוכ ִסילֵיהֶם לֹא יָהֵּלּו אֹורָם חָׁשַ ְך‬ ְ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫י־כֹוכבֵי ה‬ ְ ‫ִּכ‬ ‫אֹורֹו׃‬

For the stars of the heavens and their constellations will not make their light sparkle. The sun is dark when it rises, while the moon will not make its light shine.

Additionally, ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬may be depicted on the unprovenanced astral bowl as a centralized figure of a man with a staff. 17 This figure appears to be labeled with a two-part name in unclear letters, the second part of which seems to be Aramaic ‫כסלא‬. Although the reading is uncertain, the fact that ‫ ִּכימָה‬appears in Syria in the 3rd millennium on tablets from Ebla gives this reading some credence, the assumption being that both ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬and ‫ ִּכימָה‬could very well have been common constellations for much of the West Semitic world. The two constellations’ association with each other in the Hebrew Bible makes good sense given their proximity to each other in the sky. 18

with mulKAK.SI.SÁ/šukūdu (“the Arrow”) is not without significant difficulty. The Babylonian constellation is not, unlike the Hebrew term, a plural. Furthermore, if a Judahite prophet was seeking the Hebrew equivalent of mulKAK.SI.SÁ/šukūdu, why did he not simply use ‫ ?חֵץ‬Why would a star (α Orionis) that was part of the larger constellation ‫ּכסיל‬ ִ (Orion)—plus a star (α Canis Majoris) which was, presumably, not normally part of this constellation—be referred to in Hebrew as “their (the heavens’) two Kesils”? Ultimately, Koch’s identification of ‫ ְּכ ִסילֵיהֶם‬with mulKAK.SI.SÁ/šukūdu is based solely on his assertion that they are equivalent. In addition to these issues, Koch’s interpretation misses two fundamental features of the oracle. First, descriptions of the Day of Yahweh commonly feature generic descriptions of celestial darkening. Isa 13:10 need not refer to actually observed eclipses or other celestial phenomena. Furthermore, Koch does not seem to consider the basic meaning of the word ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬in Hebrew, “fool,” a meaning that functions well as a mocking term for “constellations” within an oracle that is targeted at Babylon, a country that was caricaturized in the prophetic corpus as relying on astral gods and celestial divination (Isa 47:13 and, perhaps, Jer 10:2). 17. Lemaire, “Coupe astrale,” 199. 18. This close association was maintained even postbiblically in the Talmud: ‫אלמלא‬ ‫חמה ׁשל כסיל לא נתקיים עולם מפני צינה ׁשל כימה ואלמלא צינה ׁשל כימה לא נתקיים עולם מפני‬ ‫חמה ׁשל כסיל‬, “Were it not for the heat of Kesil the world would not endure the cold of Kimah; and were it not for the cold of Kimah the world would not endure the heat of Kesil” (b. Ber. 58b). For further discussion of the significance of ‫ ִּכימָה‬in the rabbinic tradition, see Ellen Robbins, “The Pleiades, the Flood, and the Jewish New Year,” in Ki Baruch Hu: Ancient Neast Eastern, Biblical, and Judaic Studies in Honor of Baruch A. Levine (ed. R. Chazan, W. W. Hallo, and L. H. Schiffman; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1999) 329–44.

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5.2.1.3.  ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬.  Many scholars now accept that ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬in 2 Kgs 23:5 and  19‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬in Job 38:32 are variant Hebrew manifestations of the same word. 20 Indeed, the LXX equates them and translates (or rather, transliterates) both simply as μαζουρωθ. The origin of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬, at the very least, is the Akkadian loanword mazzaltu, “station, position.” 21 These terms in Biblical Hebrew, based on the postbiblical meaning of ‫ ַמּזָל‬in the versions and the Talmud, have often been taken to mean “planetary station” or “zodiacal sign.” 22 This is the case even though “zodiacal sign” is anachronistic both in the texts of Kings and Job and in its original Akkadian context, where it designates the station or position of any planet, star, or constellation, not just bodies in the ecliptic. It should be emphasized that the Akkadian mazzaltu never seems to mean “constellation” or “star” but, in accordance with the basic meaning of the word, refers to a position that a celestial body takes in the sky. 23 Unfortunately, the biblical contexts offer few clues to a precise identification of the Hebrew terms because the variants occur only one time each. In 2 Kgs 23:5, the term ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬is listed together with an array of celestial features: ‫ּומ ִסּבֵי‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה‬ ָ ‫ְהּודה ַויְקַ ּטֵ ר ַּבּבָמֹות ְּב ָע ֵרי י‬ ָ ‫ָתנּו מ ְַלכֵי י‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר נ‬ ֶ ‫ָרים א‬ ִ‫ׁש ִּבית אֶת־ה ְַּכמ‬ ְ ‫ְו ִה‬ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם׃‬ ָ ‫ּולכֹל ְצבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ְו ַלּיָר ֵַח ְו ַל ַּמּזָלֹות‬ ֶ ‫ָם ְואֶת־ה ְַמקַ ְּטִרים ַל ַּבעַל ל‬ ִ ‫ְרּוׁשל‬ ָ ‫י‬ He removed the priests that the kings of Judah had installed to burn incense on the high places in the towns of Judah and the environs of Jerusalem as well as those who burnt incense to Baal, the sun, the moon, the mazzalot and the whole Host of Heaven. 19. For an outstanding discussion of the modern history of interpretation of these terms, see Matthias Albani, “‘Kannst du die Sternbilder hervortreten lassen zur rechten Zeit . . . ?’ (Hi 38,32): Gott und Gestirne im Alten Testament und im Alten Orient,” in Das biblische Weltbild und seine altorientalische Kontexte (ed. B. Janowski and B. Ego; Tübingen: Mohr/Siebeck, 2001) 185–92. For my critique of Albani’s interpretation of the terms, see §5.5.3. 20. Albani, ibid., 192–94; P. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords in Biblical Hebrew (HSS 47; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2000) 86–87, including n. 298; Hayim ben Yosef Tawil seems less than certain (An Akkadian Lexical Companion for Biblical Hebrew: Etymological-Semantic and Idiomatic Equivalents with Supplement on Biblical Aramaic [Jersey City, NJ: KTAV, 2009] 203). 21. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 86–87. Albani offers what it undoubtedly the most informed contemporary discussion of the terms (“Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 181–226). 22. See, for example Maunder, Astronomy, 254; Mowinckel, Sternnamen, 26; and even as late as I. Zatelli, “Astrology and the Worship of Stars in the Hebrew Bible,” ZAW 103 (1991) 95. 23. In Akkadian, mazzaltu is used synonymously with manzāzu, often written KI.GUB; see references in CAD M/1 237–38.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel

233

There are several ways to understand the list of venerated celestial features here, the first being that each item listed is exclusive of all others. In this case, the respective identities of the sun and moon are clear enough, but in order to isolate the meaning of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬we must isolate the meaning of ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫צבָא ה‬, ְ “the Host of Heaven.” The phrase appears 16 times in the Hebrew Bible. 24 Except in 2 Kgs 23:5, it appears only 3 times in a list with other celestial features: Deut 4:19; 17:3; and Jer 8:2. In all 3 of these instances, ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ ְצבָא ה‬appears together with the sun and moon (Deut 4:19 includes the stars as well), and in all 3, the celestial features listed are the objects of veneration. In these passages, at least, ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ ְצבָא ה‬is obviously referring to any celestial feature that is not the sun or moon—that is, the stars and planets, which are also the objects of veneration. The association of ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ ְצבָא ה‬with the stars is further supported by Dan 8:10, where it appears parallel to ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫ּכֹוכ‬, and in Jer 33:22: ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְולֹא ִיּמַד חֹול ַהּיָם ּכֵן א ְַרּבֶה אֶת־זֶרַ ע ָּדִוד ע ְַב ִּדי ְואֶת־‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר לֹא־ִי ָּספֵר ְצבָא ה‬ ֶ‫א‬ ֹ ‫ׁש ְרתֵ י א ִתי׃‬ ָ ‫ה ְַלִוּיִם ְמ‬ Just as the host of heaven cannot be counted and the sand of the sea cannot be measured, thus I will multiply the progeny of David, my servant, as well as the Levites who serve me.

The use of ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ ְצבָא ה‬in this passage parallels the use of ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫ ּכֹוכ‬in Gen 15:5 in God’s promise to Abraham: ‫ָבים ִאם־ּתּוכַל ִל ְסּפֹר א ָֹתם‬ ִ ‫ּוספֹר הַּכֹוכ‬ ְ ‫ַּׁש ַמ ְימָה‬ ָ ‫וַּיֹוצֵא אֹתֹו הַחּוצָה וַּיֹאמֶר ַהּבֶט־נָא ה‬ ‫ִהיֶה ז ְַרעֶךָ׃‬ ְ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר לֹו ּכֹה י‬ He brought him outside and said, “Please, look at the sky and count the stars—if you are able to count them.” He said to him, “Thus will be your progeny.”

If all of the beings listed in 2 Kgs 23:5 are to be understood as exclusive of each other, and ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ ְצבָא ה‬normally indicates anything in the sky that is not the sun or moon (that is, ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫)ּכֹוכ‬, what, then, are ‫ ? ַמּזָלֹות‬One could suggest that “planets,” which is occasionally how the Hebrew word is used postbiblically, makes the most sense in 2 Kgs 23:5, since it is the next logical celestial feature to isolate in that passage. 25 A second manner of understanding the list in 2 Kgs 23:5 is to read ‫ּולכֹל ְצבָא‬ ְ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ה‬, “and to all the Host of Heaven,” as a summary statement for all of the celestial beings receiving veneration. In either case, this leaves the meaning of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬nonspecific, referring to any (and all?) adored celestial objects, exclusive of the sun and moon. 24. Deut 4:1, 17:3; 1 Kgs 22:19; 2 Kgs 17:16; 21:3, 5; 23:4, 5; 2 Chr 18:18; 33:3, 5; Isa 34:4; Jer 8:2, 19:13, 33:22; Dan 8:10. 25. Jastrow, Dict. 755.

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A third option, and the one I find most likely, is that ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ּולכֹל ְצבָא ה‬ ְ is in apposition to ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and is functioning epexegetically (“the mazzalot, that is, the whole Host of Heaven”). The ancient reader, like the modern reader, needed an explanation of this loanword, so the author of 2 Kings provided it. The presumably related form ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬appears in Job 38:32, where it is paralleled by three other celestial features that are constellations with identifications that are relatively certain: 26 ‫ ׃‬ ‫ׁשכֹות ְּכ ִסיל ְּתפַּתֵ ַח‬ ְ ֹ ‫ה ְַתקַ ּׁשֵר ַמעֲדַ ּנֹות ִּכימָה אֹו־מ‬ ‫הֲת ִֹציא ַמּזָרֹות ְּב ִעּתֹו ְו ַעיִׁש עַל־ ָּבנֶי ָה תַ ְנחֵם׃‬ Can you bind up the shackles of Kimah or loosen the chains of Kesil? Can you send out Mazzarot at its time or lead Ayish over her sons?

Unlike ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬in 2 Kgs 23:5, ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬in this passage seems to be a single, specific constellation. It is referred to in the 3rd-masculine singular (‫ּב ִעּתֹו‬, ְ “at his/its time”), and it appears embedded in a list of other specific constellations. 27 I am thus reluctant to equate ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬. Although the LXX equates them by transliterating both as μαζουρωθ, this is less a confident identification than it is a lexicographically desperate decision on the part of the translators. Clearly, the translators did not know what to do with either term, or they would have offered a Greek equivalent, as they did in every other case where the proper name of a celestial body was given in the Hebrew Vorlage. I find it likely, therefore, that ‫ָרֹות‬ ִ ‫ ַמּז‬is a specific constellation the identity of which has been irretrievably lost. It could be the case that the name in Job is corrupt and/or that the Massoretic vocalization was deliberately aligned with ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬in 2 Kgs 23:5 to help clarify the meaning of a term that was lost to the Medieval Jewish tradents. We could posit a possible root, such as ‫זרה‬, “to scatter,” in which case the name could mean something like “the scattered ones,” perhaps referring to a loose cluster of stars, but this ultimately does nothing to help identify this posited group. 28 26. See discussion in §§5.2.1.2 and 5.2.1.4. 27. Contra Albani, who argues that the Hebrew ‫ ְּב ִעּתֹו‬should be translated as a sort of frozen phrase meaning something like “timely,” thus obviating the lack of number agreement (“Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 194). 28. Perhaps related to ‫ ְמּזָרֹות‬is ‫מזִָרים‬, ְ found in Job 37:9 in antithetical parallel with ‫( ַהחֶדֶר‬see discussion of the latter term in §5.2.1.1). The most common current interpretation of ‫ ְמזִָרים‬is “northern wind, scattering wind,” in which this meaning is derived from the root ‫( זרה‬HALOT 567; nrsv, “scattering winds”; reb, “rain-winds”; nab and njb, “north winds”). The LXX of Job 37:9 supports a location rather than a constellation, ἀπὸ δὲ ἀκρωτηρίων ψῦχος, “from the mountain peaks [or, extremities?], the cold.” Τhe Vulgate, which seems to have translated the Hebrew on the basis of misreading the LXX’s ἀκρωτηρίων (“mountain peaks, extremities”) as ἀρκτούρου (“Arcturus/α Boötis”). Thus, the Latin text reads ab Arcturo frigus, that is, “from Arcturus, the cold.”

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel

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In summary, I understand ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬to be two different celestial features. The latter, ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬, indicates a specific constellation in proximity to ‫ ַעיִׁש‬, ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ and ‫;ּכימָה‬ ִ little more can be said about this constellation. The former, ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬, refers broadly to celestial objects of veneration and is equivalent to ‫ְצבָא‬ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ה‬. 29 I have argued that Israel had a long tradition of astral veneration as an element of its Canaanite religious heritage. In the Iron Age, when Israel and Judah came into increased contact with Assyrian and Babylonian traditions, Israelite religion to a certain degree adopted a foreign veneer as reflected in its iconography. I maintain that this is the case here as well: the term ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬, though clearly a Babylonian loan, does not necessarily refer to Babylonian concepts but is, rather, a foreign term that was applied to native objects. As noted, the Akkadian term mazzaltu never actually refers to a specific astral object and was thus not an object of veneration, whereas the Hebrew term ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬did and was. This is a considerable disconnect. The Syrian/Mesopotamian veneer applied to the Canaanite traditions is just that—a veneer that is in some cases thicker or thinner than in other cases. In the case of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬, it is thin. I maintain that The Vulgate plus the parallel reference in Job 37:9 to ‫ ַה ֶח ֶדר‬, which is often understood to be a constellation (a shorter form of ‫ ח ְַדרֵ י תֵ מָן‬of Job 9:9), have led some scholars to interpret ‫ ְמזִָרים‬as yet another constellation name. Schiaparelli, for example, assumes the standard text of the LXX rather than the Vulgate to be in error (Astronomy, 68); here he is following Gesenius (E. Robinson, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, Including the Biblical Chaldee from the Latin of William Gesenius [13th ed.; Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, 1897] 554). But rather than emending the LXX to match the Vulgate, he corrects both versions to read Ἄρκτος/Arctos, respectively (“Ursa Major”), since Arcturus (α Boötis) is not far enough to the north to provide an acceptable source for the north wind. Schiaparelli then invents two constellations by revocalizing the MT’s ‫ ְמזִָרים‬to read ‫( ִמזְרַ יִם‬the dual of ‫מ ְזרֶה‬, ִ “winnowing fan, pitchfork”) and suggests that Job 37:9 is referring to the Big and Little Dippers—conceived by the Israelites as two great winnowing fans (Astronomy, 69–72). This creative solution involving a precarious chain of emendations is based on his insistence on interpreting ‫ ְמזִָרים‬as a constellation. Maunder follows Schiaparelli (Astronomy, 262–63), while Mowinckel, allowing Schiaparelli’s general rather than specific conclusions, identifies ‫ ְמזִָרים‬as a constellation: the Hyades (Sternnamen, 16–23). Interestingly, the njps simply translates the word “constellations,” presumably understanding ‫ ְמזִָרים‬as a by-form of ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬/‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬. I maintain that the rendering of the LXX is, in fact, correct and that ‫ ְמזִָרים‬does not refer to a constellation at all but simply a northern, scattering wind, based on its root (‫זרה‬, “to scatter”). The Vulgate’s ab Arcturo is most parsimoniously explained by a misreading of the LXX. 29. Though Albani equates the two terms, he rightly notices the difference in usage between the two biblical passages (“Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 193–94). But he seems to imply that Job’s characterization is at least in part polemical in nature—a statement demoting the astral features from their once-divine status to a mere chronological function. For my reading, see §§6.7.1 and 6.7.2.

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the Babylonian word was applied, with considerable ignorance, to a CanaaniteIsraelite concept—that is, celestial features (whether stars, constellations, or planets) that were objects of veneration. 5.2.1.4.  ‫ ַעיִׁש‬and ‫עָׁש‬.  The constellation ‫( ַעיִׁש‬Job 38:32) and the alternate form ‫( עָׁש‬Job 9:9) almost certainly indicate Aldebaran (α Tauri) and the Hyades (γ, δ, ε, θ Tauri). 30 This is confirmed both in the Peshitta and in the Talmud. The Peshitta translates ‫ עיותא‬for both occurrences, while the Talmud preserves a debate about its identification as one of the Greco-Roman constellations (b. Ber. 58b): ‫מאי עׁש אמר רב יהודה יותא מאי יותא אמרי לה זנב טלה ואמרי לה ריׁשא דעגלא‬ “What is ʿāš? Rabbi Yehudah says yûtāʾ. What is yûtāʾ? Some say it is the tail of the Ram [the Pleiades] and some say it is the head of the Bull [the Hyades].

Though the Gemara ultimately decides in favor of the Pleiades on the basis of typically creative exegesis, we know that the Syriac cognate to ‫יותא‬, ‫עיותא‬, is without a doubt to be identified with the Aldebaran and the Hyades, not only in the Peshitta, but in other Syriac literature as well. 31 This fact, together with the previous identification of ‫ ִּכימָה‬with the Pleiades, argues strongly in favor of the Aldebaran/Hyades interpretation. 32 The most convincing meaning for the term seems to be related to the Arabic cognate ġayṯ, “rain”; as Mowinckel and others have noted, Aldebaran would have risen heliacally when the winter rains commenced. 33 Thus, ‫ַעיִׁש‬ and ‫ עָׁש‬could be translated “(the) Rainer,” which plausibly refers to Aldeberan 30. In ancient times, Aldebaran would have been considered a part of the Hyades (Pseudo-Eratosthenes, Catasterismi 14; Hyginus, Poetic Astronomy 2.21, 3.20). For another discussion of this identification, see Albani, “Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 204–5. 31. Schiaparelli, Astronomy, 161–63. But note that the LXX of Job 38:32 translates Ἕσπερος, while 9:9 reads ὁ ποιῶν Πλειάδα καὶ Ἓσπερον for ‫ׂשה־עָׁש ְּכ ִסיל‬ ֶֹ ‫ע‬. 32. In regard to the possible rabbinic identification of ‫ ַעיִׁש‬as the tail of Aries, note that the Arabic ʾal-dabarān means “the follower” (cf. dubur, “tail”). We should take seriously Schiaparelli’s suggestion that the Greek ‘Υάδες is actually a transliteration of ‫יותא‬ or ‫עיותא‬, because in my opinion the assumed Greek derivation, ὕω, “rain,” though semantically strong seems rather weak phonologically (Astronomy, 60). 33. Mowinckel, Sternnamen, 62–63; G. Driver, “Two Astronomical Passages in the Old Testament,” JTS 7 (1956) 2. Alternatively, Schiaparelli equates the terms with the homophone ‫עָׁש‬, “moth,” which occurs twice in Job (4:19, 13:28) as well as twice in Isaiah (50:9, 51:8; Schiaparelli, Astronomy, 57–58). While it would be appealing to be able to identify it with some animal form, the Aramaic cognate to ‫עָׁש‬, “moth,” seems to be simply ‫( עָׁש‬Jastrow 1124), while the Aramaic cognate to ‫ ַעיִׁש‬and ‫ עָׁש‬is clearly ‫יותא‬, originally from ‫יּותא‬ ָ ‫*ע‬ ִ (Sokoloff, DJBA, 532). Also to be rejected is the suggestion that the term refers to a lioness, based on the Arabic ʿay(y)ūt, which means “ravager” and

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel

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(α Tauri), specifically, while the word ‫“( ָּבנֶי ָה‬her sons”) in Job 38:32 would indicate the stars of the Hyades (γ, δ, ε, and θ Tauri). 5.2.1.5.  Conclusions regarding Star Names in the Hebrew Bible.  The overall scarcity of star names in the Hebrew Bible perhaps speaks most forcefully to the biblical authors’ reluctance to address celestial matters because of religious admonitions that limited the Israelites’ relationship with the features of the sky, as typified in Deut 4:19 (§5.2.1). It is not surprising that this sort of attitude would generate reluctance. What is surprising, however, is the lack of continuity in tradition regarding the bits of celestial terminology that were preserved. Modern scholars have indeed been able to identify with relative certainty a few of the star names in the Hebrew Bible with a few particularly conspicuous star groups. But even though there are some cases of general agreement in the versions regarding a Hebrew star name’s identity, there is very little consistency. Not a single asterism is translated with complete unity in the versions. This indicates that even in the relatively brief period (a few centuries) between the composition of the biblical texts and their translation into other languages, the celestial-science tradition native to ancient Israel and Judah was by and large lost and/or replaced.

5.2.2.  Planet Names 5.2.2.1.  ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫סּכּות‬.  ִ The only commonly recognized planet name in the Hebrew Bible is set within a polemic against the cult of the Northern Kingdom (Amos 5:25–27): ‫אתם אֵת ִסּכּות‬ ֶ ‫ְׂש‬ ָ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל׃ ּונ‬ ְ ‫ׁשנָה ּבֵית י‬ ָ ‫ָעים‬ ִ ‫ם־לי ב ִַּמ ְדּבָר א ְַרּב‬ ִ ‫ַׁש ֶּת‬ ְ ‫ּומ ְנחָה ִהּג‬ ִ ‫ָחים‬ ִ ‫ַה ְּזב‬ ‫ֶתכֶם‬ ְ ‫ֵיתי א‬ ִ ‫יתם ָלכֶם׃ ְו ִה ְגל‬ ֶ ‫ֲׂש‬ ִ ‫ֲׁשר ע‬ ֶ ‫מ ְַל ְּככֶם ְואֵת ִּכּיּון צ ְַלמֵיכֶם ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם א‬ ‫ׁשמֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ֵי־צבָאֹות‬ ְ ‫ָׂשק ָאמַר יְהוָה אֱלֹה‬ ֶ ‫ָלאָה ְלדַ ּמ‬ ְ ‫ֵמה‬ “Did you present me sacrifices or grain offerings in the wilderness for forty years, House of Israel? But you will bear sikkût, your king, and kiy­ yûn, your images, the star of your god, which you made for yourselves. I will drive you off to Damascus.” Yahweh has spoken; the God of Hosts is his name.

Here, Yahweh condemns the cult; its offerings are worthless, even offensive. Yahweh calls for justice and righteousness, citing the precedent of the wilderness experience during which no sacrifices were offered, and promises to drive the people off into exile. The exiles will take with them ‫ ִסּכּות‬and ‫ּכּיּון‬. ִ

which only in poetry is extended to “lion” in epithet, as Driver noted (HALOT 823, 895, and G. Driver, “Two Astronomical Passages in the Old Testament,” JTS 7 [1956] 2 n. 2).

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The meaning of these two terms has long eluded translators and commentators. The Masoretes were not able to identify the terms and therefore vocalized both terms with the vowels of ‫“( ִׂשּקּוץ‬abomination, idol”). 34 This uncertainty made its way into the early translations as well. The versions do not treat ‫ ִסּכּות‬as a proper noun at all but as the common noun ‫סּוּכַת‬, “tent, tabernacle.” Thus, the LXX reads τὴν σκηνὴν, while the Vulgate reads tabernaculum, both indicating ‫ סּוּכַת‬as the Hebrew Vorlage. The Peshitta also follows this interpretation, translating ‫מׁשכנה‬, “tent.” The author of the Damascus Document also chooses to read ‫ ִסּכּות‬as ‫ סּוּכַת‬in his interpretation of Amos 5:26. 35 The meaning of ‫ ִּכּיּון‬is also uncertain in the versions. Though treating ‫ ִּכּיּון‬as a proper name, the LXX’s nonsensical Ραιφαν is clearly a misreading of the Hebrew ‫כ‬ for ‫ר‬. Aquila and Theodotian are also at a loss, and both simply transcribe the Hebrew ‫ ִּכּיּון‬as χιον, a spelling that demonstrates the antiquity of the Masoretic vocalization but adds little to our understanding. The Vulgate renders the term imaginem, “image.” Last, no doubt under the influence of ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬in the same verse, the Peshitta translates ‫ ִּכּיּון‬with the homograph ‫כון‬, “Saturn.” This last translation influenced late 19th and early 20th-century scholarship on the topic, which at the time was heavily affected by the pan-Babylonianist school (§1.2). In that intellectual context, Paul Haupt’s identification of ‫ ִּכּיּון‬as the Hebrew rendering of the Akkadian kayyamānu, “the steady one” (that is, Saturn), made perfect sense. 36 Furthermore, with the publication of the Akkadian incantation series Šurpu at the end of the 19th century, scholars were quick to make the connection between ‫ ִּכּיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬in Akkadian literature. In one of this series’ lists of invoked celestial deities, the names dSAG.KUD (read as Sakkud and understood as the Akkadian source for ‫)סּכּות‬ ִ and dSAG. UŠ (= Kayyamānu, the standard Akkadian name for Saturn) appear side by side, presumably in apposition. 37 Thus the connection was made between d SAG.KUD = Sakkut = ‫סּכּות‬, ִ and dSAG.UŠ = kayyamānu = ‫ּכּיּון‬. ִ The terms in Amos 5:26 were therefore understood as alternative Akkadian names for the planet Saturn, and this interpretation dominated 20th-century approaches to the verse. 34. HALOT 472, 753; see also the njps note on Amos 5:26. 35. CD 7:14–16; see also Peter von der Osten-Sacken, “Die Bücher der Tora als Hütte der Gemeinde: Amos 5,26f in der Damaskusschrift,” ZAW 91 (1979) 423–35. 36. Paul Haupt, “Über den Halbvocal u im Assyrischen,” ZA 2 (1887) 266. 37. Tablet II, 180. See Heinrich Zimmern, Beiträge zur Kenntnis der babylonischen Religion: Die Beschwörwungstafeln Šurpu. Ritualtafeln für den Wahrsager, Beschwörer und Sänger (Assyriologische Bibliothek 12; Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1901) 10–11; and Erica Reiner, Šurpu: A Collection of Sumerian and Akkadian Incantations (AfOB 11; Graz, 1958) 18.

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On closer inspection, this interpretation has very little merit, however. If ‫ ִּכּיּון‬is, in fact, the Hebrew rendering of the Akkadian kayyamānu (Saturn), then we must accept that, for some reason, the Israelites (or the exiles who were resettled in the former Northern Kingdom?) were drawn to worship (while under Assyrian domination?) a Babylonian deity who was of little or no import in its own homeland! 38 In the biblical text, astral worship is only rarely associated with the Northern Kingdom (2 Kgs 17:16); normally, Judah is characterized as engaged in the practice. 39 Furthermore, in the Mesopotamian tradition, kayyamānu is not really identified with any major or minor deity, unlike the other planets. 40 Even with the reference to ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬in the verse, the equation of ‫ ִּכּיּון‬and kayyamānu is difficult to accept. More importantly, the equation of ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬with Saturn based on the Babylonian material is no longer tenable. Rykle Borger recollated the relevant lines of Šurpu that originally enabled the aforementioned connection and has demonstrated that the former reading dSAG.UŠ in that text should actually be read as dUŠ/Nita! 41 That is to say, the names listed in Šurpu are not alternate names for the planet Saturn but instead refer to the god Ninurta. The traditional reading of ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬in Amos 5:26 as Babylonian epithets for Saturn must be abandoned. 42 In light of these difficulties, and since the major focus of Yahweh’s disgust in Amos 5:21–27 is the action of the cult itself rather than the deity/deities that is/are the focus of its worship, we should seriously consider interpretations of ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬in Amos 5:26 that relate them to some sort of cultic paraphernalia—for example, ‫צ ְַלמֵיכֶם‬, “your images,” mentioned in the verse. Following 38. Hans M. Barstad, The Religious Polemics of Amos: Studies in the Preaching of Am 2,7B–8; 4,1–13; 5,1–27; 6,4–7; 8,14 (VTSup 34; Leiden: Brill, 1984) 123. 39. See discussion, §5.3. 40. In some fairly esoteric celestial-divination contexts it is, however, associated with Ninurta or Šamaš (W. von Soden, “Licht und Finsternis in der sumerischen un babylonisch-assyrischen Religion,” Studium Generale 13 [1960] 651). But these associations cannot be considered common enough to have influenced popular or even monarchic religion (Brown, AA, 57). 41. Rykle Borger, “Amos 5,26, Apostelgeschichte 7,43 und Šurpu II, 180,” ZAW 100 (1988) 75. 42. In light of Borger’s study dismantling the connection of Amos 5:26 to Saturn veneration, Oswald Loretz suggests that Amos 5:26–27 is a postexilic prose insertion and maintains that both terms were understood to be foreign deities, though ‫ ִּכיּון‬alone was a reference to Saturn (“Die babylonischen Gottesnamen Sukkut und Kajjamānu in Amos 5,26: Ein Beitrag zur jüdische Astrologie,” ZAW 101 [1989] 286–89). While one can understand Loretz’s desire to respect the Peshitta’s astral interpretation of ‫ּכיּון‬, ִ the fact that none of the other versions or the Damascus Document preserves this understanding remains problematic.

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the majority of the versions, we could read ‫ ִסּכּות‬as ‫סּוּכַת‬, “tent,” or even ‫ ַמסֵכֹות‬, “molten images.” 43 In this case, ‫ ִּכּיּון‬could be related to the root ‫כון‬, “to establish,” as in ‫מָכֹון‬, “foundation, pedestal.” 44 Thus, Amos 5:26 would be rendered, “You will carry off the tent/molten images of your king, and pedestal of your images, the star of your god which you made for yourselves.” The author of the Damascus Document certainly read it this way. 45 While this reading solves much of the difficulty in Amos 5:26, it nevertheless leaves us with several problems. First, as Borger notes, if ‫ ִּכיּון‬does indeed derive from ‫ כון‬and means something like “pedestal,” how is it that the meaning of a word related to such a common and ubiquitous root as ‫ כון‬could have been forgotten to the extent that none of the versions follows this interpretation? 46 Furthermore, while this reading does clarify the meanings of ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫סּכּות‬, ִ the significance of ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬remains to be determined. Because of its syntactical awkwardness (‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬is not governed by the defined object particle ‫)אֵת‬, we might eliminate this phrase entirely as a later gloss. But since it is represented in all of the versions, the gloss must have been made quite early in the text’s history and should preserve an early interpretation. 47 Gevirtz relates ‫ּכֹוכָב‬ in this passage to the Arabic kaukabuna(tun), which denotes “star, asterism, constellation,” as well as “crowd, group,” and translates ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬as “the host of your gods.” 48 But this meaning in Arabic clearly derives from the associated meaning “constellation.” For Gevirtz’s proposition to be valid, we must assume parallel semantic development between Biblical Hebrew and Arabic, which I find rather unlikely. 49 Another approach to the problem is presented by de Moor, who notes that a particular star symbol appears on steles in both

43. See note in BHS. 44. Ps 89:15, 97:2; Isa 4:5; Dan 8:11. See Stanley Gevirtz, “A New Look at an Old Crux: Amos 5:26,” JBL 87 (1968) 272; and more recently, J. de Moor, “Standing Stones and Ancestor Worship,” UF 27 (1995) 10–12—both of whom suggest this. 45. CD 7:14–16. 46. Borger, “Amos 5,26,” 80. 47. The reb does just this: “No, but now you will take up the shrine of your idolking and the pedestal of your images which you have made for yourselves.” 48. Gevirtz, “A New Look,” 271, 276; see also Edward Lane, An Arabic-English Lexi­ con (London: Gilbert and Rivington, 1885) 1:7, 2623. This definition also allows Gevirtz to translate Num 24:17bα: ‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫ׁשבֶט ִמּי‬ ֵ ‫ּדרַ ְך ּכֹוכָב ִמּיַעֲקֹב ְו ָקם‬, ָ “A host shall march out of Jacob and a tribe (or militia) shall rise up out of Israel” (“A New Look,” 270). 49. John Kaltner, The Use of Arabic in Biblical Hebrew Lexicography (CBQMS 28; Washington, DC: Catholic Biblical Association, 1996) 101.

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ancient Canaan 50 and Syria 51 and suggests that ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬refers to this decoration. His reading therefore contributes to his ancestral cultic understanding of the verse. More importantly, it is in line with the astral iconography we find throughout the Levant, beginning in the Bronze Age, which I have understood as indicative of the astral facets of Canaanite-Israelite religion. 52 In spite of the difficulties presented by ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬in Amos 5:26, the fact remains that the preponderance of the evidence shows that the identification of ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬with the Akkadian kayyamānu is impossible. Indeed, except for the Peshitta, neither the ancient versions nor the Damascus Document considered these astral references. Rather, the bulk of the ancient testimony points to interpreting ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬as some sort of cultic paraphernalia. This is the only interpretation that can make any sense of ‫סּכּות‬, ִ a term that cannot be associated with a known deity. The archaeological evidence indicates that even the reference to ‫ ּכֹוכַב אֱלֹהֵיכֶם‬could refer to, not an astral deity per se, but a star-shaped image that may (or may not) indicate an astral deity. Ultimately, the argument identifying ‫ ִּכיּון‬and ‫ ִסּכּות‬with a Saturn deity assumes the importance of this deity in ancient Mesopotamia or Israel, but it is clear that Saturn was not venerated in Mesopotamia and is otherwise unattested in Israel. Thus, it is necessary to eliminate Amos 5:26 as containing data relevant to our discussion of preexilic Israelite celestial science. 5.2.2.2.  ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬.  It is commonly accepted that Isaiah 14, a parody dirge mocking the Babylonian king, refers to some sort of tradition regarding a god who unsuccessfully attempts to replace the chief deity by ascending into the sky. 53 The most relevant verses are Isa 14:12–15: 54 How you have fallen from heaven, oh Shining One, Son of Dawn!

ְ ‫א‬ ‫ֶן־ׁשחַר‬ ָ ‫ּׁש ַמיִם הֵילֵל ּב‬ ָ ‫ֵיך נָפ ְַל ָּת ִמ‬

50. At Late Bronze Hazor, see Yigael Yadin et al., The James A. de Rothschild Expedi­ tion at Hazor, III–IV (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961) pls. 121–123:1; and, especially, Yigael Yadin, Hazor: The Rediscovery of a Great Citadel of the Bible (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1975) 82–85, where he equates this symbol with Hadad, contra de Moor, “Standing Stones,”12. 51. At Ugarit, see André Caquot and Maurice Sznycer, Ugaritic Religion (Icon­og­ raphy of Religions 15/8; Leiden: Brill, 1980) pl. 26. 52. See discussion in §5.3. 53. For an overview of the history of interpretation of Isaiah 14 in the 20th century, see R.  Mark Shipp, Of Dead Kings and Dirges: Myth and Meaning in Isaiah 14:4b–21 (Academia Biblica 11; Leiden: Brill, 2002) 1–31. 54. This reading follows the LXX’s πάντα τὰ ἔθνη, i.e., ‫ּכָל־ּגֹויִם‬. Note ‫ על גוי‬in 1QIsaa, however.

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You have been cut down to the earth, conqueror of all nations. You had thought, “I will ascend the heavens. Above the stars of El I will raise my throne, And I will sit on the Mountain of Assembly in distant Zaphon. I will ascend on the highest cloud and will be like Elyon!” But into Sheol you will be brought down, into the distant Pit!

‫ִגּדַ ְע ָּת ָל ָארֶץ חֹולֵׁש עַל־ּגֹויִם׃‬ ְ‫נ‬ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ָבךָ ה‬ ָ ‫ְוא‬ ְ ‫ַּתה ָאמ ְַר ָּת ִב ְלב‬ ‫ָרים ִּכ ְס ִאי‬ ִ‫כֹוכבֵי־אֵל א‬ ְ ‫ֶאעֱלֶה ִמ ַּמעַל ְל‬ ‫ְו ֵאׁשֵב ְּבהַר־מֹועֵד ְּבי ְַר ְּכתֵ י צָפֹון׃‬ ‫ֶליֹון׃‬ ְ ‫ֶאעֱלֶה עַל־ ָּבמֳתֵ י עָב אֶּדַ ּמֶה ְלע‬ ‫ֶל־ׁשאֹול ּתּורָד אֶל־י ְַר ְּכתֵ י־בֹור׃‬ ְ ‫א ְַך א‬

My immediate concern is the identity of ‫“( הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬Shining One, Son of Dawn”)—specifically, whether the epithet refers on some level to the planet Venus. Many scholars maintain that the Athtar narrative in KTU 1.6 and the allusion to ‫ הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬in Isaiah 14 are two reflexes of the same story. 55 Since Athtar at Ugarit is understood as a Venus deity, it is necessary to address this chain of identity because, if it is accepted, it contributes to my evaluation of the remnants of Israelite celestial-science tradition. Furthermore, it would be especially relevant if the current understanding of Amos 5:26 were correct, since it would be the only specific reference to a planet anywhere in the Hebrew Bible (§5.2.2.1). 55. After the unearthing of the Ras Shamra texts, it took little time for Albright to associate the two texts (William F. Albright, Archaeology and the Religion of Israel [Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1942] 83–84). More recently, see John Day, Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan (JSOTSup 265; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000) 166–80. Even before the discovery of the Ugaritic material, several scholars assigned a Mesopotamian origin to at least portions of the imagery. See Hermann Gunkel, Schöpfung und Chaos in Urzeit und Endzeit: Eine Untersuchung über Gen 1 und Ap Joh 12 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck und Ruprecht, 1895) 132 n. 7; Peter Jensen, Kosmologie der Babylonier: Studien und Materialien (Strassburg: Karl J. Trübner, 1890) 22 n. 2; W. Cobb, “The Ode in Isaiah xiv,” JBL 15 (1896) 28–29. As well, a Mesopotamian origin for the underlying story has been sought more recent scholars who assume that, since Isa 14 is referring to the king of Babylon, the passage should draw on Mesopotamian traditions (William R. Gallagher, “On the Identity of Hêlêl Ben Šaḥar of Is 14:12–15,” UF 26 [1994] 131–46; Raymond C. Van Leeuwen, “Isa 14:12, ḤÔLĒŠ ʿAL GWYM and Gilgamesh XI, 6,” JBL 99 [1980)] 173–84; Robert H. O’Connell, “Isaiah XIV 4B-23: Ironic Reversal through Concentric Structure and Mythic Allusion,” VT 38 [1988] 407–18; and W.  S. Prinsloo, “Isaiah 14 12–15—Humiliation, Hubris, Humiliation,” ZAW 93 (1981) 432–38). Given the target of the parody in Isa 14, a Mesopotamian background is well worth considering. Nonetheless, in my opinion, the overwhelmingly Canaanite character of the biblical text in terms of conceptual parallels makes a Mesopotamian derivation unlikely. In contrast to these Near Eastern sources, Grelot, followed by McKay believes the story has Aegean connections (P. Grelot, “Isaïe XIV 12–15 et son arrière-plan mythologique,” RHR 149 [1956] 18–48; J. W. McKay, “Helel and the Dawn-Goddess: A Re-examination of the Myth in Isaiah XIV 12–15,” VT 20 [1970] 451–64]).

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As I discussed above, in KTU 1.6 I 43b–65, Baal has died and, in the aftermath, El seeks an alternate from among Athirat’s children to fill the throne of Baal (§4.2.2.1). The god Athtar attempts to ascend his throne but is unable to do so and must descend from it. That Athtar at Ugarit is to be identified as a Venus deity is nearly undeniable. 56 Furthermore, any story that features a deity who is fundamentally associated with a planet has the potential of reflecting the movements of that planet in some manner. Thus, a story that depicts Athtar

56. An unpublished Eblaite-Akkadian god list from Ebla, for example, equates ašdár with dINANNA; see Wolfgang Heimpel, “A Catalog of Near Eastern Venus Deities,” Syro-Mesopotamian Studies 4/3 (1982) 14. But the Akkadian version (RS 20.24 ) of the Ugaritic god list (KTU 1.47; 1.118; 1.148) lists the Akkadian equivalent of Athtar as dašta-bi who is a known Hurrian deity (M. Jean Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens des archives et bibliothéques privées d’Ugarit,” Ug 5 [1968], 45 line 17, pl. 18). This also seems to be the case for the Hurrian-Ugaritic lexical text (RS 20.123 et al. VI b 16) which equates aš-ta-bi-[n]i? and aš-ta-ru (Nougayrol, “Textes suméro-accadiens,” 249). Is it possible in both of these cases that the bi sign should properly be read ár, thus negating the Athtar-Ashtabi association, which is unattested elsewhere? For a discussion and bibliography regarding the identity of Athtar, see Mark S. Smith, “The God Athtar in the Ancient Near East and His Place in KTU 1.6 I,” in Solving Riddles and Untying Knots: Biblical, Epigraphic, and Semitic Studies in Honor of Jonas C. Greenfield (ed. Ziony Zevit, Seymour Gitin, and Michael Sokoloff; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1995) 627–40. Still noteworthy are Ulf Oldenburg’s reflections on Isaiah 14 from a South Arabian perspective (“Above the Stars of El: El in Ancient South Arabic Religion,” ZAW 82 [1970] 187–208; see esp. pp. 199–200 for his discussion of Athtar in South Arabia). Shipp concludes, in contrast, that ‫ הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬is identical to hll snnt, “the Shining One, the Swallow(?),” in KTU 1.24 41–42 and is possibly a bright star in the Babylonian constellation mulSIM.MAḪ/ Šinūnūtu or, alternatively, a star associated with the Babylonian constellation Annunītu, which itself is often associated with Ištar (Dead Kings and Dirges, 67–79). A fundamental flaw that undermines Shipp’s argument is his assumption that West Semitic constellations are the same in terms of names and religious association, as expressed in the texts from Ugarit and the Hebrew Bible, as the constellations of the Babylonian tradition. This is rather unlikely, given what we know of Babylonian and Canaanite constellations. Even if one can make the case that certain asterisms were grouped similarly in Mesopotamia and the Levant, such as mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA/Šitadarru and ‫( ְּכ ִסיל‬Orion) or mulMUL/zappu and ‫( ִּכימָה‬the Pleiades), it is nonetheless clear that these rather prominent constellations had dramatically different names and cultural associations in their respective contexts. It is, for example, hard to imagine that mulSIPA. ZI.AN.NA, “the Righteous Shepherd of Heaven,” had the same gravitas and significance in Babylon as ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ “the Fool,” in Israel and Judah. In contrast to this situation regarding constellations, there are some prominent planetary names, such as Šamaš/Špš/‫ׁשמָׁש‬, ָ “the sun,” and as I maintain here Ištar/Aṯtr, “Venus,” that, although they may have different cultural connotations, nonetheless refer to the same celestial feature.

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ascending and (after failing to live up to the standards necessary to ascend) descending seems likely to be reflecting Venus’s observed movement in the sky. 57 That Isa 14:15–17 is astrally oriented is also undeniable; it explicitly mentions ascent above the “stars of El” (14:13). The character to whom the Babylonian monarch is likened also bears a title that is indisputably astral: ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־‬ ‫ׁשַ חַר‬, “the Shining One, the son of Dawn.” This epithet in particular, we should note, is applicable to only two celestial bodies, Mercury and Venus, because they are the only ones who are bound to the horizon. 58 While Athtar is not known by this epithet in the texts from Ugarit, the fact is that the amount of sharing of vocabulary and concepts in KTU 1.6 and Isaiah 14 is too great to be coincidental. The parallels with Isa 14:12–15 are striking: both recount the ascent of a god (Isa 14:13, ‫ ; ֶאעֱלֶה‬KTU 1.6 I 57, yʿl) Mount Zaphon (Isa 14:13, ‫;ּבהַר־מֹועֵד ְּבי ְַר ְּכתֵ י צָפֹון‬ ְ KTU 1.6 I 57, b ṣrrt . ṣpn) and dwelling there (Isa 14:13, ‫ ְ;ו ֵאׁשֵב‬KTU 1.6 I 58, yṯb) on a throne (Isa 14:13, ‫;ּכ ְס ִאי‬ ִ KTU 1.6 I 58, kḥṯ). Both gods are unsuccessful and must descend (Isa 14:15, ‫ ;ּתּורָד‬KTU 1.6 I 63, yrd) to the underworld (Isa 14:12, ‫ ָל ָארֶץ‬, 15, ‫ֶל־ׁשאֹול‬ ְ ‫א‬, and ‫;אֶל־י ְַר ְּכתֵ י־בֹור‬ KTU 1.6 I 65, b arṣ). 59 Clearly, the biblical author is drawing on a commonly known Canaanite story for analogy: just as ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬/Athtar attempted to become the supreme master of all, so did the king of Babylon; just as ‫הֵילֵל ּבֶן־‬ ‫ׁשַ חַר‬/Athtar was not up to the task and descended into the netherworld, so did king of Babylon. While by no means identical in detail or purpose, these two texts with the strong linguistic and conceptual parallels between KTU 1.6 I and Isaiah 14 plainly reflect the same Canaanite story, though each is cast according to its specific context. Although I doubt that the author of Isaiah 14 had a copy of some version of KTU 1.6 in front of him, I maintain that both these 57. See, for example, my discussion of the Sumerian story of Inana and Šukaletuda, §3.4.1. 58. Contra Klaas Spronk, who identifies ‫ הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬with the sun (“Down with Hêlēl! The Assumed Mythological Background of Isa. 14:12,” in “Und Mose schrieb dieses Lied auf ”: Studien zum Alten Testament und Alten Orient—Festschrift für Oswald Loretz zur Vollendung seines 70. Lebensjahrs mit Beitragen von Freunden, Schülern und Kollegen [AOAT 250; ed. Manfried Dietrich and Oswald Loretz; Müntser: Ugarit Verlag, 1998] 717–26). Note also Donald V. Etz, who attempts to associate the epithet in Isaiah 14 with a comet (“Is Isaiah XIV 12–15 a Reference to Comet Halley?” VT 36 [1986] 289–301). Compare the work of Hollis R. Johnson and Svend Holm-Nielsen who, apparently unaware of Etz’s article, suggest that there are possible comet references in Isa 14:23 and 1 Chr 21:16 (“Comments on Two Possible Reference to Comets in the Old Testament,” SJOT 7 [1993] 99–107). 59. For arṣ/‫ ֶארֶץ‬as “underworld” at Ugarit and in ancient Israel, see Mark Smith, “Baal in the Land of Death,” UF 17 (1986) 311–14, and Nicholas J. Tromp, Primitive Con­ ceptions of Death and the Nether World in the Old Testament (BibOr 21; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 1969) 23–46.

