Sasanian Iran in the Context of Late Antiquity: The Bahari Lecture Series at the University of Oxford 9780999475584, 0999475584

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SASANIAN IRAN IN THE CONTEXT OF LATE ANTIQUITY THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Ancient Iran Series Editor in Chief Touraj Daryaee (University of California, Irvine) Managing Editor Sherivn Farridnejad (Free University of Berlin, Austrian Academy of Sciences, Vienna) Editorial Board Samra Azarnouche (École pratique des hautes études) Chiara Barbati (University of Pisa) Matthew Canepa (University of California, Irvine) Carlo Cereti (Sapienza University of Rome) Hassan Fazeli Nashil (University of Tehran) Frantz Grenet (Collège de France) Simcha Gross (University of Pennsylvania) Almut Hintze (SOAS University of London) Nasir Al-Kaabi (University of Kufa) Irene Madreiter (University of Inssbruck) Antonio Panaino (University of Ravenna) Céline Redard (SOAS University of London) Robert Rollinger (University of Inssbruck) Vesta Sarkhosh Curtis (British Museum) M. Rahim Shayegan (University of California, Los Angeles) Mihaela Timuş (University of Bucharest) Rolf Strootman (Utrecht University) Giusto Traina (University of Paris-Sorbonne) Yuhan S.-D. Vevaina (University of Oxford)

VOLUME 6 The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/ais

Ancient Iran Series | Vol. VI

Sasanian Iran in the Context of Late Antiquity Edited by Touraj Daryaee © Edited by Touraj Daryaee 2018 Touraj Daryaee is hereby identified as author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 Cover and Layout: Kourosh Beigpour | ISBN: 978-0-9994755-8-4 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the pulishers. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including his condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

SASANIAN IRAN IN THE CONTEXT OF LATE ANTIQUITY THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Edited by Touraj Daryaee

2018

I

n 2014, I was invited to inaugurate the Bahari Chair in Sasanian Studies at Oxford University. I had the privilege of inviting several distinguished colleagues in the field working on Sasanian archaeology, numismatics, Middle Persian literature, ancient Iranian Studies and History. The idea was to present the state of Sasanian Studies and to discuss the many issues which connect the Iranian world with that of its surrounding neighbors in late antiquity. Oxford provided a rich intellectual environment to conduct a series of seminars on the Sasanian world, with Classicists, Orientalists and others attending the sessions. The following papers are the result of this endeavor. I would like to thank Professor Edmund Herzig for his invitation for the Trinity term at Oxford, in 2014. I would also like to thank Professor Dominic Parwiz Brookshaw for his kindness, as well as Dr. Rowena Abdel Malek who helped organized the weekly seminars. I must thank my student, Arnold Alahverdian, for his precious help with reading all the papers, as well as Virginie Rey for the final copy-editing. All of the papers, except my own, were presented at the Ioannou Centre for Classical and Byzantine Studies. My keynote lecture was given at Wadham College. Lastly, I would like to thank Ebadollah and Behin Bahari whose vision made the endowment of the Chair in Sasanian Studies possible which funded my research and the seminars at Oxford University. Touraj Daryaee Maseeh Chair in Persian Studies & Culture Director of the Dr. Samuel M. Jordan Center for Persian Studies & Culture University of California, Irvine

Table of Contents

Introduction

1

Michael Alram The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

5

Matthew P. Canepa and Johnathan W. Hardy Persian Palace Architecture, Garden Design and Digital Archaeology

39

Touraj Daryaee The Tripartite Sasanian Vision of the World

65

Antonio Panaino Books without Ritual – Ritual without Books

79

Giusto Traina The Rise of the Sasanians

107

Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina A Father, a Daughter, and a Son-in-Law in Zoroastrian Hermeneutics

121

Arash Zeini The King in the Mirror of the Zand

149

The program of the Bahari Lecture Series

163

Contributors

165

INTRODUCTION

S

asanian Studies has a nebulous history. Whilst the Eastern Roman Empire has received much attention, the Sasanian Empire - an empire of comparable size and scope in late antiquity - has been barely noticed, eclipsed by the history of Islam. This imbalance is due to several factors. Rome and its civilization has historically been framed as an important and inherent part of European, to a lesser extent, American tradition. On the other hand, the Sasanians are mostly forgotten or treated as a preface to Islamic history. Other nations in the region have largely shied away from any associations with the Sasanians, due to nationalism and particular historical interests. After all, the Sasanian Empire was called Erānšahr (Land/Empire of the Iranians), which could invoke modern-day Iranian claims vis-à-vis Afghanistan, Iraq and the Republic of Azarbijan. Yet the Sasanian Empire brought together a vast group of people with different ethnic, linguistic and religious traditions, and kept them together in safety and relative peace for some four centuries. The institutions which developed during this period are important in that they form a link between the ancient Near Eastern and the Islamicate world. The Sasanians were, at once, the inheritors of the ancient Mesopotamian tradition, and also the Arsacid and the Hellenistic traditions, while emphasizing what can be called a Persocentric world-view, based on the Zoroastrian tradition. The idea of Iran (Erānšahr) as having boundaries and the promotion of Persian as a literary medium and a language across the Persianate world (Iraq and Pars to Afghanistan and beyond) are some of the cultural achievements of the Sasanians. I would contend that without the presence of the Sasanians in what is nowadays called Central Asia, Classical Persian would have not been able to succeed in the way it did, in the ninth and the tenth centuries CE. At the top of the Sasanian Empire stood the King of Kings. Early on, his lineage was connected to the gods. As the power of the Zoroastrian priests increased overtime, a more secular - then mytho-epic - persona was portrayed. The court, which included the queen, the noble ladies and the princes of blood, as well as the local kings, was acknowledged in the early part of Sasanian rule. Overtime, princes were assigned to provincial kingship, along with an efficient bureaucracy, of which Zoroastrian priests were tasked to keep order and claim taxes. The religious world of the Sasanians was a more complex issue. Based on numismatic and artistic representations, we know that Zoroastrianism was held as the

Introduction

2

official religion, but Judaism, Christianity and other religious sects were acknowledged as important parts of this multi-ethnic and multi-lingual empire. The charisma of the King of Kings, with the royal Xwarrah (Glory), brought prestige and unity. Along with ceremonies and heroic tales, it created a sense of awe, inspiration and tacit acknowledgment among the population. As their world changed, so did the Sasanians. Their capacity to adapt meant that they were able to survive the Roman-Kushan worlds of the early period, the nomadic Hunic and Turkic movements in the fifth and sixth centuries, as well as attacks from Arab tribes in the south. Wall building projects, subsidies to the nomads in the north and client kingdoms in the south were important tools used for their foreign policy of containment. The Sasanians were, to a large part, successful in keeping the Romans in check, as well as the Arab tribes, the Hephtalites and the Turks. Only when the Sasanians pushed beyond their means and attempted to carve out an Afro-Eurasian empire, in the seventh century CE, did the empire began to crumble. The removal of the Arab client state of the Lakhmids in the south was among the main factors that contributed to blindside the Sasanians from major developments happening in their time, leading to cataclysmic events in Afro-Eurasia. The essays in this volume discuss various aspects of the Sasanian Empire. Michael Alram shows the relevance of Sasanian numismatics to our understanding of Sasanian history, as well as the importance of the East to grasp shifts in propaganda and coinage. He argues that, whilst interaction between the Huns in Bactria, Kabul and Gandhara, and the Sasanians was clear, territorial loss and gain by the Sasanians was less evident on coinage production until the coming to power of the Turks in Kabul in the seventh century CE. When the Turk Shahis minted coins, they used the Pahlavi script. By the time Khurasan Tegin Shah ascended to power, in the eighth century CE, Zoroastrian and Sasanian symbols were reintroduced on coins. The Rutbils of Zabulistan also used the same tradition. Despite Sasanian power having faded, their monetary influence remained alive in the East. Very different is the topic of Matthew Canepa and Johnathan Hardy, who discuss the question of architecture and garden design in the context of Sasanian palaces, using recent technological innovations. Their paper focuses on the Palace of Khosrow II, at Qasr-e Shirin, and its importance for the road going eastward, to Taq-e Bostān and Kangavar. Beautiful 3D imagery brings to life some of the most fabulous palaces of the late Sasanian period, in Mesopotamia and Northeastern Iran. In my paper, I discuss “the last great war of late antiquity.” While we are knowledgeable about the idea of a “just war” on the part of the Eastern Roman Empire, this paper sheds light upon the Sasanians’ reasoning for taking battle to the Romans. According to the Zoroastrian Persian tradition, “malice” (kēn) between the Romans and the Iranians had a long history which could not be remedied until one side won, namely the Sasanians. Furthermore, I argue that the world-view of the Sasanians was tri-partied and not a binary world-view, as the Romans thought it to be. Antonio Panaino deals with the Zoroastrian tradition during the Sasanian period, namely the existence of the Avesta in Late Antiquity. Panaino provides a detailed discussion about the meaning of the book, the various literary figures it contains and the terminology in use during the Sasanian period. He shows that what was important for Zoroastrian ritual