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Canaanite texts are reflexes of the same, or at least a very similar Canaanite tradition that drew its inspiration in part from the peculiar movements of the planet Venus. To be sure, they do different things with this tradition. KTU 1.6 is part of a narrative dedicated to Baal, while Isaiah 14 employs the story in a parody dirge mocking the Babylonian king and also incorporates elements of Canaanite views of the afterlife, specifically in regard to the king. 60 But the two texts nonetheless hinge on their audiences’ previous appreciation of a tradition inspired by the same celestial phenomenon. I therefore find it likely that ‫הֵילֵל‬ ‫ ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬refers to the planet Venus, even if only by epithet.

5.2.3.  Conclusions regarding Terminology Despite the range and mass of primary sources in existence from ancient Israel, only scraps of celestial-science terminology are extant. Aside from basic terminology for the sun and moon, only a handful of specific star names and a single veiled reference to a planet remain. This situation can at least partially be explained by (1) preexilic Israel’s lunar calendar, which required very little astral systematization, as will be discussed below; and (2) its lack of celestial divination. Put simply, the writings from Iron Age Israel do not use sophisticated celestial-science concepts or employ complex terminology, probably because there was no need for these sorts of things.

5.3.  Astral Religion When reconstructing the religion of Iron Age Israel, one needs to address archaeological data in addition to the textual sources provided by both the Hebrew Bible and epigraphic discoveries. 61 Though it is not my intention to equate Iron Age Israel and Late Bronze Ugarit, when the archaeological material from the entire Levant is analyzed, a certain degree of iconographic continuity between the Late Bronze and Iron Ages is evident and links the Ugaritic and Israelite material in certain ways. This continuity demonstrates that, in the southern Levant, including Israel, the veneration of stars was a continuous feature of life, even if its relative popularity waxed and waned.

60. Spronk, “Down with Hêlēl!” 717–26; Matthias Albani, “The Downfall of Helel, the Son of Dawn: Aspects of Royal Ideology in Isa 14:12–13,” in The Fall of the Angels (TBN 6; ed. C. Auffarth and L. Stuckenbruck; Leiden: Brill, 2004) 62–86. Spronk, identifying ‫ הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬with the sun, goes too far in disarticulating completely that royal ideology from the myth in KTU 1.6, since such royal ideology is in fact one of the major themes of the Baal Cycle. 61. An earlier version of this section appears in portions of my “Astral Religion in Ugarit and Ancient Israel.”

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As is well known, astral symbols are not uncommon in the iconography of ancient Syria–Palestine; examples include the Late Bronze Age gold starshaped jewelry from Tel el-Ajjul and Lachish and the stele with the lunar crescent from Hazor. 62 Heavenly bodies are featured frequently on seals from the Iron Age Levant. There is little ambiguity in the depiction of worshipers adoring celestial bodies on several of these seals. 63 For example, one seal from Acco plainly illustrates a devotee worshiping a crescent moon and star in front of an altar or perhaps a fenestrated terra-cotta cult stand. 64 Two others show what appear to be worshipers facing stars, crescent moons, and some sort of tree or bush. 65 Furthermore, as has been amply demonstrated by Keel and Uehlinger, celestial iconography is quite common on Iron IIC seals from the southern Levant, including Judah. 66 A small incense altar discovered in 7th-century roof debris at Ashkelon is of such a date and locus that one finds it hard to deny that this is precisely the sort of paraphernalia used in the rooftop veneration of the starry host described in Zeph 1:4–6 and Jer 9:13, 32:29. 67 In the Hebrew Bible, the Deuteronomic prohibition on the worship of the celestial bodies cannot be any clearer (Deut 4:15–19). For the Deuteronomist, such activity was to be expected of non-Israelites, since Yahweh had appointed the celestial luminaries for the nations’ adoration. But celestial worship was not to be practiced by members of Yahweh’s covenant. Its prohibition in Deuteronomy is a strong indication that it was being practiced, of course. Although scholars usually date this passage to the exilic or postexilic period, it nonetheless expresses what was a concern for the author’s 7th-century ideological predecessors; this is borne out often both in the evidence from the material

62. William F. Petrie, Ancient Gaza IV (BSAE 56; London: British School of Archaeology in Egypt, 1934) pls. 14:15 and 18:112; and Olga Tufnell et al., Lachish II (Tell ed-Duweir): The Fosse Temple (London: Oxford University Press, 1940) pl. 26:10; Yigael Yadin, Hazor I (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1958) pl. 29:1–2. For a more current discussion of these items, see Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger, Gods, Goddesses and Images of God in Ancient Israel (trans. T. Trapp; Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998) 51, 74–76. 63. Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, 320–21. 64. Ibid., 321, #312a. The authors do not identify this as a fenestrated cult stand but simply as “an offering table(?)” (p. 320). 65. Ibid., 320–21, ##312b and 313. 66. Ibid., 316–23. See also Peter van der Veen, “‘The Seven Dots’ on Mesopotamian and Southern Levantine Seals: An Overview,” in Die Zahl Sieben im Alten Orient/The Number Seven in the Ancient Near East (ed. Gotthard G. Reinhold; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 2008) 11–22. 67. Lawrence Stager et al., “Strategraphic Overview,” in Ashkelon I: Introduction and Overview (ed. Lawrence Stager et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2008) 312.

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culture described above and in the polemical material in the books of 2 Kings, Jeremiah, and Zephaniah. 68 The Deuteronomistic Historian (DtrH) considers Manasseh to have been responsible for the introduction of this “foreign” activity into Judah’s religious life (2 Kgs 21:3): ‫אׁש ֵָרה‬ ֲ ‫ְּבחֹת ַל ַּבעַל ַוּיַעַׂש‬ ְ ‫ָביו ַוּיָקֶם ִמז‬ ִ ‫ְקּיָהּו א‬ ִ ‫ֲׁשר ִאּבַד ִחז‬ ֶ ‫ָׁשב ַו ִּיבֶן אֶת־ ַהּבָמֹות א‬ ָ ‫ַוּי‬ ְ ֹ ֹ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ַוּיַעֲבד א ָתם׃‬ ָ ‫ָל־צבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ִׁשּתַ חּו ְלכ‬ ְ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ָׂשה א ְַחאָב ֶמלֶך י‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר ע‬ ֶ ‫ַּכא‬ He [Manasseh] rebuilt the high places which Hezekiah his father had destroyed and set up altars to Baal. He made an Asherah just as Ahab king of Israel had done. He bowed down to all the Host of Heaven and worshiped them.

These items, we learn, were erected within Yahweh’s temple complex in Jerusalem itself (2 Kgs 21:5). According to the DtrH, this cult around Yahweh’s temple had increased considerably by the time of Josiah’s reign (2 Kgs 23:4–5): ְ ‫ַו ְיצַו ַה ֶּמל‬ ‫הֹוציא‬ ִ ‫ׁשנֶה ְואֶת־ׁש ְֹמרֵי ַהּסַף ְל‬ ְ ‫הנֵי ה ִַּמ‬ ֲֹ ‫ֶת־ח ְל ִקּיָהּו הַּכֹהֵן ַהּגָדֹול ְואֶת־ּכ‬ ִ ‫ֶך א‬ ‫ִׂש ְרפֵם‬ ְ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם ַוּי‬ ָ ‫ּולכֹל ְצבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ׁשרָה‬ ֵ ‫א‬ ֲ ‫ֵמהֵיכַל יְהוָה אֵת ּכָל־ ַהּכ ִֵלים ָהעֲׂשּויִם ַל ַּבעַל ְו ָל‬ ‫ָרים‬ ִ‫ׁש ִּבית אֶת־ה ְַּכמ‬ ְ ‫ָׂשא אֶת־עֲפָרָם ּבֵית־אֵל׃ ְו ִה‬ ָ ‫ירּושל ִַם ְּבׁשַ ְדמֹות ִק ְדרֹון ְונ‬ ָ ‫ִמחּוץ ִל‬ ‫ְרּוׁש ִָל ִם ְואֶת־ה ְַמקַ ְּטִרים‬ ָ ‫ּומ ִסּבֵי י‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה‬ ָ ‫ְהּודה ַויְקַ ּטֵ ר ַּבּבָמֹות ְּב ָע ֵרי י‬ ָ ‫ָתנּו מ ְַלכֵי י‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר נ‬ ֶ‫א‬ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם׃‬ ָ ‫ּולכֹל ְצבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ְו ַלּיָ ֵר ַח ְו ַל ַּמּזָלֹות‬ ֶ ‫ַל ַּבעַל ל‬ The king commanded Hilkiah the high priest and the secondary priests and the entry guards to remove from the sanctuary of Yahweh all the paraphernalia made for Baal, Asherah, and all the Host of Heaven. He burned them outside Jerusalem in the fields of Kidron, carrying their ashes to Bethel. He removed the priests whom the kings of Judah had installed to burn incense on the high places in the towns of Judah and the environs of Jerusalem as well as those who burned incense to Baal, the Sun, the Moon, the mazzalot, 69 and the whole Host of Heaven.

From this account of Josiah’s temple purge, we learn that, not only had altars been erected for astral worship; there were personnel specifically dedicated to serving in these installations, and they had had previous royal support. Although there is one reference to astral religion in the Northern Kingdom of Israel (2 Kgs 17:16), the majority of references to this practice are with regard to the Southern Kingdom of Judah in the 7th–6th centuries. 70 As demonstrated 68. For a postexilic dating of much of Deuteronomy 4, see, for example, A. Mayes, “Deuteronomy 4 and the Literary Criticism of Deuteronomy,” JBL 100 (1981) 23–51. 69. See discussion of this term in §5.2.1.3. 70. The DtrH considers Manasseh to be the origin of astral religion in Judah and thus, for DtrH, highlighting the practice in the North might have been an anachronism. The matter warrants further investigation.

248

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in 2 Kgs 21:3–5 and 23:4–12, there seem to have been many state-supported astral cults around Yahweh’s Temple in Jerusalem. In addition to this templecentered locus of worship, there are two passages (Zeph 1:2–6 and Jer 19:13) that describe astral worship located outside the Temple of Yahweh in Jerusalem. Here, the biblical authors provide a few details regarding this cult; these include information regarding the specific locus, activity, and focus. The most obvious characteristic of the astral religion that was not based in the Temple was its locus on rooftops. Zephaniah condemns rooftop worship along with devotion to the deities Baal and Milcom (Zeph 1:4–6): ‫ֶת־ׁשאָר‬ ְ ‫ְרּוׁש ִָל ִם ְו ִה ְכרַ ִּתי ִמן־ ַהּמָקֹום ַהּזֶה א‬ ָ ‫ָל־יֹוׁשבֵי י‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה ְועַל ּכ‬ ָ ‫ָדי עַל־י‬ ִ ‫יתי י‬ ִ ‫ָט‬ ִ ‫ְונ‬ ֹ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם‬ ָ ‫ֲוים עַל־ ַהּגַּגֹות ִל ְצבָא ה‬ ִ‫ׁשּתַ ח‬ ְ ‫הנִים׃ ְואֶת־ה ִַּמ‬ ֲ ‫ָרים ִעם־הַּכ‬ ִ‫ַה ַּבעַל אֶת־ׁשֵם ה ְַּכמ‬ ‫ְסֹוגים ֵמ ַאחֲרֵ י יְהוָה‬ ִ ‫ָעים ְּבמ ְַלּכָם׃ ְואֶת־ ַהּנ‬ ִ ‫ִׁשּב‬ ְ ‫ָעים לַיהוָה ְו ַהּנ‬ ִ ‫ִׁשּב‬ ְ ‫ֲוים ַהּנ‬ ִ‫ׁשּתַ ח‬ ְ ‫ְואֶת־ה ִַּמ‬ ‫א־ב ְקׁשּו אֶת־יְהוָה ְולֹא ְד ָרׁשֻהּו׃‬ ִ ֹ ‫ֲׁשר ל‬ ֶ ‫ַוא‬ I will stretch out my hand against Judah and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem. I will root out from this place the remnant of Baal, together with the name of the celebrants with the priests, those who bow down on their roofs to the Host of Heaven, those who bow down, swearing to Yahweh and by Milcom, and those who deviate from Yahweh, inquire of him.

For the author of Zephaniah, the worship of these astral deities—together with Baal and Milcom and alongside Yahweh—is such an abomination that it is one of the instigations for the coming Day of Yahweh. Moreover, worshipers inquire of these deities as part of their devotion. 71 71. Albertz equates Zeph 1:6, in which families have replaced their inquiries to Yahweh with appealing instead to the Host of Heaven (among others), with Mesopotamian celestial omens (Rainer Albertz, A History of Israelite Religion during the Old Testa­ ment Period, vol. 1 [Philadelphia: Westminster/John Knox, 1994] 189–90). He maintains that the verbal root ‫ דרׁש‬in such contexts should be understood as oracular provocation, and on this point at least he is undoubtedly correct. Further, Albertz argues that, since the astral cult devotees here are specifically admonished for no longer inquiring of Yahweh, their activities included inquiring of the sun god or even celestial divination of the Mesopotamian variety. Ιt needs to be pointed out that celestial omens, by their nature, cannot be provoked in the way that omens in other mantic conventions can. The author of Zephaniah (and Jer 8:2) is undoubtedly referring to another mantic method that could be provoked: cleromancy, prophecy (1 Kgs 22:5) or something else. In ancient Iraq, when a devotee wished to inquire of a celestial deity, the inquiry was typically conducted via extispicy. See, for example, Piotr Steinkeller, “Of Stars and Men: The Conceptual and Mythological Setup of Babylonian Extispicy,” in Biblical and Oriental Studies in Memory of William L. Moran (BibOr 48; ed. A. Gianto; Rome: Pontifical Biblical Institute, 2005) 11–47; and Ivan Starr, Queries to the Sun: God Divination and Politics in Sargonid Assyria (SAA 3; Helsinki: University of Helsinki Press, 1990). This was not celestial divination and was not conducted by celestial diviners.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israel

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Jer 19:13 provides even more detail regarding the astral cult. After symbolically smashing a ceramic vessel in the presence of a group of Jerusalem’s elders and priests in the vicinity of the Tophet (‫)הַּתֹפֶת‬, the prophet likens the fate of the city to that of the vessel. Furthermore, not only will the city and its inhabitants be smashed, but (Jer 19:13): ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ָּתים א‬ ִ ‫ְהּודה ִּכ ְמקֹום הַּתֹפֶת ה ְַּטמ ִֵאים ְלכֹל ַהּב‬ ָ ‫ְרּוׁש ִ ַל ִם ּובָּתֵ י מ ְַלכֵי י‬ ָ ‫ְוהָיּו ּבָּתֵ י י‬ ְ ֹ ֹ ‫אחִֵרים׃‬ ֲ ‫ָכים לֵאל ִהים‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְו ַהּסֵך ְנס‬ ָ ‫ִק ְּטרּו עַל־ּגַּגֹתֵ יהֶם ְלכל ְצבָא ה‬ The houses of Jerusalem and the houses of the kings of Judah will be, like the place of Tophet, unclean—all the houses on whose roofs they offered incense to the whole Host of Heaven and poured libations for other gods.

The specific activities of astral worship are here described. Practitioners ‫ק ְּטרּו‬, ִ “burn incense,” to the gods of the starry sky. Furthermore, if ‫אחִֵרים‬ ֲ ‫לֵאל ִֹהים‬, “to other gods,” is to be read in hendiadys with ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫לכֹל ְצבָא ה‬, ְ “to the whole Host of Heaven,” practitioners also ‫ָכים‬ ִ ‫ ַהּס ְֵך ְנס‬, “pour out libations,” to them. These activities are, of course, common cultic fare in the ancient Near East. The cultus takes place on the roofs of homes presumably because the astral deities are fully visible from there. These two specific acts of worship are also associated with the Queen of Heaven (Jer 7:18, 44:18) though, interestingly, her worship is never specifically located on rooftops. In any case, this rooftop locus implies that, in some instances at least, the Hosts of Heaven were not depicted in the form of cult images but were, rather, worshiped in their natural state—that is, as actual stars and planets. 72 From exile, Ezekiel (8:16) also describes a group of Judahites facing east while worshiping the sun in what seems to be its natural state rather than by means of an image even within the Temple of Yahweh itself. As previously mentioned, the Deuteronomist considered the worship of the celestial luminaries to be forbidden (Deut 4:19) and even punishable by death by stoning (Deut 17:2–5). For the author of Jer 8:1–2, however, it was not enough to punish those currently worshiping the heavenly host. Those who had done so in the past were just as responsible for Israel’s wretched state (Jer 8:1–2): ‫מֹות־ׂש ָריו‬ ָ ‫ְהּודה ְואֶת־ע ְַצ‬ ָ ‫[יֹוציאּו] אֶת־ע ְַצמֹות מ ְַלכֵי־י‬ ִ ‫ָּבעֵת ה ִַהיא ְנאֻם־יְהוָה ְוי ִֹציאּו‬ ‫ְרּוׁש ִָל ִם ִמ ִּק ְברֵ יהֶם׃‬ ָ ‫יֹוׁשבֵי־י‬ ְ ‫יאים ְואֵת ע ְַצמֹות‬ ִ ‫ְב‬ ִ ‫הנִים ְואֵת ע ְַצמֹות ַהּנ‬ ֲֹ ‫ְואֶת־ע ְַצמֹות הַּכ‬ ֹ ‫ָלכּו‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ה‬ ֶ ‫ֲׁשר עֲבָדּום ַוא‬ ֶ ‫אהֵבּום ַוא‬ ֲ ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם א‬ ָ ‫ּולכל ְצבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ְו ַלּיָר ֵַח‬ ֶ ‫ּוׁשטָחּום ל‬ ְ ‫ַל־ּפנֵי‬ ְ ‫ִּקבֵרּו ְלדֹמֶן ע‬ ְ ‫ׁשּתַ חֲוּו ָלהֶם לֹא יֵא‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ִה‬ ֶ ‫ֲׁשר ְּדרָׁשּום ַוא‬ ֶ ‫ַאחֲרֵ יהֶם ַוא‬ ָ ‫ָספּו ְולֹא י‬ ‫ִהיּו׃‬ ְ ‫ֲדמָה י‬ ָ ‫ָהא‬

72. J. Smith et al., A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Micah, Zephaniah, Nahum, Habakkuk, Obadiah and Joel (New York: Scribner’s, 1911) 188 and more recently J. Vlaardingerbroek, Zephaniah (Leuven: Peeters, 1999) 68.

250

Chapter 5 At that time, oracle of Yahweh, they will bring out the bones of the kings of Judah, its officials, the priests, the prophets, and the bones of the inhabitants of Jerusalem from their graves, and spread them out for the sun, the moon, and all the Host of Heaven, whom they loved, worshiped, followed, sought, appealed to, and bowed down to. They will not be gathered up, nor will they be buried. They will become manure on the surface of the ground.

The punishment is fiendishly ironic. The astral cult’s former devotees will be disinterred and thereby greatly dishonored. Simultaneously, they will be “allowed” to continue to worship their gods. 73 Indeed, someone will ‫י ִֹציאּו‬, “bring out,” the bones of the dead. It is significant to note that the root ‫ יצא‬can be used to describe the rising of a celestial body (for example, Gen 19:23, ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש יָצָא‬ ֶ ‫;ה‬ Judg 5:31, ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש‬ ֶ ‫)ּכצֵאת ה‬. ְ Thus, the corpses are themselves darkly “rising” from the underworld like some infernal celestial body for their former gods. But this is more than linguistic and cultic irony. By disinterring the bodies and exposing them to their sacred objects of devotion, those objects, the Host of Heaven, are thereby desanctified in the same sense that a physical cult site would be if it were exposed to human corpses, such as when Josiah disinterred the remains of the priests at Bethel and burned them on the altar there (2 Kgs 23:15–16). 74 The above passages provide ample testimony to astral religious practices in ancient Israel. This fact at least is uncontested. The source of ancient Israel’s celestial devotion, however, has been a matter of significant scholarly debate. As is the case in the debate regarding celestial divination, scholars have proposed both indigenous and foreign sources for these cults. Spieckerman and Albertz, for example, argue that we should accept at face value the DtrH’s claim that astral worship had originated with non-Israelites. 75 They maintain that the primary divine foci of astral worship among Israelites—the Queen and Host of Heaven—both have their origins in Mesopotamia and were imposed by the Assyrians as part of their official subjugation of Israel and Judah. 76 73. J. Lundbom, Jeremiah 1–20 (AB 21A; New York: Doubleday, 1999) 500; R. Carroll, Jeremiah: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster/John Knox, 1986) 225. 74. Ziony Zevit argues that the disinterment and display is an attempt to invoke help from the astral deities by ritually displaying the corpses of faithful deceased ancestors (The Religions of Ancient Israel: A Synthesis of Parallactic Approaches [London: Continuum, 2001] 543). I find this interpretation unlikely, given the intensely unclean nature of human remains in ancient Israelite thought. 75. Hermann Spieckermann, Juda unter Assur in der Sargonidenzeit (FRLANT 129; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982); and Albertz, Religion, 189–90. Albertz, however, does not dismiss the possibility that there was still an element of ancient Israelite astral worship here (Religion, 340 n. 12). See also Schiaparelli, Astronomy, 51–52. 76. Spieckermann, Juda unter Assur, 212–25, 307–72. See also John Gray, I  &  2 Kings: A Commentary (2nd ed.; Philadelphia: Westminster/John Knoz, 1970) 648, 706; and G. Hentschel, 2 Könige (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 1985) 80.

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But we must be somewhat suspicious of the DtrH’s agenda in these matters, since he portrays any non-Yahwistic worship as “foreign.” This includes the practices that were undeniably part of Israel’s Canaanite heritage, such as the worship of Baal and Asherah. That the Queen and Host of Heaven are Mesopotamian in origin is also extremely doubtful. The Queen of Heaven is admittedly absent by this specific title from other Canaanite textual sources. But, while it is clear that the Queen of Heaven incorporated certain aspects of Mesopotamian Ištar, she also seems to have included aspects of important West Semitic deities, such as Astarte, as Ackerman argues. 77 As far as the Host of Heaven is concerned, McKay astutely observes that the stars in Mesopotamia were never conceived as a host or army. 78 Indeed, one of the most characteristic titles of the god of Israel is “Yahweh of Hosts,” and the concept of Yahweh’s heavenly court and/or army is quite common in the Hebrew Bible. 79 In short, the Host of Heaven appears to be, in both name and concept, a thoroughly Israelite notion. From the Assyrian side of the evidence, both McKay and Cogan have demonstrated that Assyrian vassal treaties make no mention of cultic matters. 80 It cannot be shown from the textual evidence that the Assyrians officially imposed any sort of religious practice or concept on their subjugated nations. At best, it could be postulated that, after many decades of direct cultural influence, by the 7th century the array of deities that the term “Host of Heaven” represents probably did include some gods of Assyro-Babylonian origin or at least some that had been syncretized with native Canaanite-Israelite deities. Keel and Uehlinger have amply demonstrated that, in the southern Levant, especially in Iron Age IIC, Assyrian and Aramean astral imagery was enthusiastically adopted within the esthetic tradition. 81 Nevertheless, the most convincing argument for native origins is the fact that astral religion was already a feature of religion in Syria–Palestine, as attested in Syro-Canaanite iconography as well as the texts from Ugarit (§4.1.1.2). The 77. Significantly, Ackerman also maintains that this syncretism took place long before the 6th century (S. Ackerman, Under Every Green Tree: Popular Religion in SixthCentury Judah [HSM 46; Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1992] 34). 78. J. McKay, Religion in Judah under the Assyrians (SBT 26; Naperville, IL: SCM, 1973) 59. 79. For example, Josh 10:1–14; Judg 5:19–20a; 1 Kgs 22:19; Job 38:7; Ps 89:6–9, 103:19–21; Isa 45:12. 80. McKay, Religion in Judah, 20–44, especially p. 43; and Mordechai Cogan, Imperialism and Religion: Assyria, Judah and Israel in the Eighth and Seventh Centuries b.c.e. (SBLMS 19; Missoula, MT: Scholars Press, 1974) 72–88. See also idem, “Judah under Assyrian Hegemony: A Reexamination of Imperialism and Religion,” JBL 112 (1993) 403–14. 81. Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, 283–372.

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Assyrian and Aramean esthetic imagery, though clearly imported, reveals not the wholesale importation of a foreign custom but the rearticulation of a latent stratum of native Judahite religious practice with a foreign veneer. 82

5.4.  Celestial Divination If the biblical testimony and archaeological evidence are to be trusted, then we can safely say that astral religion was practiced in ancient Israel. 83 However, whether or not there was a native or even an imported tradition of celestial divination in preexilic Israel has been the subject of much debate. Within this debate, there are three major schools of thought. To the first way of thinking, Israel had its own native tradition of celestial divination, which was simply an aspect of its Syro-Palestinian religious heritage. 84 To the second, Israel developed celestial divination under the influence of Assyrian/Babylonian celestial-divination practices while under occupation and during its status as a vassal. 85 Scholars who accept either of these options often link celestial divination inextricably to the practice of astral religion. 86 Jeffers, for example, describes this inferred relationship quite succinctly: “The ‘star worship’ of the Deuteronomist (i.e., Deut 4:19) should not be understood as worship of the stars per se, but as evidence that the stars and constellations were studied and that conclusions were drawn from them.” 87 On the surface, the logic seems sound: if you believe the stars to be gods and you worship them, then it is logical to assume that they are sending you interpretable messages. 82. Keel and Uehlinger, Gods, 317. 83. An earlier version of this section appears in portions of my “Celestial Divination in Ugarit and Ancient Israel.” 84. See, for example, Jeffers, Magic and Divination; John S. Holladay, “The Day(s) the Moon Stood Still,” JBL 87 (1968) 167; Zatelli, “Astrology,” 89. 85. Schiaparelli, Astronomy, 51–52; Yehezkel Kaufmann, The Religion of Israel from Its Beginnings to the Babylonian Exile (trans. M. Greenberg; New York: Schocken, 1972) 87, 93; Spieckermann, Juda unter Assur, 271; Albertz, A History, 189–90; Albani, Der eine Gott, 77–78. 86. Holladay, “The Day(s),” 167; Spieckermann, Juda unter Assur, 271; Albertz, A History, 189–90; Zatelli, “Astrology,” 89. 87. Jeffers, Magic, 155; see also pp. 150–51. More recently, Jeffers also reads Amos 5:26 as a reference to astrology (“Magic and Divination in Ancient Israel,” Religion Com­ pass 1 [2007] 638). The equation of ‫ ִּכּיּון‬with the Akkadian kayyamānu (Saturn) in this verse, however, was based on a 19th-century misreading of a passage in a Babylonian incantation series (see discussion above, §5.2.2.1). Beate Pongratz-Leisten has iterated a similar reading of Deut 4:19; see “Divine Agency and Astralization of the Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism (ed. Beate Pongratz-Leisten; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) 187.

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Not only is it a logical (though, as I hope to show, a false) assumption, it is based on the Mesopotamian paradigm in which the two practices are often linked. The third major school of thought regarding the presence of celestial divination in ancient Israel is that Israel neither had an indigenous form of celestial divination nor imported the practice before the exile. Cryer, for example, rejects the idea that the Israelites practiced celestial divination at all: “As far as astrol­ ogy is concerned, there is not much room for doubt that the Israelites neither practiced it, nor, more to the point, did they have the resources to pursue true astrological endeavors in a serious way.” 88 His skepticism is based, in part, on the fact that, in ancient Mesopotamia at least, celestial divination was a rather costly undertaking involving many professional specialists. For him, it seems unlikely that Israel, a relative economic backwater, could ever have supported a group such as this. Unlike archaeological evidence for astral religion, material remains of celestial divination in the southern Levant are wanting. Some scholars have suggested that a series of bone plaques discovered at various Iron Age sites in the southern Levant could have been used for celestial divination. 89 These small bone plaques typically have thirty drilled holes and have been understood as calendars. Tufnell believes the calendars (together with other sculpted bone artifacts) were used in divination, an explanation based on comparison with similar artifacts used by the Matabele in Africa. 90 Even if one acknowledged the validity of the comparative ethnography in this case, the fact that sculpted bones were used for divination does not mean the associated calendars were used for divination as well. Furthermore, even if the calendars were used in divination, they could have been used for hemerological or menological rather than celestial divination. In short, archaeologically speaking, there is no hard evidence for celestial divination in Syria–Palestine—although one must ask what archaeological evidence of the practice would include (other than texts) if it did exist. Surviving artifacts that might have aided in celestial observation (such as an elevated viewing area) or celestial calculation (such as a sun dial or water clock) would have many other practical applications, even if they could be identified with certainty among archaeological remains.

88. Cryer, Divination in Ancient Israel, 321. 89. Nili Fox, “A Bone-Carved Calendar?” in Tel ʿAroer: An Iron Age II Caravan Town and a Roman Settlement in the Negev—Avraham Biran (1975–1982) and Rudolph Cohen (1975–1976) Excavations (ed. Yifat Thareani; Jerusalem: Hebrew Union College Press, 2011) 255–58, 468. 90. OlgaTufnell, Lachish II, 382–83; and Lachish III. The Iron Age: Plates (London: Oxford University Press, 1953) pls. 37:3, 15, 17; 55:27, 28; 56:23; 57:28.

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Many scholars, both ancient and modern, have suggested that there are oblique allusions to celestial divination in the Hebrew Bible. In the 13th-century c.e. midrashic collection Yalqut Shimoni, the rabbis associated Joseph’s astral dream in Gen 37:9–10 as well as Jacob’s blessings to the twelve tribes in Genesis 49 with the zodiac. 91 Modern scholars have focused on other pericopes, such as Josh 10:12c–13c, the famous passage in which Joshua orders the sun to stand still so the Israelites can finish their slaughter of the routed Amorite army. Both Holladay and Walton have offered less-than-convincing arguments in favor of Israelite use of divination in this passage. 92 Largement understands Num 24:17b–18 (Balaam’s unwilling prediction of the downfall of the Transjordanian 91. Yalkut Shimoni (Leviticus 4:18). This understanding has been seriously entertained by several modern scholars (see, for example, Gunkel, Genesis, 390; von Rad, Genesis, 347; J. Skinner, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Genesis [New York: Scribner’s, 1917] 445, 535). Rabbinic tradition notwithstanding, there are serious chronological problems with the idea that the author of Genesis 49 (and, in turn, 37) drew on the concept of the zodiac. The origin of the zodiac is Late Babylonian Mesopotamia; its first recognizable appearance is in the Mesopotamian diaries dating to approximately 463–453 (Francesca Rochberg-Halton, “Between Observation and Theory in Babylonian Astronomical Texts,” JNES 50 [1991] 112–13). This seems much too late to have inspired authors of Genesis, especially when one takes into account the necessity for the zodiac tradition to leap over the hurdles of esotericism, as well as linguistic, cultural, and geographical barriers. Before the Late Babylonian period in Mesopotamia, the 17 stars in the path of the moon and the so-called “Normal Stars” were a much more significant celestial-organization device (MUL.APIN I iv 31–II i 8; also in this book, §§2.4.2.1.6 and 2.4.9.2) The association of the zodiac with the sons of Jacob/tribes of Israel seems to be simply the aligning of two symbolic traditions in which the number 12 figured prominently. It seems more likely that the author of Genesis 37 uses astral symbolism in Joseph’s dream because of the common metaphor in Genesis of comparing the offspring of the patriarchs to the number of stars in the sky (Gen 15:5, 22:17; Deut 1:10, 10:22, 28:62; Jer 33:22; Nah 3:16). In any case, Gen 37:9–10 is transparent without any knowledge of celestial divination or recourse to zodiacal astrology: Joseph will one day achieve a surprisingly high social status, and his family will be forced to recognize this fact. 92. John Holladay, “The Day[s] the Moon Stood Still,” JBL 87 (1968) 166–78. Holladay proposed that Josh 10:12c–13c is an incantation calling for a favorable positioning of the sun and moon together with the report of a favorable outcome. To reach this conclusion, the biblical author of Josh 10:12c–13c would have had to be quite familiar with the texts that constitute the Mesopotamian tradition of celestial divination (EAE) and their interpretation. Holladay dismisses this major stumbling block: It is important at this point of the argument to insist, however, that this knowledge, while the jealously guarded preserve of scholarly specialists, was neither of recent origin, nor were the general principles of operation unfamiliar to the “scientific community” at large. Even in latter day Judah the worship of the heavenly host was firmly established, and solar and lunar phenomena are deeply embedded in her tradition. (ibid., 173)

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states to an emerging Israelite monarch, using an astral metaphor for kingship) as drawing on celestial-divination terminology. 93 Gaster maintains that the same passage is an overt description of a real observed celestial phenomenon together with its interpretation. 94 Loretz sees fragments of Israelite celestial But nowhere does Holladay define what this “scientific community” is, despite his assertion. It has become increasingly clear, since the publication of the important texts of Mesopotamian celestial divination over the last few decades, that the knowledge contained in these texts is not simple, common lore that was more or less systematized and recorded. It was a complete system that relied on masses of texts and trained specialists with the ability not only to read and write Sumerian and Akkadian but also to perform fairly complex mathematical calculations and apply a sophisticated hermeneutics. This was the only “scientific community” that was capable of understanding the “general principles of operation.” Furthermore, there is very good evidence to suggest that, even within the literate community, access to these texts was restricted. In contrast to Holladay, Walton notes that Joshua, being a good and pious Israelite, would have been unlikely to use an incantation to procure a favorable sign for himself (“Joshua 10:12–15 and Mesopotamian Celestial Omen Texts,” in Faith Tradition and His­ tory: Old Testament Historiography in Its Near Eastern Context [ed. A. Millard et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994] 181–90). Rather, the hero, knowing how superstitious (and apparently well-versed in Mesopotamian celestial-divination texts) the opposing Canaanites were, asked God to place a sign in the sky that the Canaanites would interpret as unfavorable to themselves and thus help break the spirit of the Canaanite army; see also Jeffers, “Magic and Divination,” 638. 93. René Largement, “Les oracles de Bileʿam et la mantique suméro-akkadienne,” in École des Langues Orientales Ancienne de l’Institut Catholique de Paris: Mémorial du Cinquantenaire, 1914–1964 (Travaux de l’Institut Catholique de Paris 10; Paris: Bloud and Gay, 1964) 37–50; followed by J. de Vaux, Les Nombres (Paris: Gabalda, 1972) 289–90. Largement draws parallels to Balaam’s oracles from a variety of Mesopotamian sources, including dream omens, terrestrial omens, and celestial omens (including both meteorological and astral). Noting the many similarities between the two traditions, as well as the many differences, he argues that the similarities, which are ones of idiom rather than practice, are due to a common mantic tradition from which both Balaam and the Mesopotamian tradition draw. It may be that Balaam’s oracle does incorporate language from earlier mantic traditions. But it is presented in a form that is considered acceptable for a prophet of Yahweh to receive. In none of his oracles does Balaam actually witness a sign in nature; rather, he repeats what Yahweh tells him to, and this by definition is prophecy. Indeed, without the background of divination, the images in Balaam’s oracles, including the astral imagery in the fourth oracle, are still entirely clear. Furthermore, since the oracles themselves are poetic, poetic imagery rather than technical terminology is necessarily going to be used. 94. Theodore Gaster, Myth, Legend, and Custom in the Old Testament: A Compara­ tive Study with Chapters from Sir James G. Frazer’s Folklore in the Old Testament (New York: Harper & Row, 1969) 306–9. Gaster contends that the entire passage has traditionally been misinterpreted. He maintains that ‫ּכֹוכָב‬, “star,” is not meant to be taken as a metaphor for kingship. Rather, the passage is describing the movement of a celestial

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divination in Joel 2:10, 3:3–4, and 4:15. 95 All of these suggestions are profoundly speculative. body (star, comet, meteor, etc.) from a region of the sky associated with Israel to a region associated with Moab; the concept of associating areas of the sky with particular regions, he correctly notes, is a feature of Mesopotamian celestial divination. He further argues that the terms used in the passage are technical terms in (Israelite?) astronomy and draws parallels to known terms in the Mesopotamian tradition. Moreover, if ‫ ּכֹוכָב‬is not a royal metaphor, then neither is ‫ׁשבֶט‬ ֵ , “scepter,” which he identifies as a meteor or comet, citing later Jewish traditions. It is true that in Mesopotamian celestial divination, certain regions of the sky are associated with certain regions on earth. Nevertheless, Gaster’s argument is based mostly on his identification of the language of the passage as astronomical technical language. The terms he discusses, however, are fairly common verbs that need not have any technical subtleties; and since there are no extant Israelite celestial-science texts, all of his discussion is pure conjecture. As for his interpretation of ‫ׁשבֶט‬ ֵ , “scepter,” as “comet,” Gaster himself notes that “there is no corroboration from other Semitic languages” (Myth, 401 n. 79). The same critique used to undermine Largement’s study can also be applied to Gaster’s. While it is true that the original oracle may have drawn on mantic traditions other than prophecy, as Gaster contends, the biblical author himself did not frame Balaam’s prophecy as anything other than a prophetic oracle from Yahweh. Though the astral metaphor of ‫ּכֹוכָב ִמּיַעֲקֹב‬, “star from Jacob,” tempts one to a celestial approach, its parallel ‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫ׁשבֶט ִמּי‬ ֵ , “scepter from Israel,” is clearly a metaphor for the king. The passage must be framed not within the context of Near Eastern celestial divination, as Largement and Gaster contend, but within the context of the DtrH. Thus, we must read the parallel phrases together with its preceding phrases to refer to David who, in the biblical tradition, will eventually conquer these states and force their peoples to submit to the yoke of Israelite dominance (see, e.g., Martin Noth, Numbers: A Commen­ tary [trans. J. Martin; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1968] 192; and Baruch Levine, Num­ bers 21–36: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary [AB 4A; New York: Doubleday, 2000] 200). Indeed, ‫ ּכֹוכָב‬is occasionally used as a metaphor for a ruler in the Hebrew Bible (Gen 37:9; Isa 14:12; Ezek 32:7), as Gray notes (G. Gray, A Critical and Exegetical Commentary on Numbers [New York: Scribner’s, 1903] 369–70; in the New Testament, compare Rev 22:16). In Num 24:17b–18, then, the author could be combining a traditional metaphor for kingship with the specific concept of the star as a member of Yahweh’s host. More likely, however, is that this single star arising from Jacob draws on the progeny simile employed in several biblical passages to refer to the vast number of Abraham’s progeny (Gen 22:17; Deut 1:10, 10:22, 28:62; Jer 33:22; Nah 3:16). 95. Oswald Loretz, Regenritual und Jahwetag im Joelbuch: Kanaanäischer Hintergr­ und, Kolometrie, Aufbau und Symbolik eines Prophetenbuches (UBL 4; Altenberg: CIS, 1986) 103–5. Loretz maintains that the reference to ‫מֹופ ִתים‬, ְ “signs,” in Joel 3:3–4 is none other than a reference to a celestial-omen tradition. Translating the term “Omina,” he thus interprets the darkness of Joel 2:10 and 4:15 in light of this passage: they are essentially abbreviated celestial omens in which a part of the omen (in this case the protasis) stands for the whole. For the missing apodoses, Loretz cites one of the general interpretive principles of the Mesopotamian tradition of celestial divination: the darkening of the sky portends disaster.

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There are, in fact, only two indisputable references to celestial divination in the Hebrew Bible: Isa 47:13 and Jer 10:2–3a. The first of these explicit references, addressed to the daughter of Babylon (Isa 47:1), is situated within DeuteroIsaiah (47:13): ְ ‫יֹוׁשיע‬ ְ ‫ָתי‬ ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫ׁש ַמיִם הַחֹזִים ּבַּכֹוכ‬ ָ ]‫ָברּו [ה ְֹברֵי‬ ְ ‫ֻך ה‬ ְ‫נ‬ ִ ‫ִך יַע ְַמדּו־נָא ְו‬ ָ ‫ִלאֵית ְּברֹב עֲצ‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר יָבֹאּו ָע ָליִך׃‬ ֶ ‫ׁשים ֵמא‬ ִ ‫ֳד‬ ָ ‫יעם ֶלח‬ ִ ‫מֹוד‬ ִ Wearied by so much of your advice, why don’t you let them stand up and save you—those who chart the sky, who observe the stars, those who announce the new moons—from the things that will happen to you!

Jeffers notes that the phrases ‫ׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫ה ְֹברֵי‬, ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫הַחֹזִים ּבַּכֹוכ‬, and ‫ׁשים‬ ִ ‫ֳד‬ ָ ‫יעים ֶלח‬ ִ ‫מֹוד‬ ִ are not terms the origin of which can be found in Akkadian. 96 She argues, however, that because of this they are native Israelite technical terms; this interpretation ignores the context of the passage. While they are Hebrew terms, they are also transparent descriptions of the activities involved with celestial divination. Although they could be technical designations, Jeffers’s argument—that, because they are not loanwords or calques from Mesopotamian terminology, they must But ‫מֹופ ִתים‬ ְ do not seem to be the equivalent of omens, whether they are celestial, terrestrial, or otherwise. In the Hebrew Bible, ‫מֹופֵת‬, “sign, wonder” (often used in parallel with ‫אֹות‬, “sign”), is frequently used to describe the plagues of Egypt (Exod 4:21; 7:3, 9; 11:9, 10; Deut 4:34, 6:22, 7:19, 26:8, 29:2, 34:11; Neh 9:10; Ps 78:43, 105:27, 135:9; Jer 32:20, 21). It is also used to describe such activities as Isaiah’s three years of nudity to demonstrate Egypt’s worthlessness as an ally against Assyria (Isa 20:3), as well as the presence of Isaiah and his children among Israel as a reminder of Yahweh’s covenant (Isa 8:18). The word ‫מֹופֵת‬, therefore, is used to designate a sign and reminder of Yahweh’s presence and power in Israel and over its enemies, not necessarily a mantic sign. The word ‫מֹופֵת‬ does not indicate a meaning of “omen,” as Loretz contends, which implies that it be interpretable by a professional diviner according to some traditional rules of divination. Like a dark storm cloud on the horizon, the darkening of the sun and moon, the specific ‫מֹופ ִתים‬ ְ of Joel 3:3–4 are to be interpreted as obviously negative by anyone who is capable of observing the phenomena. Furthermore, while it is commonly suggested and accepted that the darkening of the sun and the moon’s turning blood red are descriptive of eclipses (e.g., W. Rudolph, Joel, Amos, Obadja, Jona [KAT 13/2; Gütersloh: Mohn, 1971] 73; H. W. Wolff, Joel and Amos, 68), it is more likely that in Joel 3:2–4 these phenomena are meant to be understood as the atmospheric effects of the ‫ָׁשן‬ ָ ‫אֵׁש ְו ִתימֲרֹות ע‬, “fire and column of smoke,” that themselves are the result of the burning of settlements (Wolff, Joel and Amos, 68; J. Crenshaw, Joel: A New Translation with Introduction and Commen­ tary [AB 24C; New York: Doubleday, 1995] 168). They are thus not celestial omens, since they would be the observable result of ground phenomena. As for Loretz’s reading of Joel 2:10 and 4:15 as abbreviated omen protases, these incidents of celestial darkening are best interpreted as the reversal of the created order. Their descriptions draw not on some otherwise undocumented Israelite celestial divination tradition but on Israel’s creation traditions, such as Gen 1:1–2:4. 96. Jeffers, Magic and Divination, 154.

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indicate a full-blown native tradition—is simply illogical. Indeed, rather than ridiculing the Judahites for the practice, the author of Isa 47:13 is derisively addressing the Babylonians (47:1). Here, as on other occasions, the author lampoons what he considers to be a specific characteristic of Babylonian religion. 97 In no way does this refer to Israel as engaging in celestial divination. In the second passage, Jer 10:2–3a, the biblical author refers to a foreign practice, though here he explicitly warns Israel against adopting it: ְ ‫ֶל־ּדר‬ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם אַל־ּתֵ חָּתּו ִּכי־יֵחַּתּו‬ ָ ‫ַל־ּת ְלמָדּו ּומֵאֹתֹות ה‬ ִ ‫ֶך הַּגֹויִם א‬ ֶ ‫ּכֹה ָאמַר יְהוָה א‬ ‫הַּגֹויִם ֵמ ֵהּמָה׃ ִּכי־חֻּקֹות ָהע ִַּמים ֶהבֶל‬ Thus Yahweh has said: “You should not learn the ways of the nations, nor should you be worried by the signs of the sky because the nations are worried by them, since the customs of the peoples are worthless.”

In contrast to the very specific Isa 47:13, in Jeremiah the nations who “are worried by the signs of the sky” are not identified. But, since the nations of Mesopotamia were most often connected with celestial divination in antiquity, we should assume here, too, that this refers to Babylon. In any case, the referent is certainly not Israel. Clearly, Jeremiah is concerned that his brothers are attempting to acquire foreign knowledge. The passage does not appear to be the polemical characterization of a rejected native Canaanite-Israelite tradition but the rejection of a truly foreign practice. Furthermore, as indicated by the grammar of the passage (which uses the negative ‫ אַל‬plus the jussive rather than the stronger, prohibitive ‫ לֹא‬plus the imperfect), this is not a prohibition but a significantly softer admonition within a prophetic rather than a legal context. If celestial divination were a concern deriving from Canaanite-Israelite custom in Iron II Judah, we would expect to see an outright prohibition in Deuteronomy rather than an off-the-cuff admonition within prophetic literature. To summarize, in the only two clear cases of celestial divination in the Hebrew Bible (Isa 47:13 and Jer 10:2–3a), the practitioners of celestial divination are not Israelites but foreigners. Thus, either native or imported celestial divination is entirely different from other forms of divination in ancient Israel, which, even if their practice is never described in the Hebrew Bible, are nevertheless explicitly forbidden in the list of prohibitions in Deut 18:10–12. Celestial divination, not mentioned in this rather detailed and specific list, is not forbidden—it is merely mocked and chided as an ineffectual foreign practice. Here, tremendous insight into our problem can be gained by this noteworthy ellipsis in the biblical text. Unlike astral religion, which is framed by the biblical authors as a foreign practice that is nevertheless observed by Israel, celestial divination, also seen as a foreign tradition, is not actually employed by anybody except foreigners. Even if there was significant syncretism with astral aspects of Assyro-Baby97. For example, Isa 44:25; 46:1–2, 7.

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lonian religion, this does not mean that Assyro-Babylonian celestial-divination traditions were imported in conjunction with them. Indeed, Neo-Assyrian texts indicate that celestial divination was a secretive practice, not only guarded by the state for purposes of making policy decisions, 98 but also, and more importantly, by the scribes themselves as a matter of protecting their guild’s secret knowledge. 99 After the Babylonian cultural koiné of the mid-2nd millennium, during which a wide variety of Mesopotamian scholarship was exported, Mesopotamian celestial traditions only began to move across cultural boundaries again, it seems, in the Persian period. 100 When considered in light of the flimsy material from Ugarit, it seems to me most likely that Israel did not have an indigenous form of celestial divination (§4.1.3). Supporting this is the biblical testimony, which neither depicts Israel engaged in the practice nor outlaws it. The Israelites did not practice celestial divination, simply because there was no such practice in their Canaanite religious heritage (except for evidence of some unsophisticated mantic experimentation at Ugarit). Furthermore, there is no evidence that they adopted any such foreign tradition before the exile. Though the preexilic biblical texts provide no solid evidence for Israelite celestial divination, we know that at least some Jews in the Hellenistic period engaged in various forms of astrology. Of course, the postexilic attitude toward the practice was most often negative and can undoubtedly be traced back to the prophetic warnings against foreign practices of this sort (Isa 47:13 and Jer 10:2– 3). This negative assessment of celestial divination and astrology was expressed explicitly in the postexilic period in the book of Daniel (2:27, 4:4; 5:7, 11) as well as in pseudepigraphical literature (1 En. 8:3; Jub. 12:16–18; and Sib. Or. 3:220–26). Perhaps, however, the ambiguity of the biblical warnings and the lack of an 98. In SAA 16 65, the writer informs Esarhaddon that, to his horror, a goldsmith hired a skilled Babylonian to educate his own son in multiple forms of restricted scholarship, including celestial divination, without royal consent; see Mikko Luukko and Greta van Buylaere, The Political Correspondence of Esarhaddon (SAA 16; Helsinki: NeoAssyrian Text Corpus Project, 2002) 64–65. See also Beate Pongratz-Leisten, Herrschafts­ wissen in Mesopotamien: Formen der Kommunikation zwischen Gott und König im 2. und 1. Jahrtausand v. Chr. (SAAS 10; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 1999) 298–99; and Alan Lenzi, Secrecy and the Gods: Secret Knowledge in Ancient Mesopotamia and Biblical Israel (SAAS 19; Helsinki: Neo-Assyrian Text Corpus Project, 2008) 154–56. 99. Ibid., 67–121. See also §5.4.1. 100. The spread of Babylonian traditions in this period was in many ways the result of its democratization; see Francesca Rochberg, “The Cultural Locus of Astronomy in Late Babylonia,” in Die Rolle der Astronomie in den Kulturen Mesopotamiens: Beiträge zum 3. Grazer Morgenländischen Symposion [23.–27. September 1991] (ed. Hannes D. Galter; Grazer Morgenländische Studien 3; Graz: GrazKult, 1993) 31–46.

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outright prohibition against the practice left the door open for “faithful” Jewish experimentation. This coupled with the demise of Israelite astral religion during the exile and the commensurate triumph of monotheism within Judaism meant that Jews could conceivably look to God’s heavens for guidance without being accused of astral apostasy vis-à-vis Deut 4:19. Whatever the case, by the 1st century b.c.e., astrology had entered some quarters of Jewish intellectual and religious life. Evidence of Jewish astrological practice at this time is demonstrated by two fragmentary texts from Qumran (4Q186/4QCryptic/4QZodiacal Physiognomy 101 and 4Q318/4QZodiology + Brontology ar 102) and a recently rediscovered pseudepigraphical work (Treatise of Shem). 103 Though undeniably reframed within a Jewish context, none of these works can be traced directly to earlier Mesopotamian sources, nor does any of them show independence of Hellenistic astrological practice. Thus, they do not evince Iron Age Israelite celestial divination, nor do they show continuity with Assyro-Babylonian celestial divination from the same period. The impressive parallels to MUL.APINstyle astronomy evidenced in the Astronomical Book of 1 Enoch do, however, show a significant reliance on Babylonian practice. But, as has been recently demonstrated in Ben-Dov’s thorough analysis, the Jewish borrowing of Babylonian astronomical methods must date to the Hellenistic period. 104 One must ask, if there were a native or imported tradition of celestial divination in Iron Age Israel, why did later Jewish astrology seem to need to rely on Hellenistic traditions? It is clear that Iron Age Israel had a tradition of astral religion that was part of its ancient roots in the Levant, as is amply attested in both Iron Age material remains as well as biblical testimony. Astral religion, in this sense, was just like other ancient Canaanite traditions that the biblical authors dismissed and derided as foreign. In spite of the antiquity of astral religion in ancient Israel, celestial divination apparently was not part of Israel’s religious tradition. Material from Ugarit shows that any celestial divination in Syria–Palestine in the Bronze 101. John Allegro, Qumran Cave 4 I (4Q158–4Q186) (DJD 5; Oxford: Clarendon, 1968) 88–91. For a discussion of this text’s similarities and relationship with classical and Babylonian sources, see Popović, Reading the Human Body, 103–18. 102. For discussion and bibliography, see Jonas C. Greenfield and Michael Sokoloff, “4QZodiology and Brontology ar,” in Qumran Cave 4 XXVI: Cryptic Texts and Miscel­ lanea—Part 1 (ed. Stephen J. Pfann et al.; DJD 36; Oxford: Clarendon, 2000) 259–74. 103. James H. Charlesworth, “Rylands Syriac ms 44 and a New Addition to the Pseud­epigrapha: The Treatise of Shem, Discussed and Translated,” BJRL 60 (1978) 376–403; and idem and James R. Mueller, “Die ‘Schrift des Sem’: Einführung, Text und Übersetzung,” ANRW II (1984) 20.2: 951–87. 104. Ben-Dov, Head of All Years, 286–87.

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Age was nothing more than immature speculation, and the biblical text testifies only to foreign practice. Furthermore, when after the Iron Age Jews did engage in forms of astrology, those forms were basically Jewish adaptations of Late Babylonian or Hellenistic practice and show no Israelite or Neo-Babylonian/ Neo-Assyrian legacy. The paradigm in which astral religion and celestial divination are necessarily linked by us moderns in ancient Israel is ultimately and understandably based on the Mesopotamian model. But perhaps we should cite another parallel. We know, for example, that in Egypt, though astronomical calendars were used in support of astral cults from the Predynastic period on, there was no native tradition of celestial divination. Indeed, the first indication of any form of celestial divination in Egypt does not appear until the Hellenistic period, when Late Babylonian and Greek astrology were introduced. 105 In the southern Levant, this seems to have been the case as well; the first indisputable evidence of Jewish astrology appears only at Qumran.

5.4.1.  Excursus: Did Assyrian Foreign Policy Revolutionize Israelite Celestial Science? Baruch Halpern has argued for considerable Mesopotamian influence on Judahite celestial concepts in the early 7th century following the capitulation of the Kingdom of Israel. 106 Before the Assyrian victory, Halpern argues, a traditional Canaanite-Israelite view of the cosmos was evident (Amos, Hosea, Isaiah, Micah). In this view, the cosmos was divided into three regions: the heavens, earth/sea, and the underworld. Yahweh, though spending most of his time in the heavens among the clouds (Deut 33:26; Ps 68:5; Isa 19:1), occasionally travels on the earth’s heights (Amos 4:13; Mic 1:3). The stars in the Canaanite-Israelite view are sentient members of Yahweh’s counsel (1 Kgs 22:19) and descend into the underworld during the day. After the Assyrians conquered 105. Ronald Wells, “Astrology,” Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001) 1:142. 106. Baruch Halpern, “Assyrian and pre-Socratic Astronomies and the Location of the Book of Job,” in Kein Land für sich allein: Studien zum Kultkontakt in Kanaan, Israel/ Palästina und Ebirnâri für Manfred Weippert zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. U. Hübner and A. Knauf; OBO 186; Freiburg: Universitätsverlag / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2002) 255–64; idem, “The Assyrian Astronomy of Genesis 1 and the Birth of Milesian Philosophy,” ErIsr 27 (Miriam and Hayim Tadmor Volume; 2002) 74–83; and idem, “Late Israelite Astronomies and the Early Greeks,” in Symbiosis, Symbolism, and the Power of the Past: Canaan, Ancient Israel, and Their Neighbors from the Late Bronze Age through Roman Palaestina—Proceedings of the Centennial Symposium, W. F. Albright In­ stitute of Archaeological Research and American Schools of Oriental Research. Jerusalem, May 29–31, 2000 (ed. W. G. Dever and S. Gitin; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2003) 323–52.

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the north, Halpern maintains, they began to indoctrinate certain members of the peripheral elites, including those from Judah in order to create an international elite class that would transcend local ideologies and beliefs. The new cosmopolitan intellectual cadre would instead be loyal to Mesopotamian intellectual traditions and thus be faithful to the Assyrian throne. 107 These traditions were, in turn, to become the core of a new international monistic ideology. Central to the Assyrian mission was the dissemination of a new Mesopotamian cosmology, which was received and assimilated into local cosmologies. In this new cosmology as it was received by the Israelites, the sky is a curved vault of ice, above which Yahweh resides in an upper heaven (Deut 10:14; 1 Kgs 8:27; Isa 40:26; Ezek 1:22); there, he is the source of all light (Ezek 1:26–28). The movements of astral bodies are entirely predictable and, therefore, the bodies are not independent beings at all but merely openings in the vault through which the light emanating from Yahweh can pass. Furthermore, the stars do not descend into the netherworld during the day (Jer 31:37); they only dip below the horizon. 108 If Halpern were correct, then the Mesopotamian influence on astronomy in Israel and early Judaism would be enormous. There are, however, serious issues with his thesis. First, Halpern provides no explanation about why the Assyrian handlers of these foreign intellectuals would have propagated an ideology that the elite in Assyria and Babylon themselves did not believe. 109 Despite the establishment of the predictability of certain celestial phenomena by the NA period, the Assyrian and Babylonian elite continued to believe in the essential divinity and agency of astral bodies, and they venerated them appropriately. 110 This is the case even if the nature of this belief was diverse and highly nuanced, as Rochberg and Pongratz-Leisten suggest. 111 Furthermore, although multiple 107. Ibid., 345–47. 108. Halpern makes a precarious extrapolation when he interprets this verse (Jer 31:37) to mean that the stars cannot travel into the netherworld at night since the verse implies that the heavens do not surround the earth (ibid., 331–32). But this extrapolation is irrelevant; the author is not trying to make a statement regarding the plan of the cosmos. He is merely offering a metaphor: just as the height of heaven and the depth of the earth are immeasurable, so Yahweh is incapable of abandoning Israel entirely. 109. Halpern, “Late Israelite Astronomies,” 347. 110. That is, Brown’s PCP paradigm; AA, 161–207. For astral veneration and agency in the NA period, see, for example, Assurbanipal’s hymn to Marduk and Zarpanitu, in which the constellations praise Marduk alongside other deities (SAA 3 2:36–38). Moreover, in the same hymn it is said of Marduk: [né]-bu-u MU-ka dSAG.ME.GAR “your shining name is Jupiter” (SAA 3 2:41). 111. Rochberg, “The Heavens and the Gods in Ancient Mesopotamia,” 117–36; and Pongratz-Leisten, “Divine Agency,” 144–52.

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heavens were certainly part of the Mesopotamian tradition, it was generally assumed that at night the stars and planets descended into the underworld, just as the sun did. 112 Second, a program of indoctrination is inconsistent with what many modern scholars have accepted as basic Assyrian foreign policy— namely, that Assyria had no interest in actively interfering with local religious and intellectual institutions and “was satisfied with the political submission of its subjects.” 113 In sum, though Halpern addresses a number of important and unresolved questions, such as the changing view of Yahweh’s cosmos in the Hebrew Bible and the means by which Mesopotamian celestial-science traditions were transferred to the west, he does not adequately demonstrate that the Assyrians (and later, the Babylonians) had the ideologies he posits, let alone the desire to disseminate these ideologies actively during the Iron Age.

5.5.  The Calendars of the Hebrew Bible The calendars of the Hebrew Bible have always presented scholars with a tangled and gnarled textual conundrum. It has long been recognized that the solution to the Hebrew Bible’s calendrical confusion lies in its lengthy composite literary history; the ancient authors undoubtedly modified and/or misunderstood the calendars of previous generations, as they adapted them to new political and religious situations. Satisfying solutions to this convoluted chronological web have only been possible since the discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls as well as the publication of Annie Jaubert’s landmark series of essays in the mid-20th century. 114 In light of the last half-century of scholarship, it has become clear that there are at least three calendars in operation in the Hebrew Bible.

5.5.1.  The Canaanite-Israelite Calendar The calendar of preexilic Israel was luni-solar, as evinced by the basic term for month, ‫יֶרַ ח‬, which, like the English word “month,” is etymologically related to the word “moon,”‫ָרֵח מ‬ ַ ‫י‬. The term ‫ יֶרַ ח‬or its cognate is used to refer to a lunation in the Ugaritic literature (yrḫ) and in Iron Age inscriptional material, such as the famous calendar from Gezer, which dates to the 10th century. 115 Thus the 112. Horowitz, MCG, 243–50, 353–55. 113. McKay, Religion in Judah under the Assyrians, 66–73; Cogan, Imperialism and Religion, 111–15; Cogan, “Judah under Assyrian Hegemony,” 403–14. 114. Annie Jaubert, “Le calendrier des Jubilés et de la Secte de Qumran: ses Origines Bibliques,” VT 3 (1953) 250–64; “Le calendrier des Jubilés et les jours liturgiques de la semaine,” VT 7 (1957) 35–61; and ultimately The Date of the Last Supper (trans. I. Rafferty; Alba House: Staten Island, 1965). 115. William F. Albright, “The Gezer Calendar,” BASOR 92 (1943) 16–26.

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Gezer Calendar presents the oldest calendrical data available from the southern Levant in the Iron Age. Inscribed on a limestone tablet, the seven-line text is a monthly listing of agricultural activities beginning, notably, in the fall. No month names are listed; individual and pairs of months are identified solely by the primary agricultural activity with which it (they) is (are) associated. 116 The Gezer Calendar ‫ ירחו אספ‬Its two months are ingathering. Its two months are ‫ ירחו ז‬sow‫ רע ירחו לקׁש‬ing. Its two months are the late crop. ‫ ירח עצד פׁשת‬Its month is the cutting of flax. ‫ ירח קצר ׂשערמ‬Its month is the barley harvest. ‫ ירח קצר וכל‬Its month is the harvest and completion. ‫ ירחו זמר‬Its two months are pruning. ‫ ירח קצ‬Its month is summer fruit.

As Miano has noted, rather than defining the year in strictly agricultural terms, the author of this text has awkwardly arranged agricultural activities (for example, beginning with harvesting, rather than planting) into a luni-solar calendar that begins in the fall. 117 Exod 23:16 also seems to place the end of the year in the fall: ָ‫ָס ְּפך‬ ָ ‫ָסף ְּבצֵאת ה‬ ִ ‫ַּׂשדֶה ְוחַג ָהא‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר ִּתזְרַ ע ּב‬ ֶ ‫ֲׂשיךָ א‬ ְ ‫ַּׁשנָה ְּבא‬ ֶ ‫ְוחַג ה ַָּק ִציר ִּבּכּורֵי ַמע‬ ָ ‫ַּׂשדֶה‬ ָ ‫ֲׂשיך ִמן־ה‬ ֶ ‫אֶת־ ַמע‬, “the festival of the harvest of the firstfruits of your hands that you planted and the festival of ingathering are at the year’s departure.” 118 Furthermore, with a fall New Year in mind, it does not seem coincidental that

116. For the translation of line 3, discussion about it, and bibliography, see Jan A. Wagenaar, Origin and Transformation of the Israelite Festival Calendar (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz, 2006) 15–16. For the reading of line 5, see S. Talmon, “The Gezer Calendar and the Seasonal Cycle of Ancient Canaan,” in King, Cult, and Calendar in Ancient Israel: Collected Studies (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1986) 102–3 n. 59 [repr. of JAOS 83 (1963)]. 117. Miano, The Shadow on the Steps, 36. For the timing of agricultural activities in the southern Levant, see Oded Borowski, Agriculture in Iron Age Israel (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1987) 34–37. 118. For ‫ַּׁשנָה‬ ָ ‫ צֵאת ה‬meaning, “end of the year,” see Wagenaar, Origin and Transfor­ mation, 9–11; and Matthias Albani, “Israels Feste im Herbst und das Problem des Kalenderwechsels in der Exilszeit,” in Festtraditionen in Israel und im Alten Orient (ed. Ehr­ hard Blum and Rüdiger Lux; Veröffentlichungen der Wissenschaftlichen Gesellschaft für Theologie 28; Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlag, 2006) 143–44. Note that the festival calendar in Exod 34:22 dates the festival of ingathering to the significantly more ambiguous ‫ַּׁשנָה‬ ָ ‫ּתקּופַת־ה‬, ְ “turn of the year,” which nonetheless seems to indicate the autumnal equinox or at least the general time around this event; for this, see also Wagenaar, Origin and Transformation, 11–12.

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the inauguration of Solomon’s temple to Yahweh in Jerusalem occurs in the first month of this calendar (‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫יֶרַ ח ָהא‬, “the month of the ʾĒtānîm,” 1 Kgs 8:2). Explicitly named months that are vestiges of this calendar are evident only in the DtrH’s account of the construction of this temple. There, three dates are given using this calendar: ‫יֶרַ ח זִו‬, “the month of Ziw” (1 Kgs 6:37), 119 ‫יֶרַ ח ּבּול‬, “the month of Bûl ” (1 Kgs 6:38), and ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫יֶרַ ח ָהא‬, “the month of the ’Ētānîm” (1 Kgs 8:2). 120 In contrast to the numbered months, which are normally designated using the term ‫( חֹדֶׁש‬originally, “New Moon”), the months mentioned in the account of Solomon’s temple construction employ the appositional term ‫יֶרַ ח‬. 121 These dates are, in turn, explained in terms of numbered months by means of glosses, probably referring to the Sabbath Calendar (to be discussed below, §5.5.4). The Canaanite-Israelite month names found in the Hebrew Bible all seem to be associated with the yearly agricultural/seasonal cycle. The month ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫א‬, identified as the seventh month (September/October) in 1 Kgs 8:2, is a substantive use of the adjective ‫ֵתן‬ ָ ‫א‬, meaning “perennial,” and it is assumed that the term refers to the wadis in which water still flows at the end of the dry season in the fall. 122 The month ‫ ּבּול‬in 1 Kgs 6:38, associated with the eighth month (October/November), is often related to the coming of the rains (compare ‫מַּבּול‬, “flood”). 123 Since ‫ ּבּול‬can also mean “produce,” however, the use of this term could also refer to the agricultural situation at the end of the olive harvest, which runs from September into November. 124 The month ‫זִו‬, described as the second month in 1 Kgs 6:1 (April/May), is the most difficult to associate with an agricultural/seasonal phenomenon and, as noted, it does not appear in any West Semitic inscriptions. Some scholars posit that Hebrew ‫ זִו‬is derived from the Aramaic noun ‫זִיו‬, meaning “brightness,” describing the flowers that bloom in 119. The Priestly calendrical insertion in 1 Kgs 6:1 names this month ‫ח ֶֹדׁש זִו‬, “New Moon/month of Ziv,” using ‫ח ֶֹדׁש‬, the Priestly designation for month used in the Sabbath Calendar. See discussion below, §5.5.4. For 1 Kgs 6:1 as a Priestly insertion, see Jeremy Hughes, The Secrets of the Times: Myth and History in Biblical Chronology (JSOTSup 66; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1990) 8 n. 3 and pp. 32–33. 120. For references to ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫ א‬and ‫ ּבּול‬in inscriptions, see KAI 14:1; 32:1; 37A 1.2; 38:2; 41:4. See also Albani, “Israels Feste,” 115–22, for a discussion of these months and for an outstanding bibliography. 121. The notable exception to this is the recognizable Priestly insertion in 1 Kgs 6:1, which uses ‫ ח ֶֹדׁש זִו‬in addition to providing a numbered month. The explanation of ‫ זִו‬in terms of the Sabbath Calendar in 1 Kgs 6:1 explains why there is no gloss clarifying the month with a numbered equivalent later in 1 Kgs 6:37. 122. HALOT 44–45. 123. Finegan, Handbook of Biblical Chronology, 30. 124. Job 40:20 and Isa 44:19; see HALOT 115.

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the spring. 125 Since the Aramaic word is clearly a loanword from the Babylonian zīm/wu, however, the linguistic migration would need to have been very early. 126 More difficult to assess is whether or not ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫( א‬ʾābîb), the month in which ‫“( ֶּפסַח‬Passover”) is to be celebrated, is originally part of this calendar. 127 Like other months of the Canaanite-Israelite calendar, the name ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫א‬, literally, “ear of grain,” obviously reflects an agricultural concern. 128 Like ‫זִו‬, the name of this month does not appear in any inscriptional material. Unlike ‫זִו‬, however, ‫ָביב‬ ִ‫א‬ is not mentioned in the DtrH’s account of the construction of Yahweh’s Temple and, more importantly, it never appears in apposition with ‫—יֶרַ ח‬only with ‫חֹדֶׁש‬. Furthermore, Exod 12:2 indicates that the month in which the Israelites are to leave Egypt (in 13:4 identified as ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ )א‬is to initiate the calendar: ‫הַחֹדֶׁש ַהּזֶה ָלכֶם‬ ‫ַּׁשנָה׃‬ ָ ‫ָדׁשֵי ה‬ ְ ‫ׁשים ִראׁשֹון הּוא ָלכֶם ְלח‬ ִ ‫ֳד‬ ָ ‫רֹאׁש ח‬, “This month is your head of months; it is the first of the months of the year for you.” 129 In the Priestly festival calendar in Leviticus 23–24, which is described in terms of the Sabbath Calendar, the (unnamed!) month in which ‫ ֶּפסַח‬is to be celebrated is described as ‫הַחֹדֶׁש‬ ‫ָראׁשֹון‬ ִ‫ה‬, “the first month.” Thus, if ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ א‬was actually an original part of the Canaanite-Israelite calendar, which in my opinion is quite possible given its agricultural nomenclature, its name is only mentioned in texts that employ the terminology (namely ‫ )חֹדֶׁש‬and beginning of the year (in the spring) that are

125. Finegan, Handbook of Biblical Chronology, 30. Note that the Aramaic term ‫ זִיו‬is used six times in Daniel: 2:31; 4:33; 5:6, 9, 10; 7:28. 126. Stephen A. Kaufman, The Akkadian Influences on Aramaic (AS 19; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974) 113 n. 409. 127. Exod 13:4, 23:15, 34:18; Deut 16:1. 128. Note Wagenaar’s understanding of ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ א‬as referring, initially at least, to the season of the barley harvest (rather than a month; Origin and Transformation, 25–32); see also Franz X. Kugler, Von Moses bis Paulus: Forschungen zur Geschichte Israels (Münster: Aschendorf, 1922) 12–17; and Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 385. This would explain the absence of the term in the dates of West Semitic inscriptions. 129. VanderKam takes this verse to indicate that the Canaanite-Israelite calendar began in the spring (most recently, James VanderKam, “Calendar,” NIDB 1:524). See also D. J. A. Clines, “The Evidence for an Autumnal New Year in Pre-Exilic Israel Reconsidered,” JBL 93 (1974) 22–40. As Miano notes, however, “P’s statement that the spring month Abib should become the first of the months (Exod 12:2) makes it likely that this arrangement reflects an innovation, and thus we should expect that a calendar beginning on the other side of the year (in the autumm) would have preceded . . . the one beginning in the spring” (The Shadow on the Steps, 36–37). Compare Alan Cooper and Bernard R. Goldstein, who also maintain that Exod 12:2 is a programmatic statement regarding a calendrical shift; however, they argue that this shift amounts to only one month (“The Development of the Priestly Calendars [I]: The Daily Sacrifice and the Sabbath,” HUCA 74 [2004] 1–20).

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characteristic of the Standard Mesopotamian and Sabbath Calendars. 130 It is quite possible, however, that the ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ חֹדֶׁש א‬mentioned in Deut 16:1 does not refer to the “month of ʾābîb” but instead refers to the “New Moon of ʾābîb,” in line with the preexilic understanding of the term ‫חֹדֶׁש‬, as Albani suggests. 131 In this case, the month, which describes an agricultural/seasonal phenomenon, conforms well to the other months attested in the Canaanite-Israelite sequence. 132 The fact that neither ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ א‬nor ‫ זִו‬has yet been found in West Semitic inscriptions is not especially troubling, because there are only nine months otherwise attested (inclusive of ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫ א‬and ‫ָביב ;)ּבּול‬ ִ ‫ א‬and ‫ זִו‬could be two of the remaining months. 133 Alternatively, the two months could be witness to a local variation in an otherwise ubiquitous Canaanite calendar. 134 The clustering of the months ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫א‬, ‫ּבּול‬, and ‫ זִו‬in the account of the construction of Solomon’s temple by a Phoenician contractor—to the exclusion of the rest of DtrH—has led some scholars to the conclusion that these month names were never actually in use in ancient Israel. They were, rather, only preserved in the account of the construction of the temple because the source 130. Note also that most reconstructions of the year at Ugarit begin the calendar in the fall with rš yn (§4.1.2). 131. Albani, “Israels Feste,” 117. 132. Hughes, The Secrets of the Times, 161. 133. The other months attested are ‫ירח מפא‬, ‫ירח מרפא‬, ‫ירח זבחשמש‬, ‫ירח פעלת‬, ‫ירח‬ ‫כרר‬, ‫ירח זהח‬, and ‫ ;ירח חיר‬see Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 384 for bibliography. For a discussion of the names themselves, see E. Koffmahn, “Sind die altisraelitischen Monatsbezeichnungen mit den kanaanäischen-phönikischen identisch?” BZ n.s. 10 (1966) 197–219. 134. Aharoni and Naveh identify a possible fifth month name, ‫( צַח‬Ṣaḥ), in Arad inscription 20:2, which they reconstruct as ‫( ירח צח‬Yohanan Aharoni, Arad Inscriptions [Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society, 1981] 40–41). However, the line is quite poorly preserved: none of the letters of ‫ ירח‬is entirely clear and neither is the ṣade in ‫צח‬. For substantial critiques of their reading, see Manfred Weippert, “Archäologischer Jahres­ bericht,” ZDPV 80 (1964) 183; and André Lemaire, “Note épigraphique sur la PseudoAttestation du Mois ʿṢḤ,’” VT 23 (1973) 243–45. If we were to follow Aharoni and Naveh’s reading, then we would need to accept the conjecture that the initial yod was written with a curved top while the reš was written with an open top—both of these in contrast to all of the other examples in the Arad corpus (Aharoni, Arad Inscriptions, 133–37). Furthermore, the supposed ‫ ירח‬is so loosely written that one could easily fit another letter in the space that the word is thought to occupy. Nevertheless, if their reading is valid, then it provides an alternate rendering for two verses in the Hebrew Bible: Isa 18:4 and Jer 4:11. Note, however, that in neither of these passages is the supposed month name preceded by ‫יֶרַ ח‬, as is the case with the other Canaanite-Israelite month names in the Hebrew Bible, as well as the other month names attested in West Semitic inscriptions (Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 384). Thus, I find it rather unlikely that Aharoni and Naveh are correct in their reading.

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documents (for example, Phoenician records or correspondence between Solomon and Hiram) on which the account is based employed these month names. 135 Although the argument is intriguing, 1 Kings 6–8 gives no indication that the author considered these month names to be foreign. The explanatory glosses that relate them to numbered months do not serve to identify them as such; rather, they function to synchronize the named months with the Sabbath Calendar. 136 Perhaps it is notable in the context of this problem that some month names attested in Phoenician/Punic inscriptions seem to have cultic connotations (such as ‫ירח זבחשמש‬, “month of the sacrifice of the sun”) and are therefore, presumably, less likely to have been preserved in the biblical text. If the dates of the temple’s construction happened to fall in cultically named months of this sort, they would have been less likely to survive the biblical editors’ theological scalpel. 137 Furthermore, if ‫ָביב‬ ִ ‫ א‬is in fact part of the CanaaniteIsraelite calendar, then it is not true that the sequence is only attested in 1 Kings 6–8. 138 As noted, the Canaanite-Israelite calendar was luni-solar. In such a calendar, whose month boundaries were based on the actual lunar cycle, the days on which one observed new and full moons had calendrical significance. The day of new month (‫ )חֹדֶׁש‬began with the observation of the new lunar crescent. As many scholars have maintained since Meinhold’s important article from a century ago, the preexilic ‫“( ׁשַ ּבָת‬Sabbath”), and much less commonly ‫“( ֵּכסֶה‬day of the full moon”), 139 indicated the day of the midmonth lunar event rather than a septenary observance independent of the lunar cycle. 140 Though its derivation 135. VanderKam, “Calendars,” 815; Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 385. Compare Kugler, Von Moses bis Paulus, 12–17; and S. Gandz, “The Calendar of Ancient Israel,” Homenaje a Millás Vallicrosa 1 (1954) 627. 136. Hughes, Secrets of the Times, 161 n. 7. 137. Koffmahn suggests that another month mentioned in Phoenician/Punic inscriptions, ‫ירח כרר‬, can be translated “month of dancing” and thus has cultic/festival associations (E. Koffmahn, “Altisraelitischen Monatsbezeichnungen,” 205; Albani, “Israels Feste,” 120). In Hebrew, at least, the verbal root ‫ כרר‬does not appear outside the pilpel stem (only in ‫ ְמכ ְַרּכֵר‬in 2 Sam 6:14, 16). On the other hand, the Akkadian verb karāru means “to cast, throw” as well as “to install,” and one would not be hard pressed to find an appropriate agricultural meaning for this verbal root. The cultic connotations involved with these two months leads Albani to argue that the overall (astral) cultic agenda of the Canaanite-Israelite Calendar ultimately led to its rejection by the biblical authors (“Israels Feste,” 119–20). 138. Hughes, Secrets of the Times, 161. 139. Ps 81:4; Prov 7:20 (‫ ;) ֵּכסֶא‬see also KAI 43:12. 140. J. Meinhold, “Die Entstehung des Sabbats,” ZAW 29 (1909) 81–112. For other scholars who support this position, see, for example, Michael Fishbane, Biblical Inter­ pretation in Ancient Israel (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985) 149–51; G. Robin-

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is contested by many, I maintain that the noun ‫ ׁשַ ּבָת‬is in fact derived from the verbal root ‫ׁשבת‬, meaning “to cease, stop, complete.” 141 This may also be true of its Akkadian cognate, which may be derived from the verb šap/bātu. 142 The particular nominal form is often thought to be problematic, but I suggest it follows the qaṭṭāl-type adjective/noun, which can refer to “habit, profession, or disposition.” 143 The moon, we must remember, was not considered a lifeless rock; on the contrary, it moved, grew, and shrank. For most, it was a person, a divinity worthy of veneration and thick with character. It was, in short, a conscious agent, and the word ‫ ׁשַ ּבָת‬in this sense could almost be considered son, The Origin and Development of the Old Testament Sabbath (BET 21; Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 1988); T. Veijola, “Die Propheten und das Alter des Sabbatgebots,” in Prophet und Prophetenbuch: Festschrift für Otto Kaiser zum 65. Geburtstag (ed. Volkmar Fritz et al.; BZAW 185; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1989) 246–64; H. McKay, “New Moon or Sabbath?” in The Sabbath in Jewish and Christian Traditions (ed. T. Eskenazi et al.; New York: Crossroad, 1991) 12–28; Albani, “Israels Feste,” 130–32; and most recently, Alexandra A. Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats: Seine Bedeutung für Israels Zeitkon­ zept und Erinnerungskultur (FAT 75; Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011) 130–33. For scholars who do not relate the preexilic Israelite Sabbath to the lunar cycle, see N.-E. Andreasen, The Old Testament Sabbath: A Tradition-Historical Approach (SBLDS 7; Missoula, MT: Society of Biblical Literature, 1972); William Hallo, “New Moon and Sabbaths: A CaseStudy in the Contrastive Approach,” HUCA 48 (1977) 1–18; Gerhard Hasel, “‘New Moon and Sabbath’ in Eighth Century Israelite Prophetic Writings (Isa 1:13; Hos 2:13; Amos 8:5),” in “Wünschet Jerusalem Frieden”: Collected Communications to the XIIth Congress of the International Organization for the Study of the Old Testament, Jerusalem 1986 (ed. M. Augustin; BEATAJ 13; Frankfurt: Peter Lang, 1988) 37–64. Hallo later clarifies his position to indicate that he has “no intention to deny the possible evolution of that concept [the septenary Sabbath] out of an earlier lunar cycle” (Origins: The Ancient Near Eastern Background of Some Modern Institutions [Leiden: Brill, 1996] 126). 141. Grund argues that the noun ‫ ׁשַ ּבָת‬is a loanword from Akkadian šap/battu and that the similarity to the Hebrew verbal root ‫ ׁשבת‬is merely a coincidence on which the biblical exilic and postexilic writers capitalized (Die Enstehung des Sabbats, 43–50; see also Phillipe Guillaume, “Tracing the Origin of the Sabbatical Calendar in the Priestly Narrative [Genesis 1 to Joshua 5],” JHS 5 [2005] n.p., http://www.jhsonline.org/Articles/ article_43.pdf [accessed 30 May 2012]). 142. The verb itself is not attested in common usage but is found in synonym list AN = šamû as a rare equivalent of gamāru, “to complete, finish” (CAD G 25, which cites An VIII 59 and An IX 1ff.; for the texts themselves, see CT 18 14 and VR 28 14). Grund, citing the verb’s rarity, dismisses its relevance to the discussion for largely pragmatic reasons (Die Entstehung des Sabbats, 107–10). Nevertheless, even if the verb is an artificial denominative based on the noun šap/battu, the fact that the invented verb was understood as the equivalent of gamāru indicates that the scribe who conceived it fundamentally understood the semantic significance of šap/battu as pointing to the moon’s completion or ceasing. 143. For example, ‫קַ ּנָא‬, “jealous,” ‫ַּטא‬ ָ ‫ח‬, “sinful, sinner,” ‫נַּגָח‬, “gorer,” ‫ ַּגּנָב‬, “thief.” For the qaṭṭāl nominal pattern, see GKC, 233.

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a divine epithet that was applied to the moon in the middle of its lunation, the character of which was complete and had ceased growing. 144 It is with this meaning that it is mentioned in the same breath with ‫ חֹדֶׁש‬to indicate important, regularly held feast days in the preexilic period. 145 These feast days could be associated with lunar or, more broadly, astral cults, as Albani notes. 146 In both Mesopotamia and Ugarit as well as in Judaism, however, the days of the new and full moon could also be coordinated with the celebration of religious observances that were not strictly associated with the moon—or any astral deity, for that matter. 147 Israel’s cultic celebrations, like the celebrations of its neighbors, were agricultural in nature and the attested month names appear to have been related to seasonal phenomena; thus we know that the Israelite calendar would have had to be modified regularly to synchronize with the tropical year, like most calendars of the ancient Near East. Some sort of regular intercalation was required to deal with the difference between the lengths of the lunar year (354 days) and the tropical year (365¼ days). Unfortunately, although some scholars have proposed workable models showing how an intercalated month might have been determined, we possess absolutely no data regarding the practice in ancient Israel. 148 We know that, in the rabbinic Jewish community in the first few centuries c.e., the decision to in144. On agency, see §6.2. 145. 2 Kgs 4:23; Isa 1:13; Amos 8:5; Hos 4:23. 146. Albani, “Israels Feste,” 117–19. 147. For example, KTU 1.105. M. Krebernik, “Mondgott. A,1,” RlA 8 (1997) 367; see also the discussion in Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats, 118–19. For ym ḥdṯ and ym mlat at Ugarit, see, e.g., KTU 1.112:1–2 and 1.109:1–4; and the brief discussion above in §4.1.2. 148. J. B. Segal suggests that Jeroboam I’s cultic calendar reforms described in 2 Kgs 12:32–33 and Hezekiah’s postponement of the Passover celebration in 2 Chr 30:2–3 are actually describing intercalations (“Intercalation and the Hebrew Calendar,” 250–307). But the biblical authors regarded these events not as intercalations but as deviations from the calendar. In contrast, S. Talmon interprets these two events as a full-fledged calendar redefinition (and the later result of the redefinition) on the part of Jeroboam I (“Cult and Calendar Reform of Jeroboam I,” King, Cult and Calendar in Ancient Israel: Collected Studies [Jerusalem: Magnes, 1986] 113–30 [repr. of “Divergences in Calendar Reckoning in Ephraim and Judah,” VT 8 (1958) 48–74]). More recently, Albani has argued that, beginning in the preexilic period, Judah adopted a Mesopotamian method for determining the need for an intercalated month based on the appearance of the Pleiades in conjunction with the new moon, a method that, he maintains, was borrowed from Babylonian practice and is described in MUL. APIN II Gap A 8–9. For this portion of MUL.APIN, see above, §2.4.2.1.12; Albani, “Kanst du die Sternbilder,”152–61; and idem, “Israels Feste,” 128; for my evaluation of Albani’s thesis, see §5.5.3.

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tercalate a month was made by a committee and was confirmed by the Nasiʾ. 149 This decision was not made based on a mathematical model but on observing agricultural activity and observing whether one of the equinoxes or solstices fell late in the luni-solar calendar. 150 The 19-year Metonic cycle for intercalation, which was remarkably practical and was used in Mesopotamia from the 6th century b.c.e. on, could not be used by the rabbis because intercalation was not allowed in or after a sabbatical year. 151 Thus, even in the rabbinic period, intercalation was determined, not by mathematical models, which were readily available and widespread, but on agricultural and solar observation. 152 Since there is very little evidence for systematic solar observation in preexilic Israel, it is likely that the necessity for the intercalation of an extra month was determined on agricultural grounds.

5.5.2.  The Standard Mesopotamian Calendar The luni-solar calendar that was used universally in Mesopotamia by the 7th century followed the expansion of Assyria and Babylonia across southwest Asia. 153 The Mesopotamian system, which continued to be used by the Persian imperial administration after the collapse of the Neo-Babylonian Empire, was, like the Canaanite-Israelite calendar, also luni-solar, though it began its year in the spring, not the fall. As subjects of the Persian Empire, Jews returning from exile adopted the Standard Mesopotamian system, and this adoption included the use of the Babylonian month names. Though it would probably already have been used more and more internationally in the first half of the 1st millennium b.c.e., especially in the context of international relations, the first undisputable use of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar in the Hebrew Bible appears only in texts that date securely to the Persian period. The names of seven Mesopotamian months—‫נִיסָן‬, ‫סיוָן‬, ִ ‫אֱלּול‬, ‫ּכ ְסלֵו‬, ִ ‫טבֵת‬ ֵ , ‫ׁשבָט‬, ְ and ‫ֲדר‬ ָ ‫( א‬nîsān, sîwān, ʾĕlûl, kislēw, šĕbāṭ, and ʾădār)—are used in the books of Ezra, Nehemiah, 149. B. Sanh. 10b–11a. 150. B. Sanh. 11b. 151. T. Sanh. 2.2–9. 152. Segal argues that both of these methods were either impossible (in the case of equinox/solstice observation) or impractical (in the case of agricultural observation) in preexilic Israel (“Intercalation,” 264–68). Therefore, he argues that the intercalation decision was made on the observance of fixed stars. While he might be right that the equinox/solstice observation method would have been impossible, since these dates could not be determined precisely even in Babylonia until the 4th century b.c.e., he does not make the case that agricultural observation was impractical, because this was certainly the method practiced in early Mesopotamia. Furthermore, his case for stellar observation is quite weak, given the lack of evidence for any sort of regular stellar observation in the Bible or in the postbiblical traditions. 153. Cohen, Cultic Calendars, 297–342.

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Esther, and Zechariah. 154 It is notable that, in these usages, the author often supplies the month’s ordinal equivalent as well. Because this calendar was employed on an official level throughout the Persian Empire, decisions regarding the beginning of months based on lunar observation as well as those involving intercalary matters would have been made at a central location, probably Babylon. 155 Undoubtedly, however, local officials would not have waited for some sort of imperial communiqué or pronouncement regarding small-scale calendrical decisions, such as when the month might begin, but would instead have observed the moon themselves. Given the vast geographical latitudinal span of the empire, there would have been occasional discrepancies between local and official new moon observations that might have required correction in certain circumstances. 156 Taking the above together with the data from §5.5.1, we can summarize the luni-solar calendars used in the Hebrew Bible: 157 Gezer Calendar ‫ירחו אספ‬ ‫ירחו זרע‬ ‫ירחו לקׁש‬ ‫ירח עצד פׁשת‬ ‫ירח קצר ׂשערמ‬ ‫ירח קצר וכל‬ ‫ירחו זמר‬ ‫ירח קצ‬

Month # Name SMC Month # in GC in HB Month in HB  1  7 ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ‫א‬  2  8 ‫ּבּול‬  3  9 ‫ִּכ ְסלֵו‬  4 10 ‫טבֵת‬ ֵ  5 11 ‫ׁשבָט‬ ְ  6 12 ‫ֲדר‬ ָ‫א‬  7  1 ‫ָביב‬ ִ‫א‬ ‫נִיסָן‬  8  2 ‫זִו‬  9  3 ‫ִסיוָן‬ 10  4 11  5 12  6 ‫אֱלּול‬

Modern Equivalent Sept./Oct. Oct./Nov. Nov./Dec. Dec./Jan. Jan./Feb. Feb./Mar. Mar./Apr. Apr./May May/Jun. Jun./Jul. Jul./Aug. Aug./Sept.

154. For individual months, see the following biblical passages: ‫נִיסָן‬: Neh 2:1; Esth 3:7; ‫סיוָן‬: ִ Esth 8:9; ‫אֱלּול‬: Neh 6:15; ‫ּכ ְסלֵו‬: ִ Zech 7:1; Neh 1:1; ‫טבֵת‬ ֵ : Esth 2:16; ‫ׁשבָט‬: ְ Zech 1:7; ‫ֲדר‬ ָ ‫א‬: Ezra 6:15; Esth 3:7, 13; 8:12; 9:1, 15, 17, 19, 21. 155. In the NA period, there is significant evidence that intercalary months were also occasionally added for mantic purposes—that is, to avert a portended omen by literally switching the month in which the ominous phenomenon had occurred. See discussion and bibliography in §5.5.3. 156. Such differences in new moon observations based on geographical location (Babylon vs. Jerusalem) are documented, for example, in rabbinic literature. See Wacholder and Weisberg, “Visibility of the New Moon,” 227–42. 157. Is it a significant coincidence that the certain Canaanite-Israelite month names of ‫ֵתנִים‬ ָ ‫א‬, ‫ּבּול‬, and ‫ זִו‬coordinate with the months of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar that are not preserved in the Hebrew Bible?

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5.5.3.  Excursus: Was the Mesopotamian Calendar Used in Israel before the Babylonian Exile? In an insightful series of articles that address a number of interrelated topics, Matthias Albani argues for the preexilic adoption of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar. 158 He pursues two main lines of evidence in support of this. 159 First, following the generally accepted datum that ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬is the Hebrew version of mazzaltu, Albani maintains that the Akkadian term indicates specifically the constellations associated with each month in the Mesopotamian Astrolabe (“Three-Stars-Each”) texts—that is, the constellations whose heliacal risings mark the beginning of each month. The Hebrew terms, he argues, carry this meaning as well. 160 Albani also contends that the Iron Age appearance of 158. Albani, “Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 193–201, 206; idem, “Der das Sieben­ gestirn,” 152–57; idem, “Israels Feste,” 124–29. Previously, other scholars argued for the same. Elias Auer­bach, for example, contended that the Priestly calendar (Leviticus 23 and Numbers 28–29, in which months are numbered, not named) is testimony to the Israelite use of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar before the exile; he based this assertion on the fact that both the Priestly and the Standard Mesopotamian systems begin in the spring (“Die babylonische Datierung im Pentateuch und das Alter des PriesterKodex,” VT 2 [1952] 334–42). The Priestly calendar is now generally identified with the Sabbath Calendar, discussed in §5.5.4. 159. Albani also mentions the Jerusalem Tammuz cult described in Ezek 8:14 as evidence of a preexilic adoption of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar (“Israels Feste,” 127–28). However, the adoption of a foreign religious practice need not indicate the wholesale adoption of the calendar in which it was originally situated. I see little reason why the Tammuz cult could not have been incorporated into the Canaanite-Israelite calendar (which, like the Standard Mesopotamian, was also a luni-solar system) or syncretized with an already existing rite. 160. Idem, “Kannst du die Sternbilder,”199. As do others, Albani equates ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬with ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬, thus carrying his argument into Job, which he places during or after the exile (see my discussion of the terms above, where I reject their equation: §5.2.1.3) Albani correctly identifies ‫ּכימָה‬, ִ ‫ ַעיִׁש‬, and ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬with the Pleiades, Hyades, and Orion, respectively; and in turn, he equates these Hebrew constellations with the same months as the equivalent Babylonian constellations (mulMUL, mulGUD.AN.NA, and mulSIPA.ZI.AN. NA) as described in Astrolabe B (A 12–18, 26–31, 38–44). He thus understands the references in Job 38:31 to ‫ּכימָה‬, ִ ‫ ַעיִׁש‬, and ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬to indicate the monthly constellations of Iyar, Sivan, and Tammuz as important representatives of the monthly constellations, while ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬describes the monthly constellations as a whole (why they appear in Job 38:31–32 in such an unusual order, however, he does not explain; ibid., 203). For Albani, this clarifies Job 38:33, where the hapax ‫ׁשטָר‬ ְ ‫ ִמ‬appears parallel to ‫ׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫חֻּקֹות‬. The root of the former is ‫ׁשטר‬, cognate with the root of Akkadian šiṭru, “writing,” which appears in the phrase šiṭir burūmē/šamê, “writing of heaven” (ibid., 206). Albani further maintains that in Babylonian sources šiṭir burūmē is explicitly connected, not merely with the fixed arrangement stars in the firmament, but also with their regular appearances at their appointed times. Thus, both ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬and ‫ׁשטָר‬ ְ ‫ ִמ‬refer to Mesopotamian celestial features

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Mesopotamian-style seals that depict a crescent moon together with the seven dots (‫ּכימָה‬, ִ “the Pleiades”) indicate the local adoption of a particular Babylonian intercalation method (the so-called “Pleiaden-Schaltregel ”) known from MUL.APIN II Gap A 8–9: [DIS ina itiBAR UD 1 K]AM MUL.MUL [If on the 1st of Nisan] the Stars u dSin sit-qu-lu MU BI GI.NA-ta and the Moon are in conjunction, this year is normal. [DIŠ ina itiBAR U]D 3 KAM MUL.MUL [If] on the 3rd [of Nisan] the Stars u dSin LAL MU BI DIRI-át and the Moon are in conjunction, this year is a leap year.