3

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

was the memorization of sacred words, that had power and effectiveness. The Zoroastrian liturgy was, according to Panaino, performed mainly without any written text. It relied on the power of memory, a much exalted aspect in Sasanian Zoroastrianism. Giusto Traina discusses the Sasanians through the prism of Armenian material. He begins with a critical analysis of the use of Armenian sources by Iranists. He then goes on to discuss Agathan and Movses Xorenatsi roles in the rise of the Sasanian dynasty, a sort of view from the edge. He shows that the Armenian nobility, who were Arsacid in origin, were concerned with this Iranian past and processed the events of the past in their own way and view, especially the rise of Ardaxšīr, in the third century CE. Yuhan S.-D. Vevaina explores the tradition of consanguineous marriage in the Zoroastrian religion, which has been contested by some scholars and validated by others as a true practice. By exploring specific passages in the Pahlavi texts, and those who have written about it, Vevaina concludes that the approach of scholars in the field of Zoroastrian Studies needs to be reorganized in order to best capture the texts, as well as what Zoroastrian commentators were trying to achieve as part of their scholastic endeavor. Arash Zeini explores Zoroastrian scholasticism in late antiquity, focusing on the famous Pahlavi text: the Dēnkard. Zeini suggests that the Zand was more than a mere translation. It had a deep meaning. According to him, Zand also meant having secret knowledge, which acted as a metaphoric wall around the Dēn, the religious knowledge of Zoroastrianism in the Sasanian period.

THE NUMISMATIC LEGACY OF THE SASANIANS IN THE EAST Michael Alram

Introduction he geographical horizon of the following numismatic observations spans present-day Afghanistan and the north-west of Pakistan. These lands are not only today the focus of international politics but also occupied a key position in antiquity and were fiercely fought over, time and time again. In what is today northern Afghanistan, lays the ancient territory of Bactria (Fig. 1).To the south, it was bounded by the mighty mountain ranges of the Hindu Kush, called Paropamisos by the Greeks, and to the north, it extended beyond the Amudarja River (the ancient Oxus) into southern Uzbekistan. Bactria was a fertile land, and had been settled since time immemorial. It formed a point of intersection between the steppes of Central Asia, Iran and India. Important lines of communication led from China via Bactria and the Iranian plateau to Mesopotamia and beyond into the eastern Mediterranean. Going south, routes led from Bactria over the passes of the Hindu Kush into the ancient provinces of Paropamisadae (the area around present-day Kabul) and Arachosia (southern Afghanistan), as well as over the Khyber Pass to Gandhara (north-west Pakistan) and the north-west Indian lowlands, the Punjab. Another route followed the Indus downstream to Sindh and the Arabian Sea. Going north, one could make for the interior of Central Asia via Uddiyana (the Swat Valley) or via the Upper Indus Valley and the passes between the Hindu Kush and Karakorum. From the sixth century, the above-mentioned regions were part of the Achaemenid Empire, and it was during this period that coinage made its first appearance there. Under Alexander the Great and the Seleucids the use of coinage started to become prevalent and a network of mints was established in the region. This was further developed by the Greco-Bactrian and Indo-Greek kings. Indo-Scythians and Kushans, both peoples with a nomadic heritage, continued to use the monetary infrastructures they had inherited

T

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

6

from their Greek forerunners, while also making their own mark. With the coming to power of the Persian Sasanians, the political landscape changed dramatically. From the very beginning the latter concentrated on their eastern borderlands, and this must have inevitably led to conflict with the declining Kushan Empire. The rise of the Sasanians and their involvement in the east It is still a matter of debate as to when Bactria and adjacent regions of the Kushan Empire were conquered by the Sasanians, who had seized power from the Parthians in Iran in 224 CE. The Eastern Iranian border regions must clearly already have been annexed under Ardashir I (224–240) and his son Shapur I (240–272). We know that Ardashir I had embarked on his great Eastern campaign, which took him first to Sakastan, around 233 CE.1 After installing a king of his choice there and establishing a mint, he turned north, advancing via Herat and Abarshahr (Nishapur), at least as far as Merv, where he also started minting. Subsequently, Merv and Sakastan became the main military bases for all further Sasanian advances to Central Asia and India. If credence can be given to the account of Shapur I (240–272) carved on the Ka´ba-ye Zardosht,2 great parts of Central Asia including Bactria as well as the territories south of the Hindu Kush and Northwest India must have been integrated into the Sasanian Empire under his rule. However, it is doubtful whether Shapur’s account can be trusted, and some scholars have rightly questioned the veracity of the list of territories he gives.3 Be that as it may, the numismatic evidence indicates that the coinage of the Sasanian governors of royal rank ruling in Bactria began at the earliest under Wahram I (273–276), and this can serve as a terminus ad quem for the stable incorporation of the western parts of the Kushan Empire under Sasanian rule.4 Nonetheless, this naturally does not exclude the possibility that the Kushans had already acknowledged Sasanian sovereignty at some earlier point in time. The Sasanians ruled in Iran for more than four hundred years and left their imprint not only on Iran but also on the surrounding lands. Many elements and characteristics of Sasanian culture were subsequently taken over by Central Asian peoples such as the Sogdians, Huns and Turks, and even the Muslim conquerors adopted substantial elements of Sasanian culture and administrative practices. The Sasanian monetary system was an international trademark of its time and an important communicator of identity. Despite all the political crises, Sasanian coinage

1

For a detailed account see Alram 2007 with further literature.

2

ŠKZ § 3; Huyse 1999.

3

Göbl 1993: 49-52.

4

Schindel 2012. Alram 2014. In this context, we should also mention that under Wahram I the first signed drachms and copper coins seem to have been struck in Balkh (bhly). He also issued the first signed drachms from Sakastan (skstn); see Alram – Gyselen 2012: 458, pl. 12, nn. A55-A57, nn. A52-A54.