This text and Albani’s understanding of the meaning of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬in 2 Kgs 23:5 point to the dissemination and adoption of Babylonian calendrical techniques in the Iron Age Levant. 161 As appealing as Albani’s reconstruction is, there are several significant difficulties. His understanding of key terms in Akkadian is rather problematic. Though few would doubt that the Hebrew term ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬traces its origins to Akkadian mazzaltu, the Akkadian term is not used in Mesopotamian texts in the way he indicates—that is, to refer to the constellations that mark the months in the Astrolabe traditions. 162 In Mesopotamian celestial-science texts, mazzaltu normally indicates the position of a particular celestial feature (star, constellation, or planet) rather than the celestial feature itself. Although certain stars were indeed identified with particular gods, the Mesopotamians themselves did not worship the Three-Stars-Each constellations as such, in contrast to the that are, more than other celestial features, noteworthy for their calendrical roles. These calendrical roles were linked to the authority of the supreme god who established them in the Babylonian tradition, Marduk. This concept was originally uniquely Babylonian but was appropriated by Judahite exilees, as evinced by Deutero-Isaiah, and then applied, with the Mesopotamian concepts of mazzaltu and šiṭir burūmē in mind, as an argument for the supremacy of Yahweh in Job. 161. §5.2.1.3. For such seals, see van der Veen, “The Seven Dots,” 11–22. Albani’s admittedly tentative suggestion that the Pleiades could be referred to both as ‫ ִּכימָה‬and as the common noun ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫“( ּכֹוכ‬stars”), based entirely on a Hebrew translation of the Sumerian orthography MUL.MUL for the constellation in the Akkadian source, is to be rejected. The writing MUL.MUL is always considered the equivalent of the Akkadian zappu (“bristle,” no doubt referring to the asterism’s location on the back of the mulGUD. AN.NA, “Bull of Heaven”; CAD Z 49–50; Gössmann, #171, #279). Thus, in order for Albani’s proposal to be correct, MUL.MUL would have had to have been translated directly into Hebrew with no knowledge of the Akkadian scribal tradition. Moreover, as noted in this section, the epithet ‫ ִּכימָה‬already had a long history in the West Semitic linguistic realm, going back at least to the third millennium. 162. Mankowski, Akkadian Loanwords, 86–87; Tawil, An Akkadian Lexical Com­ panion, 203.

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characterization in 2 Kgs 23:5, where the ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬are clearly the objects of veneration. Even if mazzaltu did refer to such constellations, the constellations associated with particzular months in the Astrolabe texts do not show consistency. Indeed, in some of the Astrolabes (including Astrolabe B, cited by Albani), even planets, which Albani excludes as a possible identification for ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬, appear as Monatsternbilder. In sum, mazzaltu does not refer to the monthly constellations in the Astrolabes, nor were the monthly constellations of the Astrolabes a consistently identifiable group that was specifically venerated. 163 Ultimately, it is evident that the Hebrew term, though derived from the Akkadian, came to signify something rather different; this semantic alteration shows a basic lack of comprehension of the Akkadian term and its significance by its Israelite adopters. The second major component of Albani’s contention regarding the pre­ exilic adoption of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar in Israel is the appearance of seals that depict a crescent moon alongside seven dots. These seals, he maintains, graphically represent the appearance of the new moon of Nisan together with the Pleiades, an ideal beginning of the year as described in MUL. APIN. Although there is little doubt that the seven dots represent the Pleiades, the problem is that, in ancient Near Eastern iconography, the southern Levant included, the moon seems almost always to be depicted as a new moon—that is, the lunar crescent. This does not necessarily indicate calendrical significance but seems, rather, to have been the simplest, most striking way to portray the moon so that it was not confused with the sun. Moreover, on many of the seals 163. As noted, tied to Albani’s understanding of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and ‫ ַמּזָרֹות‬is his reading of the hapax ‫ׁשטָר‬ ְ ‫ ִמ‬in Job 38:33, which he equates with the Akkadian phrase šiṭir burūmē, “writing of the firmament.” If the word itself is an Akkadian loan (and not simply the pasting of a foreign meaning onto a word with a cognate root), mašṭaru would be the origin (rather than the related šiṭru), which normally refers to an inscription but can also refer to a written text (HALOT 645; CAD M/1 396). This form of the word does not seem to be used in celestial-science literature or related texts, however. Furthermore, while the lemma in Job 38:33 is a hapax, the Hebrew root ‫ ׁשטר‬is not so unusual (especially in legal contexts) that its use in Job necessitates recourse to Mesopotamian celestial science, as Albani contends (“Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 206). The root is not a loan either as a word or as a concept, since it, like ‫חֹק‬, is a common administrative/legal term in Israel, appearing in the title ‫ׁשֹטֵר‬, “officer,” which commonly appears parallel to ‫ׁשֹפֵט‬, “judge” (Deut 16:18; Josh 8:33, 23:2, 24:1; 1 Chr 23:4, 26:29). Indeed, in Job 38:33, the hapax ‫ׁשטָר‬ ְ ‫מ‬, ִ parallel to ‫חֻּקים‬, seems to be a root constructed on the same nominal pattern as ‫ׁשּפָט‬ ְ ‫מ‬, ִ and the meaning of the word in this context is rather transparent. Did the author of Job really need to be steeped in Babylonian celestial science to come to the conclusion that certain celestial phenomena are periodic in nature and that this periodicity could be described in legal terms?

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from the southern Levant, other astral symbols appear as well, such as winged sun-discs, and 8-pointed stars (Ištar), for example. 164 The idea that the Pleiaden-Schaltregel as known from MUL.APIN was adopted in Israel along with the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar is also problematic. In Mesopotamia, asynchrony between celestial observation and the calendar could lead to pleas for intercalation, as SAA 8 98 indicates (notably, this letter seems to date to Shevet [XI], not Nisan [I]). Nonetheless, Brown has demonstrated that the Pleiaden-Schaltregel in particular was not a strict astronomical model for calendrical regulation but was, like the other systems described in MUL.APIN, an idealized scheme intended to serve the purposes of divination. 165 Indeed, the lines that follow the Pleiaden-Schaltregel (MUL. APIN II Gap A 10–ii 6) describe a number of options for justifying intercalation involving several different months and constellations. This highlights the fact that the Pleiaden-Schaltregel (or the other Schaltregeln described in MUL. APIN) could be applied by celestial diviners if they wished to negate the effects of a negative celestial omen by inserting an intercalary month, effectively changing the month in which a celestial phenomenon was observed. 166 So, although the Pleiaden-Schaltregel could actually affect the decision to intercalate 164. See descriptions in van der Veen, “The Seven Dots,” 15–19, pls. 6–10. 165. Brown, AA, 121–22. 166. This seems to be the concern in SAA 10 42:rev. 10–20, in which Balasî informs the king that an intercalation will be required. And though there is no indication how the decision was reached, Parpola assumes that the intercalation decision was indeed made on the basis of the Pleiaden-Schaltregel (LAS 2 45). In any case, it is clear that the concern of the letter is not whether there should be an intercalation but which month should be intercalated. This decision rested, Balasî indicates, on the results of his observation of the movements of Jupiter: qa-bi ina UGU da-ra-ri ša ITI* ša LUGAL iš-pur-an-ni MU.AN.NA di-ri ši-i ki-ma mulSAG.ME.GAR it-ta-mar a-na LUGAL EN-ia a-šap-pa-ra ina pa-ni a-da-gal ITI an-ni-i-ú ú-gam-ma-ra a-ke-e ši-ti-i-ni ina ŠÀ-bi né-em-mar im-ma-te ni-da-ra-ru-ni

Concerning the adding of the intercalary month about which the king wrote to me, this is (indeed) a leap year. After Jupiter has become visible, I shall write (again) to the king, my lord. I am waiting for it; it will take this whole month. Then we shall see how it is and when we have to add the intercalary month.

While this makes no sense astronomically—observing Jupiter would be of no help whatsoever in determining whether the calendar was out of synchronization with the tropical year—it makes perfect sense mantically. Balasî needs to observe the planet in order to see whether he will need to divert a negative omen via intercalation of a specific

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a month, it did not do so mechanically; only when there was a mantic justification would it have been implemented. Neither it nor the other Schaltregel was intended strictly to regulate the calendar in the manner Albani suggests. The Schaltregeln of MUL.APIN are only useful for the individuals who were practicing Mesopotamian celestial divination, which was a secret tradition that was quite tightly controlled in the NA and NB periods (see above, §5.4). In conclusion, Albani’s arguments for the adoption of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar before the exile are based on an understandable mis­ apprehension of the Babylonian sources. As noted above (§5.5.2), the only clear evidence for the use of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar in the Hebrew Bible comes from texts dated securely to the Persian period.

5.5.4.  The Sabbath Calendar In a now classic study, Annie Jaubert demonstrated that the calendar that was described in the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch (72–82), further developed in Jubilees, and employed by the authors of the sectarian Dead Sea Scrolls is the same basic calendar underlying the dates given for events in the Hebrew Bible—most specifically, in the Priestly source in the Pentateuch. 167 In short, the numbered-month calendrical system that was implicit in the Priestly material was made explicit in Jewish literature of the Second Temple period. Though there have been occasional objections and modifications to her reconstruction, it does, nonetheless, solve the difficulties otherwise inherent in both the dated events and the dated yearly festivals in the Hebrew Bible, especially in the Pentateuch. 168 Even considering the handful of problems that her model does not month. Thus the intercalary concern is divinatory in nature, as is the Pleiaden-Schalt­ regel in MUL.APIN. 167. Jaubert, The Date of the Last Supper. To be sure, Jaubert offered other conclusions in her work. But the relationship between the Priestly calendar in the Bible and the calendar seen in Second Temple literature has been the most enduring. See also James VanderKam, “The Origin, Character, and Early History of the 364-Day Calendar: A Reassessment of Jaubert’s Hypotheses,” CBQ 41 (1979) 390–407. For the most recent description of the Sabbath Calendar in the Second Temple period, including discussion of its possible Mesopotamian roots, see Ben-Dov, Head of All Years. 168. L. Ravid presents many difficulties with Jaubert’s reconstruction and ultimately comes to the conclusion that the Sabbath Calendar in Jubilees was created in the last few centuries b.c.e. under Egyptian influence and was only used by the Qumran sect (“The Book of Jubilees,” 371–94). Another recent attempt to refute Jaubert’s basic hypothesis comes from B. Z. Wacholder and S. Wacholder, “Patterns of Biblical Dates and Qumran’s Calendar: The Fallacy of Jaubert’s Hypothesis,” HUCA 66 (1996) 1–40. The authors ultimately fail to make their most important case against Jaubert, however, that “Jaubert supposed that the biblical dates are random, when in fact they have definite patterns” (Wacholder and Wacholder, “Patterns of Biblical Dates,”  1). They argue that the fact

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satisfactorily explain, 169 the heuristic power of Jaubert’s data is so overwhelming that it would be very difficult to offer a description of the calendar used by the Priestly source that does not use her reconstruction. 170 This calendar has been variously described as the “Solar Calendar,” “364Day Calendar,” “Sabbatical Calendar,” and “Sabbath Calendar.” 171 Since the year in the Sabbath Calendar is 364 days long and, since 364 is evenly divisible that the biblical dates do not fall on the Sabbath in Jaubert’s reconstruction is not due to the biblical authors’ planning but because of their tendency to prefer certain dates (for example, 1st, 10th, 15th, and 24th) and months (especially the 1st but also, though not pointed out by Wacholder and Wacholder, the 7th, 10th and 12th) over others (pp. 12–14) and not the reliance on the 364-day calendar. But Jaubert’s reconstruction is, even with Wacholder and Wacholder’s data, still inescapable; the very reason that the biblical authors prefer certain dates over others is because they fit into the 364-day calendar without violating the Sabbath! 169. Some aspects of the flood account in Genesis 6–8 present difficulty. For the most recent attempt at a solution together with bibliography, see S. Najm and P. Guillaume, “The Jubilee Calendar Rescued from the Flood Narrative,” JHS 5 (2004) n.p., http//www.jhsonline.org [accessed 27 May 2004]. Note that 4Q252 ii 2–3 (Commentary on Genesis A) says explicitly that the flood lasted for 364 days—that is, one year in the Sabbath Calendar. 170. Nonetheless, Wagenaar’s work from 2005 does not list Jaubert’s important contributions in the bibliography (Origin and Transformation). Additionally, Miano’s recent monograph does not mention the work of Jaubert, VanderKam, or Albani (Shadow on the Steps). Miano appears to reject out of hand, without actually addressing the data and arguments presented by such scholars, that the Priestly calendar was 364 days long and reflected a septenary scheme based on the priority of seventh-day Sabbath observance (see, for example, Shadow on the Steps, 48 and 205). Jonathan Ben-Dov, on the other hand, addresses the issue of Jaubert’s thesis more directly and simply rejects it: Inasmuch as Jaubert’s argument with regard to the dates in the Pentateuch rests on a rather equivocal statistic analysis of her database, it is impossible to determine whether her conclusions are valid. It would be fair to say that they are possible but not necessary. In any case, there is no positive proof for the existence of a 364-day calendar tradition in Judah prior to the Astronomical Book. (Jonathan Ben-Dov, “The 364-Day Year in the Dead Sea Scrolls and Jewish Pseudepigrapha,” in Calen­ dars and Years II: Astronomy and Time in the Ancient and Medieval World [ed. John Steele; Oxford: Oxbow, 2011] 77)

While Ben-Dov is correct that there is no proof for Jaubert’s conclusions, five facts remain: (1) Jaubert’s model is parsimonious; (2) it explains with consistency the dates of individual events in the Priestly writings; (3) it explains the explicit dates assigned to the various festivals in the Priestly writings; (4) no other model explains the dates in the Priestly writings; and (5) her model has not been falsified. These basic facts (its simplicity, heuristic power, unfalsifiability, lack of another model that does the same) are the basic criteria for evaluating any theory. 171. For the various names, see, for example, Jaubert, Date of the Last Supper, 21; James VanderKam, Calendars in the Dead Sea Scrolls: Measuring Time (London: Routledge, 1998) 63; Phillipe Guillaume, “Tracing the Origin”; and L. Ravid, “The Book of

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by 7, any particular date in the year falls on the same day of the week every year. Furthermore, month length is disconnected from the observable lunar cycle; eight months a year (I, II, IV, V, VII, VIII, X, XI) are 30 days long, and four (III, VI, IX, XII) are 31. Unlike the Canaanite-Israelite model, the Sabbath Calendar uses the term ‫ חֹדֶׁש‬for “month,” designates its months solely by number, and begins in the spring rather than the fall. As noted, because 364 is evenly divisible by 7, specific dates in the Sabbath Calendar always fall on the same days of the week. Thus, Jaubert observed a number of patterns in the biblical dates offered for particular events. While the significance of some of the patterns that Jaubert claimed is debatable, by far the most important observation she offered was the fact that, when understood as a date in the Sabbath Calendar, no individual date in the Priestly material—whether a one-time event or a yearly festival—takes place on the Sabbath. 172 The heuristic power of Jaubert’s basic hypothesis is both striking and convincing. The most pertinent aspect of the Sabbath Calendar to my discussion here is what Albani, following Wellhausen, refers to as its “denaturalization.” 173 Indeed, the calendar’s divisions approximate observable celestial phenomena (namely, the tropical year and lunar month) but disagree with observable reality. This is done, no doubt, to maintain the calendar’s basic septenary structure. Jubilees,” 391. I employ the last of these terms because it is clear that the septenary Sabbath is the primary underpinning of the model. 172. In “Le calendrier des Jubilés et de la Secte de Qumran,” 250–64; and “Le calendrier des Jubilés et les jours liturgiques,” 35–61, Jaubert limited her analysis to Priestly material. Later on, she included some of the other books of the Hebrew Bible minus Jeremiah, Haggai, and Esther (idem, Date of the Last Supper, 44–46). Even including these non-Priestly sources, out of all 60 dated events in the Hebrew Bible, only 3 events take place on the Sabbath. Two of these occur in Esther (9:15, 19), which, as Albani notes, are actually dates in the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar and are thus not indicative of the Priestly perspective (Albani, “Israels Feste,” 123). On the other hand, the third, 2̣ Chr 3:2, which describes the initiation of the building of Solomon’s temple (‫ַוּיָחֶל ִל ְבנֹות‬ ‫ׁשנַת א ְַרּבַע ְלמ ְַלכּותֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ּבַח ֶֹדׁש ַהּשֵׁנִי ַּבּשֵׁנִי ִּב‬, “he began building in the second month, on the second day of the fourth year of his reign”), comes from a document with Priestly connections. Nonetheless, the passage has a well-recognized text-critical issue: the crucial phrase ‫ּׁשנִי‬ ֵ ‫“( ַּב‬on the second [day]”) is omitted in the LXX, Vulgate, Syriac, and a few Hebrew manuscripts (Jaubert, Date of the Last Supper, 35; editorial comment in BHS). Because the date is omitted in the parallel passage in 1 Kgs 6:1, it seems likely that the editors of BHS are correct in asserting that ‫ּׁשנִי‬ ֵ ‫ ַּב‬in 2 Chr 3:2 is simply the result of dittography. For a complete list of dates and their relative placement in the Sabbath Calendar, see Wacholder and Wacholder, “Patterns of Biblical Dates,” 9–11. For an overall reassessment of Jaubert’s primary conclusions, see VanderKam, “The Origin, Character, and Early History of the 364-Day Calendar.” 173. Albani, “Israels Feste,” 120.

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Though there are programmatic statements regarding the coordination of observable celestial phenomena and the calendar’s structure (biblically Gen 1:14; postbiblically, for example, the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch 72–82), the fact remains that the basic structure of the Sabbath Calendar is divorced from observable celestial phenomena: its year is neither a lunar year (354 days) nor a tropical year (365 days); its months (‫ׁשים‬ ִ ‫ֳד‬ ָ ‫ )ח‬are not lunar months (‫ָחים‬ ִ ‫)יְר‬. 174 This issue is exacerbated by the fact that there is no evidence that a system of intercalation was developed for the purpose of synchronizing the chronological reality presented by agricultural reality and the chronological ideal. 175

174. Occasionally, to be sure, a 30-day Sabbath month would align with a lunar month. Moreover, Albani is correct, I believe, that the shift of terminology referring to month from ‫ יֶרַ ח‬to ‫ ח ֶֹדׁש‬is related to the change from the Canaanite-Israelite calendar to the Sabbath Calendar (“Israels Feste,” 118–20). But I maintain that this terminological shift has less to do with the association of‫ יָ ֵר ַח מ‬with the name of the moon god,‫יָ ֵר ַח מ‬, and more to do with the fact that, as Albani notes, the month in the Sabbath Calendar was no longer linked to the moon‫ )י‬ ‫ )יָ ֵר ַח‬in terms of its cycle and consequently was no longer an appropriate label. The word ‫ח ֶֹדׁש‬, on the other hand, was derived from the root ‫ָדׁש‬ ָ ‫ח‬, meaning simply “new,” and was considered descriptive and yet ambiguous enough to refer to a new type of month without specific lunar ties. 175. The problem of intercalation in the Sabbath Calendar has elicited many hypotheses about how it might have been done; see, e.g., E. R. Leach, “A Possible Method of Intercalation for the Calendar of the Book of Jubilees,” VT 7 (1957) 392–97; Józef Milik, Ten Years of Discovery in the Wilderness of Judaea (trans. J. Strugnell; London: SCM, 1957) 110; Solomon Zeitlin, The Rise and Fall of the Judean State, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1962) 216; Sidney B. Hoenig, “A Jewish Reaction to Calendar Reform,” Tradition 7 (1964) 5–26; Uwe Glessmer, “Der 364-Tage Kalendar und die Sabbatstruktur seiner Schaltungen in ihrer Bedeutung für den Kult,” in Ernten, was man sät: Festschrift Klaus Koch zu seinem 65. Geburtstag (ed. D. Daniels et al.; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1991) 379–98; idem, “The Otot-Texts (4Q319) and the Problem of Intercalations in the Context of the 364-Day Calendar,” in Qumranstudien: Vorträge und Beiträge der Teilnehmer des Qumranseminars auf dem internationalen Treffen der Soci­ ety of Biblical Literature, Münster, 25.–26. Juli, 1993 (Schriften des Institutum Judaicum Delitzschainum 4; Grönigen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1996) 125–65; Matthais Albani, “Die Lunarenzyklen im 364-Tage-Festkalendar von 4QMischemerot/4QSe,” Mitteilun­ gen und Beiträge 7 (1993) 40–41. The lack of a documented system is one of the Wacholders’ primary criticisms of Jaubert’s conclusions (Wacholder and Wacholder, “Patterns of Biblical Dates,” 28–29). But the Wacholders as well as those who have constructed intercalation schemes have ignored the explicit statements in 1 Enoch regarding the incongruity of the tropical year and the Sabbath Calendar, such as 1 En. 18:11–16 and 80:2–8; see Roger T. Beckwith, Cal­ endar and Chronology, Jewish and Christian: Biblical, Intertestamental and Patristic Stud­ ies (Leiden: Brill, 1996) 108–10; and especially, idem, “The Modern Attempt to Reconcile the Qumran Calendar with the True Solar Year,” RevQ 7 (1969–71) 379–96.

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Though some have claimed that the Sabbath Calendar is “denaturalized,” it is no more or less denaturalized than the Ideal Calendar (with its 360-day year of twelve 30-day months) that was employed by Babylonian celestial diviners in the 1st millennium b.c.e. 176 There was a considerable disconnect between the way in which celestial phenomena presented themselves in reality and the way they did so according to the septenary ideal of the Sabbath Calendar. 177 But the fact remains that the calendar’s creator asserted that these phenomena had an important function within the system. The depotentizing of the sun, moon, and stars in texts such as Gen 1:14 is just that and only that—a reduction of power and status. These depotentized astral features still have a role to play in Yahweh’s court; they are no more denaturalized than are the members of a king’s entourage literally dehumanized vis-à-vis their servile status. The elaborate attempts in the Second Temple period to reconcile, in some sense, the Sabbath Calendar’s highly problematic 364-day year to the tropical year and the lunar cycle (as seen in such texts as 1 Enoch 72–82 and certain sectarian documents from Qumran) show that the calendar’s later tradents had an intense interest in relating its awkward symmetry to the natural world.

5.5.5.  Summary and Conclusion: Calendrical Change from Judah to Yehud The ancient calendar of Israel and Judah, it appears, was in essence and to a certain degree similar to the calendar of their Canaanite neighbors. This ancient calendar was a luni-solar calendar that began in the fall, and its structure within the span of a single year was based on simple observation of the lunar cycle. New moons and full-moon Sabbaths subdivided the month and provided important bookmarks for agricultural-religious festivals. The calendar’s alignment or nonalignment with expected agricultural phenomena determined the necessity for intermittent intercalations. Precisely when and why this calendar was altered and/or ultimately abandoned is not entirely clear. It seems very likely that Josiah’s radical and violent religious restructuring and centralization in the late 7th century included calendrical innovations (for example, 2 Kgs 23:21–23). Certainly, as Assyria and Babylon marched closer and closer to Jerusalem, the literate elite became aware of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar and probably employed it in international political and business correspondence when needed. But while the religious practices of the southern Levant were influenced by the Mesopotamian 176. For description, see Brown, AA, 113–22. 177. This fact was apparently recognized by the calendar’s tradents themselves; see 1 En. 18:11–16 and 80:2–8 (Beckwith, Calendar and Chronology, 108–10; and idem, “The Modern Attempt,” 379–96).

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superpowers, particularly in terms of esthetics, the only certain uses of the Mesopotamian system in the Hebrew Bible are in texts, the compositions of which were without doubt during the Persian period. 178 The date of the invention of the Sabbath Calendar is somewhat clearer, since it appears to be a construct of the Priestly school and thus dates to the time of this school’s writing—that is, from the mid- to late 6th century. 179 Separated from temple and land, the Priestly creators were able to reimagine the calendar quite radically. 180 The transformation of the full-moon Sabbath into the septenary Sabbath in this calendar makes the most sense during the exile. The Babylonians had an obvious cognate institution, the šap/battu, that was, like the Israelite full-moon Sabbath, a day of special religious significance marked by temple observances. 181 Although the motivation seems clear, precisely why the calendar’s inventor decided to redefine the Sabbath according to a sevenfold cycle in particular is not at all clear. To be sure, there are seven-day cycles in the lunar month and other seven-day observances in the West Semitic world, and perhaps these served as a model. 182 It is also possible that the inventor falsely 178. Contra Albani, who argues on the basis of his understanding of the meaning of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬in 2 Kgs 23:5 as well as the significance of depictions of the Pleiades on seals in the southern Levant, that the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar could have been adopted as early as the 8th century in the wake of the Assyrian conquest of the Northern Kingdom (“Israels Feste,” 127–29). For my critiques of Albani’s interpretation of ‫ ַמּזָלֹות‬and the calendrical role of the Pleiades, see §5.5.3. 179. Guillaume, “Tracing the Origin,” 17. 180. Albani maintains that the Sabbath Calendar was primarily a response to the astral-religious nature of the Canaanite-Israelite Calendar (“Israels Feste,” 118–20). This is, in part, based on his assumption that religious celebrations coordinated with lunar months need to be astral in nature. There is, however, significant evidence from Mesopotamia, Ugarit, and postbiblical Judaism that the religious calendars of nonastral deities could be coordinated with the lunar cycle. Indeed, the Gezer Calendar shows that lunar cycles could be used for noncultic functions altogether. Although it is true that Babylonian celestial diviners made attempts to synthesize celestial, monthly, and religiocultural activities in texts such as Astrolabe B (§2.4.1), it is not clear just how much this cosmo-cultural congeries was a textual construct of ancient scholars, at best expressed to some degree in the royal court, and how much would have been encountered in popular Babylonian religious practice that authors such as Deutero-Isaiah mock so relentlessly. Thus, though concerns stemming from Israel’s native astral religion may have been a factor in the invention of a new calendar, they need not have been the primary factor. An attempt to distinguish themselves religiously from the Babylonians, in whose midst they lived during exile and the calendar of whom was luni-solar, would have been sufficient motivation for its creation. 181. Grund, Die Entstehung des Sabbats, 66–110. 182. See brief discussion above, §4.1.2; and extensive discussion in Grund, ibid., 32–43.

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etymologized the root ‫ׁשבת‬, “to rest,” from ‫ׁשבע‬, “seven.” 183 Whatever the case, the seven-day cycle that was independent of lunation was to serve as the standard girder out of which the entire calendar was constructed. As Albani astutely noted, the festival calendar in Leviticus 23–24 begins with the septenary Sabbath instruction (Lev 23:3): 184 ‫ָל־מלָאכָה לֹא‬ ְ ‫יעי ׁשַ ּבַת ׁשַ ּבָתֹון ִמ ְקרָא־קֹדֶׁש ּכ‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ִב‬ ְ ‫ָׂשה ְמלָאכָה ּובַּיֹום ה‬ ֶ ‫ָמים ּתֵ ע‬ ִ ‫ֵׁשת י‬ ֶ ‫ׁש‬ ‫מֹוׁשבֹתֵ יכֶם׃‬ ְ ‫תַ עֲׂשּו ׁשַ ּבָת ִהוא לַיהוָה ְּבכֹל‬ Six days you shall do your work, but on the seventh day—a most solemn Sabbath, a holy assembly—you shall not work. It is a Sabbath of Yahweh in all of your residences.

This is not a simple statement reminding readers of a day of rest. On the contrary, it is a programmatic dictum delineating the most basic feature of the festival calendar, which unfolds in the following chapters. Whatever its inspiration was, the new septenary Sabbath invented in Priestly circles served as an identity marker to set the Judahite exiles apart from their Babylonian neighbors. Furthermore, the Sabbath Calendar’s apparent lack of concern for the agricultural nature of the traditional festivals (as well as the festivals’ increasing status as historical commemorations) makes good sense if we understand its creators sitting in Babylon—that is, at a considerable physical remove from the local agricultural setting of Judah. Even as the Sabbath Calendar was being employed to frame Israel’s relationship with Yahweh in both historical and cultic terms, the postexilic Jewish community in Yehud was integrated administratively into the Persian system. This integration included the use of the Standard Babylonian Calendar, as is seen in several works dating to the period, such as Ezra–Nehemiah and Esther. In particular, this calendar was employed to tie local or community-centered events into the fabric of the empire, whether they were prophetic oracles or stories of Jewish interest, the content of which transcended insular concerns in some way. This calendar was luni-solar and began in the spring; as part of the imperial apparatus, decisions regarding intercalation were controlled at the imperial level.

5.5.6.  Excursus: Is the 364-Day Year Derived from the 360-Day Year?  The issue of whether or not the Sabbath Calendar’s 364-day year developed out of a 360-day year is not truly relevant to my discussion here, since only the

183. Ibid. 184. Albani, “Israels Feste,” 133.

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364-day is evident in the biblical material. 185 Nonetheless, because of the explicit statements in the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch (75:2, 82:5), both Albani and Ben-Dov assume that the 364-day-long Sabbath Calendar is, in essence, a 360-day calendar to which 4 days have been added. Albani maintains that the Judahites in exile became familiar with a 360-day calendar that was used in administrative circles, while Ben-Dov maintains that the source was Babylonian the celestial-science tradition dating primarily to the Hellenistic period. 186 The early tradents of the Sabbath Calendar then extended the 360-day year into a 364-day year in order fit a septenary model that was conducive to consistent Sabbath observance. The consequence of this movement from 360 to 364 days created significant problems in the astronomical models described in 1 Enoch 72-82 and some sectarian texts from Qumran. 187 The outstanding problem with the assumption that the 364-day year developed out of the 360-day year is the fact that the earliest attestation of the Sabbath Calendar occurs in the Priestly writings of the Pentateuch, and at this point, the calendar already had a septenary character. 188 Because Ben-Dov rejects the theory that the Sabbath Calendar exists in the Pentateuch, he can of course disregard this issue. 189 Certainly, if there was a transition between cal185. See, however, the brief discussion in ibid., 137–38. Ben-Dov and others hesitatingly suggest that the 364-day year itself could be derived from a Babylonian model based primarily on MUL.APIN II ii 11–12 (Ben-Dov, Head of All Years, 183, 246; Wayne Horowitz, “The 360 and 364 Day Year in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JANES 24 [1996] 41). Such a derivation is very hard to imagine, since this approximation is neither common nor productive in Mesopotamian sources. 186. Albani, “Israels Feste,” 137; Ben-Dov, Head of All Years, 245–46. As far as I am aware, a 360-day year was used administratively only from the late-4th through late3rd millennium b.c.e. (Robert K. Englund, “Administrative Time-Keeping in Ancient Mesopotamia,” JESHO 31 [1988] 121–85). 187. Ben-Dov, Head of All Years, 110, 182. 188. Related to this issue is my argument that the exiles rejected their native Canaanite-Israelite Calendar primarily because of its similarity to the Standard Babylonian Calendar in terms of its luni-solar nature and full-moon Sabbath observance. To be sure, Ben-Dov’s timeline, which places the calendrical change in the Hellenistic period, obviates the problem altogether. If I am correct, however, it would hardly make sense for them to adopt the 360-day calendar—the very calendar underpinning traditional Babylonian celestial divination—in order to distinguish themselves from the Babylonians around them. It is also difficult to see what sort of Sabbaths (septenary or lunar) a 360-day year would incorporate. 189. Ben-Dov, “The 364-Day Year,” 77. He also suggests that, because there is no attempt in the Astronomical Book to coordinate the 364-day year with the liturgical calendar, the liturgical coordination was a later development. But, if we presume that the Sabbath Calendar was already in use by the Priestly writers, the coordination of

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endars, it is conceivable that it took place before the Priestly writers composed their work and thus left little or no trace in the biblical text. The first explicit statement regarding a derivative relationship between the 360- and 364-day years appears only in the Astronomical Book of 1 Enoch. I do not deny the Babylonian origin of many astronomical features of the methods employed in the Astronomical Book and the sectarian material from Qumran, and Ben-Dov is correct in stating that the differences between these two year-lengths are at the heart of the difficulties in the Astronomical Book’s lunar and solar theory. Despite these deep structural incongruities, however, he contends that the 360day year was only briefly used and was never actually employed in Judah. 190 Nonetheless, it was apparently surprisingly productive in this brief interval, given that it produced the lunar and solar models of the Astronomical Book and ultimately inspired the figure of 3,600 for the number of psalms that were, according to the Psalms Scroll (11Q5 27:5), written by David; it must also have facilitated the import of the supposedly nonsectarian astrological text 4Q318. Rather than tracing these difficulties to the expansion of the year by 4 days, however, I suggest instead that the problems with the lunar theory of the Astronomical Book are instead the result of a postexilic importation of Babylonian models based on a 360-day year; these imported models were then pasted on top of the 364-day year of the Sabbath Calendar sometime in the Hellenistic period. The impetus for doing so is difficult to determine precisely, but one might posit that the Babylonian models were imported partly due to their prestige and their sudden availability. As Ben-Dov notes, the amount of Mesopotamian technical knowledge that was disseminated internationally in the Hellenistic era was enormous. 191 The Astronomical Book and certain sectarian documents from Qumran thus demonstrate an attempt to combine the belief system of the Sabbath Calendar’s tradents with the best science (Babylonian) that was available. The results were sophisticated but also awkward and imperfect.

the liturgical calendar and the 364-day year would already have been accomplished in Leviticus 23–24; the AB, on the other hand, serves to coordinate the Sabbath Calendar with astronomical phenomena. The septenary nature of this calendar clearly indicates that cultic concerns underpinned its structure and, therefore, took precedence over astronomical concerns. 190. Ben-Dov, “The 364-Day Year,” 74. 191. Idem, Head of All Years, 249; see also Alexander Jones, “Evidence for Babylonian Arithmetical Schemes in Greek Astronomy,” in Die Rolle der Astronomie in den Kulturem Mesopotamiens: Beiträge zum 3. Grazer morgenlädischen Symposion (ed. Hannes D. Galter; Graz: GrazKult, 1993) 88.

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5.6.  Celestial Science in Ancient Israel: Conclusion The archaeological evidence and written testimony indicate that the motivation for celestial observation in ancient Israel was twofold. As was the case in ancient Ugarit, the primary concerns were astral veneration and calendrical regulation. 192 In the preexilic period, the calendrical goal required regular observation of the lunar cycle for the marking of the months and certain divisions within the month. 193 The worship of astral bodies involved primarily a celestial taxonomy for various stars and planets; astral worship may have had particular seasonal associations, while celestial bodies needed to be largely independent of yearly cyclical connections. The actual worship of astral features was conducted, it seems, in a fashion very similar to that of other ancient Near Eastern cults. Neither of the two goals necessitated long-term record keeping, elaborate stellar mapping, or sophisticated mathematical modeling of periodic phenomena on the scale or in the complex manner seen in Mesopotamia. Compared with contemporary Mesopotamian practice, celestial science in preexilic Israel was relatively simple; this simplicity was driven by modest needs. A similar situation existed at Ugarit. At Ugarit, however, there is clear evidence of experimentation in celestial divination, though there was a tangible lack of mantic investment in the practice. The witness in the Priestly material of the Hebrew Bible to a radical calendrical reorientation is different from the Ugaritic attestation, however. Perhaps it was the relative lack of celestial sophistication in the preexilic period that ultimately allowed for the partial development of a calendrical scheme, the Sabbath Calendar, which modeled observable reality so poorly. Although I have expressed doubt that the primary motivation for the creation of the Sabbath Calendar lay in the practice of astral religion, the final rejection of that practice during the exile may nevertheless have contributed to the Sabbath Calendar’s development. What little observational knowledge of celestial phenomena the devotees of astral bodies passed along was lost and/or abandoned for a (poorer) model (the new calendrical system), the inventors of which insisted that it better reflected the natural world and their god’s intentions for it. The “systematic explanation” of celestial phenomena—that is, the celestial science in the Sabbath Calendar—was based on a mathematical scheme rather than strict observation (not unlike the ideal schemes of the Ideal Calendar employed 192. For Ugarit, see §4.1.4. 193. For these rules in the rabbinic sources, see Wacholder and Weisberg, “Visibility of the New Moon,” 227–42.

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in Mesopotamian celestial divination). 194 While its septenary symmetry was undoubtedly more sophisticated mathematically than the Canaanite-Israelite calendar from the onset—and only became more so throughout the Second Temple period—the Sabbath Calendar was nonetheless unhinged from observation of celestial phenomena in a way that the Canaanite-Israelite calendar was not. 194. Again, I point to Pingree’s pragmatic definition: “[S]cience is a systematic explanation of perceived or imaginary phenomena, or else is based on such an explanation” (Pingree, “Hellenophilia,” 559).

Chapter 6

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature 6.1.  Introduction: The Criteria for Identifying Celestial References in the Hebrew Bible Identifying astral references in the Hebrew Bible 1 presents the same problem as doing so in Ugaritic literature (§4.2.1.2). The total lack of true celestialscience texts from ancient Israel makes it impossible to search for technical terminology in biblical narratives. In the discussion of the reflexes of celestial sciences in Mesopotamian literature in chap. 3, I established three features that a narrative must possess to be considered relevant to this discussion about celestial references in the Hebrew Bible: (1) a celestial character/phenomenon, (2) technical terminology, and (3) technical concepts (§3.1.2). As was the case with Ugaritic literature, criteria 2 and 3 cannot be met in the materials from ancient Israel, because of the dearth of technical texts. The investigation into Ugaritic literature had the very slight advantage of a handful of poorly understood mantic texts. Nonetheless, the Hebrew Bible is much better understood and preserved than the Ugaritic corpus, which makes identifying relevant passages according to the first criterion much more secure. Though we cannot search for technical terminology or concepts per se, we can look for celestial characters that are unambiguously identified, such as the sun, moon, stars, and specific constellations. Furthermore, we are able to focus on texts that concern the goals of celestial sciences ascertained in chap. 5, which are astral religion and calendrical regulation. There is, admittedly, a degree of circularity to this, even though some of the evidence I used to distinguish these goals was extrabiblical, such as the archaeological material and the Astronomical Book of 1 Enoch. 1. For dates and places of composition of the biblical texts in general, see §5.1.1.

288

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289

As was the case with my discussions of both Mesopotamian and Ugaritic literature, I am limiting my investigation of the biblical material to narrative. Though this eliminates from my presentation interesting references in, for example, biblical hymnic and mantic texts (psalms, prophetic oracles), as it limited the relevant Ugaritic and Mesopotamian corpora, I feel that this is necessary for achieving consistency across the areas I discuss. However, relevant data culled from hymnic, mantic, and other biblical material will be employed to elucidate the narratives under examination.

6.2.  Celestial Agents, Astral Religion, and Calendar As I argued in the chap. 5, though the stars did not have a mantic role in Israel, they were venerated in their natural state (§§5.3–5.4). In my current discussion, however, the operative task is not to identify what the authors considered appropriate objects of worship and adoration. To be sure, the Hebrew text is committed to the idea that Israelites are to worship Yahweh alone. However, even as the biblical authors assert sole loyalty to their own superior god, some of them acknowledge the responsibility of their neighbors to worship their own ancestral gods, as Deut 4:15–19 makes clear. Despite the biblical authors’ protestations, these ancestral astral gods were part of Israel’s own Canaanite heritage. As interesting as this matter is, I am concerned with another question: what in the cosmos, beside humans and Yahweh, has agency? By agency, I mean the ability of something both to have intention and to act on this intention. 2 Agency does not necessarily mean sovereignty and needs to be understood on a spectrum. Some agents—such as the high gods Marduk and Yahweh—act more-or-less completely independently. Other agents are considered servants of a master, acting willfully on the master’s orders. 3 But in spite of this hierarchy, even the most sovereign god might be constricted by various limits on his/her character. 4 On the other hand, even the most servile agent can act on 2. I base this simplified definition on Pongratz-Leisten’s elaboration, which is grounded in contemporary studies of cognition and religion (“Divine Agency,” 144–47). Pongratz-Leisten also distinguishes between primary and secondary agents (such as a deity in relation to its cult image) for heuristic purposes, though she recognizes that, in antiquity, such a distinction might not have been featured in the understanding of individuals engaged in religious practice (ibid., 146). 3. For a full presentation of the divine bureaucracy in the Levant, see Lowell K. Handy, Among the Host of Heaven: The Syro-Palestinian Pantheon as Bureaucracy (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1994); and, more recently, M. S. Smith, The Origins of Bibli­ cal Monotheism, 41–66. 4. See, for example, Stephen Geller’s comment regarding the nature of God presented in the Priestly material, “[T]he God of the priests is essentially bound by his laws . . . and cannot fail to produce blessing or disaster, depending on whether the cult is

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his/her own initiative, such as in 1 Kgs 22:21–22, in which a “wind/spirit,”‫רּוח י‬, ַ volunteers to Yahweh to deceive Ahab. So too, the servant god Išum repeatedly attempts to dissuade his master Erra in the Babylonian story (§3.2.3.1). A servile agent can demonstrate volition of his own and be responsible for executing an order in the manner he sees fit, as does the Satan in Job 1–2. In short, we must distinguish between agency and sovereignty. Though the biblical text attests an increasing concentration of the concepts of divinity and divine sovereignty into one particular agent, Yahweh, agency is never consolidated. As Simkins has amply shown, many features of the cosmos in biblical texts exhibit agency (see Psalms 68, 96, 114). 5 In biblical religion, the sun, moon, and stars are sometimes (though not always!) denied divine status, but they nonetheless show their own agency, even if they are described as acting as servile agents of Yahweh. At most, in the religious practices of ancient Israel, the stars were divine manifestations worthy of veneration; at the very least, they served in the religious ideals proffered by the biblical authors, as mediators of the divine, as did other features in the natural world. Within the contours of biblical religion, the agency of the stars—along with other features of nature, such as‫רּוח י‬, ַ “wind” (Gen 1:2; 1 Kgs 22:21), and ‫ַלּבַת־‬ ‫אֵׁש‬, “flame of fire” (Exod 3:2)—is typically characterized as servile rather than sovereign. The stars often act as messengers of Yahweh and serve in his court and as his army. Celestial features bear a number of titles, such as ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫צבָא־ה‬, ְ “Host of Heaven.” 6 It is Deutero-Isaiah’s assertion that Yahweh created the stars to populate the sky in the same sense that he created human beings to populate the earth ‫ֵיתי׃‬ ִ ‫ָל־צ ָבאָם ִצּו‬ ְ ‫ׁש ַמיִם ְוכ‬ ָ ‫אנִי יָדַ י נָטּו‬ ֲ ‫ָאתי‬ ִ ‫ָדם ָעלֶי ָה בָר‬ ָ ‫יתי ֶארֶץ ְוא‬ ִ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫אָנ ִֹכי ע‬, “I myself made the land, while man I have created upon it; I, with my very own hands, have spread out the heavens, and all their hosts I’ve commanded” (Isa 45:12). The stars’ servile role is stated explicitly in Ps 103:19–21:

working properly or improperly, respectively” (“The God of the Covenant,” in One God or Many? Concepts of Divinity in the Ancient World [Barbara Nevling Porter; Transactions of the Casco Bay Assyriological Institute 1; Bethesda, MD: CDL, 2000] 279). 5. Simkins, Yahweh’s Activity in History and Nature, 57–75. Simpkins does not use the term agency to describe the natural world’s participation and response to divine action; rather, he says quite explicitly, “[N]ature is animate and conscious” (ibid., 61). See also brief comments by Hilary Marlow, Biblical Prophets and Contemporary Envi­ ronmental Ethics: Rereading Amos, Hosea, and First Isaiah (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009) 144, 265. 6. Dan 8:10; Jer 33:22; and §5.2.1.3. See also the discussion in Albani, “Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 201–3.

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‫ָׁשלָה׃‬ ָ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ה ִֵכין ִּכ ְסאֹו ּומ ְַלכּותֹו ּבַּכֹל מ‬ ָ ‫יְהוָה ּב‬ ‫ׁשמ ֹ ַע ְּבקֹול ְּדבָרֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ָּברֲכּו יְהוָה מ ְַל ָאכָיו ִּגּבֹרֵי כ ֹ ַח עֹׂשֵ י ְדבָרֹו ִל‬ ‫ׁש ְר ָתיו עֹׂשֵ י ְרצֹונֹו׃‬ ָ ‫ָל־צ ָבאָיו ְמ‬ ְ ‫ָּברֲכּו יְהוָה ּכ‬ Yahweh in the heavens has established his throne; his sovereignty governs everything! Bless Yahweh, O his messengers, the mightiest ones who accomplish his command, obeying his very command! Bless Yahweh, O all his hosts, his servants who do his bidding!

Some details about how the stars’ servile relationship to Yahweh was conceived are offered in 1 Kings 22, in which the prophet Micaiah reports to the kings of Israel and Judah his vision of Yahweh on his throne, surrounded by his entourage: ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם עֹמֵד‬ ָ ‫ָל־צבָא ה‬ ְ ‫ַל־ּכ ְסאֹו ְוכ‬ ִ ‫יתי אֶת־יְהוָה יֹׁשֵב ע‬ ִ ‫ָא‬ ִ ‫ׁשמַע ְּדבַר־יְהוָה ר‬ ְ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר ָלכֵן‬ ֹ ‫ּומ ְּׂשמאלֹו׃‬ ִ ‫ימינֹו‬ ִ ‫ ָעלָיו ִמ‬, “He said to them, ‘Listen to the word of Yahweh: I saw Yahweh sitting on his throne while the whole Host of Heaven was standing by him, to his right and left.” 7 Thus, the stars form part of an intimate court around Yahweh. There, they function as a human royal court would, obeying the king’s commands and offering him counsel. Thus, I maintain that the stars’ role as active agents is, in a certain sense, linked to a divine nature, even if the biblical authors often deny them this status outright. Put another way, agents that would have been considered divine in the broader ancient Near East are frequently labeled otherwise by the biblical authors. 8 Despite the biblical authors’ theologically oriented reluctance, I understand biblical narratives that include astral features as active agents as a genuine literary reflex of Canaanite-Israelite astral religion, even if this reflex was heavily qualified by the monotheizing penchants of the biblical authors. 9 Furthermore and importantly, this religious reflex often cannot be separated from chronological concerns, because the sun and moon were also the primary 7. In this narrative, it is striking that, when Yahweh asks for a volunteer to sabotage Ahab’s campaign against Ramoth-gilead, a member of the Host of Heaven emerges, “the wind,”‫ַרּוח י‬ ַ ‫( ה‬1 Kgs 22:22). We should consider‫ַרּוח י‬ ַ ‫( ה‬and ‫ׁש ֶקר‬ ֶ ‫רּוח י‬, ַ “wind of deception”) as having originated, as the text implies, from among the rest of the heavenly host in the sky. 8. Judith Hadley charts the way in which this process is accomplished within Deuteronomy (“The De-deification of Deities in Deuteronomy,” in The God of Israel [ed. Robert P. Gordon; University of Cambridge Oriental Publication 64; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007] 157–74). It is striking, however, that the Deuteronomist demotes and de-deifies so unevenly the traditional Canaanite-Israelite gods—a fact that Hadley does not explore. 9. In this sense, though they are treated elsewhere in this book, the very narratives that reject astral religion (such as 2 Kgs 23:5) qualify as narrative reflexes of Israelite celestial science.