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

based on the silver drachm proved to be exceedingly stable and attests to a well-organized administrative system and a shrewd economic policy. In addition, it was an unmistakable symbol of power and expression of the king’s conception of himself as a sovereign. Mints were established in different parts of the empire, thereby ensuring local supplies of coinage. Along international trade routes, over land and by sea, Sasanian coinage penetrated into Central Asia, the Arabian Peninsula, India, Ceylon and China. In Central Asia, the Sasanian drachm became the model for numerous local coinage systems, including those of the Huns and the Western Turks. Even the new Arab rulers retained the Sasanian drachm for half a century before creating their own currency system. The crowned image of the Sasanian “King of Kings” together with the fire altar – a symbol of the Zoroastrian religion and of the royal fire lit at the ascent of each king – became a universally valued trademark which remained largely unchanged for centuries (Fig. 2).5 In their foreign policy, the Sasanians were faced with the problem of having to secure their borders on the one side against their arch-enemy Rome (later Byzantium) and, on the other side, against nomad federations from Central Asia. In late Antiquity, this strategic dilemma was also shared by Rome/Byzantium.6 Both superpowers strove to avoid war on multiple fronts and in doing so to engage their adversary. The Sasanians had to deal predominantly with the Romans, then the Byzantines, the Huns and the Western Turks, both on the battlefield and in the diplomatic theater. Behind the political game of constantly changing alliances, there were tangible economic interests in controlling the flow of trade to and from China and India, whether by sea or by land. During the reign of Shapur II (309–379), who was supposedly crowned “King of Kings” while still in the womb, the northeast border of the Sasanian empire came under serious threat for the first time. Shapur was personally present in the border region from 354 CE in order to repel wild tribes, but suffered heavy losses (Ammianus XVI, 9, 3). The Chionites, probably a Hunnic group, are named as being the enemies of the Sasanians.7 Shapur was able to gain them as temporary allies, and they fought side-by-side in 359 CE at the siege of the Roman border post Amida (present-day Diyarbakir in Southeast Turkey). Nevertheless, this peace between the Chionites and Shapur was short-lived, since heavy fighting in the East broke out during the last 15 years of Shapur’s reign. At this time, a Sasanaian mint was set up south of the Hindu Kush, probably in Kabulistan, in order to secure the payment of troops in the area (Fig. 3).8 Bactria was finally relinquished to the Kidarites, who originated from among the Chionites, while south of the Hindu Kush Kabulistan fell around 385 CE to a second Hunnic group, the Alkhan.

5

Schindel 2013.

6

Howard-Johnston 2010.

7

La Vaissière 2005.

8

Schindel 2004, I: 232-238.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

8

The coinage of the Huns in Bactria, Kabulistan and Gandhara On settling in the former Sasanian territories, the Huns started to strike their own coinage.9 Strongly influenced by the Kushan and Sasanian models, this coinage spread from Sogdiana and Bactria across the Hindu Kush to Gandhara, Uddiyana (Swat valley), Taxila and the Punjab region. The influences documented in the imagery of Hunnic coins are manifold. Among the insignia of rule the Sasanian crown plays a dominant role, being copied in diverse ways and enriched with new elements. In Bactria, Kushan influences are prevalent: here, the main denomination was the gold scyphate dinar, which in its imagery hardly differs from its Kushano-Sasanian predecessors (Fig. 4). In Kabulistan and Gandhara, the Sasanian silver drachm with the crowned bust of the king on the obverse and the fire altar on the reverse, predominated, but Indian influences from Buddhism and Hinduism are also detectable in the imagery (Fig. 5). In addition, genuine Hunnic forms of expression are apparent such as artificial cranial deformation, which, especially among the Alkhan Huns, was regarded as a particular sign of group affiliation and expression of royalty (Fig. 6). In addition to the gold and silver coinage, a mass of copper coins was issued, mainly in Gandhara, which exhibit an amazingly broad spectrum of images that have no parallel in the Kushan and Sasanian models (Fig. 7).10 For the inscriptions of their coins, the Huns used the local languages of the region: the coins struck in Bactria largely bear inscriptions in Bactrian, an East Iranian language written in a slightly modified Greek alphabet, while south of the Hindu Kush in Kabulistan, Gandhara and Punjab, Bactrian as well as Sasanian Middle Persian (Pahlavi) and Indian Sanskrit (written in Brahmi script) were used. Often these coins bear inscriptions in two languages, a custom common in this region since the Indo-Greek kings of the 2nd century BCE. Around 467 CE, Peroz (457–484 ) again brought Bactria under Sasanian control. Shortly afterwards, however, the king lost his life in battle against a new Hunnic power, the Hephthalites. The empire fell into internal crisis after this catastrophe, and the Sasanians were forced to sue for peace with the Hephthalites, paying a large tribute.11 Only after Kawad I (488–496; 499–531 CE) had regained the throne with Hephthalite's assistance, was the internal situation stabilized. The drachms of Peroz, which the Hephthalites had received in such great numbers as ransom and tribute, and which they countermarked to legitimize circulation in their territory, eventually served as the model for the Hephthalite’s own coinage in Bactria (Fig. 8).12

9

For a detailed analysis of Kidarite and Alkhan coinage see Cribb 2010; Alram – Pfisterer 2010; Pfisterer 2013; Vondrovec 2014. 10

Khan et. al. 2008; Vondrovec 2014: 697-851.

11

Schindel 2004, I: 411-419.

12

Alram – Pfisterer 2010; Vondrovec 2014, I: 397-418.

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The numismatic evidence indicates that the Sasanians lost more than just Bactria to the Hephthalites following Peroz’s defeat in 484 CE; they were also forced to cede Zabulistan (South Afghanistan) to the Nezak kings, another Hunnic group who are thought to have opened a mint in the area of Ghazni (Fig. 9).13 The background of the Nezak is obscure. Their name is known only from coins bearing the title “King of Nezak” (nycky MLKA) written in Sasanian Middle Persian (Pahlavi).14 A connection with the Alkhan cannot be ruled out entirely, specifically through the progenitor of the dynasty, whom Chinese sources of the Tang period name as one Khingal (Xingnie), possibly the Alkhan king Khingila (around 430/40–495 CE), also known from his coins and a recently discovered Brahmi inscription.15 The last king of this Khingal dynasty, which held the throne of Kapishi (Jibin, Kabulistan)16 for twelve generations and is supposedly connected to the Nezak of the coins, was a certain Hejiezhi, who was confirmed as king by the Chinese emperor in 661 CE.17 Later, however, he was forced from the throne by the Turk Shahis (see below). The salient characteristic of the Nezak coins, which fundamentally follow the Sasanian model and integrate a number of elements from the neighboring Alkhan kings, is the winged bull’s head crown. In the first quarter of the 6th century the Nezak succeeded in taking over Kabulistan (Kapishi) and started to strike their coins at a second mint which was most probably located in the capital city of Kapishi (identified with the site of Begram, 80 km north of Kabul) (Fig. 10). The golden bull’s head crown of the king of Kapishi receives special mention in Chinese sources18, and the bull’s head crown used as a royal insignia is recorded on coins of the region well into the 8th century, when the area was already under Turkish rule. Khusro I and the rise of the Turks The Sasanian empire rose to new heights under Kawad’s son Khusro I (531-579), who received the by-name “of immortal soul”. He found an equal opponent in the emperor Justinian I (527-565). Beginning in 540 CE, both empires stood face to face on various battlefields in the Levant and Syria after a Goth embassy had encouraged Khusro to join them in the war against Justinian. Khusro then turned his attention again to the East, where in Northeast Asia a new nomad power, the Western Turks, had pushed up against the borders of the Hephthalite kingdom around the middle of the 6th century.19

13

For the Nezak coinage see Vondrovec 2010; Vondrovec 2014: 447-477.

14

Grenet 2002: 214-218; Grenet, NĒZAK; Inaba 2010a.

15

Melzer 2006.

16

Kapishi, situated on the southern fringes of the Hindu Kush, is the old name for the Koh Daman plain to the north of Kabul; cf. Fussmann 2008: 119. 17

Chavannes 1903: 130-132; Kuwayama 1999: 36-52; Inaba 2010a.

18

Kuwayama 1999: 36-48.