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benchmarks by which people kept track of the passage of time and organized their calendrical models.

6.3.  Joshua 10 Joshua 10 recounts the story of a coalition of five Amorite kings from southern Canaan who militarily confront Gibeon in the wake of that city’s treaty with the Israelite invaders. Upon receiving word from the Gibeonites that the coalition has marched on their city, Joshua rushes to the defense of Israel’s new ally. Setting out from their base at Gilgal, the Israelite army engages the Amorite coalition at Gibeon after a march through the night. The coalition army is caught by surprise and is quickly routed, and the Israelites pursue the disarrayed force from Azekah to Makkedah, through the descent of Beth Horon. The Israelites proceed to slaughter the Amorites, assisted by Yahweh, who engages them from the sky: ‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫ֻע ִּפ ְתאֹם ּכָל־ ַה ַּל ְילָה ָעלָה ִמן־ה ִַּג ְלּגָל׃ ַו ְי ֻהּמֵם יְהוָה ִל ְפנֵי י‬ ַ ‫אלֵיהֶם יְהֹוׁש‬ ֲ ‫ַוּיָבֹא‬ ְ ֹ ‫ָה־גדֹולָה ְּב ִג ְבעֹון ַוּי ְִר ְּדפֵם ֶּדרֶך ַמעֲלֵה בֵית־חֹורן ַוּיַּכֵם עַד־עֲז ֵָקה ְועַד־‬ ְ ‫ַוּיַּכֵם ַמּכ‬ ְ ‫ׁש ִל‬ ‫א ָבנִים‬ ֲ ‫יך עֲלֵיהֶם‬ ְ ‫ְהי ְּבנֻסָם ִמ ְּפנֵי י‬ ִ ‫ַמּק ֵָדה׃ ַוי‬ ְ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל הֵם ְּבמֹורַ ד ּבֵית־חֹורֹן וַיהוָה ִה‬ ‫ָרגּו‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר ה‬ ֶ ‫ֲׁשר־מֵתּו ְּבא ְַבנֵי ַה ָּב ָרד ֵמא‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם עַד־עֲז ֵָקה ַוּיָמֻתּו רַ ִּבים א‬ ָ ‫ּגְדֹלֹות ִמן־ה‬ ‫ֻע לַיהוָה ְּביֹום ּתֵ ת יְהוָה אֶת־ ָהאֱמִֹרי ִל ְפנֵי ְּבנֵי‬ ַ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל ֶּב ָחרֶב׃ ס אָז יְדַ ּבֵר יְהֹוׁש‬ ְ ‫ְּבנֵי י‬ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל וַּיֹאמֶר ְלעֵינֵי י‬ ְ‫י‬ ‫ׁשמֶׁש ְּב ִג ְבעֹון ּדֹום ְויָר ֵַח ְּב ֵעמֶק ַאּיָלֹון׃‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ְויָר ֵַח ָעמָד עַד־יִּק ֹם ּגֹוי א ְֹיבָיו‬ ֶ ‫ַוּיִּדֹם ה‬ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְולֹא־אָץ לָבֹוא ְּכיֹום‬ ָ ‫ֲצי ה‬ ִ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ַּבח‬ ֶ ‫ָׁשר ַוּיַעֲמֹד ה‬ ָ ‫א־היא ְכתּובָה עַל־ ֵספֶר ַהּי‬ ִ ֹ ‫הֲל‬ ֹ ֹ ‫ִלחָם‬ ְ ‫ׁשמ ַע יְהוָה ְּבקֹול ִאיׁש ִּכי יְהוָה נ‬ ְ ‫ח ָריו ִל‬ ֲ ‫ָּת ִמים׃ ְולא ָהיָה ּכַּיֹום הַהּוא ְל ָפנָיו ְו ַא‬ ‫ִׂש ָראֵל׃‬ ְ ‫ְלי‬ Joshua came to them suddenly; the whole night he had ascended from Gilgal. Yahweh confused them in front of Israel, and he attacked them with a great assault at Gibeon. He pursued them on the road of the ascent of Beth Horon and he attacked them up to Azekah and Makkedah. When they fled from Israel, while they were on the descent of Beth Horon, Yahweh cast large stones on them from the sky all the way up to Azekah, and they died. (More were killed by hailstones than the Israelites killed with the sword!) 12Then Joshua spoke to Yahweh, on the day Yahweh gave the Amorites to the Israelites, he said in view of Israel,    “Oh Sun, halt at Gibeon, and Moon at the Valley of Aijalon!” And the sun halted while the moon stopped until the nation avenged its enemies. Is it not written in the Book of Jashar, “The sun stopped in the middle of the sky, and did not budge to set for the entire day”? 14And there has not been a day like that before or since when Yahweh obeyed a man, inasmuch as Yahweh fought for Israel. (Josh 10:9–14) 13

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Meanwhile, when the Amorite kings realize their army has collapsed, they hide themselves in a cave at Makkedah. When Joshua discovers that they have cornered themselves, he has the cave sealed with large stones (‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ ) and posts a guard until the military engagement itself comes to a close and he has an opportunity to deal with the monarchs personally. The army makes its base at Makkedah after having secured complete victory over the coalition. Joshua has the Amorite kings removed from the cave, and he, with Yahweh’s encouragement, has them killed and their bodies des­ ecrated, and he impales their corpses on stakes. When the sun finally sets, the kings’ bodies are removed from display and interred in the very cave where they had hid. Large stones (‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ ) are placed over the mouth of this cave, and these are, the narrator informs us, still visible in his own day. Joshua and the Israelite army then proceed to capture the Amorite cities themselves, and indeed, all of southern Canaan. Previous discussions of the passage have sought to explain the celestial phenomena described in naturalistic, mantic, or mythopoetic terms, or with particular reference to the ancient Near Eastern divine warrior tradition. 10 There is a general consensus that the narrative here is composite in nature, and there is no shortage of debate regarding its redactional fissures. 11 Particularly salient is the issue of the edges of what seems to be a poetic insert consisting of vv. 12–14 and what this insert might have connoted in its original textual context, now lost. In this regard, it could very well be that Joshua’s command to the sun was originally understood within a religious milieu in which Yahweh was equated with this celestial body. 12 Though I do not deny the composite nature of 10. For an extensive bibliography, see Albani, Der eine Gott, 188–95; for a brief synopsis and overview, see Richard D. Nelson, Joshua: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westminster John Knox, 1997) 142–48. 11. See P. Weimar, “Die Jahwekriegserzählungen in Exodus 14, Josue 10, Richter 4, und 1 Samuel 7,” Bib 57 (1976) 51–62; Baruch Margalit, “The Day the Sun Did Not Stand Still: A New Look at Joshua X 8–15,” VT 42 (1992) 466–91; and brief comments in Nelson, Joshua, 138. See also Albani, who deals only with the poetic fragment in 10:12b–13a (Der eine Gott, 188–95). For a detailed overview of the history of source criticism of the whole book, see Edward Noort, Das Buch Josua: Forschungsgeschichte und Problemfelder (EdF 292; Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buch­gesellschaft, 1998). 12. Jan Dus, “Gibeon: Eine Kultstätte des ŠMŠ und die Stadt des benjaminitischen Schiksals,” VT 10 (1960) 353–74; Herbert Niehr, Der höchste Gott: Alttestamentlicher JHWH-Glaube im Kontext syrisch-kanaanäischer Religion des 1. Jahrtausends v.  Chr. (BZAW 190; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990) 147–63; and J. Glen Taylor, Yahweh and the Sun: Biblical and Archaeological Evidence for Sun Worship in Ancient Israel (JSOTSup 111; Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993) 114–18. Alternatively, Othmar Keel and Christoph Uehlinger suggest that the passage preserves a remnant of a religious conflict between Jerusalem’s weather god, Yahweh, and Gibeon’s solar deity (“Jahwe und die Sonnengottheit von

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the pericope, I am not concerned with addressing any specific reconstruction of its sources’ textual and/or contextual origins. I am more interested here with the results of the integration of these possibly disparate materials by the DtrH to address his specific concerns, which I maintain revolve around traditional Canaanite-Israelite astral religion and, to a degree, the calendrical role of the celestial cycles. In this light, it is clear that Josh 10:7–14 should not be disassociated from the whole chapter, which describes the war with the Amorite kings, their fate, and ultimately the capture of southern Canaan (that is, Judah). 13 Verses 7–14, though my initial focus, are not a narrative aside that was awkwardly inserted in a lengthier story. It is a necessary passage that relates the fate of the kings’ armies. These kings meet their fate, which is, quite literally, to be sealed in a cave with the same “large stones” (‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ , Josh 10:11, 18, 27) that Yahweh had cast down on their armies. There are two celestial phenomena described in the passage. First, Yahweh’s actual tactical engagement with the Amorites is accomplished with “large stones” (‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ ). These seem to be, on the face of it, actual stones that fall from the sky and that are used later in the chapter to close off the mouth of the cave in which the Amorite kings have sought refuge. They are, however, described in v. 11 as “hailstones” (‫)א ְַבנֵי ַהּבָרָד‬. Hail is used as a weapon in other biblical texts (Exodus 9; Ps 105:32) and, furthermore, the stars do seem associated somehow with weather phenomena in ancient Israel and at Ugarit. 14 Nonetheless, the reader is clearly meant to equate the “large stones,” ‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ , in this verse with those in vv. 18 and 27, which cannot be correct if the stones are hail. 15 Thus, Margalit suggests that this is a late insertion from the postexilic period by a scribe with poor Hebrew knowledge and that it should be interpreted Jerusalem,” in Ein Gott allein? JHWH-Verehrung und biblischer Monotheismus im Kon­ text der israelitischen und altorientalischen Religionsgeschichte [ed. Wilfred Dietrich and M. A. Klopfenstein; OBO 139; Göttingen : Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1994] 269–306). 13. For example, Volkmar Fritz divides the chapter into three separate traditions: the battle narrative in vv. 1–15, the demise of the Amorite kings in 16–27, and a summary of the conquest of the south in 28–43 (Das Buch Josua [HAT 1/7; Tübingen: Mohr, 1994] 109, 115). For a discussion on the narrative unity of Josh 10:1–27, including remarks on the history of the discussion, see Edward Noort, “Joshua and Copernicus: Josh 10:12–15 and the History of Reception,” in Flores Florentino: Dead Sea Scrolls and Other Early Jewish Studies in Honour of Florentino García Martínez (ed. Anthony Hilhorts et  al.; JSJSup 122; Leiden: Brill, 2007) 391–92. 14. See, for example, Albani, “Der das Siebengestirn,” 175 n.  146; more recently, Henrik Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden: Jdc 5; Hab 3; Dtn 33 und Ps 68 in ihrem literature- und theo­logiegeschichtlichen Umfeld (FRLANT 211; Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2005) 73–74; see also §4.2.3.2. 15. The LXX, however, rendered both ‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ and ‫ א ְַבנֵי ַה ָּברָד‬in v. 11 as λίθους χαλάζης and λίθους τῆς χαλάζης (“hailstones”), respectively.

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as indicating a “hail of stones.” 16 So also does Noort, who considers ‫א ְַבנֵי ַהּבָרָד‬ to be a later, explanatory gloss. 17 Even if Margalit is partially incorrect and this is not what was intended by ‫א ְַבנֵי ַהּבָרָד‬, he and Noort still may be right that it is a later, explanatory insertion, not by a tradent with lackluster language skills, but someone who did not make the connection between the ‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ in vv. 11 and those in 18 and 27. This tradent, unfamiliar with the landmark noted by Joshua’s author, sought to explain the stones in light of texts such as Exodus 9 and Ps 105:32, which note the use of hailstones by Yahweh in his conflict with Egypt. In any case, I do not believe that the phrase ‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹולֹות‬ ֲ is meant to indicate hail. 18 The stones are best explained as an etiological element, referring not only to the large stones that block the cave with which the author is familiar, but also to the rocky landscape of the ascent of Beth Horon. The second celestial phenomenon in Joshua 10, the event that is afforded the lion’s share of scholarly attention, is the unusual solar and lunar activity that is triggered by Joshua’s verbal command. Plainly, the sun and moon here function chronologically, that is, calendrically. As other scholars have noted, the miraculous extension of the day in order to continue a battle is not a motif that’s unique to the Hebrew Bible but is seen in other ancient texts as well. 19 Plainly said, armies need daylight by which to fight. The stoppage of the sun and moon, especially the former, ensures that the day goes on as long as necessary in order for the Israelites not merely to route the Canaanite army but also to eliminate them completely from the land. However, the sun and moon are functioning on more than a mere chronological level. For the DtrH, the sun and moon are, in fact, proper gods of the Canaanites, assigned by Yahweh to this task. Even if the Israelites were commanded not to worship them, according to Deut 4:15–19, receiving worship is precisely the role that the sun and moon were to fill for the nations. 20 As such, Joshua’s command is not given to “demythologized” and lifeless timekeepers 16. Margalit, “The Day the Sun Did Not Stand Still,” 469 n. 4. 17. Noort, “Joshua and Copernicus,” 388 n. 5. 18. Houtman, who does not acknowledge the relationship between the ‫א ָבנִים‬ ֲ ‫ ּגְדֹולֹות‬in Josh 10:11 and the large stones in vv. 18 and 27, suggests that the words could indicate a landslide, though he remarks that the simplest reading is still that of a hailstorm (Der Himmel, 272–73). 19. Moshe Weinfeld, for example, likens the passage to both 1 Sam 14:24 and Iliad 2.412–15 (“Divine Intervention in War in Israel and the Ancient Near East,” in History, Historiography, and Interpretation: Studies in Biblical and Cuneiform Literatures [ed. Hayim Tadmor and Moshe Weinfeld; Jerusalem: Magnes, 1983] 146–47). 20. Hadley, “The De-deification of Deities,” 172. See also Houtman, who comes close to this element of my interpretation in that he recognizes that the sun and moon are being appealed to as agents; however, the recognition that they are, even for the

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but, rather, to “foreign” deities who are truly active agents (or at least this is how the DtrH has re-mythologized the poetic fragment). It is notable that Joshua and his army perform their march from Gilgal to Gibeon through “the whole night,” ‫—ּכֹל־ ַה ַּל ְילָה‬the writer indicating that this feat was accomplished in a manner that would hide their movement from the sun’s observation. Perhaps the DtrH even situated the sun and moon in areas (Gibeon, Aijalon) where there were, traditionally, specific cultic sites dedicated to them. 21 Regardless of any possible specific cultic loci, when the narrator stated explicitly that the sun was “in Gibeon” and the moon was “in the valley of Ajalon,” he was making it transparent that they were, at the time Joshua barked his order, in the land that Yahweh’s people were rightfully dispossessing. These celestial deities, who would otherwise be protecting their people, the Amorites, were made subservient to the Israelites’ own sovereign, Yahweh, who acknowledged Joshua’s order and fought on his behalf. In this sense, Yahweh asserted his authority over the sky above the Amorites’ territory and claimed it as his own; the sun and moon no longer had sovereignty over the sky of southern Canaan (that is, Judah). It is also notable that the reign of the Amorite kings in this land ended with their execution, the visible display of their corpses in the sky on trees, and interment in a cave (Josh 10:27): ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ָרה א‬ ָ ‫ַׁש ִלכֻם אֶל־ה ְַּמע‬ ְ ‫ֻע וַּיִֹרידּום ֵמעַל ָהע ִֵצים ַוּי‬ ַ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ִצּוָה יְהֹוׁש‬ ֶ ‫ְהי ְלעֵת ּבֹוא ה‬ ִ ‫ַוי‬ ‫ַל־ּפי ה ְַּמ ָערָה עַד־ ֶעצֶם הַּיֹום ַהּזֶה׃‬ ִ ‫א ָבנִים ּגְדֹלֹות ע‬ ֲ ‫ָׂשמּו‬ ִ ‫אּו־ׁשם ַוּי‬ ָ ‫ֶח ְּב‬ ְ‫נ‬ At the time of the setting of the sun, Joshua commanded and they brought them down from the trees, and they cast them into the cave in which they had hidden themselves. They placed large stones over the mouth of the cave, which are still there to this very day.

This elevated display of the dead and their descent into the ground—that is, the cave—is not coincidental, nor is the timing of the event at sunset simply the fulfillment of the statute in Deut 21:22. 22 Just as the kings’ corpses were suspended above the land, motionless on poles, so the sun and moon, divested of their sovereignty, stood suspended in the sky above the land. And, just as the kings were buried and their reigns in the land were ended, so also the sun (and moon?) set, descended into the earth, and its reign in the land was ended. 23 DtrH, legitimate gods of the nations does not enter his discussion (Der Himmel, 136, 192–94). 21. For this “demythologizing” perspective, see, for example, Fritz, Josua, 112; and Nelson, Joshua, 145. 22. Fritz, Das Buch Josua, 114. 23. Note, in Josh 10:14, in what seems to be a quotation from the Book of Jashar, it is only the sun that is said to have stood still in the sky.

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Thus, Joshua 10 confirms Yahweh’s conquest of the sky above Canaan, just as Joshua was conquering the land of Canaan below. The complete conquest of southern Canaan is declared in vv. 40–42. With the eradication of the Amor­ ites, the land became a tabula rasa, ready for the Israelites’ occupation, while Yahweh was sovereign over the inhabitants of the sky, a fact that is made clear in vv. 7–14. 24

24. Joshua 10 is thus similar to other monotheizing pericopes, such as Deuteronomy 32 and Psalm 82, which describe the demise of other gods as a reflex of a Yahwistic restructuring of the cosmos. For a full discussion of this phenomenon in Psalm 82, see Peter Machinist, “How Gods Die, Biblically and Otherwise: A Problem of Cosmic Restructuring,” in Reconsidering the Concept of Revolutionary Monotheism (ed. Beate Pongratz-Leisten; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011) 189–240. In light of this, I very tentatively suggest that the names of the five Amorite kings listed in Josh 10:3 may be related to the Canaanite-Israelite designations for the five visible planets: ‫ֶדק‬ ֶ ‫ אֲדֹנִי־צ‬could be equated with Jupiter, since ‫ ֶצדֶק‬is the term in rabbinic literature for that planet (for references, see Jastrow, Dict. 1263). The name ‫ ְּד ִביר‬could be related to the word ‫ּדבֶר‬, ֶ “plague” (HALOT, 212), thus corresponding to the planet Mars, which in the Babylonian tradition is associated with the plague god Nergal (see what seems to be the equation of Nergal and Resheph in the Ugaritic and Akkadian god list, KTU 1.118: 26 and RS 20.24: 26; §4.1.3.3; see also the parallel use of ‫ ֶּדבֶר‬and ‫ֶׁשף‬ ֶ ‫ ר‬in Hab 3:5). Notably, the rabbinic term for Mars is ‫מֲא ִַדים‬, derived from the root ‫אדם‬, “red” (Jastrow, Dict. 721). The name‫יע י‬ ַ ‫ָפ‬ ִ ‫ י‬appears to be derived from the root ‫יפע‬, “to shine” (HALOT, 424), and thus the name would be a wholly appropriate appellation for a planet. In this regard, we should consider the unusual word ‫ִפעָה‬ ְ ‫י‬, “beaming splendor,” which is used in an oracle against the king of Tyre, in which the monarch is likened to a god who will descend into Sheol and/or be cast to the ground (Ezek 28:7, 17). For the other names, ‫ הֹוהָם‬and ‫ּפ ְראָם‬, ִ it is more difficult to suggest identifications. The name ‫ הֹוהָם‬may be corrupt, because the LXX renders it Αιλαμ. The name ‫ ִּפ ְראָם‬could be related to the noun ‫ ֶפרֶא‬, “wild ass,” a term that echoes the basic Akkadian term for “planet” (bibbu, “wild sheep”), which is also a term used to refer to the planet Mercury in the Babylonian tradition. That the Canaanite ‫ ֶפרֶא‬may sometimes indicate a deity could be indicated by the Ugaritic personal name bn. pri in KTU 4.297:2. The death of the five Amorite kings, if on some level identified with the planets, could be read, then, in conjunction with Ps 82:6–7, ‫ֻּלכֶם׃‬ ְ ‫ֶליֹון ּכ‬ ְ ‫ּובנֵי ע‬ ְ ‫ַּתם‬ ֶ ‫אנִי־ ָאמ ְַר ִּתי אֱל ִֹהים א‬ ֲ ‫ַּׂשִרים ִּתּפֹלּו‬ ָ ‫ּוכ ַאחַד ה‬ ְ ‫ָדם ְּתמּותּון‬ ָ ‫ ָאכֵן ְּכא‬, “I said, ‘You are gods, and the sons of Elyon are all of you. But like a person you will die, like one of the princes, you will fall.” This speculation, I recognize, teeters on the edge of the pan-Babylonianist trap, and so I offer it with considerable caution. For a true resurrection of pan-Babylonianist methods in regard to Joshua 10, in the tradition of de Santillana and von Dechend’s Hamlet’s Mill, see Hennie A. J. Kruger, “Sun and Moon Grinding to a Halt: Exegetical Remarks on Joshua 10:9–14 and Related Texts in Judges,” HvTSt 55 (1999) 1077–97. For a discussion of Joshua 10 as creating a clean slate for Israelite occupations, see Edward Noort, “Zwischen Mythos und Rationalität: Das Kriegshandeln YHWHs in Jos

298

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With this in mind, I return to the chronological function of the sun and moon noted above. By stopping the clock, as it were, the author is also resetting the chronology of the land. The Priestly creation account describes the cultic-calendrical role of the sun, moon, and stars as being inherently tethered to their manufacture. Further chronological markers in the Priestly materials mark events on a grand timeline of history, incorporating a wide variety of important episodes—such as the Flood, ages of the patriarchs, the wandering in the wilderness, building of the temple, and so on—into an overarching framework that demonstrates Yahweh’s orderly plan for Israel in the world. 25 In DtrH, however, the chronological discussion is limited more significantly to the issue of sovereignty. Thus, the chronological data most typically presented in this corpus include the alternating reigns of foreigners and Israelite judges in the eponymous book or the reigns of the kings of Israel and Judah in Samuel–Kings. 26 To be sure, this reflects basic Deuteronomic theology, which links religious obedience to self-rule, security, and prosperity in the land. The death and burial of the Amorite kings in Joshua 10 leads to the fresh Israelite hegemony in the land, which will eventually express itself in dynastic terms in David and his successors. Hence, the stopping of the sun and moon—and their restarting—signifies a sort of “rebooting” of the sovereign chronology of the land, with the Israelites and their god in control rather than the Amorites and their god.

6.4.  Judges 5 Judges 5 is a song that recounts, similar to Joshua 10, a conflict between Israelite tribes and a coalition of Canaanite kings. The event it describes is set in the time of the Judges, and therefore, unlike in Joshua, the conflict is portrayed as internecine rather than the result of an invasion—in the sense that it involves Israelites who are living alongside Canaanites in the land. The song is typical of archaic poetry; it displays a dearth of explicit grammar, is thick with difficult vocabulary, and is of overall questionable textual integrity. In spite of these difficulties, the storyline of the song is generally apparent. It begins with an invitation to pay attention to the song, and this is immediately followed by a description of Yahweh as the triumphant storm god who proceeds from the south. The general situation in the land at the time is then recounted: com10, 1–11,” in Mythos und Rationalität (ed. H. H. Schmid; Gütersloh: Güterloher Verlag, 1988) 149–61; see also Nelson, Joshua, 148. 25. See Hughes, Secrets of the Times, 5–54. 26. Hughes has demonstrated, however, that the particulars of the DtrH’s chronology have been modified to align with the overall Priestly chronology; see summary of his model of the development of DtrH’s chronology in ibid., 94.

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merce has shut down because it has become dangerous for people to travel between settlements. In response to this desperate situation, Deborah arises and, assisted by Barak, unites many of Israel’s tribes in arms. The identity of Israel’s enemies is finally stated overtly: they are the kings of Canaan, whose armies are led by Sisera. The battle is described (Judg 5:19–21): ‫ִלחֲמּו מ ְַלכֵי ְכנַעַן‬ ְ ‫ִלחָמּו אָז נ‬ ְ ‫ָכים נ‬ ִ ‫ּבָאּו ְמל‬ ֹ ‫ָקחּו׃‬ ָ ‫ְּבתַ ְענ ְַך עַל־מֵי ְמ ִגּדֹו ֶּבצַע ֶּכסֶף לא ל‬ ‫יסרָא׃‬ ְ ‫ם־ס‬ ִ ‫ִלחֲמּו ִע‬ ְ ‫ּלֹותם נ‬ ָ ‫ָבים ִמ ְּמ ִס‬ ִ ‫ִלחָמּו הַּכֹוכ‬ ְ ‫ן־ׁש ַמיִם נ‬ ָ ‫ִמ‬ ‫ׁשי עֹז׃‬ ִ ‫דּומים נַחַל ִקיׁשֹון ִּת ְד ְר ִכי נ ְַפ‬ ִ ‫נַחַל ִקיׁשֹון ְּג ָרפָם נַחַל ְק‬ The kings came, they fought; then the kings of Canaan fought. At Taanak, by the waters of Megiddo—silver spoil they did not take! From the heavens they fought, the stars from their paths they fought with Sisera! The wadi Kishon washed them away, the wadi of antiquity (?), 27 the wadi Kishon. (My life will march on with strength!)

The song, after a brief aside in which the tribe Meroz is cursed for not assisting, then focuses in on the intimate encounter between Jael, the Kenite, and the Canaanite commander Sisera, who seeks shelter in the battle’s wake. Instead of providing him with the expected hospitality, the woman drives a stake through his head. The song concludes with a parallel scene describing the mother of 27. The meaning of the term ‫דּומים‬ ִ ‫ ְק‬is one of the long-standing interpretive difficulties of the song. The LXXA and the Vulgate both transliterated the term, understanding it as a proper noun. The LXXB, the targum, and several modern commentators derive it from the root ‫קדם‬, but they differ as to the precise point on its semantic spectrum. Thus the LXXB and the targum translate χειμάρρους ἀρχαίων, “stream of the old ones,” and ‫מ ְּלקַ ְד ִמין‬, ִ “from of old,” respectively; so too, Walter Gross, “uralter Bach” (Richter [Freibourg a.B.: Herder, 2009] 292). It is not sufficiently transparent just what the relevance of an “ancient wadi” might be. Ahlström also derived the meaning from this root, suggesting “front or outstanding parts of the Qishon” (Gösta W. Ahlström, “Judges 5:20f and History,” JNES 36 [1977] 287). BHS suggests emending the text to ‫ק ְּדמָם‬, ִ “(the wadi) confronted them.” It is doubtful, however, that such an obvious reading would have been lost in the interpretive tradition. With the fact that the stars in the previous verse would have been unequivocally identified as deities of some sort, I note that, in the Hebrew script of the Iron Age, ‫ מ‬and ‫ ׁש‬could be rather similar looking. I gingerly suggest that the original reading might have been ‫קדוׁשים‬, “holy ones,” a not unusual epithet for divine beings in the Hebrew Bible, whether they were Yahweh (i.e., ‫ִׂש ָראֵל‬ ְ ‫קדֹוׁש־י‬, ְ “The Holy One of Israel, e.g., Isa 1:4) or others (Zech 14:5; Job 5:1, 15:15, the latter notably is parallel with ‫ׁש ַמיִם‬, ָ “heavens”). These ‫ קדוׁשים‬would be, then, an earthly parallel to the stars in the previous verse and would unambiguously indicate the divine presence in the wadi. Since there is admittedly no textual witness to support such an emendation, this proposal remains tentative.

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Sisera, who is wondering where her son is; a brief curse and blessing to Yahweh’s enemies and devotees is tacked onto the end. I will not attempt here to address the question of the date of the Song of Deborah’s independent composition, nor will I attempt to reconstruct the possible history of that text in terms of redaction. 28 It will suffice to say, in line with the communio opinionis, that the song predates the prose account in Judges 4 (which is likely based on the song) and the full development of Deuteronomic theology. 29 This fact provides the opportunity to comment on the text as a song independent of the DtrH, and as it was received in the DtrH. As in Joshua 10, there are two outstanding natural phenomena involved in the conflict. First, the stars are said to “fight from heaven” (‫ִלחָמּו‬ ְ ‫ן־ׁש ַמיִם נ‬ ָ ‫)מ‬ ִ and “fight from their paths” (‫ִלחָמּו‬ ְ ‫ָּלֹותם נ‬ ָ ‫)מ ִּמס‬. ִ Second, the wadi Kishon is said to have “washed them (the kings of Canaan) away” (‫ְרפָם‬ ָ ‫)ּג‬. In a pre-DtrH context, we should assume normative Canaanite-Israelite religious belief, which is that the stars are gods who, like the Israelite tribes that volunteer for the campaign, choose to fight against Sisera and his army. 30 It is striking that, in the actual battle description in Judg 5:10–21, only the kings of Canaan and the stars are said explicitly to have engaged in the fighting. In any case, since there is an oftnoted link between the stars and precipitation in Ugarit and Israel, scholars often understand the specific action of the stars to have been causing the rainfall that, in turn, flashflooded the Kishon (see also v. 4). Such a causal link between the astral manifestation and the Kishon’s activity has become for many the de facto explanation of the appearance of the two natural forces. 31 28. For a recent, if somewhat drastic, analysis, see Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden, 39–90; and, more traditionally, Gross, Richter, 337–41. 29. For the date of the song, see ibid., 343–49. For the compositional priority of the song over the prose account, see Phillipe Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah: The Judges (JSOTSup 385; London: T. & T. Clark, 2004) 31–32. 30. Echols’s recent argument, that the stars in Judg 5:20 are merely stars or that, at best, they are “metonymical for Yahweh’s help” and need not be understood as divine agents of some sort is completely at odds with everything we currently know about the Canaanite-Israelite understanding of the natural world, whether without or within a Deuteronomistic perspective (Charles L. Echols, “Tell Me, O Muse”: The Song of Deborah [Judges 5] in the Light of Heroic Poetry [LHBOTS/JSOTSup 487; London: T. & T. Clark, 2008] 123). 31. For example, Albani, Der eine Gott, 186–87; Andreas Scherer, Überlieferungen von Religion und Krieg: Exegetische und religionsgeschichtliche Untersuchungen zu Richter 3–8 und verwandten Texten (WMANT 105; Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 2005) 133; Gross, Richter, 329. Recently, Pfeiffer has rejected the assumption that there is necessarily a causal link between the participation of the stars and the activity of the Kishon (Pfieffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden, 76–77). The text of Judges 5, of course, makes no explicit statement in this regard, and, while there are some data from Ugarit that link the stars and precipitation, the most relevant astral references in both Ugaritic

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As for the two statements regarding the activity of stars in v. 20, it is clear that they are in parallel with each other, but it is less obvious just what the writer had in mind. The first option is that the stars somehow engaged tactically with the Canaanite kings from the sky but without leaving the sky. Unless this was accomplished by means of a deluge of precipitation (see discussion below), it is difficult to grasp just how this was conceived. The second is that they left their normal positions and paths in order to join battle directly. 32 In this latter case, the author would be saying that the stars literally came down to earth and met the Canaanite army on the battlefield, coming in physical contact with them. While this might seem absurd on the face of it, the fact is that this is precisely what the author states that the wadi Kishon does in v. 21. A deviation from the stars’ normal courses might very well be linked to the flashflooding of the Kishon and the rain that led to it. Related to this, I suggest, is the calendrical role of the stars. Albani, in particular, maintains that the stars in Judg 5:20 refer specifically to the constellation the Pleiades, whose name in the Hebrew Bible is normally ‫ּכימָה‬, ִ and that this constellation’s cultural significance in Israel was the same as it was in contemporary Mesopotamia. 33 I have argued against his rather specific claims, above. 34 Still, there is no doubt that and biblical literature are in terms of astral religion, the gods as deities and members of the divine council (Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden, 75–77). Pfeiffer maintains that the stars in Judg 5:20 are quite plainly gods (or their astral representations), who slay the Canaanite army; how they accomplish this is left unstated. There is no precipitation actually mentioned, and the role of the Kishon is not to fight but only to wash away the corpses of the slain enemy. Pfeiffer is correct, of course, to highlight the divine status of the stars. There is little indication in the Levant of the Iron Age or before that would identify them as anything else. Completely denying the association of the flooding Kishon with the activity of the stars is more difficult, however. It is true that, unlike ‫ָבים‬ ִ ‫הַּכֹוכ‬, the wadi is not the subject of the verb ‫ִלחָמּו‬ ְ ‫נ‬, nor is rain explicitly indicated in the passage. That the Kishon is an agent unto itself is not to be doubted, but I find it questionable that the author would have conceived of the wadi flooding without significant rainfall, and the implied audience would have made the connection as well. 32. Weinfeld, for example, in light of other texts, understands Judg 5:20 as referring to a comet (“Divine Intervertion,”127–31). This could be the appropriate understanding for the parallels that Weinfeld cites (the Gebel Barkal Stele and a poetic stele of Thutmoses III; Illiad 4.75–79; Homeric hymn To Apollo 440–42). However, in contrast to these other texts, if the stars in Judg 5:20 are being described as moving, it is only from their normal positions/paths that they are doing so. The assumption in Judg 5:20, then, is that the stars have a regular, expected path from which they deviate, unlike a comet (or shooting star for that matter), whose path is irregular by definition. 33. Albani, “Kannst du die Sternbilder,” 174; idem, Der eine Gott, 186–87. 34. §5.2.1.2 and especially §5.5.3. See also the brief critique by Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden, 74–76.

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the weather cycle in the Levant is remarkably regular and that the onset of the rainy season was coordinated on some level with astronomical phenomena. 35 Moreover, in Judg 5:4–5, Yahweh is described as the triumphant storm god; it is less certain, however, whether the precipitation is supposed to be understood as the beginning of the winter rainy season. A thunderstorm (that is, Yahweh’s theophany) could occur at any time during the rainy season and need not be tied only to its beginning, as one would expect if it were to be coordinated with the heliacal rising/setting of specific stars. Moreover, the engagement of the stars and flooding Kishon in Judges 5 needs to be understood as something exceptional; otherwise, it would not be worth noting. Most importantly, 2 Sam 11:1 and 1 Kgs 20:22, 26 place the standard time of the year when military campaigning begins at the beginning of spring (‫ַּׁשנָה‬ ָ ‫ּתׁשּובַת ה‬, ְ literally, “the turn of the year”), that is, the beginning of the dry season, not the winter rainy season; we should assume that the confrontation in Judges 5 shares this military scheduling. In light of this, I maintain that the stars, in volunteering to fight like the various tribes that rally under Deborah, leave their territories (that is, their normal paths, ‫ָּלֹותם‬ ָ ‫)מס‬, ִ positioning themselves in a specific celestial position that results in precipitation at an abnormal time of the year, in the dry season. 36 The precipitation quite literally armed the Kishon, which was actively participating in the conflict as well, allowing the wadi to flood and engage the Canaanite kings tactically. Even if the actual tactics employed by the stars are unstated, the astral agents nonetheless join forces somehow with the wadi Kishon, thereby forming a coalition, as the tribes have done, to engage the forces of Sisera. The absence of any reference to Yahweh’s tactical encounter with the enemies in the song (in contrast to Joshua 10) is rather notable: while there is a great deal of Sturm und Drang associated with Yahweh (vv. 4–5), and the victory is also ascribed to the deity (vv. 3, 11, 23), the actual combat takes place between the enemy on the one side and a handful of tribes, the stars, and the wadi Kishon on the other. Thus, in the concluding verse of the song (v. 31a; taken by most to be a later addition), Yahweh’s allies are likened to another celestial body—namely, the rising sun, in a martial sense: ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ִּב ְגבֻרָתֹו‬ ֶ ‫הבָיו ְּכצֵאת ה‬ ֲֹ ‫אבדּו כָל־אֹו ְיבֶיךָ יְהוָה ְוא‬ ְ ֹ ‫ּכֵן י‬, “Thus, all of your enemies will perish, O Yahweh, while those who love you are like the rising of the sun in his power.” 37 When the sun rises, the stars become invis35. For example, see the etymology of the constellation name ‫עָׁש‬/‫ ַעיִׁש‬, §5.2.1.4. 36. This is similar to Barnabas Lindars’s suggestion, that the stars rearrange themselves, “taking up their positions to send rain on the scene of action” (Judges 1–5: A New Translation and Commentary [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1995] 269). What Lindars is missing, however, is that the new position is not based on proximity to the conflict, such as immediately above the wadi, but on calendrical expectations. 37. Gross, Richter, 341.

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ible. The sun’s “power,” ‫ּגְבּורָה‬, literally sweeps away the stars from the sky, just as the tribes of Israel, aided by the stars and the wadi Kishon, sweep away the Canaanite army from the land. When the song is contextualized within the larger corpus of the DtrH, it is reframed by Deuteronomic theology in general and by the prose account offered in Judges 4 in particular. The stars, as we have seen above, are reluctantly recognized as the gods of the nations in the DtrH. Though they are not to be adored by members of Yahweh’s covenant, they still have an active role to play in Israelite religion. The stars are lively participants in Yahweh’s court and army. 38 And this is how the stars in Judg 5:20 should be understood, as part of the DtrH: they act as faithful servants of their sovereign and fight his battle in his name. Even within the narrow theological vision of the DtrH, the stars are not merely Yahweh’s tools, nor do they metaphorically represent the god, nor are they some sort of hypostatic embodiment of Yahweh’s martial powers. Rather, the stars are powerful agents in and of themselves who, when called for, are willing to do Yahweh’s martial bidding. They are active, conscious combatants in the conflict against the enemies of Yahweh’s people. Although the stars are members of Yahweh’s court, the fact that the stars are noted to fight “from their courses,” ‫לֹותם‬ ָ ‫מ ְּמ ִס‬, ִ indicates that they have specific positions, even portions (dare I say, “inheritances”?) in the sky that belong, on some level, to them. This also adds to the active portrait that the author is painting. Thus, the kings of Canaan have their coalition composed of kings of various cities, who fight willingly alongside each other (v. 19). Yahweh does as well, and comprises both human tribes and cosmic forces (v. 20). Since the assumption is that the stars serve as the gods of the nations (the very nations against which they are fighting), the fact that they are nevertheless cast as Yahweh’s dutiful vassals serves the Deuteronomistic agenda of the redactor quite well, which is that Yahweh’s sovereignty demands unquestioning loyalty. However, despite the reluctant acceptance in the DtrH that the stars are active agents, even gods, it is interesting that in the prose midrash of the song in Judges 4, the stars are not mentioned at all, nor is the flooding of the Ki­ shon. Although their participation in the engagement needs to be assumed in the prose account, the Deuteronomistic writer chose not to highlight the crucial role that these cosmic agents played. 39 Chapter 4’s textual priority and the manner in which it portrays the divine intervention—that is, intermediated entirely through the Yahweh-adoring humans Deborah, Barak, and Jael—further serves to qualify the stars’ agentive role. 38. Patrick D. Miller Jr., The Divine Warrior in Ancient Israel (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1973) 21–23; Zatelli, “Astrology,” 94; M. S. Smith, The Early History of God, 81. 39. Guillaume, Waiting for Josiah, 31–32.

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6.5.  The Shadow on the Steps of Ahaz Two versions of a story involving the miraculous healing of King Hezekiah, both of which include a confirmatory sign involving what is possibly a celestial phenomenon, are recounted in 2 Kgs 20:1–11 and Isa 38:1–8, 21–22. The relationship between the two passages in terms of priority is a matter of some debate. A number of scholars argue for the priority of the Isaian accounts. 40 Others posit that the two parallel biblical accounts are derived from a third independent source. 41 In my discussion here, I concede to the general consensus, that Isaiah 38 is based on the Kings account, though I recognize that there have been critiques of this position. 42

6.5.1.  2 Kings 20:1–11 Placed immediately after the account of the miraculous lifting of Sennacherib’s siege of Jerusalem, 2 Kgs 20:1–11 recounts a severe illness of King Hezekiah and his healing by Isaiah: ‫ָביא וַּיֹאמֶר ֵאלָיו‬ ִ ‫ְקּיָהּו לָמּות ַוּיָבֹא ֵאלָיו יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו בֶן־אָמֹוץ ַהּנ‬ ִ ‫ָמים ָההֵם ָחלָה ִחז‬ ִ ‫ַּבּי‬ ֶ ‫ּכֹה־ ָאמַר יְהוָה צַו ְלב‬ ‫ַּתה ְולֹא ִת ְחיֶה׃‬ ָ ‫ֵיתךָ ִּכי מֵת א‬ ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ִת ַּפּלֵל אֶל־יְהוָה לֵאמֹר׃ ָאּנָה יְהוָה ְזכָר־נָא אֵת א‬ ְ ‫ַוּיַּסֵב אֶת־ ָּפנָיו אֶל־ה ִַּקיר ַוּי‬ ‫ְקּיָהּו ְּב ִכי גָדֹול׃‬ ִ ‫יתי ַוּי ְֵבּךְ ִחז‬ ִ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ׁשלֵם ְוהַּטֹוב ְּבעֵינֶיךָ ע‬ ָ ‫ּוב ֵלבָב‬ ְ ‫אמֶת‬ ֱ ‫ִה ְת ַהּל ְַכ ִּתי ְל ָפנֶיךָ ֶּב‬ ‫ס‬ ‫ּודבַר־יְהוָה ָהיָה ֵאלָיו לֵאמֹר׃ ׁשּוב‬ ְ ‫ָעיר [ ָחצֵר] ה ִַּתיכֹנָה‬ ִ ‫ְהי יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו לֹא יָצָא ה‬ ִ ‫ַוי‬ ָ‫ָתך‬ ֶ ‫ֶת־ּת ִפּל‬ ְ ‫ׁשמ ְַע ִּתי א‬ ִ ‫ְקּיָהּו נ ְִגיד־ע ִַּמי ּכֹה־ ָאמַר יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵי ָּדִוד א‬ ָ ָ‫ָביך‬ ִ ‫ֶל־חז‬ ִ ‫ְו ָאמ ְַר ָּת א‬ ְ ‫ָתךָ ִה ְננִי רֹפֶא ל‬ ָ‫יׁשי ּתַ עֲלֶה ּבֵית יְהוָה׃ ְוהֹס ְַפ ִּתי עַל־יָמֶיך‬ ֶ ‫ֶת־ּד ְמע‬ ִ ‫יתי א‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ִל‬ ְ ‫ָך ּבַּיֹום ה‬ ִ ‫ָא‬ ִ‫ר‬ ְ ‫ּומּכַף ֶמל‬ ְ ‫ֶך־ ַאּשּׁור א ִַּצ‬ ‫ָעיר הַּזֹאת‬ ִ ‫ַּנֹותי עַל־ה‬ ִ ‫ָעיר הַּזֹאת ְוג‬ ִ ‫ילךָ ְואֵת ה‬ ִ ‫ׁשנָה‬ ָ ‫ֶׂשרֵה‬ ְ ‫חמֵׁש ע‬ ֲ ‫ָׂשימּו עַל־‬ ִ ‫ִקחּו ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ּול ַמעַן ָּדִוד ע ְַב ִּדי׃ וַּיֹאמֶר יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו ְקחּו ְּד ֶבלֶת ְּת ֵאנִים ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ְל ַמעֲנִי‬ 40. K. A. D. Smelik, “Distortion of Old Testament Prophecy: The Purpose of Isaiah xxxvi and xxxvii,” OTS 24 (1986) 70–93; and C. R. Seitz, Zion’s Final Destiny: The De­ velopment of the Book of Isaiah: A Reassessment of Isaiah 36–39 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991) 149–91; J. Vermeylen, “Hypothèses sur l’origine d’Isaïe 36–39,” in Studies in the Book of Isaiah: Festrschrift Willem A. M. Beuken (ed. J. van Ruiten and M. Vervenne; BETL 132; Leuven: Peeters, 1997) 95–118. 41. For examples, see A. Laato, “Hezekiah and the Assyrian Crisis in 701 bc,” SJOT 2 (1987) 49–68; and Rimon Kasher, “The Sitz im Buch of the Story of Hezekiah’s Illness and Cure (II Reg 20,1–11; Isa 38,1–22),” ZAW 113 (2001) 41–55. 42. Sweeney, in particular, offers a thorough and convincing argument in favor of the priority of the Kings account (Marvin Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39 with Introduction to Prophetic Literature [FOTL 16; Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996] 496–502). See also C. Jeremias, “Zu Jes. xxxviii 21f,” VT 21 (1971) 104–11; Mordecai Cogan and Hayim Tadmor, II Kings: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB 11; New York: Doubleday, 1988) 256–57; H. G. M. Williamson, “Hezekiah and the Temple,” in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran (ed. Michael Fox et al.; Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996) 47–52.

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‫ֶחי׃‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ִחין ַוּי‬ ְ‫ה‬ ‫יׁשי ּבֵית‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ִל‬ ְ ‫יתי ּבַּיֹום ה‬ ִ ‫ָל‬ ִ ‫ְקּיָהּו אֶל־יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו מָה אֹות ִּכי־י ְִרּפָא יְהוָה ִלי ְוע‬ ִ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר ִחז‬ ‫יְהוָה׃‬ ֶ ‫ֲׂשה יְהוָה אֶת־הַָּדבָר א‬ ֶ ‫ֶה־ּלךָ הָאֹות ֵמאֵת יְהוָה ִּכי יַע‬ ְ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו ז‬ ‫ֲׁשר ִּדּבֵר ָהל ְַך‬ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות׃‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות ִאם־יָׁשּוב ע‬ ֶ ‫ַהּצֵל ע‬ ‫ֶׂשר‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות לֹא ִכי יָׁשּוב ַהּצֵל אֲחֹרַ ּנִית ע‬ ֶ ‫ְקּיָהּו נָקֵל ַלּצֵל ִלנְטֹות ע‬ ִ ‫ְחז‬ ִ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר י‬ ‫ָר ָדה‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר י‬ ֶ ‫ָׁשב אֶת־ ַהּצֵל ַּב ַּמעֲלֹות א‬ ֶ ‫ָביא אֶל־יְהוָה ַוּי‬ ִ ‫ִקרָא יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו ַהּנ‬ ְ ‫ַמעֲלֹות׃ ַוּי‬ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות׃ פ‬ ֶ ‫ְּב ַמעֲלֹות ָאחָז אֲחֹרַ ּנִית ע‬ In those days, Hezekiah became mortally ill, and Isaiah, son of Amoz, the prophet, came to him. He said to him, “Thus Yahweh has said: ‘Order your house for you are about to die and you will not recover.’” He turned his face to the wall and prayed to Yahweh, saying, “Please, Yahweh, remember how I walked before you truthfully and wholeheartedly, and the good I did in your eyes!” And Hezekiah wept greatly. Isaiah had not left the central courtyard when the word of Yahweh came to him, saying, “Return and say to Hezekiah, leader of my people, ‘Thus Yahweh, the god of your father David, has said: I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears. I heal you! In three days you’ll ascend to the House of Yahweh. I am adding fifteen years to your days, and from the hand of the king of Assyria I will rescue you and this city. And I will hedge in this city for my sake and the sake of David my servant.’” Isaiah then said, “Get a fig cake.” They got one and placed it on the boil, and he recovered. Then Hezekiah said to Isaiah, “What is a sign that Yahweh will heal me and that I will ascend to the House of Yahweh?” Isaiah said, “This is the sign for you from Yahweh that Yahweh will do the thing which he said. The shadow has gone (forward) ten steps. Should it return ten steps?” Hezekiah said, “It was easy for the shadow to spread over ten steps; instead, the shadow should not return ten steps!” Isaiah the prophet called to Yahweh, and he made the shadow return on the steps that it 43 had descended, on the steps of Ahaz, backward ten steps.