19

For a fundamental study on the Turks in Central Asia see Stark 2008; cf. also Inaba 2005.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

10

Through diplomacy Khusro managed to forge an alliance with the Western Turks which ultimately brought down the once powerful Hephthalite kingdom around 560 CE.20 The Turks successively extended their area of rule westward into the region around the lower Volga River and established themselves as an important new political factor between Byzantium, Persia and China. In 568 CE, a diplomatic embassy from the Turkic khagan Sizabul, which also included a delegation of Sogdian merchants, arrived at the court of the Byzantine emperor Justin II (565–578) with an offer of alliance and peace.21 On the way, the embassy had been received in Ctesiphon at the court of Khusro I, who had rejected their request to open the Iranian markets to Sogdian silk merchants. Byzantium was not opposed to the Turks’ offer, increasing for the Sasanians the threat of a war on two fronts, which duly broke out in 572/73 CE. Khurso emerged as victor, making the Sasanians again the indisputable main actor on the stage of global politics.22 Conflicts within the leading Western Turkic elite finally allowed Sasanian troops under the command of Wahram Chobin to push deep into Turkic territory in 586/87 or 588/89 CE, temporarily putting a stop to the Turkic threat. As an immediate consequence of the Hephthalite defeat, Bactria was reincorporated into the Sasanian Empire, at least for a while. This is corroborated by an administrative sealing of an amargar of Marvrud and Balkh23 as well as by silver drachms of Ohrmazd IV (578/79–590) and Wahram VI (590/91) with the mintmark of Balkh.24 Zabulistan, which had been ruled by the Nezak, also fell into Sasanian hands. The Sasanian presence in southern Afghanistan at this time is documented by the administrative sealing of an amargar of Zabulistan and Varazigan25, as well as by a mint at Rakhvad (= al-Rukhkhaj) near presentday Kandahar, established under Khusro’s I son, Ohrmazd IV, and in operation until Year Two of the reign of Khusro II (591/92 CE)26. Only Kabulistan (Kapishi) remained under the rule of the Nezak kings. At almost the same time as the Hephthalites were defeated by the Sasanians and Turks, the Alkhan king Mihirakula suffered a defeat by an alliance of Indian princes.27 As a consequence, the Alkhan lost the majority of their Indian possessions, and some of them retreated to Kabulistan. There they intermarried with the Nezak and at the end of the 6th 20

Howard-Johnston 2010: 46-51.

21

Henning 1933; Hannestadt 1955/57; la Vaissièr 2005: 227-258.

22

Howard-Johnston 2010: 51-57.

23

Gyselen 2002: 42, 137-138, 159.

24

Mochiri 1983: 109 and figs. 252-256; for Ohrmazd IV also the mint of Kholm (HLM), is documented in Tokharistan, cf. Mochiri 1983: 118. 25

Gyselen 2002: 41, 177-178.

26

Mochiri 1983: 120-121 and figs. 307-308 published two drachms of Khusro II dated to his second year; cf. also Gyselen 2010: 235-237. 27

Mandasor pillar inscription (Malwa region, Madhya Pradesh, Central India), cf. Sircar 1965: 418-420; Willis 2005: 147.

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century succeeded in pushing the Sasanians out of Zabulistan again. The coin images of the new rulers are very closely related to the likenesses of the Nezak kings despite the fact that the prominent bull’s head on the crown is missing (Fig. 11). The new crown, which developed from the later Alkhan crowns, is composed of three crescent moons in which a flower or trident is set. The Alkhan tamga is also incorporated into the new design.28 On a later issue, where the king is shown with a flower in his hand, the decoration of the crown is reduced to one crescent moon (Fig. 12). The legend attempts to copy the old Nezak phrasing but is now purely decorative. The images on the reverse are also taken from Nezak coinage. In addition to the drachms a rich body of copper coinage was produced, signaling a shift in the currency system. The prominent double bordered edge on a copper coin type (Fig. 13) is borrowed from Khusro II’s imperial coinage and shows that this issue could not have been struck before the 592/93 CE, when this type was introduced. The decline and fall of the Sasanian Empire The last Sasanian military triumphs took place during the reign of Khusro II (590-628), the grandson of Khusro I, who ascended to the throne as legitimate “King of Kings” only with the help of the Byzantine emperor Maurice (582-602).29 When Maurice was deposed in a coup led by Phocas (602-610), Khusro resolved to defeat Byzantium once and for all. After Jerusalem had been plundered and the Holy Cross brought to Ctesiphon in 614 CE, Egypt was conquered in 619 CE and, finally, in 626 CE the Sasanian army together with Avar troops stood outside the gates of Constantinople. In a counter-attack, Heraclius (610–641), who had been elevated to emperor following the removal of Phocas, destroyed the Sasanian fire temple at Takht-e Suleyman in 623 CE and defeated them decisively in Mesopotamia in 627 CE. The Western Turks also joined in the war on the Byzantine side and occupied the Transcaucasus. Unable to escape this situation, the powerful nobility of the empire withdrew their allegiance from Khusro II, who was duly deposed and killed in 628 CE. Thereafter the Sasanian empire sank into internal conflict over the throne and thus became easy prey for the Muslim invaders, who, united under the new religion of Islam, conquered the entire Near East and Iran in less than 20 years after the death of the prophet Mohammad in 632 CE. The conquest of the Persian empire of the Sasanians, who had ruled Iran for over 400 years, was essentially completed by 651 CE. The last Sasanian king, Yazdgerd III (632–651), was killed in Merv as part of the royal family fled into exile at the Chinese court while others took refuge at the court of the Turk-Shahis of Kabul and Zabul.30 Even the Byzantine victors could not hold back the Muslim expansion and lost their entire eastern provinces. Nor did the Turks fare much better; they were also caught 28

This group of coinage is therefore referred to as the “Alkhan-Nezak crossover”, see Vondrovec 2014: 481-500. 29

Howard-Johnston 2010: 58-68.

30

Stark – Agostini 2015.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

12

up in internal conflicts and became easy prey to the expansionist politics of the new Tang dynasty in China. Barha Tegin’s rise to power and the beginning of Turkish coinage in Zabulistan As described above, the Western Turks became the undisputed rulers of Central Asia following the defeat of the Hephthalites around 560 CE. Their power reached its apogee at the beginning of the 7th century under their leader Tong Yabgu Qagan, who built his residence north of Chach (today Tashkent, Uzbekistan).31 All of Western Central Asia from the borders of Persia to China were under his control. The kings of these lands received the title iltäbär and owed him tribute.32 However, after the death of Tong Yabgu Qagan, China was able to weaken the Western Turks decisively and between 658 and 661 CE bring all the “Western Regions” under their control. The vast area between Khotan and Persia was now established as the Chinese protectorate of Anxi, which was divided into 16 “Area Commands”, one of which was the kingdom of Kapishi/Jibin (Kabulistan).33 China consequently became the most important protector state of the Central Asian kingdoms in the struggle against the Arabs until 751 CE, when the Chinese forces were defeated by Abbasid troops at the battle on the Talas River (in present-day Kazakhstan). It is unclear when the Turks became active around the Hindu Kush. The first Turk Shahi to bring Zabulistan, Kabulistan and Gandhara under his rule was supposedly Barha Tegin, whose name is recorded by the Arab scholar and historian al-Biruni (973–1048).34 A group of coins from Zabulistan that can be dated to after the middle of the 7th century might be associated with Barha Tegin’s rise to power: the main feature on the drachms is a new legend that replaces the already corrupt Nezak legend. Written in both Bactrian and Sanskrit (in Brahmi script),35 it combines the honorific title srio / śrī (His Excellency/ Illustriousness) and the title šauio / ṣahi (King) (Fig. 14). A second coin series that might also be connected with the Turk Shahi’s rise to power takes up the old Nezak type from Zabulistan. Initially even the winged bull’s head crown and the legend of the Nezak were used; it is only the addition of a new tamga that hints at the change in power (Fig. 15). Later on, a new likeness of the ruler was used which shows the king with a winged snake crown in combination with a rosette and crescent moon (Fig. 16).36 Starting at the end of the 7th century, a new inscription appears in Bactrian: the title sēro, which is also recorded as “Ser of the Turks” (sērotorko) in Bactrian documents

31

Stark 2008.