As Cohn noted, the scene described follows a type-scene in which an ailing monarch is attended by a prophet, who provides an oracle regarding the outcome of the illness. 44 More importantly, the nature of the miracle in this passage has often been compared with the cessation of solar and lunar movement 43. The gender of the ‫ָר ָדה‬ ְ ‫ י‬is a problem in both this passage and the parallel passage in Isa 38:8. Other than assuming that the noun ‫ צֵל‬is grammatically feminine both here and in the Isaiah passage but masculine in 20:9–10, I see no easy solution to the issue. Cogan and Tadmor, on the other hand, conclude that the subject is the unstated ‫ׁשמֶׁש‬ ֶ (“sun”), which can sometimes be grammatically feminine (2 Kings, 255–56). 44. Robert L. Cohn, “Convention and Creativity in the Book of Kings: The Case of the Dying Monarch,” CBQ 47 (1985) 603–16.

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initiated by Joshua in Joshua 10, a similarity that I will bring to bear on my analysis below. Immediately pertinent to my discussion here, however, is the timekeeping structure, described as (‫“( ַמעֲלֹות ) ָאחָז‬the steps [of Ahaz]”) and, more importantly, the shadow phenomenon described. It is possible that the structure itself was somehow related originally to astroreligious observance, as the textual variants (the LXX and 1QIsaa) of the parallel passage in MT Isaiah 38 seem to indicate—a matter that I will address in my discussion of Isaiah 38 below. In 2 Kings 20, however, the structure seems to be functioning merely as a timekeeping device. A similar device, which marks the passage of time during the day by casting a shadow on several flights of steps, is known from New Kingdom Egypt. 45 This rather convincing Egyptian parallel was first associated with the ‫ ַמעֲלֹות‬by Yadin. 46 However, it should be noted that the 2 Kings text is vague enough that it could be that the DtrH conceived of the ‫ ַמעֲלֹות‬simply as a flight of stairs. 47 Regarding the specific phenomenon displayed on the device, it is usually supposed that the reader must assume that the shadow moving 45. R. W. Sloley, “Primitive Methods of Measuring Time: With Special Reference to Egypt,” JEA 17 (1930) 166–78 (especially pp. 172–73). 46. Yigael Yadin, “‫מעלות אחז‬,” ErIsr 5 (Mazar Volume; 1958) 91–96 (English summary, pp. *88–*89). For an updated discussion of this device, including the way it might have functioned, see Miano, Shadow on the Steps, 13–19. 47. Volkmar Fritz, for one, makes no reference to the ‫ ַמעֲלֹות‬as a dedicated timekeeping device (1 & 2 Kings: A Continental Commentary (trans. Anselm Hagedorn; Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003) 382. Yadin, too, despite the fact that he describes the steps’ function by means of an Egyptian analog, maintains that the steps of Ahaz were nonetheless a simple flight of stairs that also served the purpose of timekeeping (Yadin, “‫מעלות אחז‬,” 96). Recently, Jaap van Dorp argues that the plane of the sundial (which is what he argues it was, not simply a flight of stairs) was merely manipulated to achieve the retrograde effect of the shadow (“The Prayer of Isaiah and the Sundial of Ahaz [2 Kings 20:11],” in Psalms and Prayers: Papers Read to the Joint Meeting of the Society for Old Testament Study and Het Oud Testamentisch Werkgezelschap in Nederland en België, Apeldoorn August 2006 [ed. H. G. L. Peels et al.; Leiden: Brill, 2007] 253–65). It is hard to see how such a thing would be considered an exceptional sign, of course, and it would have been impossible manage if the device in question was a flight of stairs that was an integral part of a building. In a similar rationalizing vein, Margaret Barker suggests that the biblical description of the retrograding shadow was based on an actual observation of partial solar eclipse in 700 b.c.e.; the biblical author simply meant to indicate “that the shadow did not complete its usual movement” (“Hezekiah’s Boil,” JSOT 95 [2001] 40). The biblical account, however, is rather clear about the usual motion expected of the shadow and the abnormal motion. It is hard to imagine a partial solar eclipse’s being so poorly described.

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backward is a result of the sun’s altering its normal course and retrograding. 48 Nevertheless, quite conspicuously, the text itself makes no reference whatsoever to any celestial phenomenon, unlike the Isaiah parallel, which mentions the sun twice in 38:8. Though most commentators gloss over this subtle difference, I maintain that the fact that the sun is not noted was not an oversight by the DtrH who chose to incorporate this story into his account of Hezekiah’s reign. Rather, he conceived of the event as the shadow’s moving backward, entirely without any concomitant solar irregularity. To be sure, a shadow cast in a certain direction with no discernible movement of light source would itself be extraordinary enough to qualify as a confirmative sign from the deity. But to comprehend the meaning of the absence of an operative role for the sun here, I think we need to read this story in conversation with Joshua 10. My reading of Joshua 10 above suggests that the result of the sun and moon’s standing still and the coordinated deaths of the Amorite kings was fundamentally linked with a chronological resetting of the land’s sovereignty. The sovereignty of the land in Joshua was understood as having both human and divine aspects. Joshua and the Israelites captured hegemony from the land’s native kings, while simultaneously, Yahweh asserted his authority over the land’s deities—namely, the sun and the moon. These issues are again at stake in 2 Kings 20. It is not a coincidence that the previous chapter contains the account of Sennacherib’s siege of Jerusalem. Hezekiah’s imminent death, which 20:1 informs us was concurrent with the siege, would result in the collapse of the Davidic Dynasty and Yahweh’s authority. Verse 6 states unequivocally that Yahweh heals Hezekiah and lengthens his reign in order to protect Jerusalem for his own sake and David’s—that is, for the House of Yahweh and the House of David (compare 2 Kgs 37:35), the twin symbols of human and divine sovereignty in the land. 49 In 2 Kings 20, interpreted in light of Joshua 10, Yahweh reasserts his primacy in the land above the gods of the nations. Just as in Joshua 10, the divine agent, this time Yahweh, not the sun, responds to a human initiative. Isaiah invokes Yahweh to send the shadow backward. The sun, a legitimate foreign god in the DtrH’s theology, is not mentioned here because he no longer has authority over the land or its kings. Rather, Yahweh, the land’s true sovereign god, is the unstated source of the light that causes the shadow on the steps. Indeed, Hezekiah’s request for a sign revolves not only around his recuperation but also 48. Thus Cogan and Tadmor, for example, actually add the word “sun” to their translation (2 Kings, 253, and comments on pp. 255–56). 49. Marvin Sweeney, I & II Kings: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007) 420–21.

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around whether the king himself will again “ascend to the House of Yahweh” (20:8). Thus, Yahweh, not the sun, is the light source, while Hezekiah, not the sun, is the body that will rise. Though we cannot entirely dismiss the idea that this tradition is ultimately derived from a source that identified Yahweh with the sun, within its Deuteronomistic context, Yahweh’s role as the manipulator of the shadow is part of a larger ideology set against the validity of astral religion for the members of his covenant. 50

6.5.2.  Isaiah 38:1–8, 21–22 As noted, Isaiah 38 contains a parallel account to 2 Kings 20: ‫ָביא וַּיֹאמֶר ֵאלָיו‬ ִ ‫ְקּיָהּו לָמּות ַוּיָבֹוא ֵאלָיו יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו בֶן־אָמֹוץ ַהּנ‬ ִ ‫ָמים ָההֵם ָחלָה ִחז‬ ִ ‫ַּבּי‬ ֶ ‫ּכֹה־ ָאמַר יְהוָה צַו ְלב‬ ‫ַּתה ְולֹא ִת ְחיֶה׃‬ ָ ‫ֵיתךָ ִּכי מֵת א‬ ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ִת ַּפּלֵל אֶל־יְהוָה׃ וַּיֹאמַר ָאּנָה יְהוָה ְזכָר־נָא אֵת א‬ ְ ‫ְקּיָהּו ָּפנָיו אֶל־ה ִַּקיר ַוּי‬ ִ ‫ַוּיַּסֵב ִחז‬ ָ ָ ‫ְקּיָהּו ְּב ִכי גָדֹול׃‬ ִ ‫יתי ַוּי ְֵבּךְ ִחז‬ ִ ‫ָׂש‬ ִ ‫ׁשלֵם ְוהַּטֹוב ְּבעֵינֶיך ע‬ ָ ‫ּובלֵב‬ ְ ‫אמֶת‬ ֱ ‫ִה ְת ַהּל ְַכ ִּתי ְל ָפנֶיך ֶּב‬ ‫ס‬ ְ ‫ְהי ְּדבַר־יְהוָה אֶל־יְׁשַ ְעיָהּו לֵאמֹר׃ ה‬ ‫ְקּיָהּו ּכֹה־ ָאמַר יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵי‬ ִ ‫ֶל־חז‬ ִ ‫ָלֹוך ְו ָאמ ְַר ָּת א‬ ִ ‫ַוי‬ ֶ ‫ֶת־ּד ְמע‬ ִ ‫יתי א‬ ֶ ‫ֶת־ּת ִפּל‬ ְ ‫ׁשמ ְַע ִּתי א‬ ִ ‫ָּדִוד א‬ ‫ֶׂשרֵ ה‬ ְ ‫חמֵׁש ע‬ ֲ ָ‫יֹוסף עַל־יָמֶיך‬ ִ ‫ָתךָ ִה ְננִי‬ ִ ‫ָא‬ ִ ‫ָתךָ ר‬ ָ ָ‫ָביך‬ ְ ָ‫ֶה־ּלך‬ ָ ְ ‫ָעיר הַּזֹאת׃ ְוז‬ ְ ‫ּומּכַף ֶמלֶך־ ַאּשּׁור א ִַּצ‬ ִ ‫ַּנֹותי עַל־ה‬ ִ ‫ָעיר הַּזֹאת ְוג‬ ִ ‫ילך ְואֵת ה‬ ִ ‫ׁשנָה׃‬ ָ ‫ֵׁשיב אֶת־צֵל‬ ִ ‫ֲׁשר ִּדּבֵר׃ ִה ְננִי מ‬ ֶ ‫ֲׂשה יְהוָה אֶת־הַָּדבָר ַהּזֶה א‬ ֶ ‫ֲׁשר יַע‬ ֶ ‫הָאֹות ֵמאֵת יְהוָה א‬ ‫ָר ָדה ְב ַמעֲלֹות ָאחָז‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר י‬ ֶ ‫ַה ַּמעֲלֹות א‬ ‫ָר ָדה׃‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר י‬ ֶ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות ַּב ַּמעֲלֹות א‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ע‬ ֶ ‫ׁשב ה‬ ָ ‫ֶׂשר ַמעֲלֹות ו ַָּת‬ ֶ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש אֲחֹרַ ּנִית ע‬ ֶ ‫ּב‬ . . . . ‫ְקּיָהּו מָה אֹות‬ ִ ‫ֶחי׃ וַּיֹאמֶר ִחז‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ִחין ְוי‬ ְ ‫ִמ ְרחּו עַל־ה‬ ְ ‫ִׂשאּו ְּד ֶבלֶת ְּת ֵאנִים ְוי‬ ְ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר יְׁשַ ְעיָהו י‬ ‫ִּכי ֶאעֱלֶה ּבֵית יְהוָה׃‬ In those days Hezekiah became mortally ill, and Isaiah, son of Amoz, the prophet, came to him. He said to him, “Thus Yahweh has said: ‘Order your house for you are about to die and you will not recover.’” Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to Yahweh. He said, “Please, Yahweh, remember how I walked before you truthfully and whole-heartedly, and the good I did in your eyes!” And Hezekiah wept greatly. The word of Yahweh came to Isaiah, saying, “Go and say to Hezekiah, ‘Thus Yahweh, the god of your father David, has said: I have heard your prayer. I have seen your tears. I myself am adding 51 fifteen years to your days, and from the hand of the king of Assyria I will rescue you and this city. And I will hedge in this city. This is the sign for you from Yahweh that Yahweh will do the thing that he said. I am returning the shadow of the steps that descended on the steps of Ahaz by the sun backward ten steps.” And the sun returned ten steps on the steps that it had descended. . . . 50. Taylor, Yahweh and the Sun, 168–72. 51. Reading the Hiphil imperfect 3ms as a Qal 1ms active participle: ‫יֹוסֵף‬.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature

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Isaiah then said, “They should bring a fig cake and press it on the boil, so he will recover.” Then Hezekiah said, “What is a sign that Yahweh will heal me and that I will ascend to the House of Yahweh?”

There are several minor and a few major differences between the two accounts, most of which I do not intend to address here. It is worth mentioning in general, however, that the Isaianic modifications of the parallel passage in 2 Kings tend to serve the purpose of idealizing Hezekiah as a paradigm of piety and Yahwistic devotion. The most obvious difference in the account at hand and the difference that has traditionally grabbed the most attention from commentators is that in Isaiah 38, as in 2 Kings 20, Hezekiah requests a sign to confirm his recovery and his eventual ascent to the House of Yahweh, but this request is placed well after the account (38:21–22). As a result, the request is utterly dissociated from the actual sign of the retrograding shadow. 52 Instead, Yahweh offers the confirming sign without entreaty; it is neither requested by Hezekiah, nor is it initiated by the prophet. A second difference, usually considered relatively minor by scholars, is that the sun is explicitly mentioned as casting the retrograding shadow in Isa 38:8, while it is not mentioned at all in 2 Kings 20. Particularly interesting is the fact that the Isaianic redactor notes that it was the sun that cast the shadow and that, therefore, it was actually the sun, not merely the shadow, that moved backward. It is possible that the redactor merely wanted to clarify the reason the shadow moved, naming the sun, thereby making explicit what he considered to be implicit. This seems unlikely, however, since most of the alterations of the Kings text that he offers seem to serve his own specific rhetorical purposes. In light of his otherwise attested agendas, it could be that the redactor, in an attempt to increase the scale of the miracle, added the datum that it was really an alteration of the sun’s path that caused the shadow’s retrogradation, which, in turn, was initiated by Yahweh and was offered directly to the king with only minimal mediation by the prophet. Related to this reading, however, is another option that is contingent on dating the incorporation of this narrative into the Isaianic corpus during or soon after the Babylonian Exile, as Sweeney maintains. 53 The reliance of Isaiah 36–39 on 2 Kings, including the reference to the exile in chap. 39, dates the text’s inclusion in the Isaian corpus to this time at the earliest. This historical context, it is important to recognize, was well after the perceived threat of native 52. Williamson suggests that the transposition of Hezekiah’s request in Isaiah 38 was a deliberate effort properly to contextualize Hezekiah’s psalm (38:10–20) in an effort to create a message of restoration (“Hezekiah’s Temple,” 51–52). 53. Sweeney, Isaiah 1–39, 501–2.

310

Chapter 6

Canaanite-Israelite astral religion had more or less waned, including the association of Yahweh with the sun. However, astral religion—Babylonian astral religion—was a concern in the exile. In this milieu, the Isaian redactor may have included a reference to the sun to magnify Yahweh’s power and to make clear that the Israelite god is in fact sovereign over the astral feature. Relevant to this reconstruction is the witness to this passage provided by 1QIsaa, in which the retrogression of the shadow is said to take place not merely on the steps of Ahaz but ‫ֲלּיַת ָאחָז‬ ִ ‫“( ְב ַמעֲלֹות ע‬on the steps of the upper chamber of Ahaz”). 54 The same ‫ֲלּיַת ָאחָז‬ ִ ‫ ע‬is mentioned in the account of Josiah’s destruction of traditional worship centers located in Yahweh’s Temple complex in Jerusalem (2 Kgs 23:11–12): ‫ׁשּכַת נְתַ ן־‬ ְ ‫ֶל־ל‬ ִ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש ִמּבֹא בֵית־יְהוָה א‬ ֶ ‫ְהּודה ל‬ ָ ‫ָתנּו מ ְַלכֵי י‬ ְ ‫ֲׁשר נ‬ ֶ ‫ַּסּוסים א‬ ִ ‫ַׁשּבֵת אֶת־ה‬ ְ ‫ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ֶמל‬ ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ְּבחֹות א‬ ְ ‫ׂשרַ ף ָּבאֵׁש׃ ְואֶת־ה ִַּמז‬ ָ ‫ַּׁשמֶׁש‬ ֶ ‫ָרים ְואֶת־מ ְַר ְּכבֹות ה‬ ִ‫ֲׁשר ַּבּפ ְַרו‬ ֶ ‫ָריס א‬ ִ‫ֶך ַהּס‬ ‫ׁשּתֵ י‬ ְ ‫ַּׁשה ִּב‬ ֶ ‫ָׂשה ְמנ‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר־ע‬ ֶ ‫ְּבחֹות א‬ ְ ‫ְהּודה ְואֶת־ה ִַּמז‬ ָ ‫ֲׁשר־עָׂשּו מ ְַלכֵי י‬ ֶ ‫ֲלּיַת ָאחָז א‬ ִ ‫עַל־ ַהּגָג ע‬ ְ ‫ׁש ִל‬ ְ ‫ח ְַצרֹות ּבֵית־יְהוָה נָתַ ץ ַה ֶּמל‬ ‫יך אֶת־עֲפָרָם אֶל־נַחַל ִק ְדרֹון׃‬ ָ ‫ֶך ַוּיָרָץ ִמ‬ ְ ‫ּׁשם ְו ִה‬ He removed the horses that the kings of Judah had installed for the sun from the entrance of the House of Yahweh, at the hall of Nathanmelech, the eunuch, which is in the court; while he burned the chariots of the sun with fire. As for the altars that were on the roof of the upper chamber of Ahaz, which the kings of Judah had made, and the altars that Manasseh had made in the two courtyards of the House of Yahweh, the king tore them down. Then he broke them to pieces there 55 and cast their debris into the Wadi Kidron.

The textual witness of 1QIsaa makes it explicit that the ‫ ַמעֲלֹות‬as described in Isaiah 38 are to be understood as an architectural feature. Furthermore, since in 2 Kgs 23:11–12 the DtrH mentions Ahaz’s upper chamber in the same breath as the horses and chariots of the sun, it seems that this very structure was constructed with the specific intention of providing a place for astral worship. This characterization is reinforced by the datum that there were altars on the roof of the structure, presumably erected for the adoration of astral deities as in Jer 19:13. 56 The author of 2 Kings had no desire to place Hezekiah’s Yahwistic miracle in Ahaz’s astroreligious structure, since it would have highlighted the fact that it was still in operation during the king’s reign and, more impor54. The validity of the Qumran reading appears to be reinforced by the LXX, which renders the phrase ἀναβαθμοὺς τοῦ οἴκου τοῦ πατρός σου (“the steps of the house of your father”), referring, it seems, to 2 Kgs 23:12, which mentions a structure built by Hezekiah’s father, Ahaz (Samuel Iwry, “The Qumrân Isaiah and the End of the Dial of Ahaz,” BASOR 147 [1957] 33). 55. Reading the MT’s ‫ּׁשם‬ ָ ‫ָרץ ִמ‬ ָ ‫“( ַוּי‬and he ran from there”) as ‫ׁשם‬ ָ ‫ ַוּיְרַ ּצֵם‬in accordance with the textual emendation offered by the editors of BHS. See the rsv and the nrsv; but compare jps, “he removed them quickly from there.” 56. See also Jer 32:19.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature

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tantly, might have contributed to the argument that Yahweh could indeed be equated with the sun. The Isaian redactor of these passages, however, was less concerned with countering native Canaanite-Israelite religious traditions and more concerned, like Deutero-Isaiah, with presenting an image of Yahweh as dominating the whole cosmos, including the sun. This domination included, of course, foreign lands and the sacred spaces dedicated to (non-)deities. In sum, Isa 38:1–8, 21–22, similar to its Deuteronomistic counterpart, addresses astroreligious concerns. However, unlike 2 Kings 20, the main concern is not Israel’s native celestial traditions but the problems posed in exile in Mesopotamia. Thus, the anti-astroreligious rhetoric—once used to engage in an internecine dispute among Israelites and Judahites in the land—was redeployed against a different (Babylonian) target. Lifted from its Deuteronomistic milieu, as well, is the redactor’s chronological concern, which was in its former context connected to the issue of sovereignty in the land. The Isaian redactor redirects this concern by inserting the psalm immediately after the report of the sun’s retreat; this frames the chronological significance of the sun’s retrogradation and the extension of the monarch’s lifespan (Isa 38:10–13): ‫אנִי ָאמ ְַר ִּתי ִּב ְד ִמי יָמַי ֵא ֵלכָה‬ ֲ ‫נֹותי׃‬ ָ ‫ׁש‬ ְ ‫ֶתר‬ ֶ ‫ׁשאֹול ּפֻּקַ ְד ִּתי י‬ ְ ‫ְּבׁשַ עֲרֵי‬ ‫ֶראֶה יָּה יָּה ְּב ֶארֶץ ַה ַחּיִים‬ ְ ‫ָאמ ְַר ִּתי לֹא־א‬ ‫ָדל׃‬ ֶ ‫ם־יֹוׁשבֵי ח‬ ְ ‫ָדם עֹוד ִע‬ ָ ‫לֹא־א ִַּביט א‬ ‫ִגלָה ִמּנִי ְּכאֹהֶל ר ִֹעי ִקּפ ְַד ִּתי‬ ְ ‫ּדֹורי ִנּסַע ְונ‬ ִ ֹ ‫כָא ֵרג ַחּיַי ִמּדַ ּלָה ְיב ְַּצ ֵענִי‬ ‫ׁש ִלי ֵמנִי׃‬ ְ ַ‫ִמּיֹום עַד־ ַל ְילָה ּת‬ ‫יתי עַד־ּבֹקֶר‬ ִ ‫ׁשִּו‬ ִ ‫מֹותי‬ ָ ‫ֲרי ּכֵן יְׁשַ ּבֵר ּכָל־ע ְַצ‬ ִ‫ָּכא‬ ‫ׁש ִלי ֵמנִי׃‬ ְ ַ‫ִמּיֹום עַד־ ַל ְילָה ּת‬ I had said, at the halting of my days I must go. In the gates of Sheol, I will account the rest of my days. I had said, I will not see Yah, Yah in the land of the living. I will not look at a person among the inhabitants of living (world). 57 My lifespan 58 has departed, and it has been pulled off me.

57. Emending ‫ָדל‬ ֶ ‫ח‬, which is a hapax, to ‫ ֶחלֶד‬, “life(span), generation”; cf. Ps 49:2: ‫ׁשבֵי ָחלֶד‬ ְ ֹ ‫ ;ּכָל־י‬see also Job 11:17; Ps 17:14, 39:6, 89:48 (Barré, The Lord Has Saved Me, 65–66). But see also Beuken, who maintains that the word as it stands in the MT is correct and is a deliberate wordplay (Jesaja 28–39, 415–16). 58. Though most modern translations render ‫ּדֹורי‬ ִ “dwelling” or something similar, the ancient versions all attest the meaning “generation, life-span” (see discussion in Barré, The Lord Has Saved Me, 77–81).

312

Chapter 6 Like a shepherd’s tent, I have been 59 rolled up. As the weaver of my life, he (Yahweh) cuts me off as a thrum. From day till night he finishes me off. 60 I soothe myself(?) 61 until morning. From day till night he finishes me off.

Though significant elements of the overall psalm remain opaque, what is clear and rather striking is that the first few lines of the psalm, which immediately follow the report of the retreat of the sun, employ dense chronological terminology. The author initiates his temporal rhetoric with the phrase ‫“( ִב ְּד ִמי יָמַי‬the halting of my days,” 38:10). There is a healthy amount of debate regarding the derivation of the word ‫ד ִּמי‬.ְ  62 The phrase ‫ ִב ְּד ִמי יָמַי‬as a whole is parallel with ‫ֶתר‬ ֶ‫י‬ ‫נֹותי‬ ָ ‫ׁש‬ ְ (“the rest of my years”), and therefore should refer to a span of time. I suggest that the root from which ‫ ְד ִּמי‬derives is, in fact, ‫דמם‬. 63 This is the same root that is used to describe the halting of the sun in Josh 10:12–13, to which 2 Kgs 20:1–11/Isa 38:1–8 has frequently been likened, and the psalmist is perhaps indicating that his life has been stopped unexpectedly. Regardless of the semantic baggage that ‫ ִב ְּד ִמי יָמַי‬may carry, what follows in the psalm is a series of chronological terms: ‫ׁשנֹותַ י‬ ְ ‫ֶתר‬ ֶ ‫“( י‬the rest of my days,” 38:10), ‫“( ֶחלֶד‬lifespan,” emendation of the hapax ‫ חֶדֶל‬in 38:11), ‫ּדֹורי‬ ִ (“my generation/lifespan,” 38:12), ‫“( ִמּיֹום עַד־ ַל ְילָה‬from day till night,” 38:12, 13), ‫“( עַד־ּבֹקֶר‬till morning,” 38:13). These terms and phrases, like the psalm itself, are near to and concentrated on the individual person of the speaker. Though it is impossible completely to sever the king’s life from sovereignty issues, particularly in light of the surrounding chapters in Isaiah, the psalm uses chronological terms to address time in an entirely personal way. No mention is made in the psalm of an extended reign or its immediate results, such as a stable dynasty or a secure country. Rather, the focus is person-centered and intimate, and the result of the extended life is that the living Hezekiah will be able to offer Yahweh praise and worship in the god’s temple—something he could not do were he dead—and recount Yahweh’s beneficence to the next generation (Isa 38:18–20). This is, to be sure, in line with Isaiah’s overall characterization of Hezekiah as a model of piety. The Isaianic redactor who reformatted the Kings 59. Here, I am disregarding the MT vocalization and reading ‫ ִקּפ ְַד ִּתי‬as a Pual. 60. See also the temporal use of the root ‫ ׁשלם‬in Isa 60:20 (in the Qal) and at Qumran (CD 4:8, 10; 10:10; 4Q215 4:3). For a full discussion, see ibid., 108–9. 61. The meaning of ‫יתי‬ ִ ‫ׁשִּו‬ ִ here is not at all clear; see discussion in ibid., 111–15; and brief comments in Beuken, Jesaja 28–39, 416. 62. Barré, for example, offers “in the grief/mourning of my days” (The Lord Has Saved Me, 54–57). 63. Beuken, as well, maintains that the traditional derivation of the word is from ‫דמם‬, and he notes the similar phraseology in Ps 62:6 (‫ׁשי‬ ִ ‫ָפ‬ ְ ‫;ּדֹוּמי נ‬ ִ Jesaja 36–39, 415).

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account has redirected the chronological focus away from the DtrH’s concern for sovereignty toward simple, personal longevity issues.

6.6.  Genesis 1:14–18 The Priestly account of the creation of the cosmos in Genesis 1 is undoubtedly the most commented-upon pericope in the entire Hebrew Bible. 64 It seeks, it seems, to be comprehensive in scope, unlike other biblical creation accounts and allusions. The Priestly author dedicates a significant portion of his narrative to the creation of the sun, moon, and stars; significantly, only the creation of humanity merits more verbiage. As noted in my discussion of the Sabbath Calendar above, Genesis 1 provides the explicit statement about and justification for the 364-day calendar and its septenary character, as found in the Astronomical Book of 1 Enoch and Jubilees. 65 The fourth day of creation allowed for initiation of this calendar: ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְלה ְַב ִּדיל ּבֵין הַּיֹום ּובֵין ַה ָּל ְילָה ְוהָיּו ְלאֹתֹת‬ ָ ‫יע ה‬ ַ ‫ְהי ְמאֹרֹת ִּב ְר ִק‬ ִ ‫וַּיֹאמֶר אֱל ִֹהים י‬ ‫ְהי־כֵן׃‬ ִ ‫ָאיר עַל־ ָה ָארֶץ ַוי‬ ִ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ְלה‬ ָ ‫יע ה‬ ַ ‫ׁשנִים׃ ְוהָיּו ִל ְמאֹורֹת ִּב ְר ִק‬ ָ ‫ָמים ְו‬ ִ ‫ּולי‬ ְ ‫ֲדים‬ ִ ‫ּולמֹוע‬ ְ ‫ׁשלֶת הַּיֹום ְואֶת־‬ ֶ ‫ֶמ‬ ְ ‫ֶת־ׁשנֵי ה ְַּמאֹרֹת ַהּגְד ִֹלים אֶת־ ַהּמָאֹור ַהּגָדֹל ְלמ‬ ְ ‫ַוּיַעַׂש אֱל ִֹהים א‬ ‫ַּׁש ָמיִם‬ ָ ‫יע ה‬ ַ ‫ָבים׃ ַוּיִּתֵ ן א ָֹתם אֱל ִֹהים ִּב ְר ִק‬ ִ ‫ׁשלֶת ַה ַּל ְילָה ְואֵת הַּכֹוכ‬ ֶ ‫ֶמ‬ ְ ‫ַהּמָאֹור ה ַָּקטֹן ְלמ‬ ‫ׁש ְך ַוּי ְַרא‬ ִ ‫ְלה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ָאיר עַל־ ָה ָארֶץ׃ ְו ִל ְמׁשֹל ּבַּיֹום ּו ַב ַּל ְילָה ּולֲה ְַב ִּדיל ּבֵין הָאֹור ּובֵין הַח‬ ‫יעי׃‬ ִ ‫ְהי־בֹקֶר יֹום ְר ִב‬ ִ ‫ְהי־ ֶערֶב ַוי‬ ִ ‫אֱל ִֹהים ִּכי־טֹוב׃ ַוי‬ 64. I have no intention of providing a complete bibliography on Genesis 1; rather, I only cite the authors with whom I interact directly. For two recent monographs on the entire chapter, see Mark Smith, The Priestly Vision; and John H. Walton, Genesis 1 as Ancient Cosmology (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2011). I will also not attempt to engage in the recent discussion that identifies Genesis 1 as part of the material originating with the Holiness School; rather, for the sake of my presentation here, I simply note that Genesis 1 is part of the Priestly Torah, which includes material from P and H sources, and I refer to the person(s) who composed it as the Priestly writer or author. For this topic, see most recently Jeffrey Stackert, “Compositional Strata in the Priestly Sabbath: Exodus 31:12–17 and 35:1–3,” JHS 11 (2011) 8 (n.  26), 13–14, http://www.jhsonline​.org/ Articles/article_162.pdf. [accessed 8 May 2012] 65. See also recently, Guillaume, “Tracing the Origin.” Guillaume further maintains that the septenary scheme of the week is extended to structure the entire chronology of Genesis 1 through Joshua 5. Though I have no intention of evaluating his overall argument here, I find his statement that “it is highly unlikely that the sacred sevenday structure so obvious in Genesis 1 was not carried over into the other parts of [the Priestly Torah]” extremely compelling (“Tracing the Origin,” 17). For the reception of Gen 1:14b in certain texts of Second Temple period, see Eibert J. C. Tigchelaar, “Lights Serving as Signs for Festivals (Genesis 1:14B) in Enūma Eliš and Early Judaism,” in The Creation of Heaven and Earth: Re-interpretations of Genesis I in the Context of Juda­ ism, Ancient Philosophy, Christianity, and Modern Physics (ed. George H. van Kooten; Themes in Biblical Narrative 8; Leiden: Brill, 2005) 31–48.

314

Chapter 6 God said, “Let there be lamps in the vault of the heavens to distinguish between the day and the night, and let them be for signs, and festivals, and days and years; and let them be lamps in the vault of the heavens to illuminate above the land.” And it was so. God made the two great lamps, the large lamp to rule the day and the small lamp to rule the night, as well as the stars. God then placed the two great lamps in the vault of the sky, to illuminate above the land and to rule the day and night and to distinguish between the light and darkness. God saw that it was good. There was an evening and a morning: a fourth day.

The Sabbath Calendar and the cultus it supports are, for the Priestly writer, grounded in the very creation of the world. The Sabbath Calendar, I have argued, is a deliberate rejection of the historical luni-solar calendar of the Canaanite-Israelite traditions and, perhaps more importantly, a rejection of the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar. In this light, Genesis 1 provides a narrative charter, a mythic justification for a novel calendar based not solely on the lunar cycle but on septenary cycles that the author maintains are linked to observable solar, lunar, and astral phenomena. That these phenomena did not precisely comport in detail with the septenary ideal was a matter to be dealt with by later tradents of this calendar in the Second Temple period (§5.5.4). As Vogels notes, the creation of the celestial lights is described as unusually procedural, even for the Priestly writer; this procedure is similar to the creation of humans in Genesis 2. 66 Just as Yahweh-God makes the man and sets him in the garden in the J account (2:15), in Genesis 1 God decides to create the lamps, does so, then installs them in the sky. Like other features in creation, these lamps have a number of specific purposes. Distinguishing or separating (‫)לה ְַב ִּדיל‬ ְ between things—that is, marking saliencies—is an important theme in Genesis 1, as it is in the Priestly Torah in general. 67 The purpose of these separations in the Priestly Torah is usually, of course, to distinguish between what is holy and what is not holy and between what is clean and what is unclean. Here, the sun and moon, called ‫ְמאֹרֹת‬ (“lamps”; below, I will address the issue of the author’s intentional avoidance of the celestial bodies’ actual names), distinguish day and night. But this is not simply about counting the days and nights; the invention of the sun and moon neither creates nor allows for the passage of time, per se. After all, several days have already passed and been counted without them. Clearly, mere chronological tallying is not the issue here. What is created is the actual calendrical 66. Walter Vogels, “The Cultic and Civil Calendars of the Fourth Day of Creation (Gen 1,14b),” SJOT 11 (1997) 172. 67. Gen 1:4, 6, 7, 14, 18; Exod 26:33; Lev 1:17; 5:8; 10:10; 11:47; 20:24, 25, 26; Num 8:14; 16:9, 21.

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framework that gives the passage of time significance and allows one to separate between sacred and nonsacred times. Indeed, the term used to refer to the light in the sky, ‫מאֹרֹת‬, ְ is used in the Pentateuch to refer exclusively to the lamps  68 in the sanctuary. Just as the sanctuary lamps illumine the sanctum and allow for the sacred cultus, the cosmic lamps illumine the sacred passage of time and make the proper cultic chronological divisions possible. The lamps, ‫מאֹרֹת‬, ְ in Genesis 1, like the lamps in the sanctuary, thus serve a specific cultic purpose, which is to delineate a number of sacred times: ‫“( אֹתֹת‬signs”), ‫ֲדים‬ ִ ‫“( מֹוע‬festivals”), ‫ָמים‬ ִ‫י‬ (“days”), and ‫ׁשנִים‬ ָ (“years”). A number of recent studies have demonstrated that this is not simply a list of divisible times of the year. 69 Indeed, we should understand the meanings of ‫אֹתֹת‬, ‫ֲדים‬ ִ ‫מֹוע‬, ‫ָמים‬ ִ ‫י‬, and ‫ׁשנִים‬ ָ in Gen 1:14 exactly the same as their meanings in Leviticus 23–25. 70 The ‫אֹתֹת‬, “signs,” do not refer to omens or any unusual celestial phenomena, as is often (and awkwardly) taken to be the case, but instead, to the Sabbath itself, which is described as the sign (‫ )אֹות‬of the covenant with Israel in Exod 31:13, 17. 71 Τhe Sabbath, furthermore, leads the list of holy days in Lev 23:3. It is worth noting that the noun ‫ ׁשַ ּבָת‬is not actually used in Gen 1–2:4, even though the verbal root ‫ׁשבַת‬ ָ is employed in 2:2–3. However, just as the Priestly writer does not reveal the true name of the god of Israel (which is entrusted exclusively to Yahweh’s chosen people) to Moses until Exod 6:2, so also the name of the ‫ אֹות‬that will calendrically distinguish Yahweh’s people is not revealed 68. Exod 25:6; 27:10; 35:8, 14, 28; 39:37; Lev 24:2; Num 4:9, 16; Vogels, “The Cultic and Civil Calendars,” 175. 69. Vogels, followed by Rudolph, has shown convincingly that ‫ֲדים‬ ִ ‫ מֹוע‬does not refer merely to “seasons” but to festivals in the liturgical calendar (Vogels, ibid., 164–66; David L. Rudolph, “Festivals in Genesis 1:14,” TynBul 54 [2003] 23–40). See also, briefly, Joseph Blenkinsopp, Creation, Un-Creation, Re-Creation: A Discursive Commentary on Genesis 1–11 (London: T. & T. Clark, 2011) 21; Gordon Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC 1; Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 1987) 23; M. S. Smith, Priestly Vision, 98. 70. Contra Vogels, who, despite his astute observation that the passage is inextricably linked to the liturgical calendar, argues for a separation in 1:14 between cultic times, indicated by ‫ אֹתֹות‬and ‫ֲדים‬ ִ ‫מֹוע‬, and civil time, indicated by ‫ָמים‬ ִ ‫ י‬and ‫ׁשנִים‬ ָ (“The Cultic and Civil Calendars,” 163–80). 71. For the ‫ אֹתֹת‬as “omens,” see, for example, Gerhard von Rad, Genesis (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972), 56. I thank David Wright of Brandeis University, who brought my attention to the connection between ‫ אֹתֹת‬in Gen 1:14 and the Sabbath as ‫ אֹות‬in Lev 31:13, 17, and who pointed me to the work of his student, Susan Tanchel. Tanchel discusses broadly the use of ‫ אֹות‬in the Priestly Torah and makes the case for associating Gen 1:14 and Lev 31:13, 17 as part of her argument that Genesis 1 is a product of the Holiness School (Honoring Voices: Listening to the Texts and the Teacher, the Scholars and the Students [Ph.D. diss., Brandeis University, 2006] 92–98).

316

Chapter 6

until the law itself is divinely revealed. 72 Indeed, the parity of Sabbath, sanctuary, and divine identity seen in Lev 19:30 and 26:2 highlights the exclusive nature of the revelation of their identities; thus, deliberate avoidance of the term in Genesis 1 should not surprise us. Similarly, the word ‫ָמים‬ ִ ‫ י‬in Gen 1:14 does not refer to the passage of days in general since, as noted, there were already three days before the creation of the sun, moon, and stars. Rather, the word refers to the individual days of the festivals (e.g., Lev 23:6–7, 23:8) as well as the specific holy day, ‫ֻרים‬ ִ‫יֹום ה ִַּכּפ‬, “the Day of Atonement” (Lev 23:28). In this vein, neither does the word ‫ׁשנִים‬ ָ in Gen 1:14 refer to the simple passage of years but to the Sabbath Year (Lev 25:1–7) and the Year of Jubilee (Lev 25:8–17). All of the festivals and holy days in Leviticus 23–25 are precisely dated within the 364-day Sabbath Calendar. By assigning them to specific dates within this calendar, the writer ensured that none of the holy day obligations conflict with proper Sabbath observance. 73 In short, the simple passage of noncultic time could be tracked by merely counting the alternating light and dark of days and nights, as Gen 1:1–13 readily demonstrates. Gen 1:14, on the other hand, explains that the sun, moon, and stars function for the specific purpose of regulating the Priestly festival calendar—that is, the Sabbath Calendar—for both the short and the long term. Thus, delineation of the cultically relevant days from other, insignificant days is the primary purpose of the host of heaven. They have another responsibility, however: the sun and moon are not only ‫ָאיר עַל־ ָה ָארֶץ‬ ִ ‫לה‬, ְ “to illuminate above the land,” but, notably ‫ ַה ָּל ְילָה‬. . . ‫ׁשלֶת הַּיֹום‬ ֶ ‫ֶמ‬ ְ ‫למ‬, ְ “to rule the day . . . and night.” While they might have been referred to as mere ‫—מאֹרֹת‬unlike ְ the other cosmic components that are created in the chapter—the sun and moon are described as agents who have a governing responsibility over other created features. The sun, moon, and stars are subservient, though explicitly sovereign agents who bring structure to the non-agent of time. Importantly, in Genesis 1 the only other creature who has real authority over other creatures is humanity, who “subdues” (‫רדה‬, 1:26, 28) and “subjugates” (‫כבׁש‬, 1:28) the animals but does not “rule” (‫ )מׁשל‬them. The difference between ‫ רדה‬and ‫כבׁש‬, on the one hand, and ‫מׁשל‬, on the other, has to do with the difference between the responses of the governed to the governor; animals are expected to resist and are subject to physical force, since they too have some agentive capacity and therefore 72. First in the instructions regarding food-gathering and preparation in the wilderness in Exod 16:23, 25, 26, 29, 30; later, in the Decalogue, Exod 20:8. 73. For a visual summary of the festival calendar offered in Leviticus 23–25 in the Sabbath Calendar, see Ben-Dov’s synopsis of the six-year mishmarot cycle, which lays out the holy days, together with various lunar phenomena described in 4Q320, 4Q321, and 4Q321a (“The 364-Day Year,” 88–99).

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature

317

must be “subdued.” 74 However, the day and night, as non-agents, are expected to cooperate fully, and therefore need only be “ruled.” In any case, the great lamps are created as agents whose responsibility is to rule day and night and thereby create a significant cultic chronological order for the cosmos. They are the celestially-situated counterparts of humans. Though it is not stated explicitly, what Gen 1:14–18 is describing is the creation of ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫צבָא ה‬, ְ “the Host of Heaven,” the members of God’s royal court who are expected to bear just this agentive capacity and marked sovereignty (§5.2.1.3, §5.3). Now that they actually exist, they seem to be precisely the beings with whom God is conversing in v. 26: ‫ָדם ְּבצ ְַלמֵנּו ִּכ ְדמּותֵ נּו‬ ָ ‫ֲׂשה א‬ ֶ ‫נַע‬ ‫ּובכָל־ ָה ֶרמֶׂש הָרֹמֵׂש עַל־ ָה ָארֶץ‬ ְ ‫ּובכָל־ ָה ָארֶץ‬ ְ ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם ּוב ְַּב ֵהמָה‬ ָ ‫ּובעֹוף ה‬ ְ ‫וי ְִרּדּו ִב ְדגַת ַהּיָם‬,ְ “Let’s make a human in our image, like our likeness, so that they may subdue the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, and the wild animals, as well as the whole land, all the crawling things that crawl on the land.” 75 There are undoubtedly multiple ramifications to humanity’s being created in the ‫“( ֶצלֶם‬image”) and ‫“( ָּדמּות‬likeness”) of God and the celestial bodies. The sequence of volitives, however (‫ ְוי ְִרּדּו‬. . . ‫ֲׂשה‬ ֶ ‫נַע‬, “Let’s make . . . so that they may subdue”), explicitly links humanity’s creation in this image and likeness to sovereign agency. 76 Thus, the author of Genesis 1 maintains that sovereign agency of this sort is wielded by God as well as the sun, moon (and stars?), all of whom conspire with each other to make another sovereign agent—that is, humanity.

74. A survey of the other occurrences of the root show that it is often associated with physical oppression; see HALOT 1190 for references. 75. Just how the Host of Heaven actually participates in the creation of humanity is unstated; in fact, only God is said to be involved in the actual act of its creation (Gen 1:27). 76. Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1990) 36.4 and 39.2.2.; Bill T. Arnold and John H. Choi, A Guide to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) 3.5.3. For other examples of cohortatives followed by jussives that express purpose clauses, see: Josh 18:4; 1 Sam 12:17, 18:21; 1 Chr 21:22; Isa 2:3; Mic 4:2; see also 2 Kgs 4:10, in which the jussive is not connected to the preceding clause by a waw. The issue of the divine image has understandably generated a considerable bibliography. Many authors mark an association between the image and sovereignty, though none, as far as I am aware, also makes a connection with the sovereignty of the heavenly bodies. See, for example, von Rad, Genesis, 61; Wenham, Genesis 1–15, 30–32. For a perspective in a broader ancient Near Eastern context, see Othmar Keel and Silvia Schroer, Schöpfung: Biblische Theologien im Kontext altorientalischer Religionen (Freiburg: Universitätsverlag Freiburg, 2002) 177–81; and Andreas Schüle, Der Prolog der Hebräischen Bibel: Der literar- und theologiegeschichtliche Diskurs der Urgeschichte (Gen 1–11) (ATANT 86; Zurich: Theologischer Verlag, 2006) 84–124.