32

Inaba 2005: 6-8, especially on the title iltäbär; cf. also Vondrovec 2014, II: 530-531 for the numismatic evidence. 33

Chavannes 1903: 268ff.; Inaba 2005: 9-11; Vondrovec 2014, II: 564-565.

34

Kuwayama 1999: pp. 58-59; for a general overview see also Rahman 1979: 61-88.

35

Vondrovec 2014, II: 511-515.

36

Vondrovec 2014, II: 521-522.

13

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

from Rob.37 The discovery of 17 coins in 1996 together with a Bactrian inscription in the Buddhist stupa of Tangi Safedak (Yakaulang District, Central Afghanistan) is of great importance for the chronological placement of these types of drachm. Probably dating to 715/16 or 710/724 CE38, the inscription was executed during the building of a stupa donated by Alkhis, lord of Gazan. The coins must have been in circulation by the time they were deposited in ca. 710 and 724 CE, and since all but one belong to the same type the mint was probably located not too far away from the find spot (Fig. 17). Nicholas Sims-Williams, to whom we owe the translation of the text, has previously identified Gazan with Ghazni, the capital of Zabulistan.39 Moreover, Minoru Inaba has pointed out that according to medieval Islamic sources the lords of Ghazni maintained close connections with the fertile valley surrounding Tangi Safedak on the middle course of the Band-e Amir River and grazed their herds there, about six or seven days’ travel from Ghazni. Recently, however, Inaba has suggested that the relevant passage of the inscription could be also interpreted as “lord of the people of Gaz”, referring to a place called Gaz which is mentioned in several Bactrian documents and was probably located in the mountains of Gozgan.40 According to Muslim sources from the 10th century, Gozgan and Ghazni were connected via a place called Ribat-e Karvan that belonged to Gozgan and which Inaba identifies on the basis of sound arguments with Yakaulang. The area that connected Yakaulang with Zabulistan could have been part of the country which the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang calls Fulishisatangna, the homeland of the Khalaj Turks who established their kingdom in Zabulistan and Kapishi in the second half of the 7th century.41 In this respect, the numismatic evidence may support Inaba’s hypothesis, since we have two groups of coinages which can be attributed to the area in question: one with the title “Shri Shahi” that developed out of the Alkhan-Nezak Crossover Group (see Fig. 14), and the other with the title “Ser”, which is also rooted in the Nezak coinage of Zabulistan (see Fig. 16); at the end of this typological chain stands the type of coins found at Tangi Safedak. In the late 7th century, when the Turks had established themselves as the new power in Zabulistan (including the area of Yakaulang), Guzgan, located to the northwest across the Band-e Turkestan range, was ruled by kings who were already clients of the Muslims. This is demonstrated by a group of drachms which according to their Bactrian inscriptions can be attributed to “Zhulād Gozgan, king of Ghar” (or “king of the mountains”); on the obverse margin the coins bear the Arabic bismillāh (Fig. 18). The coins are dated in Pahlavi using the hijra or post-Yazdgerd era and span the period from 63/66 to 69 (=682-685, 689

37

Sims-Williams 2000: document S.

38

Year 492 of the “Bactrian era”; cf. the recent discussion in Schindel 2011.

39

Lee – Sims-Wiliams 2003: 164.

40

Inaba, 2012 (2015); cf. also Sims-Williams 2002 (2004): 1052-1054; Sims-Williams 2008b; Vondrovec 2014, II: 531-535. 41

Inaba 2005; Inaba 2012 (2015).

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

14

CE or 714/717, 720 CE). The mint of Amber (modern Sar-i pul), which was the seat of the ruler of Gozgan, is named in Pahlavi and Bactrian.42 The Turk Shahis in Kabulistan (second half of the 7th to middle of the 8th century) According to Chinese sources, the Turkic dynasty that was already reigning over Zabulistan seized power in Kabulistan from Hexiezhi, the last Nezak king known by name, sometime after 661 CE. In 653 CE the Chinese emperor had formally installed Hexiezhi as king of Jibin (former Kapishi/Kabulistan), and in 661, when the Chinese protectorate of the “Western Regions”, which included Jibin, was established, the Tang emperor confirmed him on the throne.43 Shortly thereafter, the Turk Shahis under the leadership of Barha Tegin assumed power in Jibin and subsequently moved the administrative and royal center from Kapisha (Begram) to Kabul.44 By 665 CE Arab troops had plundered Kabul for the first time. However, the Turkic Kabul Shah quickly regained the upper hand.45 At first, the coinage in Kabulistan did not reflect the change in power from the Nezak to the Turk Shahis since the new rulers appear to have adopted the old Nezak type unchanged. The characteristic winged bull’s head crown remained, and the Pahlavi inscription “King of Nezak” (nycky MLKA), albeit completely corrupted, continued to be used (Fig.19). However, a clear break with the earlier coinage of the Nezak is apparent with regard to style, and the new drachms were struck in metal of significantly higher quality.46 A series of copper coins is remarkable in that their imagery breaks with tradition: instead of the Sasanian fire altar, new depictions appear on the reverse. These include the bull and the elephant, which are embodiments of royal power and invincible strength and, according to Iranian custom, serve as signs of divine royal glory (khwarrah) designating the ruler chosen by the gods (Figg. 20, 21).47 On the obverse the bust of the ruler with the winged bull’s head crown remains but with an added crescent moon on the side, and the king wears a Central Asian kaftan. Probably struck at a common mint, this whole group of coins is characterized by a new tamga which is given a prominent position on the back of the coin. On one type (Fig. 22), the Bactrian legend zonado is placed between the two tamgas instead of the fire altar; this might indicate the name of the issuing ruler or refer to the god Zun, who was especially venerated in Zabulistan.

42

For a full discussion of the so-called “Arab-Ephthalite” coins and countermarks together with the rulers of Gozgan mentioned in the Bactrian Documents cf. Sims-Williams 2008b. 43

Beal 1983 (rep.); Kuwayama 1999: 58-59. The ancestors of the first Turkish Kabul Shah most probably ruled over Fulishisatangna, a mountainous area between Zabulistan and Kapishi, which the Chinese monk Xuanzang had visited in the 640s, cf. Verardi-Paparatti 2004: 97; Inaba 2005. 44

Kuwayama 1999: 58-61; Klimburg-Salter 2010: 40-41.

45

Kuwayama 1999: 62f.

46

Vondrovec 2010: 184-185; Vondrovec 2014, II: 515-521.

47

Daryaee 2016.