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Chapter 6

In spite of their sovereign character, the sun and moon famously lack names in Genesis 1. They are not said to have been named by God after their creation, unlike other cosmic features such as the light and darkness (1:5), the sky (1:8), the earth, and the sea (1:10). This onomastic lacuna is usually taken by scholars as polemical in nature, understood as directed against Babylonian astral religion or polytheism in general. 77 This could be the case but need not be so. As Firmage notes, the idea that the passage is directed against polytheism in general is unlikely, because such a debate would have been a moot point in Priestly circles. 78 Nevertheless, I am not dismissing the possibility that Genesis 1 is, at least in part, responding to Babylonian or native Canaanite-Israelite traditions; the deliberate non-use of the names of the celestial bodies may be a part of this rhetoric. However, it is quite significant that naming in general ends with the third day of creation. It is often remarked that these first three days are dedicated to setting the stage, as it were, to be populated by players on days four through six. 79 These populations include all the animals and ultimately, humans—that is, all creatures with agency. This is further indication that the celestial bodies are depicted here as living beings that have a will of their own. Other than humans, none of the beings created on days four through six receives a specific moniker. Rather, like the generic ‫מאֹרֹת‬, ְ they are all referred to solely by generalizations: ‫ׁשרֶץ‬ ֶ (“swarms,” 1:20) and ‫“( עֹוף‬flying things,” 1:20); ‫“( ְּב ֵהמָה‬wild animals,” 1:24) and ‫“( ֶרמֶׁש‬crawling things,” 1:24). Furthermore, the author notes in 1:21 that there are generically ‫“( הַּתַ ּנִינִם ַהּגְד ִֹלים‬the great sea monsters”) among the ‫ֶׁשת‬ ֶ ‫ה ַחּיָה הָרֹמ‬ ֲ ‫“( נֶפֶׁש‬the living things that swarm”). This is also a place where the Priestly writer is deliberately vague: though his readers would immediately understand these ‫ ּתַ ּנִינִם‬to be ‫ָתן‬ ָ ‫“( ִל ְוי‬Leviathan”) and/ or ‫“( רַ הַב‬Rahab”), he lets them go nameless. 80 This is comparable with 1:16, 77. For a recent study in this vein, together with bibliography, see Kenton Sparks, “Enūma Elish and Priestly Mimesis: Elite Emulation in Nascent Judaism,” JBL 126 (2007) 625–48. Sparks maintains that Genesis 1, together with several other texts of the Priestly Torah, is an example of the Jewish mimesis of Enūma Eliš and the Babylonian Akītu festival and was composed in exile. 78. Edwin Firmage, “Genesis 1 and the Priestly Agenda,” JSOT 82 (1999) 99; see also, briefly, Taylor, Yahweh and the Sun, 231; and M. S. Smith, The Priestly Vision, 97. There are variations on the idea that Genesis 1 is an anti-Babylonian polemic. Jan Christian Gertz argues that the text is polemical but not directed specifically at Babylonian traditions (“Antibabylonische Polemik im priesterlichen Schöpfungsbericht?” ZTK 106 (2009) 137–55. Instead, it is an argument against a sort of koiné Mediterranean cosmology. 79. For example, see, Nahum Sarna, Genesis (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1989) 4. 80. For Leviathan, see Job 3:8, 40:25; Ps 40:5, 74:14, 104:26; Isa 27:1; for Rahab, see Ps 87:4 (as a metaphor for Egypt), 89:11; Job 9:13, 26:12; Sir 43:25; Isa 30:7 (as a metaphor for Egypt), 51:9.

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which indicates in generic terms that there are ‫ׁשנֵי ה ְַּמאֹרֹת ַהּגְד ִֹלים‬ ְ (“the two great lamps”) that are conspicuous and especially important. The parallel with the unnamed sea monsters could be informative in terms of the degree to which the author is actually engaging in the debate over astral religion, whether native or Babylonian. There is no evidence in the ancient Near East, to my knowledge, of veneration of either Leviathan or Rahab, and thus it seems unlikely that the Priestly author avoids their names for polemical reasons. 81 It could be argued, therefore, that the writer avoids the names of the sun and moon, not as part of a structured argument, but simply for the purposes of stylistic consistency. Nevertheless, by underlining that there are exceptional creatures in the sky (the sun and moon) and the sea (Leviathan and Rahab) and by simultaneously referring to them in deliberately oblique terms, the author is depotentizing them all to a large degree. Furthermore, the preexilic tradition of Canaanite-Israelite astral religion is so strong that it is hard to dismiss the idea that the author is making the point that, though the starry hosts are members of God’s court and are sovereign agents, they are nonetheless created beings like the birds and fish. Moreover, within Canaanite-Israelite astral religion, Yahweh was occasionally, it seems, identified with the sun, and the author is making it perfectly clear that no celestial agent is to be equated with God. 82 In conclusion, the writer of Genesis 1 is responding to both the calendrical and astroreligious roles that the celestial bodies play in the Canaanite-Israelite tradition. First, the Priestly author affirms the calendrical function of the heavenly host. This function cannot, however, be understood as supporting timekeeping in a universal manner. On the contrary, it rejects the only calendar that, in practical terms, approached universality in the ancient Near East—the Standard Mesopotamian Calendar used imperially by the Assyrians, Babylonians, and ultimately the Persians. It replaces it (and simultaneously, the CanaaniteIsraelite calendar with which it was so similar in structure) with a new calendrical model that asserts the cosmic centrality of the Jerusalem cultus. While replacing the older luni-solar calendar, it nevertheless maintains that the sun, moon, and stars are agents responsible for making sense of time. The organizational significance they are to impose on its passing is intimately tied to the cultic calendar offered in Leviticus 23–28. Second, though he denies their legitimacy as objects of cultic devotion, the author is nonetheless affirming the sovereign agency of the celestial bodies and the important role that they play in God’s royal court. To be sure, this affirmation is ultimately a legacy of Canaanite-Israelite astral religion, which also 81. Christoph Uehlinger, “Leviathan ‫לויתן‬,” DDD, 511–15; Klaus Spronk, “Rahab ‫רהב‬,” DDD, 684–86. 82. Taylor, Yahweh and the Sun, especially pp. 258–59.

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asserted that celestial bodies were agents of this sort. Whether the author in his redefinition of the celestial bodies was directly reacting to his own people’s religious heritage, to the Babylonian tradition, or to a combination of both is difficult to say. In any case, unlike Deut 4:15–19, which reluctantly recognizes the legitimate divinity of the sun, moon, and stars, in Genesis 1 there is the distinct assertion that these celestial bodies are not deities in their own right. They are creatures, like birds, fish, and land animals. Though creatures, the sun, moon, and stars are exceptional beings, just as humans are. The Priestly author holds firm to the belief that they constitute the heavenly court of God and have their own minds and authorities; however, these authorities do not stray far from the author’s concern for the proper regulation of the Jerusalem cult.

6.7.  The Stars in Job The two astral references in the book of Job, 9:7–9 and 38:31–33, are contained in one of Job’s speeches and in God’s response, respectively. These two passages have related vocabularies and, I maintain, should be read in conjunction with one another. 83 In Job 9, the sufferer posits what would happen if God were to come to court to answer for his treatment of Job, and the chapter contains his characterization of God’s action in the cosmos and the way it reveals the nature of his rule. 84 In chap. 38, God answers Job’s accusations and thereby provides the sufferer with an oracular vision of the true nature of the cosmos.

6.7.1.  Job 9:7–9 In Job’s second response to his friends’ discomforting speeches, he considers the idea of legally contending with God in light of his undeserved suffering. However, he ultimately rejects the very notion of a human’s entering into a legal dispute with the deity as a farcical waste of time (Job 9:2–4): ‫ִצּדַ ק אֱנֹוׁש ִעם־אֵל׃‬ ְ ‫ָמנָם יָדַ ְע ִּתי ִכי־כֵן ּומַה־ּי‬ ְ‫א‬ ֹ ֹ ‫ָריב ִעּמֹו לא־יַעֲנֶּנּו ַאחַת ִמּנִי־ ָאלֶף׃‬ ִ‫ִאם־י ְַחּפץ ל‬ ‫ִׁשלָם׃‬ ְ ‫ׁשה ֵאלָיו ַוּי‬ ָ ‫י־ה ְק‬ ִ ‫חכַם ֵלבָב ְוא ִַּמיץ ּכ ֹ ַח ִמ‬ ֲ Surely, I know that it’s so—but how can a person be in the right with El? If he wants to contend with him, he couldn’t respond one time in a thousand. 83. Surprisingly, commentators recognize that the two passages share several of the constellations in common but rarely read the two texts in relation to each other. Norman C. Habel, for example, understands God’s response in chaps. 38–41 as being directed at specific statements made in the previous chapters; nevertheless, he takes 38:31–33 as a response to 12:13–25 rather than 9:9 (The Book of Job: A Commentary [Philadelphia: Westminster, 1985] 531). 84. Ibid., 527.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature

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Even the wise-hearted and immensely powerful—who has stood against him and survived?

Here, Job notes that neither the sage nor the mighty can stand whole after a conflict with the deity. God does not play fairly, argues Job. God’s sovereignty and his sense of justice are inextricably linked to his sheer power and his ability to command obedient action (Job 9:5–6): ‫ה ָפכָם ְּבאַּפֹו׃‬ ֲ ‫ֲׁשר‬ ֶ ‫ָדעּו א‬ ָ ‫ָרים ְולֹא י‬ ִ‫ַע ִּתיק ה‬ ְ ‫ַהּמ‬ ‫ִת ַפּלָצּון׃‬ ְ ‫ַהּמ ְַר ִּגיז ֶארֶץ ִמ ְּמקֹומָּה ְועַּמּודֶי ָה י‬ He is the one who undermines mountains, but they don’t know that he overturned them in his anger. He is the one who shakes the earth from its place, and its pillars shudder.

The natural features merely react to God’s might; the mountains in particular are further objectified, in that they are said to be ignorant (‫ָדעּו‬ ָ ‫ )לֹא י‬of his actions. The starry host, according to Job, is not spared from his power (Job 9:7–10): ‫ָבים י ְַחּתֹם׃‬ ִ ‫ּובעַד ּכֹוכ‬ ְ ‫הָאֹמֵר ַל ֶחרֶס ְולֹא ִי ְזרָח‬ ‫ׁש ַמיִם ְלבַּדֹו ְודֹור ְֵך עַל־ ָּבמֳתֵ י יָם׃‬ ָ ‫נֹטֶה‬ ‫ׂשה־עָׁש ְּכ ִסיל ְו ִכימָה ְוח ְַדרֵ י תֵ מָן׃‬ ֶֹ ‫ע‬ ‫ִפלָאֹות עַד־אֵין ִמ ְסּפָר׃‬ ְ ‫ׂשה ְגדֹלֹות עַד־אֵין ֵחקֶר ְונ‬ ֶֹ ‫ע‬ He is the one who speaks to the sun, 85 and it doesn’t shine, while the stars he seals up from behind. He is the one who stretches out the skies by himself, and treads on the back of the sea. He is the one who makes the Rainer, the Fool, and the Cluster, and the Chambers of the South. He is the one who does unfathomable deeds and wonders without measure.

The examples provided by Job are illustrations culled from the observation of the natural world, and as a set they demonstrate God’s use of force to enact his will, against which there is no recourse. If there is no recourse for the cosmos, there is no recourse for a mere human (Job 9:12–14): ‫ֲׂשה׃‬ ֶ ‫ְׁשיבֶּנּו ִמי־יֹאמַר ֵאלָיו מַה־ּתַ ע‬ ִ ‫הֵן י ְַחּתֹף ִמי י‬ ‫ׁשחֲחּו ע ְֹז ֵרי ָרהַב׃‬ ָ ]‫ָׁשיב אַּפֹו ּתַ ְחּתֹו [ּתַ ְח ָּתיו‬ ִ ‫אֱלֹו ַּה לֹא־י‬ ‫ֶבחֲרָה ְדבָרַ י ִעּמֹו׃‬ ְ ‫אַף ִּכי־אָנ ִֹכי ֶאעֱנֶּנּו א‬

85. The term used to denote the sun here, ‫ ֶחרֶס‬, is an unusual word that appears with this meaning only here and, it seems, in Judg 14:18. It may also appear in placenames in Judg 1:35, 2:9, and 8:13.

322

Chapter 6 If he should snatch someone away, who could return him? Who could say to him, “What are you doing?” A god does not turn his anger back! Beneath him, Rahab’s helpers cower! Yet I’m supposed to respond to him? I should choose my words for him?

What good would it do to enter proceedings against such a powerfully sovereign god? Just as the cosmos is required to respond to his brute strength, so also must Job simply take what God dispenses. The statements about celestial matters made in vv. 7–9 need to be understood in the context of Job’s resignation. Like the mountains and land that God causes to quake, God’s involvement with the sky is framed by the speaker in terms of brutish acts that express the deity’s sovereign power. In the case of the sun and stars in general (9:7), God’s action is described as darkening; the sun “doesn’t shine” (‫)לֹא ִיזְרַ ח‬, while the deity himself “seals up” (‫ )י ְַחּתֹם‬the stars. God is personally responsible when the celestial luminaries dim. God’s activity with the specific constellations in 9:9 should be read as antithetically parallel to this; just as the deity makes the stars and sun darken, so he regularly makes the constellations illumine. Thus, Amos 5:8, in an oracular context, depicts a similar understanding of “creating”: 86 ְ ‫ׁש‬ ְ ‫עֹׂשֵ ה ִכימָה‬ ‫יך‬ ִ ‫ֶח‬ ְ ‫ּוכ ִסיל ְוהֹפ ְֵך לַּבֹקֶר צ ְַל ָמוֶת ְויֹום ַל ְילָה ה‬ ‫ׁשמֹו׃‬ ְ ‫ַל־ּפנֵי ָה ָארֶץ יְהוָה‬ ְ ‫ִׁש ְּפכֵם ע‬ ְ ‫הַּקֹורֵא ְלמֵי־ ַהּיָם ַוּי‬ He is the one who makes the Cluster and the Fool, the one who turns morning to darkness, while day he has dimmed into night. He is the one who calls to the waters of the sea, and poured them on the surface of the earth: Yahweh is his name!

In this oracle, the constellations’ creation coincides unsurprisingly with nighttime. Thus, what God does to the specific constellations listed in Job 9:9–10, which is described as “creating” (‫ׂשה‬ ֶֹ ‫)ע‬, should not be understood as inchoate  87 creation. “Creating” the constellations refers to their continual, daily—perhaps, seasonal—cycles. If the former, it indicates their appearance at night as the sky darkens and they become visible; the latter would connote the constellations’ respective heliacal risings. We cannot be sure why these constellations are singled out by the author. 88 The standard identifications of some of these constellations are the Pleiades, Orion, and Hyades (with which I agreed in chap. 5), and these are exceptionally bright constellations that are closely adjacent to each other (§§5.2.1.1–5.2.1.4). 86. Francis Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Amos: A New Translation and Commentary (AB 24A; New York: Doubleday, 1989) 490–91. 87. Similarly, see Isa 45:6–7. 88. The most thorough response to this question has been that of Albani, “Kannst du die Sternbilder.” For my evaluation of his solution, see §5.5.4.

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323

In this case, these specific constellations may have been selected by the author because they were considered to be paradigmatically bright objects in the night sky whose regular appearance served pars pro toto for all stellar appearances. Or perhaps they are simply emblematic of the stars in general (9:7). It could be, as many have assumed, that they were the subject of well-known traditional stories, similar to stories in the classical tradition. But until evidence surfaces that these constellations appeared in similar narratives in the West Semitic realm, any reconstruction of a mythic back-story remains highly speculative. 89 We may suspect that they were the focus of traditional astral veneration. Nonetheless, these constellations are not mentioned in any text that actually refers to the practice of astral religion. The sun, it is true, is noted as the focus of adoration in Deut 4:15; but in Job 9:7 it is referred to using the unusual name ‫ ֶחרֶס‬, not the normal moniker, ‫ׁשמֶׁש‬. ֶ It is as though the character Job is deliberately avoiding language that might cast the celestial bodies as agents; I address this issue below. In any case, in Job 9, the celestial bodies simply react—as do the earth, mountains, and sky—to God’s forceful manipulation. Thus, Job maintains in his speech that the stars’ constant darkening (9:7) and (re-)creation (9:9) are an example in the natural world of God’s using his sheer might to enforce his will. Such illuminations and darkenings are wonders, no doubt (9:10), but they are nonetheless another example of cosmic brute force on the deity’s part (10:16). 90 The sufferer, then, is like the natural celestial bodies that are left merely to react and bend to the deity’s severe handling.

6.7.2.  Job 38:31–33 We should not understand Job’s characterization of the role the stars play in the cosmos and their relationship to God in chap. 9 as the author’s preferred view by any means. In a kind of apocalypsis, chaps. 38–41 of the book provide God’s answer to Job’s suffering and allegations. Though Job is correct, to a certain degree, that one can understand God by looking at the natural world, the deity corrects his interpretation of it (Job 38:2–4): ְ ‫ׁש‬ ‫י־דעַת׃‬ ָ ‫יך ֵעצָה ְב ִמ ִּלין ְּב ִל‬ ִ ‫ִמי זֶה מ ְַח‬ ָ ָ ‫הֹודי ֵענִי׃‬ ִ ‫ָלך ְו‬ ְ ‫ֶׁשא‬ ְ ‫ח ָלצֶיך ְוא‬ ֲ ‫אזָר־נָא ְכ ֶגבֶר‬ ֱ ‫ָס ִדי־ ָארֶץ ַהּגֵד ִאם־יָדַ ְע ָּת ִבינָה׃‬ ְ ‫ִית ְּבי‬ ָ ‫אֵיפֹה ָהי‬ Who is this who obscures (my) plan with ignorant words? Gird up like a soldier so I can ask you, and inform me! Where were you when I founded the earth? Speak up if you know! 89. Thus, Tur-Sinai, The Book of Job, 531; Gaster, Thespis, 320–24; Marvin Pope, Job: Introduction, Translation, and Notes (AB 15; New York: Doubleday, 1980) 70–71. 90. Habel, Job, 188.

324

Chapter 6

God’s first utterance in response tackles both the divine understanding of the nature of the cosmos and Job’s characterization of it. God has a “plan” (‫) ֵעצָה‬that will be delineated in the following chapters of the book. This design is entirely knowable, God will argue, if someone observes and interprets nature with the proper frame of reference. 91 Only someone who has been present since the system of the cosmos was established can really understand. Job, however, is completely oblivious of this and, worse, espouses an analysis that is unenlightened. Though Job is ignorant of the origin and order of the world, God notes that there were, in fact, observers of its foundation (Job 38:5–7): ‫י־ׂשם ְממֶַּדי ָה ִּכי תֵ ָדע אֹו ִמי־נָטָה ָעלֶי ָה ָּקו׃‬ ָ ‫ִמ‬ ‫ָתּה׃‬ ָ ‫ָטּבָעּו אֹו ִמי־יָרָה ֶאבֶן ִּפּנ‬ ְ ‫ֲדנֶי ָה ה‬ ָ ‫עַל־מָה א‬ ‫ָל־ּבנֵי אֱל ִֹהים׃‬ ְ ‫ָריעּו ּכ‬ ִ‫ּכֹוכבֵי בֹקֶר ַוּי‬ ְ ‫ְּברָן־יַחַד‬ Who set its measurement? (If you know!) Or who stretched out a measuring line on it? Into what were its pedestals sunk? Or who set its cornerstone When the stars of morning yelled out together, and all the sons of god shouted?

The parallelism between ‫ּכֹוכבֵי בֹקֶר‬ ְ (“stars of morning”) and ‫“( ְּבנֵי אֱל ִֹהים‬sons of god”) elucidates the constituency of the latter group, which is mentioned in the prose account in Job 1:6 and 2:1. 92 That is to say, the stars here are identified as the members of God’s court, and they were present at creation. The implication is that they, unlike other cosmic features, are not creatures; God makes no claim to having created them in his revelation of the establishment of the world. At the very least, they are not the same manner of creature as his other works. This is in stark contrast to Job’s statement in chap. 9, in which God is described as their constant maker (‫ׂשה‬ ֶֹ ‫)ע‬. Furthermore, the stars in 38:7 are explicitly described as agents who rejoiced and jubilated when the very earth was founded. Job’s response in chap. 9 deliberately avoided characterizing the stars as agents and instead portrayed them as mere objects that the deity manipulates with tremendous force. God’s response in chap. 38 serves as a corrective to this depiction; the stars are, in fact, beings who are capable of responding to and supporting God’s plans and actions. Continuing with his series of rhetorical questions in correcting Job, God addresses the observable behavior of specific constellations (Job 38:31–33):

91. Ibid., 536. Michael Fox, on the other hand, maintains that God is asserting that Job has a proper understanding of the order of the cosmos but has deliberately obscured this fact (“Job 38 and God’s Rhetoric,” Semeia 19 [1981] 53–61). 92. It is notable that in these two passages, the Satan is not actually mentioned as part of this group; instead, both passages state that ‫ַּׂשטָן ְּבתֹכָם‬ ָ ‫ּגַם ה‬, “the Satan, too, was among them [the sons of god].”

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325

‫ׁשכֹות ְּכ ִסיל ְּתפַּתֵ חַ׃‬ ְ ֹ ‫ה ְַתקַ ּשֵׁר ַמעֲדַ ּנֹות ִּכימָה אֹו־מ‬ ‫הֲת ִֹציא ַמּזָרֹות ְּב ִעּתֹו ְו ַעיִׁש עַל־ ָּבנֶי ָה תַ ְנחֵם׃‬ ‫ׁשטָרֹו ָב ָארֶץ׃‬ ְ ‫ם־ּת ִׂשים ִמ‬ ָ ‫ׁש ָמיִם ִא‬ ָ ‫היָדַ ְע ָּת חֻּקֹות‬ ֲ Do you bind the fetters of the Cluster? Or do you release the chains 93 of the Fool? Do you bring out Mazzarot at its time? As for the Rainer in addition to her sons, do you lead them? Do you know the statutes of the heavens? Did you set its ordinance on the earth?

Here God continues to rectify Job’s assessment of the stars’ behavior and what this reveals about the deity’s relationship to the cosmos. The constellations, three of which are mentioned in 9:9 (‫ּכימָה‬, ִ ‫ּכ ִסיל‬, ְ and ‫) ַעיִׁש‬, are said to be restrained and guided. 94 As noted in my discussion of 9:9 in the previous section, several scholars have assumed that behind this passage lies some sort of lost titanomachic tale that speaks of cosmic forces who rebelled against the high god and who must be restrained. Although this is possible, it need not be the case. It is true that there is a reference to physical restraint (‫ּתקַ ּׁשֵר ַמעֲדַ ּנֹות‬, ְ . . . ‫ּׁשכנֹות‬ ְ ֹ‫מ‬ ‫ּתפַתֵ ַח‬, ְ 38:31); however, the restraint is parallel to guidance (‫ּת ִֹציא‬, ‫ּתַ ְנחֵם‬, 38:32), and both of these are further categorized as regulations (‫חֻּקֹות‬, ‫ׁשטָר‬ ְ ‫מ‬, ִ 38:33) that the constellations follow. The overall portrait of the constellations mentioned is that they do have their own agency, but the limits set on them by God are not by any means violent. Just like humans, who can choose to obey or reject God’s statutes, the stars, among the other agents of the natural world, cooperate with guidance and are restrained not through sovereign force but by means of a parent’s instructive limits on children. 95 Even the physical restraints mentioned in connection with ‫ ִּכימָה‬and ‫ ְּכ ִסיל‬may be understood as analogous to restricting a domesticated animal rather than a hostile prisoner. The result of these limits is that God does not simply create (‫ׁשה‬ ֶ ֹ ‫ )ע‬these constellations when light is required (9:9); rather, they rise (‫ )יָצָא‬at the appropriate time (‫ )עֵת‬because God 93. The term ‫ׁשכֹות‬ ְ ֹ ‫ מ‬is a hapax, and its meaning is derived from its parallel, ‫ ַמעֲדַ ּנֹות‬. See also HALOT 646, which suggests the Arabic cognate masakat, “restraint, armband.” 94. Drawing on Judges 5 and references in KTU 1.3 II 38–41, some scholars suggest that these rules and guidance may be related to the precipitation mentioned in the verses immediately preceding and following, Job 38:22–30, 35–38 (Albani, “Der das Sieben­ gestirn,” 175 n. 146; more recently, Pfeiffer, Jahwes Kommen von Süden, 73–74; see also §4.2.3.2). While this is possible, it is unnecessary to read the passage strictly in this manner. Like the celestial divination series Enūma Anu Enlil, which deals with astronomical and meteorological phenomena side by side, the author of Job seems to be discussing all celestial activity that he maintains demonstrates God’s regulation and reliability. 95. On this in regard to other natural agents in Job 38, see J. Gerald Janzen, “On the Moral Nature of God’s Power: Yahweh and the Sea in Job and Deutero-Isaiah,” CBQ 56 (1994) 458–78 (especially p. 468).

326

Chapter 6

directs them. In regard to the specific constellations mentioned here, the calendrical aspect of their activity may be conceived on a daily or seasonal scale, as in 9:9. Irrespective of the specific calendrical phenomena to which the author is referring, it is clear that the issue at hand is the reliable nature of the stars’ respective movements, despite their being conscious agents. Thus, both Job 9:7–9 and 38:31–33 reflect the dual foci of celestial observation in ancient Israel. The astronomical regularity—which Job understands as an example of God’s manipulation of mere objects—reflects the knowledge of astronomical phenomena as regular and predictable and thus useful for calendrical matters. God’s response to Job acknowledges this chronological reliability but asserts that this is not a reflection of God’s pitiless handling of soulless entities. The stars, though they function chronologically, are not simply some sort of cosmic clock. On the contrary, their calendrical reliability is a willful and compliant response to God’s guiding constraints. These astral agents are members of God’s court and are divinities in their own right (Job 38:7), who understand and respond favorably to God’s overall plan.

6.8. Conclusion In almost all narrative references to celestial matters, astral bodies are considered agents. The sole passage under consideration that seems to ignore or deny their agentival character is Job 9, but this presentation serves as a straw-man, which is corrected by God’s response in chap. 38. Additionally, this agent status is in all cases consistently connected with chronological concerns, whether they are daily (Joshua 10; 2 Kings 20; Isaiah 38; Job 9, 38) or seasonal phenomena (Judges 5; Job 9, 38), regnal matters (Joshua 10; 2 Kings 20; Isaiah 38), cultic scheduling (Genesis 1), or combinations of these. Thus, the normative assumption of the biblical authors is that the stars are agents who willingly serve Yahweh as members of his court. 96 As I have discussed above, Ugaritic and biblical texts, as well as archaeological data from Bronze and Iron Age Syria–Palestine (§§4.1.1.2, 5.3) confirm that the veneration of astral bodies was a feature of the Canaanite religious experience. Deut 4:15–19 corroborates that the stars and planets were considered legitimate foreign gods by at least some biblical authors. Judging these data in conjunction with the model of astral agency demonstrated in all of the biblical narratives discussed here leads to the conclusion that the biblical model is by no means a novelty but is, rather, a reflection of common Canaanite-Israelite 96. This being the case, the “personification” of astral bodies and their calendrical roles seen in Second Temple literature such as the Astronomical Book in 1 Enoch needs to be understood not as in innovation or an aberration but as a further articulation of the biblical model.

Celestial Science in Ancient Israelite Literature

327

beliefs regarding the starry host. To be sure, this belief has been articulated to conform to the theological contours asserted by particular authors, but it is nonetheless grounded in Israel’s Canaanite heritage.

Chapter 7

Conclusion By demonstrating how celestial science influenced the literature of ancient Mesopotamia, I have tried to bridge the peculiar gap between science history and literary studies that arose in the wake of pan-Babylonianism. Similarly, I have attempted to characterize properly the appreciation of celestial bodies as expressed in Canaanite-Israelite narrative. In so doing, I have contributed to synthesizing the study of ancient Near Eastern cultures’ understanding of and interaction with the starry host in particular and the natural world more broadly. For the past century, scholars have primarily sought to place ancient Near Eastern celestial science in the context of a universal science history. This noble goal did and continues to yield remarkable and successful results. Although it left larger questions about the cultural impact of celestial science essentially unaddressed, it nonetheless has made this current endeavor possible. This book partakes of the conclusion of more than a century’s study of the history of science, though it does not itself directly contribute to this endeavor. This book is also the child of the charming but distorted attempts of panBabylonianism to reveal ancient science in ancient literature. In a strange way, I have validated some of the assumptions of the pan-Babylonianist school from a century ago. I have shown that Mesopotamian literature was highly aware of and fully incorporated then-contemporary celestial-science concepts, just as the pan-Babylonianists contended. This is not surprising, given the place of the visible sky in Mesopotamian culture. In its literature, we see a pronounced emphasis on celestial divination, including the highly developed concepts and methods underlying the enterprise. However, both the motivation for the literary expression of celestial science and the substance of its concepts are radically different from those that the pan-Babylonianists imagined. The last century’s research has revealed the substance of Babylonian celestial science, which was generally not as advanced and ancient as the pan-Babylonian school had conceived. It was, however, a sophisticated mantic tradition. Since celestial divination was one of the primary motivations for celestial science in Mesopotamia, 328

Conclusion

329

it is not surprising that it was advanced in that culture’s literature. Furthermore, Mesopotamian celestial science was not incorporated into literature in order to express celestial truths to the masses, as the pan-Babylonian school maintained. Rather, it was used in narrative because of its importance in Mesopotamian culture as a whole. Indeed, given the prominent role that celestial divination played in the society of ancient Iraq, especially in scribal circles, it would be difficult to conceive of a Mesopotamian literature not permeated with reflexes of celestial divination. It is clear that, regarding Ugarit and ancient Israel, the pan-Babylonianists were wrong. As the “pan-” in “pan-Babylonianism” implies, that school of thought considered Babylonian culture to be a kind of mother culture from which advanced ideas, including astronomical concepts, spread throughout the ancient Near East, ultimately permeating Israelite culture. This was not the case, at least not to the extent or within the time frame conceived by the pan-Babylonianists. Though Ugarit and Israel were demonstrably influenced by Babylonian traditions to a modest degree in the Bronze and Iron Ages, this book shows that the Levant nonetheless had its own powerful heritage that focused almost entirely on calendrical matters and astral worship and had little serious mantic interest. While less sophisticated than those seen in the literature of their Mesopotamian neighbors, the reflexes of celestial science in Ugaritic and Israelite narrative are no less indicative of its roles in those cultures, even if celestial observation played less sophisticated calendrical and cultic roles. In Ugarit, astral cults were prominent, and this is abundantly conveyed in its literature. Israel shares the same Canaanite cultural continuum as Ugarit, so it is not surprising that astral religion is also reflected in the Hebrew Bible. To be sure, the adoration of the starry host is rejected by the biblical authors. Particularly striking, nonetheless, is the fact that the sun, moon, and stars are typically portrayed as active and conscious agents in biblical narrative, and this characterization is undoubtedly grounded in Israel’s religious heritage in the Levant. Furthermore, the biblical depiction links these agents to calendrical roles. The stars in the thinking of the biblical authors were not, as was asserted by mid-20th-century biblical scholars, simple cogs in a soulless cosmic machine. They were quite alive and were members of Yahweh’s court. Even though they did not have the same level of sovereignty and were not permitted to receive the same adoration, as sons of god they presumably had the same nature as the high god Yahweh. The countryside of modern Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Israel, and Palestine is, in many ways, very similar to the way it appeared in antiquity, but it has also changed dramatically. Some of the changes to the landscape have been slow and uninitiated by humans; the land on which the modern state of Kuwait

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sits, for example, is the result of thousands of years of alluvial deposits at the mouth of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. But many, perhaps most of the dramatic changes to the landscape have been made by the land’s human occupants. The accumulated effects of agriculture, deforestation, extinction, urbanization, and industrialization have so altered the environment of the Middle East that it is, in essence, a different natural world than the world occupied by its ancient inhabitants. In contrast (other than the effects of light pollution, which can significantly obscure its features, especially in urban areas), the sky at which we glance or gaze appears essentially the same as it did in antiquity. Yet in terms of our perception, even this sky has been altered, and this transformed celestial perspective can sometimes affect people and cultures just as dramatically as the physical changes that have occurred mundanely. The sky is no longer a divine realm. Instead, the heavens in their most proximate part have become our realm: the International Space Station orbits the earth and has been continuously manned for more than a decade now. These human inhabitants share earth’s orbit with hundreds of unmanned satellites that allow us to predict the weather as well as communicate with and spy on each other. We have also left thousands of pieces of garbage circling our world over the last half century. This refuse, stratified in various orbits, is the remnant of our material culture. The pieces that do not succumb to the decay of their orbits may someday provide an opportunity for some sort of astroarchaeology, documenting the enterprise of modern civilization’s exploration, exploitation, and settlement of the heavens. In short, as we have de-deified the sky, it has become like any other place that humans have occupied. Similarly, the starry heavens’ slender variations no longer reveal the gods’ will to us, but they can reveal—with the right array of critical tools, both mental and instrumental—the secrets of the origins and fate of the cosmos.

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Williamson, H. G. M. “Hezekiah and the Temple.” Pages 47–52 in Texts, Temples, and Traditions: A Tribute to Menahem Haran. Edited by Michael Fox et al. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 1996. Wilson, E. J. The Cylinders of Gudea: Transliteration, Translation and Index. AOAT 224. Neukirchen-Vluyn: Neukirchener Verlag, 1996. Winckler, Hugo. Altorientalische Forschungen, Erste Reihe (I–VI. 1893–1897). Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1897. ____. Die babylonische Geisteskultur in ihren Beziehungen zur Kulturentwicklung der Menschkeit. Leipzig: Quelle & Meyer, 1907. ____. Himmels- und Weltenbild der Babylonier als Grundlage der Weltanschauung und Mythologie aller Völker. Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1903. ____. Die Weltanshauung des alten Orients. Ex Oriente Lux 1/1. Leipzig: Pfeiffer, 1904. Wise, Michael. “Thunder in Gemini: An Aramaic Brontologion (4Q318) from Qumran.” Pages 13–50 in Thunder in Gemini and Other Essays on the History, Language and Literature of Second Temple Palestine. JSPSup 15. Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1994. Wiseman, Donald J. The Alalakh Tablets. Occasional Publication of the British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara 2. London: British Institute of Archaeology at Ankara, 1953. Wolkenstein, Diana, and Samuel N. Kramer. Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth: Her Stories and Hymns from Sumer. New York: Harper & Row, 1983. Wollf, H. Joel and Amos: A Commentary on the Books of the Prophets Joel and Amos. Hermenia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1977. Wolters, A. “An Allusion to Libra in Daniel 5.” Pages 291–306 in Die Rolle der Astrono­ mie in den Kulturen Mesopotamiens: Beiträge zum 3. Grazer Morgenländischen Symposion (23.–27. September 1991). Edited by Hannes D. Galter. Grazer Morgenländische Studien 3. Graz: GrazKult, 1993. Worthington, Martin. “Dialect Admixture of Babylonian and Assyrian in SAA VIII, X, XII, XVIII and XVIII.” Iraq 68 (2006) 59–84. Wright, David. Ritual in Narrative: The Dynamics of Feasting, Mourning, and Retaliation in the Ugaritic Tale of Aqhat. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns, 2001. Wright, G. Ernest. God Who Acts: Biblical Theology as Recital. London: SCM, 1952. Wyatt, Nicholas. Myths of Power: A Study of Royal Myth and Ideology in Ugaritic and Biblical Tradition. UBL 13. Münster: Ugarit Verlag, 1996. ____. Religious Texts from Ugarit. 2nd ed. London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002. ____. “Some Problems in the Nikkal Poem (CTA 24).” UF 9 (1977) 370–81. Xella, P. “Le dieu Rashap a Ugarit.” AAAS 29–30 (1979–80) 145–62. Yadin, Yigael. Hazor: The Rediscovery of a Great Citadel of the Bible. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1975. ____. “‫מעלות אחז‬.” ErIsr 5 (Mazar Volume; 1958) 91–96. [English summary, *88–*89.] Yadin, Yigael, et al. The James A. de Rothschild Expedition at Hazor, I–IV. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1961. Yoshikima, M. “An-šè . . . s (= è/e11) ‘to die’.” ASJ 11 (1989) 353. Zatelli, I. “Astrology and the Worship of Stars in the Hebrew Bible.” ZAW 103 (1991) 86–99. Zeitlin, Solomon. The Rise and Fall of the Judean State, vol. 1. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1962.

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Index of Authors Aaboe, A.  75 Abusch, T.  173, 174 Ackerman, P.  8, 25 Ackerman, S.  251 Aharoni, Y.  267 Ahlström, G. W.  299 Aistleitner, J.  187, 189 Aitken, K.  201 Albani, M.  22, 143, 229, 232, 234, 235, 236, 245, 252, 264, 265, 267, 268, 269, 270, 273, 274, 275, 277, 278, 279, 280, 282, 283, 284, 290, 293, 294, 300, 301, 322, 325 Albertz, R.  248, 250, 252 Albrektson, B.  15, 21 Albright, W. F.  13, 14, 21, 242, 263 Allegro, J.  260 Alster, B.  5, 36, 91, 92, 119, 160, 161, 166 Andersen, F.  322 Andreasen, N.-E.  269 Annus, A.  42 Aratus  110 Arnaud, D.  48, 185 Arnold, B. T.  317 Auerbach, E.  273 Barnett, R.  228 Barr, J.  15 Barré, M. L.  311, 312 Barstad, H. M.  239 Barth, K.  15 Bauer, T.  45 Beaulieu, P.-A.  56, 123, 124 Beckwith, R. T.  280, 281 Behrens, H.  111 Ben-Dov, J.  226, 260, 277, 278, 284, 285, 316 Beuken, W. A. M.  311, 312 Biggs, R. D.  36 Black, J.  13, 91, 96, 104, 111, 118, 167, 171 Blenkinsopp, J.  315 Bordreuil, P.  180, 186 Borger, R.  41, 129, 152, 239, 240

Borowski, O.  264 Bottéro, J.  46, 161, 167 Brack-Bernsen, L.  60, 66, 70, 71, 84 Brown, D.  13, 20, 30, 31, 34, 35, 41, 44, 45, 50, 51, 54, 55, 60, 61, 62, 64, 71, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 79, 80, 81, 83, 84, 85, 86, 96, 97, 100, 105, 110, 114, 115, 116, 123, 135, 140, 154, 160, 165, 239, 262, 276, 281 Buccellati, G.  162 Buylaere, G. van  259 Çağirgan, G.  58, 157 Cagni, L.  96, 107, 108 Caquot, A.  186, 202, 206, 241 Carroll, R.  250 Casaburi, M.  58, 60, 61, 128, 129 Cavigneaux, A.  173, 174, 176 Charlesworth, J. H.  260 Choi, J. H.  317 Civil, M.  34, 60, 126, 206 Clay, A.  110 Clifford, R.  194, 216, 217 Clines, D. J. A.  266 Cobb, W.  242 Cochrane, E.  13 Cogan, M.  251, 263, 304, 305, 307 Cohen, M. E.  30, 33, 84, 158, 182, 184, 266, 267, 268, 271 Cohn, R. L.  305 Cooley, J. L.  82, 95, 160, 180, 195, 245, 252 Cooper, A.  188, 190, 266 Cooper, J.  111, 112, 160, 161, 166, 167, 168, 171, 173 Courtois, J.-C.  192 Crenshaw, J.  257 Croatto, J. S.  22 Cross, F. M.  20, 21, 194, 216, 217 Cryer, F.  22, 23, 253 Csapo, E.  219 Cunchillos, J.-L.  198 Cunningham, G.  114, 118, 173

373

374

Index of Authors

Cutler, B.  206 Dahood, M.  23 Dalley, S.  96, 128, 129, 141, 142, 143, 155, 156, 157, 159 Daviau, P. M.  191 Day, J.  242 Dechend, H. von  5, 13, 297 Dhorme, P.  219 Dickens, C.  9 Dietrich, M.  23, 24, 46, 184, 185, 186, 188, 189, 190, 192, 200, 222 Dijk, J. J. A. van  37, 114 Dijkstra, M.  17, 184, 207, 209, 222, 223, 224 Dorp, J. van  306 Dossin, G.  82, 122, 125, 127 Driver, G.  227, 236, 237 Durand, J.-M.  44, 182 Dus, J.  293 Echols, C. L.  300 Edzard, D. O.  89, 90 Eissfeldt, O.  187 Englund, R.  84, 165, 284 Epping, J.  6 Etz, D. V.  244 Falkenstein, A.  118 Faulkner, R.  42 Feldman, W. M.  226 Fermor, J.  64 Fincke, J. C.  53, 54, 57 Finegan, J.  265, 266 Firmage, E.  318 Fishbane, M.  268 Fisher, L.  194, 216 Foster, B.  82, 87, 96, 120, 121, 124, 149 Fox, M.  324 Fox, N.  253 Foxvog, D.  118 Frahm, E.  55, 56 Frame, G.  155 Frankfort, H.  11, 12 Frayne, D.  1, 33, 38, 39 Freedman, D. N.  322 Freudenthal, H.  10 Fritz, M. M.  119 Fritz, V.  294, 296, 306

Gallagher, W.  213, 242 Gandz, S.  268 Gaster, T.  16, 17, 194, 199, 201, 206, 207, 209, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219, 220, 221, 222, 255, 256, 323 Gehlken, E.  18, 53 Geller, M.  136 Geller, S.  289 George, A. R.  18, 36, 41, 50, 51, 52, 53, 89, 90, 95, 104, 115, 118, 129, 173, 174, 176 Gertz, J. C.  318 Gevirtz, S.  240 Gibson, J. C.  194, 197, 200, 201, 202, 205, 206 Ginsberg, H.  204, 206, 209 Glassner, J.-J.  38, 39, 40, 41, 51, 116 Glessmer, U.  280 Goetze, A.  132, 211 Goldstein, B. R.  266 Gomri, T.  34 Gössmann, P. F.  12, 100, 106, 114, 122, 174, 177, 220, 274 Grabbe, L.  215 Gray, G.  256 Gray, J.  188, 227, 250 Green, M. W.  165 Green, P.  42 Greenfield, J. C.  260 Grelot, P.  242 Gross, W.  299, 300, 302 Grund, A. A.  269, 270, 282, 283 Guillaume, P.  269, 278, 282, 300, 303, 313 Gunkel, H.  242, 254 Güterbock, H.  49 Habel, N. C.  320, 323 Hadley, J.  291, 295 Hall, M. G.  111 Hallo, W.  36, 38, 56, 75, 269 Halpern, B.  261, 262, 263 Handy, L. K.  23, 289 Hasel, G.  269 Haupt, P.  238 Hegel, G. W. F.  13 Heidel, A.  121, 122 Heimpel, W.  113, 132, 161, 177, 181, 190, 243 Hentschel, G.  250

Index of Authors Herrmann, W.  211, 212 Hiebert, T.  13, 14, 22 Hillers, D.  21 Hoenig, S. B.  280 Holladay, J. S.  252, 254, 255 Holm-Nielsen, S.  244 Hommel, F.  141 Horowitz, W.  39, 41, 45, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 67, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 82, 111, 121, 122, 123, 125, 128, 135, 136, 141, 143, 145, 146, 147, 149, 155, 159, 177, 206, 263, 284 Horsnell, M. J. A.  44 Hostetter, H. C.  5, 6, 161, 162 Houtman, C.  295 Hruška, B.  130, 131, 133, 134 Huber, P.  35, 37 Hughes, J.  265, 267, 268, 298 Hunger, H.  19, 20, 28, 31, 35, 45, 50, 51, 52, 54, 58, 60, 62, 64, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 75, 76, 77, 78, 84, 137 Hyginus, G. J.  1, 26, 88, 110, 236 Iwry, S.  310 Izre'el, S.  40 Jacobsen, T.  38, 39, 112, 193 Janzen, J. G.  325 Jastrow, M.  211, 233, 236, 297 Jaubert, A.  263, 277, 278, 279, 280 Jeffers, A.  22, 23, 189, 214, 252, 255, 257 Jensen, P.  4, 5, 177, 219, 220, 242 Jeremias, A.  3, 4, 5 Jeremias, C.  304 Jirku, A.  187 Johnson, H. R.  244 Jones, A.  285 Jong, T. de  180, 182, 185, 188, 189, 190 Kaltner, J.  240 Kammenhuber, A.  49 Kasher, R.  304 Katz, D.  161 Kaufmann, Y.  21, 252 Kaufman, S. A.  266 Keel, O.  246, 251, 252, 293, 317 Kinnier Wilson, J. V.  39, 41, 102, 144, 145, 154 Koch, J.  5, 120, 128, 130, 138, 154, 230, 231

375

Koch-Westenholz, U.  19, 28, 37, 43, 48, 49, 53, 55, 56, 57, 67, 73, 81, 108, 138, 185, 219 Koffmahn, E.  267, 268 Kramer, S. N.  51, 90, 116, 118, 119, 160, 161, 167, 174 Krebernik, M.  270 Kruger, H. A. J.  297 Kugler, F. X.  4, 5, 6, 266, 268 Kuhn, T.  17, 18, 20 Kurtik, G.  165 Laato, A.  304 Labat, R.  57, 94 Lacheman, E. R.  48 Lambert, W. G.  96, 103, 122, 130, 134, 135, 141, 155, 156, 157, 159, 229 Landsberger, B.  102, 144, 145, 154 Lane, E.  240 Lapinkivi, P.  162 Largement, R.  18, 53, 254, 255, 256 Larsen, M. T.  2 Leach, E. R.  280 Leibovici, M.  49, 185 Leichty, E.  99, 136, 174 Lemaire, A.  228, 231, 267 Lenzi, A.  259 Lessmann, H.  3 Levenson, J. D.  15 Levine, B.  256 Lewis, T.  122 Lindars, B.  302 Lipiński, E.  188, 189 Litke, R. L.  135, 156, 160, 171 Livingstone, A.  123, 144, 177 Loewenstamm, S.  188 Loretz, O.  23, 24, 184, 186, 188, 189, 190, 192, 200, 222, 239, 255, 256, 257 Luckenbill, D. D.  152, 157 Lundbom, J.  250 Luukko, M.  259 Macdonald, J.  206 Machinist, P.  21, 96, 297 Mankowski, P.  232, 274 Marcus, D.  212, 215 Margalit, B.  194, 201, 202, 203, 204, 206, 211, 212, 220, 293, 294, 295 Marlow, H.  290

376

Index of Authors

Maul, S.  81 Maunder, E. W.  25, 227, 232, 235 Mayes, A.  247 McKay, H.  269 McKay, J. W.  242, 251, 263 Meier, G.  213 Meinhold, J.  268 Merkl, H.  9 Meyer, J.-W.  192 Meyer, L. de  84 Miano, D.  183, 264, 266, 278, 306 Michalowski, P.  37, 160 Milik, J.  226, 280 Miller, P. D., Jr.  303 Moor, J. C. de  16, 183, 184, 188, 190, 194, 205, 206, 215, 223, 240, 241 Mowinckel, S.  227, 228, 229, 232, 235, 236 Mueller, J. R.  260 Müller, G.  96, 205 Müller, M.  3 Najm, S.  278 Naveh, J.  267 Nelson, R. D.  293, 296, 298 Neugebauer, O.  7, 10, 11, 12, 18, 19, 26, 64, 70 Niehaus, J. J.  22 Niehr, H.  22, 293 Nissen, Hans J.  35, 165 Noort, E.  293, 294, 295, 297 Noth, M.  256 Nougayrol, M.  182, 189, 243 O’Connell, R. H.  242 O’Connor, M.  317 Oelsner, J.  54, 73, 74 Olivier, J.  182, 184 Olmo Lete, G. del  181, 184, 188, 189, 190, 198, 215, 223 Oppenheim, A. L.  7, 18, 31, 72, 81, 82, 101, 150, 168, 223 Osten-Sacken, P. von der  238 Oswalt, J. N.  22 Papke, W.  5 Pardee, D.  180, 181, 182, 186, 187, 188, 191, 192, 198, 199, 200, 202, 206, 208, 211, 212 Parker, S.  201, 202