15

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Extending along the Kabul River to Gandhara and Uddiyana, the kingdom of Jibin (former Kapishi) was composed of eleven principalities, with the king residing in Kabul during summer and at Udabhandapura (present-day Hund in Pakistan) on the west bank of the Indus during winter. In 643 CE the Chinese pilgrim Xuanzang met the king of Jibin in Udabhandapura and traveled with him by way of Ghazni back to Kabul.48 At certain times Zabulistan was also ruled over by the king of Jibin; however, the Turk ruling dynasties of both kingdoms were closely interlinked through ties of kinship. 49 Because only a few coins provide information about their place of production and the evidence from finds does not yield a continuous overall picture, it is almost impossible today to attribute different issues to certain regions or specific mints. It is therefore also unclear how many mints were operating in Kabulistan, Zabulistan and Gandhara under the Turk Shahis at the end of the 7th and in the first half of the 8th century. Kabulistan and Bactria at the time of “Tegin Khurasan Shah” (end of the 7th until first quarter of the 8th century) “Tegin Khurasan Shah” (= Tegin, King of the East), known in Chinese sources as Wusan teqin sa, was the second Turk Shahi on the throne of Kabul, succeeding his father Barha Tegin around or after 680 CE.50 The name or title “King of the East” might well have been understood as a challenge aimed directly at the Umayyad caliph. His actual dominion stretched from Kabulistan to Gandhara and at times also included Zabulistan. Bactria, the land just north of the Hindu Kush, did not belong to his immediate sphere of rule. Following Tegin’s ascent to power, a conflict within the royal family must have broken out that caused the elder brother of the Kabul Shah to move to Zabulistan and establish his independence there.51 From then on, Arab sources refer to the ruler of Zabulistan as Rutbil (Turkic iltäbär). Faced with the threat of the Arabs, the two ruling houses remained in close contact and fought side by side against the Muslim enemy. The first Rutbil of Zabulistan had already fallen in a battle against the Arabs by 683 or 686/87 CE, having previously been allied with them. Around 710 CE it appears that the Kabul Shah temporarily gained suzerainty over Zabulistan, and troops were recruited in Zabulistan for the common struggle against the Arabs.52 In 719/20 CE, an embassy was sent by the Tegin of Jibin (Kabulistan) and the Iltäbär of Xieyu (Zabulistan) to China to obtain confirmation of their thrones from the Tang emperor. The investiture decree signed by the emperor was sent back by messenger to Jibin and Xieyu. During his journey through the lands south of the Hindu Kush, in around 726 CE, the Korean pilgrim Huichao stayed for a time at the court of the Kabul Shah, who

48

Beal 1914.

49

Inaba 2005.

50

Kuwayama 1999: 61-66. On the name see Sims-Williams 2010: n. 457.

51

This is reported by al-Tabarī (Bosworth 1999), cf. Inaba 2005.

52

Kuwayama 1999: 54-56.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

16

may well have been “Tegin Khurasan Shah”. Huichao recorded that Kabul and Zabul were then ruled by Turkic kings, who were Buddhists, and that the King of Kabul was supposed to have been the uncle of the ruler of Zabul.53 In 738 CE Tegin gave up the throne in his old age and asked the Chinese emperor to invest his son Fulinjisuo (Frum Kesar – “Caesar of Rome”) as his successor.54 The coins of this period display different directions of development which are, on the one hand, rooted in the old typology of Nezak coins and, on the other, increasingly re-incorporate elements of Sasanian imperial coinage and tend to use Middle Persian (Pahlavi) for their inscriptions. In addition, influences from the coinage of the Arab governors can be found.55 Although Tegin reigned for over fifty years, only a few coin types can be attributed to him with certainty (Figg. 23-25)56; neither can the possibility that other subordinate rulers may have struck coins during the continuous defensive struggle against the Arabs be dismissed. Moreover, the mints cannot be localized with any certainty, and it is often not possible to confirm whether a particular coin type was struck north or south of the Hindu Kush. Two dated issues, one with year 480 of the “Bactrian era” (= 702/03 resp. 698/712 CE)57 (Fig. 22) and the other with year 77 of the Yazdgerd or post-Yazdgerd ear (= 708/09 or N 728) (Fig. 24), are of extraordinary importance for the chronology of this coinage. Their inscription attributes them without a doubt to “Tegin Khurasan Shah”.58 The old winged bull’s head crown of the Nezak is retained initially, but the bull’s head is subsequently replaced by a lion’s head and the wings are omitted (Fig. 24). Among the innovations in the visual program is the three-quarter image of the ruler, which had not been in use since the Kidarite era. The reverse continues to be dominated by the Sasanian fire altar, but with the new addition of the image of a deity in a flame nimbus, which has been interpreted as the Iranian fire god (Adūr) or a personification of divine royal glory (khwarrah) (Fig. 24). This coin type is also found in Zabulistan and was first used by the Sasanian king Khusro II (590–628) for a series of special issues.59 Another interesting reverse type which was most probably issued by Tegin shows on each side of a fire altar a male figure in a pleated robe that is wrapped around his haunches, with wings and claws, hands outstretched towards the altar (Fig. 25). Such half-bird hybrid creatures are also known from the murals at Bamiyan next to the head of the 38-meter

53

Han-sung Yang, Yün-Hua Jan, Shotaro Ilda, and Laurence W. Preston 1984; Kuwayama 1999: 61-66; Verardi – Paparatti 2004: 97-99; Inaba 2005. 54

On the name see Sims-Williams 2010: n. 507; Humbach 1966: 20-23.

55

Vondrovec 2014, II: 522-569.

56

Vondrovec 2014, II: 537-544.

57

See n. 38.

58

Sims-Williams 2008b: 123; Vondrovec 2014, II: 541-543.

59

Gyselen 2000b.

17

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

standing Buddha where they flank the chariot of Mithra.60 “Human-bird priests” also appear on Sogdian ossuaries, as well as on Sino-Sogdian tombs.61 In this context, they are linked with Zoroastrian funerary rituals.62 Some of these rituals are addressed to the god Sraosha, who protects the world from the demons of the night and conducts the souls of the dead, and whose companion is the cockerel (Sraoša-varez).63 It has thus been argued that the bird-priests may refer to Sraosha who is also described as the “Lord of ritual” in the Zoroastrian texts. Within the context of the Muslim advance the choice of this coin type, as well as the revival of Khusro’s II special issue with an image of the Iranian fire god Adūr (see Fig. 24) may well be seen as a deliberate reaction and political statement by the local rulers who were attempting to defend their territories against the Arab invaders. One of the leading figures of this defense during the time of “Tegin Khurasan Shah” was Nezak Tarkhan. He is named, in Islamic sources, as a Hephthalite or Turkish prince who accompanied the Arab commander Qutayba bin Muslim on a campaign to Bukhara in 709 CE and then incited the princes of Bactria (Tokharistan) to rebel against the Arabs. In order to secure their retreat, the Kabul Shah – according to our chronology this must have been “Tegin Khurasan Shah” – was asked for help, and part of Nezak’s wealth was transferred to Kabul. The rebellion failed, and in 710 CE Nezak was caught and executed by Qutabya as he fled to Kabul.64 Although this story is prominently represented in the literary sources, no coins have as yet been attributed to Nezak Tarkhan. The Rutbils of Zabulistan and the “Caesar of Rome” (end of the 7th until second half of the 8th century) The first Rutbil of Zabulistan had declared his independence from the Kingdom of Kabulistan (Jibin) after 680 CE. According to Arab and Chinese sources, he was an elder brother of the king of Kabul “Tegin Khurasan Shah”; after his ascent to the throne, they had a falling out and the first Rutbil founded his own kingdom in Zabul.65 Initially he must have secured the support of the Arabs. As already mentioned, the title Rutbil corresponds to the Turkic iltäbär and is used in Arab sources to refer to the king of Zabulistan from that point on. The personal names of the various rulers are not known from written sources. The end of the Zabul kingdom, which together with Kabul stood at the fore of the long resistance against the Muslim conquerors, finally came in 870 CE when the Arab general Yaqub bin Laith al-Saffar (r. 861-879) conquered the entire Iranian East from Sistan and definitively defeated Zabul.66

60

Riboud 2012 (2007): 10, fig. 15; Klimburg-Salter 2003: fig. 9.

61

Riboud 2012 (2007); Shenkar 2013.

62

Grenet 1986.

63

Riboud 2012 (2007): 6-10; Kreyenbroek 1985.

64

Grenet 2002: 214-218; Bosworth 2008: 101-103; la Vaissière 2010: 216-217.

65

Kuwayama 1999: 61-66, 73f.; Inaba 2005.

66

Rahman 1979: 96-101; Bosworth 2008: 105-109.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

18

The center of the kingdom of Zabul lay in the city of Ghazni, one of the three residences of the king. In the northeast it bordered on Kabulistan and in the northwest it extended into the central Hindu Kush. In the south it included at times the cities of Rakhwad (al-Rukhkhaj) and Bost (near Kandahar, South Afghanistan). In the west the border followed the Helmand River, and the Sulaiman Mountains constituted its eastern border. The travel journal of the Chinese monk Xuanzang from the first half of the 7th century records that numerous Buddhist stupas supposedly built by the Indian Maurya ruler Ashoka (268–232 BCE) existed in Zabul as well as several hundred Buddhist monasteries and several dozen Hindu temples.67 The temple of the Brahman god Zun was famous far beyond the borders of the kingdom and drew thousands of pilgrims annually. When the Arab governor of Sistan, ‘Abd al-Rahman bin Samurah, reached Zabul with his troops, in 653/54 CE, his path led to the temple of Zun. To demonstrate the impotence of the pagan god against the Muslims, he hacked both arms off the golden statue and tore out its ruby eyes.68 Zabul and Kabul were thereafter repeatedly raided by Muslim troops, who demanded the payment of tribute in the form of money and slaves, but they invariably managed to repel the Arabs. Around 683 or 686/87 CE, the first Rutbil was killed in battle. His son and successor proved more successful, winning several victories over the Muslim foe. In 720 CE, he and his uncle, the Tegin of Jibin, “Tegin Khurasan Shah” (Wusan tegin sa), were confirmed in their positions of power by the Chinese emperor. The Chinese sources record his name as Shiquer and give his title as xiefila (Iltäbär / Rutbil). In 738 CE, the third Rutbil (Rumofuda = Governor of Zabul) was confirmed by the Chinese emperor.69 At the same time, the throne of Kabul changed hands when Tegin abdicated and appointed his son Frum Kesar (Fulin - jisuo) as his successor.70 The last known embassy from Kabul and Zabul to China was in 753 CE. By then, following their defeat against the troops of the Abbasid caliph at the battle on the Talas River in 751 CE, China had already lost its dominant position in Central Asia, leaving the Buddhist kingdoms of the Hindu Kush without their last protector. The title “Caesar of Rome”, used by Tegin’s son as his personal name, is highly unusual and goes far beyond the claim of his father as “King of the East”.71 The name might go back to the tremendous fame and the sheer invincibility of the Roman emperors, who for centuries had fascinated the people of Central Asia. Ultimately the heroic figure “Gesar of Phrom” found a place in the national epic of the Tibetans (Gesar Epic).72

67

Beal 1914.

68

Rahman 1979: 53-60; Bosworth 2008: 105f.

69

Kuwayama 1999: 64-66; Inaba 2005.

70

Humbach 1966: 20-23; Kuwayama 1999: 61f.; Inaba 2010b.

71

Sims-Williams 2010: n. 507.

72

Uray 1985.

19

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Frum Kesar appears to have been exceedingly successful in the struggle against the Arabs. Nevertheless, his son Bofuzhun had already succeeded him on the throne of Kabul by 745 CE, and according to Chinese chronicles he was also invested as the king of Uddiyana (Swat Valley). He and king Khingala, who consecrated a marble statue of the god Ganesha discovered in Gardez, East Afghanistan, might be one and the same person.73 The coinage of the Rutbils of Zabulistan was again primarily based on Sasanian or Arab-Sasanian models.74 On the obverse, these coins show the image of the king with the winged bull’s head crown inspired by the Nezak. The reverse, with a fire altar, connects directly with Sasanian models. The legends are consistently in Pahlavi although most are no longer legible and are purely decorative. On an early issue, the king’s crown is shown with only one wing at the side and a loop at the front, while the bull’s head is mounted on a stem reaching above the margin (Fig. 26). The reverse types are modeled after Khusro I and Ohrmazd IV, providing a terminus post quem of approximately 590 CE. The question remains of how long after this point in time the coins were issued. On some of these drachms, which are minted from high-quality silver, the mint signature LHW is visible (occasionally in the left field instead of the right). This signature has been identified by Iradj Mochiri as the mint of Rakhvad (al-Rukhkhaj) in Arachosia. As already stated, the mint was opened by Ohrmazd IV and in operation until Year Two of Khusro II (591/92 CE).75. Göbl has dated this issue to the first quarter of the 8th century, while Klaus Vondrovec argues for an earlier date in the 7th century.76 If the earlier date is correct, then this group of coinage must be seen as parallel either to the Alkhan-Nezak crossover or to the earliest Turkish issues of Zabulistan (see above). Other issues showing the bust of the king (either clean-shaven or bearded) with a bull’s head crown can without doubt be assigned to the Turkish period of Zabulistan. The Pahlavi legend on the obverse mentions the title “Yabgu of the Bactrians” (ybgw bhlk`n), although most parts of the legend are corrupted and therefore allow the possibility of different readings (Fig. 27). The tamga inscribed in a crescent moon on the obverse margin links these issues to other coin series of Turkish origin (Fig. 28). The reverses copy types of Khusro I and Khusro II and display the mint signatures of Rakhvad (LHW) and Zabulistan (z`wlst [`n]). The title “Yabgu of the Bactrians”, which has a parallel in Bactrian on issues of Pangul and Sandan (bagddiggo kagano or tadono tarano bagddiggo), is particularly striking (Fig. 29).77 From Pangul we also know issues with mint signatures from Zabulistan and Rakhvad

73

Kuwayama 1999: 66-74.

74

Nikitin 1984; Humbach 1996; Sims-Willimas 2008; Gyselen 2009; Gyselen 2010; Vondrovec 2014, II: 531-560. 75

Mochiri 1983: 120-121, figs. 307-308.

76

Göbl 1967, II: 51 (Emissionsschema 5); Vondrovec 2014, II: 526-527.

77

For the ruler’s names see Sims-Williams 2010: nn. 366, 412.

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East

20

(Fig. 30), and there is no reason to believe that he ever struck coins north of the Hindu Kush in Bactria. This is also the case with Sandan, whose silver drachms should also be associated with the area south of the Hindu Kush (Fig. 31). As Etienne de la Vaissière has pointed out, the “Turkish lords of Zabulistan graced themselves with the lordship on the Bactrians”.78 Indeed, the title should be understood as a political statement that the Turk Shahis still felt themselves to be the protectors of Bactria, although this did not reflect the political reality. A special characteristic of the Rutbils coinage are the multiple borders on the reverse which create a wide field between the outermost and first inner ring that is often filled by an inscription. The coinage of the Arab governors served as the direct model for this form, proving that these coins from Zabul could not have been struck before the 680s. The legend on the silver drachms is generally in multiple languages, while the local copper coinage largely uses Middle Persian, the predominant vernacular in Zabul. The mints named on the coins are Zabul and Zabulistan (possibly referring to Ghazni) as well as Rakhvad (al-Rukhkhaj). The coins also include a date, but these have not yet been conclusively connected to a specific era. The names of the rulers on the coins (Pangul, Spur, Sandan) also cannot be identified with the rulers known from the Arab and Chinese sources. Only the identification of Frum Kesar with Fulinjisuo, who was invested as king of Jibin in 738 CE, is certain. His regular silver issues were struck in Zabul (Fig. 32). The Sasanian and Arab-Sasanian drachms were overstruck with a circular die containing a Bactrian inscription that praises Frum Kesar as a victorious commander and deliverer from the Arabs (Fig. 33).79 These overstrikes were probably produced in the field during a campaign against the Muslim army. The Hindu Shahis in Kabulistan and Gandhara (c. 850–900 CE) and the Arab conquest (from 632 CE) According to the Arab chronicler al-Biruni (973-1048), the last Turk Shahi on the throne of Kabul was a certain Lagaturman, who was deposed by his Brahman minister Kallar, in the first half of the 9th century CE.80 With the establishment of the Abbasid caliphate, in 750 CE, the situation had dramatically worsened for the still largely independent kingdoms in Zabul and Kabulistan. In 814/15 CE, the Kabul Shah suffered a critical defeat against the troops of the Abbasid caliph al-Ma’mun (813-833) and was forced to convert to Islam. Ma’mun’s troops had even encroached into Gandhara on the Indus River. The annual tribute that the Kabul Shah subsequently had to pay the Abbasid governor of Khurasan amounted to 1,500,000 dirhams and 2,000 slaves per year. The Turkic dynasty of kings that had ruled Kabulistan and Gandhara for nearly 200 years came to an end under these politically and economically tense circumstances. Under the new ruling dynasty, called the Hindu Shahis by al-Biruni, the political center of the kingdom successively moved from 78

La Vaissière 2010: 2014.