Parpola, S.  19, 56, 79, 80, 276 Petrie, W. F.  246 Pfeiffer, H.  294, 300, 301, 325 Pinches, T. G.  7 Pingree, D.  7, 18, 19, 20, 27, 28, 31, 35, 45, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 58, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 69, 70, 71, 75, 76, 77, 78, 84, 128, 223, 287 Pongratz-Leisten, B.  252, 259, 262, 289 Pope, M.  323 Popović, M.  226, 260 Prinsloo, W. S.  242 Pseudo-Eratosthenes  1, 88, 110, 236 Rad, G. von  13, 254, 315, 317 Ravid, L.  277, 278 Rawi, F. N. H. al-  13, 18, 50, 51, 52, 53, 75, 96, 104, 115, 118, 173, 174, 176 Rawlinson, H.  4 Reiner, E.  18, 19, 45, 50, 53, 63, 81, 89, 126, 128, 141, 223, 238 Rendsburg, G.  197 Reynolds, F.  100, 104 Rilke, R. M.  9 Robbins, E.  231 Robinson, E.  235 Robinson, G.  268 Rochberg(-Halton), F.  9, 18, 19, 20, 25, 26, 27, 29, 42, 43, 44, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 75, 76, 80, 81, 108, 120, 121, 123, 133, 135, 137, 139, 144, 145, 153, 168, 185, 202, 228, 254, 259, 262 Rogerson, J. W.  3 Röllig, W.  87 Römer, W. H. P.  58 Rosenbaum, S. N.  5 Rudolph, D. L.  315 Rudolph, W.  257 Rutz, M.  46, 47, 51 Sachs, A.  7, 19, 29, 75, 77, 78, 80, 81 Sallaberger, W.  30, 33 Sanmartín, J.  184 Santillana, G. de  5, 13, 297 Sarna, N.  318 Sawyer, J.  185, 188, 189 Schaumberger, J.  63, 74 Scheil, V.  46 Scherer, A.  300

Index of Authors Schiaparelli, G.  25, 227, 229, 235, 236, 250, 252 Schmidt, W.  3 Schott, A.  146, 154 Schroer, S.  317 Schüle, A.  317 Segal, J. B.  34, 270, 271 Seitz, C. R.  304 Selms, A. van  211 Shipp, R. M.  241, 243 Šilejko, W.  82 Simkins, R.  22, 290 Sjöberg, Å. W.  36, 37, 41 Ska, J.-L.  15 Skinner, J.  254 Sladek, W. R.  162, 173, 174 Sloley, R. W.  306 Slotsky, A.  76 Smelik, K. A. D.  304 Smith, G.  4 Smith, J.  249 Smith, M. S.  22, 23, 183, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 206, 207, 208, 209, 212, 214, 215, 217, 220, 223, 243, 244, 289, 303, 313, 315, 318 Snow, C. P.  8, 9, 13 Soden, W. von  82, 132, 156, 159, 239 Sokoloff, M.  236, 260 Soldt, W. van  18, 53, 180, 182, 185, 188, 189, 190 Sołtysiak, A.  5 Sommerfeld, W.  155, 156, 159 Sparks, K.  318 Spieckermann, H.  250, 252 Spronk, K.  244, 245, 319 Stackert, J.  313 Staden, H. von  10 Stager, L.  246 Starr, I.  248 Steinkeller, P.  38, 39, 40, 248 Stephenson, F.  185, 188, 189 Stieglitz, R. R.  197 Strassmaier, J. N.  6, 7 Stucken, E.  3 Sweeney, M.  304, 307, 309 Swerdlow, N. M.  76 Szarzynska, K.  165 Sznycer, M.  202, 206, 241

377

Tadmor, H.  304, 305, 307 Talmon, S.  264, 270 Talon, P.  141, 148, 149 Tanchel, S.  315 Tawil, H. b. Y.  232, 274 Taylor, J. G.  293, 308, 318, 319 Thompson, R. C.  18 Thureau-Dangin, F.  178 Tigchelaar, E. J. C.  313 Tromp, N. J.  244 Tropper, J.  188 Tsumura, D.  208 Tufnell, O.  246, 253 Tur-Sinai, H.  228, 323 Uehlinger, C.  246, 251, 252, 293, 319 Ungnad, A.  44, 47 VanderKam, J.  266, 268, 277, 278, 279 Van Leeuwen, R. C.  242 Vanstiphout, H.  149 Vaux, J. de  255 Veen, P. van der  246, 274, 276 Veijola, T.  269 Verderame, L.  18, 53, 111, 113, 117, 144, 148, 149, 213 Vermeylen, J.  304 Virolleaud, C.  18, 187 Vlaardingerbroek, J.  249 Vogels, W.  314, 315 Volk, K.  160, 161, 163, 166, 167, 170, 171 Wacholder, B. Z.  30, 272, 277, 278, 279, 280, 286 Wacholder, S.  277, 278, 279, 280 Waerden, B. L. van der  7, 10 Wagenaar, J.  188, 189, 264, 266, 278 Walker, C. B. F.  32, 33, 41, 64, 124, 125, 127, 129, 137, 176, 189 Wallenfells, R.  178 Waltke, B. K.  317 Walton, J. H.  254, 255, 313 Wasserman, N.  82 Watson, P.  39, 41, 67, 71, 72 Watson, R.  62 Watson, W.  197, 206 Weidner, E.  12, 18, 43, 47, 50, 51, 53, 54, 56, 58, 63, 73, 104, 124, 139, 158, 178, 219

378 Weimar, P.  293 Weinfeld, M.  295, 301 Weippert, M.  267 Weisberg, D.  30, 272, 286 Wellhausen, J.  279 Wells, R.  261 Wenham, G.  315, 317 Westenholz, J. G.  87, 93, 95, 106 Whewell, W.  26, 27 Wiggerman, F.  120, 122, 142 Wilcke, C.  39, 40, 161, 166 Wildberger, H.  230 Williams, C.  31, 72 Williamson, H. G. M.  304, 309 Wilson, E. J.  36 Winckler, H.  2, 3, 5 Wiseman, D. J.  46, 184

Index of Authors Wolff, H. W.  257 Wolkenstein, D.  173 Worthington, M.  53 Wright, D.  199, 203, 315 Wright, G. E.  9, 13, 14, 15 Wyatt, N.  181, 194, 197, 198, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 209, 212, 213, 223 Yadin, Y.  241, 246, 306 Yoshikima, M.  40 Zatelli, I.  232, 252, 303 Zeitlin, S.  280 Zevit, Z.  250 Zgoll, A.  209 Zimmern, H.  238 Zólyomi, G.  114, 115, 116

Index of Scripture

Genesis 1  313, 314, 315, 316, 318, 319, 320, 326 1–2  315 1:1–13  316 1:1–2:4  257 1:2  290 1:4  314 1:5  318 1:6–7  314 1:8  318 1:10  318 1:14  280, 281, 313, 314, 315, 316 1:14–18  313, 317 1:16  318 1:18  314 1:20  318 1:21  318 1:24  318 1:26  316 1:27  317 1:28  316 2  314 2:2–3  315 2:15  314 6–8  4, 278 15:5  233, 254 19:23  250 22:17  254, 256 37  254 37:9  256 37:9–10  110, 254 49  254 Exodus 3:2  199, 290 4:21  257 6:2  315 7:3  257

Exodus (cont.) 7:9  257 7:14–24  160 9  294, 295 11:9–10  257 12:2  266 13:4  266 16:23  316 16:25–26  316 16:29–30  316 20:8  316 23:15  266 23:16  264 25:6  315 26:33  314 27:10  315 31:13  315 31:17  315 34:18  266 34:22  264 35:8  315 35:14  315 35:28  315 39:37  315 Leviticus 1:17  314 5:8  314 10:10  314 11:47  314 19:30  316 20:24–26  314 23  273 23–24  266, 283, 285 23–25  315, 316 23–28  319 23:3  283, 315 23:6–8  316 23:28  316 24:2  315

379

Leviticus (cont.) 25:1–7  316 25:8–17  316 26:2  316 31:13  315 31:17  315 Numbers 4:9  315 4:16  315 8:14  314 16:9  314 16:21  314 24:17  240 24:17–18  254, 256 28–29  273 Deuteronomy 1:10  254, 256 4  247 4:1  233 4:15  227, 323 4:15–19  246, 289, 295, 320, 326 4:19  233, 237, 249, 252, 260 4:34  257 6:22  257 7:19  257 10:14  262 10:22  254, 256 16:1  266, 267 16:18  275 17:2–5  249 17:3  233 18:10–12  258 21:22  296 26:8  257 28:62  254, 256 29:2  257

380

Index of Scripture

Deuteronomy (cont.) 32  297 33:26  261 34:11  257

2 Samuel 6:14  268 6:16  268 11:1  302

Joshua 5  313 8:33  275 10  292, 295, 297, 298, 300, 302, 306, 307, 326 10:1–14  251 10:1–27  294 10:3  297, 302 10:4–5  302 10:7–14  294 10:9–14  292, 297 10:11  294, 295, 302 10:12–13  254, 293, 312 10:12–15  294 10:14  296 10:18  294, 295 10:23  302 10:27  294, 295, 296 18:4  317 23:2  275 24:1  275

1 Kings 6–8  268 6:1  265, 279 6:37  265 6:38  265 8:2  265 8:27  262 20:22  302 20:26  302 22  291 22:5  248 22:19  233, 251, 261 22:21  290 22:21–22  290 22:22  291

Judges 1:35  321 2:9  321 4  300, 303 5  225, 298, 300, 302, 325, 326 5:4–5  302 5:10–21  300 5:19–20  251 5:19–21  299 5:20  300, 301, 303 5:31  250 6:36–46  206 8:13  321 14:18  321

2 Kings 4:10  317 4:23  270 12:32–33  270 17:16  233, 239, 247 20  306, 307, 308, 309, 311, 326 20:1  307 20:1–11  304, 312 20:6  307 20:8  308 21:3  233, 247 21:3–5  248 21:5  233, 247 23:4–5  233, 247 23:4–12  248 23:5  232, 233, 234, 274, 275, 282, 291 23:11–12  310 23:12  310 23:15–16  250 23:21–23  281 37:35  307

1 Samuel 12:17  317 14:24  295 18:21  317

1 Chronicles 21:16  244 21:22  317 23:4  275

1 Chronicles (cont.) 26:29  275 2 Chronicles 3:2  279 18:18  233 30:2–3  270 33:3  233 33:5  233 Ezra 6:15  272 Nehemiah 1:1  272 2:1  272 6:15  272 9:10  257 Esther 2:16  272 3:7  272 8:9  272 8:12  272 9:1  272 9:15  272, 279 9:17  272 9:19  272, 279 9:21  272 Job 1–2  290 1:6  324 2:1  324 3:8  318 4:19  236 5:1  299 9  320, 323, 324, 326 9:2–4  320 9:5–6  321 9:7  322, 323 9:7–9  320, 322, 326 9:7–10  321 9:9  208, 227, 229, 230, 235, 236, 320, 322, 323, 325, 326 9:9–10  322 9:10  323 9:12–14  321

Index of Scripture Job (cont.) 9:13  122, 318 10:16  323 11:17  311 12:13–25  320 13:28  236 15:15  299 26:12  122, 318 37:9  227, 229, 234, 235 38  324, 325, 326 38:1  229 38:2–4  323 38:5–7  324 38:7  251, 324, 326 38:22–30  325 38:31  208, 229, 230, 273, 325 38:31–32  273 38:31–33  320, 323, 324, 326 38:32  232, 234, 236, 237, 325 38:33  273, 275, 325 38:35–38  325 38–41  320, 323 40:20  265 40:25  318 Psalms 8:4  207 17:14  311 39:6  311 40:5  318 49:2  311 62:6  312 68  290 68:5  261 74:14  318 78:43  257 81:4  268 82  297 82:6–7  297 87:4  122, 318 89:6–9  251 89:11  122, 318 89:15  240 89:48  311 96  290 97:2  240

Psalms (cont.) 103:19–21  251, 290 104:4  199 104:26  318 105:27  257 105:32  294, 295 114  290 135:9  257 147:4  227 Proverbs 7:20  268 Isaiah 1:4  299 1:13  269, 270 2:3  317 4:5  240 6:2  199 8:18  257 13  230 13:6  230 13:9  230 13:10  230, 231 14  109, 195, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245 14:12  211, 221, 222, 244, 256 14:12–15  241, 244 14:13  244 14:15  244 14:15–17  244 14:23  244 18:4  267 19:1  261 20:3  257 20:9–10  305 21:1  229 27:1  318 30:7  122, 318 34:4  233 36–39  309 38  304, 306, 308, 309, 310, 326 38:1–8  304, 308, 311, 312 38:8  305, 307, 309 38:10  312 38:10–13  311

381 Isaiah (cont.) 38:10–20  309 38:11  312 38:12  312 38:12–13  312 38:13  312 38:18–20  312 38:21–22  304, 308, 309, 311 40:26  262 44:19  265 44:25  258 45:6–7  322 45:12  251, 290 46:1–2  258 46:7  258 47:1  257, 258 47:13  231, 257, 258, 259 50:9  236 51:8  236 51:9  122, 318 60:20  312 Jeremiah 1–51  225 4:11  267 7:18  249 8:1–2  249 8:2  233, 248 9:13  246 10:2  231 10:2–3  257, 258, 259 19:13  233, 248, 249, 310 31:37  262 32:19  310 32:20–21  257 32:29  246 33:22  233, 254, 256, 290 44:18  249 Ezekiel 1:22  262 1:26–28  262 8:14  273 8:16  249 28:7  297 28:17  297 32:7  256

382 Daniel 2:27  259 2:31  266 4:4  259 4:33  266 5:6  266 5:7  259 5:9–10  266 5:11  259 7:28  266 8:10  233, 290 8:11  240 Hosea 2:13  269 4:23  270 Joel 2:10  256, 257

Index of Scripture Joel (cont.) 3:2–4  257 3:3–4  256, 257 4:15  256, 257 Amos 4:13  261 5:8  208, 229, 230, 322 5:21–27  239 5:25–27  237 5:26  238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 252 5:26–27  239 8:5  269, 270 Micah 1:3  261 4:2  317

Nahum 3:16  254, 256 Habakkuk 3:5  297 3:11  196 Zephaniah 1:2–6  248 1:4–6  246, 248 1:6  248 Zechariah 1:7  272 7:1  272 14:5  299 Revelation 22:16  256

Deuterocanonical Literature Sirach 43:25  318

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources Index of Select Sumerian and Akkadian Star, Planet, and Deity Names In this index, no attempt has been made to index the names of major deities, including the sun and moon gods, since such entries would have resulted in excessively long lists. ulaḫû 104 mulanunītu 

106, 118, 243

mulAL.LUL 38 mul.(giš)APIN 

135, 147 mulAŠ.IKU 125 mul/gišBAN (qaštu)  127–29, 151–52, 158–59, 177, 218 d/muldelebat/dilbat/dilibat  35, 61, 67, 81, 93, 95, 137, 139 ulELAM.MA 104 elamatum  124, 127–30, 176–77 mulÉŠ.SÙ.NUN.ŠE.TU (= SAMAN)  114 mulGAL 100 mulGÀM (gamlu) 213 mulGÀM.KUR-ḫa 65 mul.gišGANA.ÙR/maškakātu 38–39 dgirra (dBIL.GI)  124–27, 129–30, 139, 152, 173, 177 mulGÍR.TAB  39, 41, 61, 114 (mul)GUD/GÙ.AN.NA  42, 98, 120, 126–27, 129–30, 173–78, 273–74 ulḪUL 104 mul.lúḪUN.GÁ  38, 41, 107, 118 mulis lê  39, 126 mul/ulKA .(A)  13, 96, 98, 103–5, 109 5 mulKAK.SI.SÁ  66, 130, 230–31 mulkalītu 126–27 mulKÉŠ-da 41 mulKU   135, 147 6 ulLUGAL-ru 104 mul/ulMAN-ma  100–1, 104 (mul)MAR.(GÍD.DA)  41, 98, 105, 122, 128, 174 mulMAR.GÍD.AN.NA 174

mulMAŠ.TAB.BA.GAL.GAL 174

mulMAŠ.TAB.BA.TUR.TUR 174

MUL.MUL (zappu)  68, 81, 98, 106, 126–27, 178, 243, 273–74 mulMUŠ  39, 122 ulnakaru 104 d/mulnēberu  58, 146–47, 153–55, 158–59 mulSAG.ME.GAR  67, 100–1, 108, 154, 262, 276 d/mulSAG.UŠ (kayyamānu)  238–39, 241, 252 mul/ulṣalbatānu  67, 98, 100, 105–8, 189 sebitti /mul 7.BI  91, 96, 98–99, 106, 109, 139 mulSIM.MAḪ (šinunūtu)  221, 243 mulSIPA.ZI.AN.NA (šitadallu, šitaddaru) 41, 42, 120, 122, 127, 130, 174, 219, 230, 243, 273 mulŠUDUN 126 mul.dŠUL.GI 41 mulŠUL.PA.È.(A)  41, 100, 108–9 mulŠU.PA 67 mulTI .MUŠEN 39 8 d/mul TIR.AN.NA 170–72 mulUD.KA.DUḪ.A 65 (mul)UDU.IDIM  80, 98, 230 mulUDU.IDIM.GU .UD 67 4 mulUDU.IDIM SA   100, 106 5 mulUDU.IDIM.SAG.UŠ 67 mulUGA.MUŠEN 39 mulUR.GI  122 7 mulUR.GIR  39 7 (mul)UR.IDIM (uridimmu) 141–42 mul4U.RI.RI 70 mulzibānītu 67

383

384

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

Select Sumerian and Akkadian Terms In this index, no attempt has been made to index common terms, such as “star” or “sky/heaven,” since such entries would have resulted in excessively long lists. adannu etēqu  106–7, 109 agû  101, 126, 148–49, 202 AN.MI 51 AN.PA (elât šamê) 134 AN.TA.LÙ  51, 185 AN.ÚR (išid šamê)  134, 175 attalû 108 baʾālu 105 bašmu (MUŠ.ŠA.TUR)  91, 122, 141–42 bâtu 125 bibbu  100, 109, 297 DANA (bēru) 69, 72, 74, 121–124 dipāru  97, 129, 138–40, 197 eṣēru  121, 146 kânu/kīnu (GI.NA)  93, 102, 274 katāmu (DUL)  101, 108 KÙŠ (ammatu) 121–24 lumāšu  143, 145 manzāzu (KI.GUB)  61, 102, 109, 137, 144–46, 153–54, 158, 232 see also mazzaltu and nanzānzu

mazzaltu  232, 235, 273–75 MAŠ.MAŠ 81 maṣṣartu 138 MUŠ.ḪUŠ/mušḫuššu  122, 127, 141–42 namburbî  31, 72, 81, 107 nanzānzu  133, 137, 140, 145, 153 napāḫu (KUR) 138–39 nebû  136–37, 262 NINDA  66, 69, 70, 121–124 nūru 125 ṣerret same 132 šap/battu  148, 269, 282 šarūra našû  104–5, 106, 109 šarūru (ŠE.ER.ZI)  105, 119, 137–38 šarūru (ŠE.ER.ZI) maqātu  103, 107–9 šuzuzzu (GUB)  117 ummulu  105, 109 wapû 125 ziqpu  38, 63, 65, 74–75, 189,

Select Hebrew Terms ‫“( הֵילֵל ּבֶן־ׁשַ חַר‬Shining One, Son of Dawn”)  109, 211, 221, 241–245 ‫“( ַה ֶחדֶר‬The Chamber”)  227–29, 234–35 ‫“(  ח ְַדרֵי תֵ מָן‬Chambers of the South”)  227– 29, 235, 321 ‫ ּכיּון‬ ִ 237–41, 252 ‫“( ִּכימָה‬Cluster”)  208, 227, 229–232, 234, 236, 243, 273–74, 301, 321–22, 325 ‫“( ְּכ ִסיל‬Fool”)  227, 229–232, 234, 243, 273, 321–22, 325 ‫  ַמּזָל‬232

‫   ַמּזָלֹות‬232–235, 247, 273–75, 282 ‫   ַמּזָרֹות‬232, 234–35, 273, 275, 325 ‫ מזִָרים‬ ְ 229, 234–35 ‫ סּכּות‬237–41 ִ ‫“( ַעיִׁש‬Rainer”)  234, 236–37, 273, 302, 325 ‫“( עָׁש‬Rainer”)  236–37, 302, 321 ‫ַּׁש ַמיִם‬ ָ ‫“( ְצבָא ה‬Host of Heaven”)  227, 232–35, 247–51, 290–91, 316–17 ‫“( ָרהָב‬Rahab”)  122, 318–19, 321–22 ‫“( ׁשַ ּבָת‬Sabbath”)  268–69, 278–79, 281–84, 315–16

Sources in Sumerian, Akkadian, Hittite, etc. Adapa 40 Aḫû EAE  56–57 Alalakh Tablets #6:35 #35: 7  184 #35:10 184

Alalakh Tablets (cont.) #44:7 184 #252:21 184 #254:28 184 #263:20 184 #269:17 184

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources Alalakh Tablets (cont.) #269:25 184 #451 46 #452 46 Almanacs  30, 77, 78, 189 AN = dA-nu-um 156 II 185–235  156 IV 172–87  135 IV 176  135 IV 181  160 IV 288  171 IV 291  171 V 217  174 AN = šamû VIII 59  269 IX 1ff.  269 Anzû 157 AO 6446 viii, ix 9–10 (= MSL 11 133–34)  82 6769 82 Archives Épistolaires de Mari I/1 #248 54 Assur 10145  47, 51 Assurbanipal Prism B V 15–19  129 Astrolabe B (= KAV 218)  52, 58–63, 71–73, 85, 127, 146–47, 155, 158–59, 189, 206, 275, 282 Section A  58, 60–62, 74 A 12–18  273 A 26–31  273 A 38–44  273 A i 12–25  60 A i 32–33  126 A i 38  120 A i 45–50  120 A ii 1:10–12  129 A ii 16  129 A ii 19  129 A ii 39–46  60 A iii 1–10  60 Section B  58, 60–64, 147 B i 14–16  128, 152 B ii 1–5  136–137 B ii 1–7  61 B ii 3  137 B ii 29–32  58, 147, 159 B ii 32  154 B ii rev. 10–13  147 B iii 1–3  147 B iii 7  122

385

Astrolabe B, Section B (cont.) B iii 27  147 Section C  58, 62, 147 Section D  58, 60, 62 D i 21  129 Bilgames and Huwawa  89–93 34–38 89 37 91 39–44 90 40 91 Bilgames and the Bull of Heaven 173–78 A ii 18–20  175, 178 Ma ii 127  176 Ma ii 134–37  176 BM 16775 44 17175 + 17284  84, 115–16, 134 22606 44 26187 (= STC 2 78:35 )  97 26472 41 55502 73 78206 (= CT 44 47, MSL 11 144)  83 82293 137 86381 44 88318 (= CT 58 13)  116–17, 120 40–51 117 96739 (= CT 36 33–34)  118–20 23–24 119 24 119 46–49 119 109154 44 121034 47 CBS 574 82 1521 114 CT 16 19:59–61 (= SAACT 5 16:25)  136 18 14 269 18 (K 4587) rev. iii 29  153 25 31 rev. ii 8  171 26 39:4–9 (= K 7069)  126 40:3 (= K 250)  133 40 iv 2 (= K 250)  219 45:16–18 (= K 2067)  100, 104 49  126, 139 33 10 (= K 8536)  120, 133

386

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

CT 33 (cont.) 11–12 145 44 47 (= BM 78206, MSL 11 144)  83 58 13 (=M 88318)  116 CTH #534 49 #535:1–3 49 Curse of Agade 1–3  173 Diaries  7, 19, 20, 30, 72, 75–77, 189, 230, 254 Diviner’s Manual  72, 76, 223 1–21 72 22–24 72 25–35 72 36–40 72 39–40  150, 168 41–84 72 42–46 72 57 72 57–65 223 57–71 72 66–71 31 72–83 72 Emar VI/4 #650–52 48 #650–65 185 #653 48 #655 48 Enlil and Ninlil 111–14 52–53 111 83–84 112 85–86 112 Enūma Anu Enlil  10–12, 18–19, 26, 29, 31–32, 43, 45, 47, 49- 55, 57–58, 70–72, 79, 84–85, 88, 97, 189, 325 Tablet 1  54, 112–13, 117, 144–45 Tablets 1–22  50 Tablet 3  148 Tablet 4  54 Tablet 5 II 11′–12′  213 Tablet 8  54 Tablet 14  50–52, 70, 118 C 12  115 Tablet 15  47, 51 Tablets 15–20  54 Tablet 15–22  44, 85 Tablet 16–20  202 Tablets 17–18  46 Tablets 17–19  47

Enūma Anu Enlil (cont.) Tablet 20  47, 51, 53–54, 108, 139 Tablets 20/21–35  46 Tablet 21  48, 149 Tablet 22  44, 46–48, 51, 108, 121, 133, 137, 144–45, 150, 153, 168 22 I:III–IV  46 Tablet 24 I 14 (= SOEAE 24 I 14)  103, 107 III 5–9 (= SOEAE 24 III 5–9)  139 III 11 (= SOEAE 24 III 11)  139 III 36 (= SOEAE 24 III 36)  139 Tablet 27 III 4 (= SOEAE 27 III 4)  150 Tablets 29–40  49 Tablet 33  54 Tablet 35  49 Tablets 40–49  46 Tablets 50–51 (= BPO 2) I 5  100 I 19  101 III 2  135 III 6a  100 III 13–13a  174 III 13b  100 III 14b  100 III 18  101 IV 3  101 IV 4–4b  98 IV 13  101 V 2–2b  98 VI 2–2b  98 VII 3–3b  98 IX 13  106 XI 30–31  174 XV 31  105 Tablet 52  54 Tablet 55  52, 54 Tablet 56  18, 54 Tablets 59–60 (= BPO 3) BPO 3, 42–43:33–34  94 BPO 3, 42–43:18  171 BPO 3, 44–45:44  94 BPO 3, 44–45:48  94 BPO 3, 48–49:91  139 BPO 3, 140–141:rev. ii 35–37  171 Tablets 59–63  94 Tablet 63 (= BPO 1, Venus Tablet of Ammiṣaduqa)  10, 11, 44, 85, 165, 223

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources Enūma Anu Enlil (cont.) Tablet 63 (cont.) BPO 1, omens 1–21  45 BPO 1, omen 10  44–45 BPO 1, omens 22–33  45 BPO 1, omens 34–37  45 Enūma Eliš  19, 110, 118, 140–60, 179, 193–94, 318 Tablet I 1–20 140 21–46 140 47–54 140 55–78 140 79–104 141 105–6 141 107–24 141 141–44 142 147–62 142 Tablet II 1–6 142 7–79 142 80–94 142 95–126 142 127–35 142 136–63 142 Tablet III 1–124 142 125–38 142 Tablet IV 1–18 142 19–28 143 29–64 144 65–70 144 71–86 144 87–103 144 104–10 144 111–22 144 115–18 142 123–46 144 Tablet V  76, 152, 159, 179 1 145 1–2  102, 144–45 3–4 145 4 117 5–10 146 6 153–54 11–13 147 14–22 148 19–20 134

Enūma Eliš (cont.) Tablet V (cont.) 21 149–50 22 149 23  151, 159 23–26 150 27–44 151 45–52 151 46 138 53–58 151 59–66 151 67–76 151 73–76 142 77–116 151 83 157 117–56 151 124–46 151 Tablet VI  157 1–16 151 17–26 151 27–38 151 39–44 151 45–68 151 68–81 151 81–91 177 82–84 151 85–91 152 86–91 98 90  128, 129 92–165 153 Tablet VII 1–144 153 115 152 124–27 147 124–34 153–54 125 155 127 155 128 154 142  131, 156–57 Ephemerides  7, 77 Epic of Gilgamesh  4–6, 52 Tablet I 245–74 110 Tablet VI  4, 173–78 94–95 175 103–5 175 106–12 175 119–22 175 123–40 176

387

388

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

Epic of Gilgamesh (cont.) Tablet VI (cont.) 148–50 176 158–59 176 160–66 176–77 Tablet IX  4 Tablet X 39 129 Tablet XI  4 Erra and Išum  12, 13, 95–110, 157, 179, 290 Tablet I 1–45 97 9–11 97 21 97 31–38 91 34 91 38 91 39–40 98 43 98 45–93 99 74 99 77 99 83 99 85 99 94–99 99 96 99 100–104 99 105–23 99 109 99–100 115–17 100 115–16 100 124–25 100 127–28 100 132–134 102 135–37 102 169–78 103 179–91 103 Tablet II  13 A 1–10  103 A 3–4  103 A 4  103 B1/15–iii 5′  103 B iii 5′–14′  106 iii rev. 6′  96 iii rev. 6′–14′  104 iii rev. 9′  104 iii rev. 10′  105 iii rev. 12′–13′  104 iii rev. 14′  96 C 11/iii 39′–47/iv 35  106

Erra and Išum (cont.) Tablet II (cont.) C 12–13  106 C 14–15  107 C 15  108 C 42  108 Tablet III A 108 B 108 C 108 D 108 D 3–4  132 Tablet IV 1–35 108 36–49 108 50–86 108 54 97 63–86 108 69 97 121–26 109 124 108 127 109 128–50 109 Tablet V 1–19 109 1–38 109 27 97 39–47 109 42 96 48–61 109 Etana MA I/D 8–9  39 Exaltation of Ištar  97, 130–40, 144, 160 Tablet III 13 131 13–20 131 14 131 17 131 18 131 21 132 21–24 132 22 132 23 132 24 132 25–38 133 39–42 133 43–45 133 47–50 133 51–56 134 53–56 136

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources Exaltation of Ištar (cont.) Tablet III (cont.) 57–60 134 57–66 147 59 136 60 136 61–66 136 63  135, 137 64  135, 137 66  132, 137 67–68 137 69–70 138 70 132 71–91 139 Tablet IV  139 Farmers Instruction  37, 60, 206 1:38–39 34 Girra and Elamatum  124–30, 152, 160, 173, 176–77, 179 25–35 125 36–38 127 36–41 127–28 43–45 128 43–46 176 Goal Year Texts  30, 77–78 Gudea Cylinder A  83, 92–93 IV 25–V 27  36 VI 1–2  36 IX 9–11  36 Hilprecht Text  see HS 245 Horoscopes  19, 31, 80–81 HS 229  see HS 245 245 (= HS 229, Hilprecht Text)  123 1897 73 Inana and An 114–16 146 115 146–47 114 146–48 114 147 115 Inana and Šukaletuda  160–73, 195 1–41 162 4–5  166, 169 8  166, 169 15–16  166, 172 15–18  166, 169 15–20 166 23–38 162 41–46 162

Inana and Šukaletuda (cont.) 42–88 162 91–96 163 93 168 94 168 97–102 163 101–2  166, 169 101–3 167 103–15 163 104  167, 172 112–15 166 112–16 168 113 166 116  163, 169 117–25 163 126–27 163 126–28 169–70 129–36 163 137–76 163 141 168 142 168 177–84 163 181 169 181–238  167, 172 184 169 185–91 163 192–93 163 194–210 163 210 169 211–13 163 213 169 214–20 163 221–35 163 235 169 236–38 163 238 169 239–41  169, 172 239–45 164 245 170 245–50  162, 172 246–49 164 250 164 251–53 170 251–55  164, 172 255 171 256–89 164 263 168 264 168 296–310 164

389

390

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

Inana’s Descent  5, 161–162 4–5 166 78–84 167 86–87 173 171–72 128 Iqqur īpuš  45, 56–59, 85 K 250 (= CT 26 40:3)  133 2067 (= CT 26 45:16–18)  100, 104 2310 123 2315 + 3125 + 83-1-18,469  81–82 3507 (= OECT 6 74–77)  81 3561 + 6141  51 4292 (= BPO 2, III 2)  135 4587 (= CT 18 18) rev. iii 29  153 7069 (CT 26 39:4–9)  126–27 8536 (CT 33 10)  120, 133 KAR 6 124 307 (= VAT 8917)  121–22 rev. 4–6  123–24 KAV 218  see Astrolabe B KBo 2 19 (= KUB 8 2 + 43 16)  49 8 6  48 8 47  49 13 14 + 16 + KUB 8 7  49 13 15  49 13 18  49 34 7  49 KUB 4 47r: 39–48  50, 81 4 47r: 43–46  50 4 63  49, 185 4 64  48 8 1  49 8 2 + 43 16 (=KBo 2 19)  49 8 4  49 8 8  49 8 9  49 34 12  49 Kutha Legend 93–95 72–78 93 79–87 93 88–107 93 128–32 93 128–45 95 133–45 94 149–80 95

Labbu Myth (= Rm 282, CT 13 33–34)  120– 124, 160 5–17 121 17 122 LBAT 1413–52 77 1576 ii 7  171 Letters  18, 19, 30, 79–80, 86 SAA 10 8 rev. 1–2  52 23:6–12 60 42:rev. 10–20  276 45:rev. 1–10  138 46:8–rev. 4  138–39 62 72 63:8 98 67:rev. 1–3  72 75:12–14 139 100:18–25 189 119:3 138 119:5 138 128:8–9 138 143:8 138 144:7 138 145:3′–5′ 138 159:2 138 170:rev. 5–7  138 221:rev. 7  210 347:rev. 8  138 363:9–10 138 381 189 381:5–rev. 4  107 538:rev. 7′–9′  138 liginnu/liqtu 56 Lugal-e 721  37 Maqlû VI 4  213 maš ʾaltu  56 MLC 2190 81 MSL 3 96–128, 132–53 II 265  153 11 30 (= Ur5-ra XXII 10:3′)  126 30–31 (= Ur5-ra XXII 9:22′–11:9′) 83 49 (= RS 23.83 + 23.364: 60–65)  83 107–8 82 133 viii 39–44  41 133–34 (= AO 6446 viii, ix 9–10)  82 136 (= OECT 157 rev. ii′ 1′–8′)  82

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources MSL 11 (cont.) 137–138 rev. ii 1′–2′  41 143 83 144 (= BM 78206, CT 44 47)  83 mukallimtu šumma Sîn ina tāmartīšu 55–56 mukallimtu UD AN dEN.LÌL 55 MUL.APIN  11–12, 51, 52, 62–73, 82, 85, 118, 260 Tablet I i 1  97, 135 i 1–ii 35 (= Section A)  63–64, 71, 82 i 3  126 i 7  38 i 16–17  96, 98, 105 i 33  171 i 36–38  154–55 i 40  97, 135, 136 i 41  211 i 42  10 i 42–43  118 i 43 38, 96 ii 1  126, 149–50, 174 ii 2  38 ii 3  38 ii 7  128, 152 ii 8  122 ii 9  162 ii 13–33  69 ii 19  97, 135, 147 ii 19–20  162 ii 26–27  162 ii 28  141 ii 36  72 ii 36–iii 12 (= Section B)  64, 69, 70–71, 118, 146 ii 39  174 ii 40  38 ii 43–iii 12  52 ii 44  129 ii 36  38 ii 36–iii 12  64–65 ii 41  38 iii 1  141 iii 11  96, 106 iii 13–33 (= Section C)  64, 71 iii 15  174 iii 16  38 iii 20  162

391

MUL.APIN (cont.) Tablet I (cont.) iii 22  96, 106 iii 23  141 iii 24  38 iii 26  38 iii 33  141 iii 34–48 (= Section D)  64, 71 iii 45–46  174 iii 46–47  38 iv 1  99 iv 1–3  65 iv 1–9  65 iv 1–30 (= Section E)  65, 74 iv 6  38 iv 7  99 iv 10–14  65 iv 10–30  65 iv 20  38 iv 31–32  65 iv 31–37  119 iv 31–II i 8 (= Section F)  65, 254 iv 33  174 iv 33–37  66 iv 34  38 iv 37  96, 106, 118 Tablet II i 1  149–50 i 1–6  66 i 9–24 (= Section G)  31, 34, 66, 70–71 i 15  38 i 21  38 i 22–24  66 i 25  122 i 25–31  67 i 25–37 (= Section H)  66–67 i 38–43  67 i 38–67 (= Section I)  67–68, 70 i 40  137 i 53–59  51 i 64–67  51 i 68–71 (= Section J)  68 Gap A 1  99 Gap A 4  99 Gap A 6  99 Gap A 1–7 (= Section K)  68 Gap A 1–ii 20  31 Gap A 8–9  68, 270, 273–277

392

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

MUL.APIN (cont.) Tablet II (cont.) Gap A 8–ii 20 (= Section L)  34, 66, 68–69 Gap A 10–ii 6  276 ii 7  162 ii 11–12  284 ii 13–17  69 ii 18  43 ii 18–20  35, 69 ii 21  115, 134 ii 21–42 (= Section M)  69–70 ii 31  134 ii 43–iii 15 (= Section N)  70 iii 16–iv 12 (= Section O)  52, 70–71 iii 18  105 iii 22–27  70 iii 33  70, 105 iii 43–iii 15  66 Gap B 1–6  70 Gap B 3  162 Gap B 6  72 Ni 1856 47 9952 90 O 175 (= TCL 6 pl. 91)  178 OECT 4 157 rev. ii′ 1′–8′ (= MSL 11 136)  82 161 x 13–28 (= MSL 11 143)  83 6 74–77 (= K 3507)  81 PBS 2/2 no. 123  47 Prayer to the Gods of the Night (OB) 74, 81–82, 111, 122, 125, 127–29, 141 Reports  18, 19, 30, 79, 86 SAA 8 3 185 5:5–7 102 19:rev. 1–7  146 27:rev. 1–2  102 31:1–8 171 33:3 171 39:1–5 102 43:2 171 47:1 138 49:10–rev. 2  174 79:5 138 86:4 174 87:rev. 1  138

Reports (cont.) SAA 8 (cont.) 98 276 98:8 202 100 185 104 185 114:3 105 114:6–9 105 114:8 189 114:rev. 3  105 163:rev. 1–3  174 207 185 254:7–8 72 256:4–5 203 256:8–rev. 1  203 257:6–7 203 274:3–6 106 275:6–rev. 3  106 280 185 288:1–2 108 288:6–7 100 288:8–10 149 288:rev. 1–3  100 288:rev. 5–6  100–1 320 185 327:rev. 1′–6′  105 330:rev. 1–6  102 335:5  97, 197 344 185 372:1–3 148 376:1–9 98 384 185 388:1–4 79 453:3–4 175 453:4 171 459:4 174 459:8 174 461:5 174 464:6 138 491:rev. 7–8  105 491:rev. 7–12  101 491:rev. 9–11  103 502 185 502:11 189 503:rev. 1  174 506:3–4 102 507:rev. 1–4  106 547:rev. 3–4  102 rikis girri EAE 56

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources RIMEP 4 220:1–6  33 RINAP 4 48:58–59 99 57 i 11′–ii 1  136 RS 20.123 VI 17  243 23.038  180, 184–86, 189, 191 23.83 + 23.364: 60–65 (= MSL 11 49)  83 20.24  189, 243, 297 20.24:17 243 20.24:26 189 25.141 + 25.454  180 25.440A 180 25.455 A + B 183 25.455 A + B iii 3′  182 SAA 3 2:36–38 262 2:41 262 SAA 8  see Reports SAA 10  see Letters SAA 16 65 259 SAACT 5 16:25 (= CT 16 19:59–61)  136 Sargonid Compilation (The Great Star List)  73, 138 ṣâtu EAE 56 Sm 1931  149 SpTU I 90 (#85, #86) 43 STC 2 78:35 (=BM 26187)  97 STT 231  81–82 Šulgi B 281–82  40 Sumerian King List  38, 39, 40, 42, 69, 119, 179 I 1–4  38 I 14  116 I 19–20  38 I 39–II 15  38 II 16–17  41 III 12–17  39 III 14  116

Sumerian King List (cont.) VIII 11  39 VIII 11–13  39 VIII 23  40 VIII 25–33  39 Sumerian Temple Hymns TH #24:131–33 41 TH #42 36 TH #42:1 37 Šumma ālu  56–57, 95 Šumma izbu 56 Šurpu II 180  238–39 VIII 6–9  141 TCL 6 pl. 91 (= O 175)  178 15 #28:55 51 UET 6/1 #22:25–29 91–92 #128:49–50 51 Ur5­-ra (ḪAR-ra)  82–83, 85 XXII 9:22′–11:9′ (= MSL 11 30–31)  83 XXII 10:3′ (=MSL 11 30)  126 VAT 942+11279 62 7814+AO 6470  54 7827  113, 117, 144 7851  122, 124, 178 8917 (= KAR 307)  121–22 30–33 177 rev. 4–6  123–24 9740 + 11670  47, 51 9803  47, 51 9805 + 9808  144–45, 168 10218 iii 15′ (= BPO 3, 49–49:91)  139 YBC 4665  114 Venus Tablet of Ammiṣaduqa  see Enūma Anu Enlil Tablet 63 (= BPO 1) YOS 1 #39 110

Ugaritic Sources (all cited by KTU number) 1.1–1.6 (Baal Cycle)  23, 192–99, 214–217 1.1 215 1.1 III 214 1.2  214, 215 1.2 I 30–33  199

393

1.2 I 38  196 1.2 III 8  196 1.3 215 1.3 I 23  212 1.3 II 38–41  325

394

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

1.1–1.6 (Baal Cycle) (cont.) 1.3 III 3  212 1.4  214, 215 1.4 I 17  212 1.4 I 23  217 1.4 II 11  217 1.4 III 26  217 1.4 IV 1–18  204 1.4 IV 8–9  196 1.4 IV 8–19  196–99, 214 1.4 IV 10–19  197 1.4 IV 14–19  222 1.4 IV 16  197 1.4 IV 22–23  197 1.4 V–VII  216 1.4 V 6–9  215–16 1.4 V 50–55  216 1.4 VII 25–31  215 1.4 VII 49–52  217 1.5 214–15 1.5 II 2–3  208 1.5 VI 23–24  217 1.6  215, 242 1.6 I  214, 244 1.6 I 6–7  217 1.6 I 22  208 1.6 I 43–65  109, 243–45 1.6 I 44–65  181, 194–96, 213 1.6 I 50–52  195 1.6 I 55–59  195 1.6 I 57  244 1.6 I 58  244 1.6 I 59–62  195 1.6 I 63  244 1.6 I 63–65  195 1.6 II–VI  214 1.6 III 5  217 1.6 V 7–9  216 1.10 181 1.10 I 4  197, 205, 220 1.14–1.16 (Kirta) 1.14 I 37  217 1.14 II 31–32  183 1.15 II 6  221 1.17–1.19 (Aqhat)  17, 192, 199–206, 217–21 1.17 I 25  217 1.18 I  203 1.18 IV 6  202 1.18 IV 6–11  200

1.17–1.19 (Aqhat) (cont.) 1.18 IV 7–11  199–204, 213–14 1.18 IV 8  223 1.18 IV 9  200–1 1.18 IV 10  202 1.18 IV 10–11  200, 202–3 1.18 IV 23  186 1.19 I 34–35  204 1.19 I 40–46  220 1.19 II 1–11  92, 198, 204–6, 213 1.19 II 2–3  189, 223 1.19 II 6–7  189 1.19 II 27–40  210 1.19 III 38  214 1.19 IV 1–2  200 1.19 IV 1–6  204 1.19 IV 22–25  181, 197, 205, 214, 220 1.19 IV 29–31  197, 205, 220 1.19 IV 37–38  189, 204 1.23 (Shahar and Shalim)  17, 192, 206–9, 221–24 1.23 1–7  208 1.23:8–10 207 1.23:8–11 208 1.23:13 221 1.23:30–76 207 1.23:52–53 207 1.23:54  181, 197, 205, 207, 214, 220 1.23:61–64 208 1.23:66–67 223 1.24 (Yarikh and Nikkal-and-Ib) 192, 209–14 1.24:3–5 210 1.24:5–7 210 1.24:6 211 1.24:16–19 211 1.24:23–29 212 1.24:26 212 1.24:38–39 212 1.24:40–42 213 1.24:40–50 212 1.24:41–42 243 1.24:42 211 1.41 183–84 1.43  181, 198 1.46:11 203 1.47 243

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources 1.78 (RS.12.061) 180, 185, 187–191, 223 1.78:1–6 188 1.78:3–4 210 1.87 184 1.92 223 1.103 + 1.145  187 1.104 183–84 1.105 270 1.106  184, 210 1.109 1.109:1–4  182, 184, 270 1.109:3 203 1.112  184, 190 1.112:1–2  182, 270 1.112:2 203 1.112:11 190 1.112:14 190 1.112:20 190 1.113  220, 222

395

1.118  189, 243, 297 1.118:26 189 1.119:1 182 1.143 191 1.148 243 1.161 220 1.163 (RIH 78/14)  180, 186–87, 189, 191, 200, 222 1.163:1 187 1.163:1–13′ 186 1.163:2–7 187 1.163:9′ 187 1.163:14′ 187 4.182 183 4.219/4.220 183 4.297:2 297 4.387 183 4.387:21 182

West Semitic Inscriptions Arad Inscriptions 20:2  267 Gezer Calendar  263–64, 272 KAI 14:1 265 32:1 265 37 A 1.2  265

KAI (cont.) 38:2 265 41:4 265 43:12 268 Khirbet el-Qom  21 Kuntillet ʿAjrud  21

Non-Biblical Jewish and Christian Sources Qumran / Dead Sea Scrolls 4Q186/4QCryptic/4QZodiacal Physiognomy 260 4Q215 4:3  312 4Q252 ii 2–3  278 4Q318/4QZodiology + Brontology ar  260, 285 4Q320 316 4Q321 316 4Q321a 316 11Q5 27:5  285 CD (Damascus Document) 4:8 312 4:10 312 7:14–16 238–241 10:10 312

Talmud b. Ber. 58b  231, 236 b. Sanh. 10b–11a 271 11b 271 t. Sanh. 2.2–9  271 Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha 1 Enoch 8:3 259 18:11–16 280–81 72–82 (Astronomical Book) 226, 260, 277, 280–81, 284–85, 288, 313, 326 75:2 284 80:2–8 280–81 82:5 281

396

Index of Ancient Near Eastern Names and Sources

Apocrypha and Pseudepigrapha (cont.) Jubilees  277, 313 12:16–18 259

Sib. Or. 3:220–26  259 Treatise of Shem 260 Yalkut Shimoni (Leviticus 418)  254

Classical Sources Aratus, Phaenomena 110 Homer, Illiad 4.75–79  301 Hyginus, Poeticon Astronomicon  26, 88, 110 2.21 236 2.30 1 3.20 236

Pseudo-Eratosthenes, Catasterismi  88, 110 14 236 21 1 Ptolemy, Almagest 71 Ptolemy, Tetrabiblos 71 To Apollo 440–42 301

Egyptian Sources Pyramid Texts  42