79

Sims-Williams 2008a: 123-127.

80

Rahman 1979: 85-107, 309-318; Rahman 2002; Kuwayama 1999: 67; Bosworth 2008: 107-112.

21

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Kabul to Udabhandapura in Gandhara, which offered more security from Arab attack. They did not have to wait for long: Yaqub bin Laith al-Saffar rose to be the most powerful man in East Iran around 861 CE81. His first goal was Zabulistan, which he finally defeated in several campaigns, in 870/71 CE. In the same year, he marched on to Kabul, where the Kabul Shah was taken prisoner and the holy temple plundered. It is said that fifty statues of gods made of gold and silver fell into his hands and were sent to the caliph in Baghdad.82 At his death, Yaqub transferred the affairs of government to a vice-regent, but it seems that the Hindu Shahis managed to regain Kabul, in 879 CE.83 At the beginning of the 10th century, under Isma’il I (892–907), the territory south of the Hindu Kush was finally incorporated into the Samanid realm so that the domain of the Hindu Shahis was primarily limited to Gandhara and the Punjab; there they remained in power until the beginning of the 11th century. 84 However, as Minoru Inaba has pointed out, according to the literary sources, the Hindu Shahis may still have coexisted as Samanid vassals in Kabulistan for a time and probably were able to continue minting under Samanid suzerainty.85 The coins of the Hindu Shahis display in the obverse a left-facing bull, the companion of the Hindu god Shiva. On the reverse is a rider carrying a lance with a flag (Fig. 34).86 Compose in Brahmi, the inscriptions record various titles such as Spalapati or Samanta. The individual names of the specific rulers, as known from written sources, are not given on the coins, making their attribution to the various kings nearly impossible. Kabul and Udabhandrapura in Gandhara represent possible locations for the mints. The silver for the exceedingly rich coinage of the Hindu Shahis most likely derived from the mines of the Panjshir Valley (150 km north of Kabul). With the loss of Kabul to the Saffarids, Islamic coinage is documented there from 259–270 AH (872 to 883 CE). The first Samanid dirhams from the Panjshir valley are dated 293 AH (= 905 CE).87 The incorporation of Afghanistan into the Islamic world was thus completed fully and permanently. Nevertheless, this small kingdom in the Hindu Kush had successfully defended itself against Arab expansion for 250 years.

81

Bosworth 1994.

82

Rahman 1979: 101-105; Klimburg-Salter 2010.

83

MacDowall 1068: 198, n. 2, 210; Rahman 1979: 125-129.

84

Rahman 1979.

85

Inaba 2017.

86

For a study of the coinage cf. MacDowall 1968.

87

Treadwell 2011: 40-47; Schwarz 1995; Inaba (in press).

Figure 1. Map of Bactria, Gandhara and Adjacent Areas

The Numismatic Legacy of the Sasanians in the East 22

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Figure 2. Shapur I (240–272 CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint "Ctesiphon" Obv. Bust with crenellated crown; Pahlavi inscription mzdysn bgy šhpwhry MRKAn MRKA ʾyrʾn MNW ctry MN yzdʾn Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Pahlavi inscription NWRA ZY šhpwhry Alram 2016, chap. 2, no. 2 KHM OR 2184

Figure 3. Shapur II (309–379 CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Bust with crenellated crown; Pahlavi inscription mzdysn bgy šhpwhly MLKAn MLKA ʾyrʾn W [ʾnyrʾn MNW ctry MN yzdʾn] Rev. Fire altar with bust in the flames, flanked by two attendants; Pahlavi inscription [NWRA ZY šhpwhly] Alram 2016, chap. 2, no. 6 KHM GR 41966

Figure 4. Kidarite (?), Wahram (2nd half of the 4th c. CE). Dinar (Gold). Mint Balkh Obv. King with ram's horn crown in Sasanian military dress sacrificing at an altar, right Kidarite tamga; Bactrian inscription bago oaraurano oazorko košano šauo – baxlo Rev. Iranian god Wesh before a bull; Bactrian inscription borzaoando iazado Alram 2016, chap. 3, no. 4 JPR 30

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Figure 5. Unknown Kidarite king (4th/5th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Gandhara Obv. Frontal bust with palmette crown and crescent Rev. Fire altar, left attendant, right Purnaghata ("Vase of Plenty"); unclear Pahlavi inscription Alram 2016, chap. 4, no. 4 JPR 786

Figure 6. Unknown Alkhan king (1st half of the 5th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Gandhara Obv. Bust with deformed skull; Brahmi inscription ṣahi Rev. Fire altar with two attendants Alram 2016, chap. 6, no. 10 BHM 93.75

Figure 7. Copper coin under Kidarite influence (4th/5th c. CE). Mint in Gandhara Obv. Crowned bust; unclear Brahmi inscription Rev. Kidarite tamga; unclear Brahmi inscription Alram 2016, chap. 4, no. 12 JPR 989

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Figure 8. Unknown Hephthalite king (first half of the 6th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint Balkh Obv. Crowned bust after Sasanian model of Peroz (457–484), left tamga; Bactrian inscription ēb(odalo); four balls on the edge Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Bactrian inscription baxlo Alram 2016, chap. 10, no. 7 KHM GR 42727

Figure 9. Unknown Nezak king (End of the 5th / beginning of the 6th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint "Ghazni" Obv. Bust with deformed skull and winged bull's head crown; Pahlavi inscription nycky MLKA Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, wheel above their heads Alram 2016, chap. 11, no. 1 BHM 93.124

Figure 10. Unknown Nezak king (first half of the 6th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint "Kapishi" Obv. Bust with deformed skull and winged bull's head crown; Pahlavi inscription nycky MLKA Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, wheel above their heads Alram 2016, chap. 11, no. 5 BHM 68.559

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Figure 11. Alkhan-Nezak (end of 6th / first half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with crescent moon crown, left Alkhan tamga; Pahlavi pseudo-legend Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, above their heads a wheel Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 1 KHM OR 71

Figure 12. Alkhan-Nezak (first half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with large crescent moon at the top, within it a trident, flowers in the right hand, left Alkhan tamga; Pahlavi pseudo-legend Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, above their heads a wheel Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 6 JPR 250

Figure 13. Alkhan-Nezak (end of 6th / first half of 7th c. CE). Copper coin. Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with crescent moon crown, left Alkhan tamga, right shell; Pahlavi pseudo-legend; double border Rev. Alkhan tamga; double border, with a star in crescent moon at each directional point Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 4 JPR 244

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Figure 14. Turk Shahi (second half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with large crescent moon at the top, within it a trident, left Alkhan tamga; Bactrian inscription srio šauio; with a subsequently added countermark Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, above their heads a wheel Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 7 BHM 93.159

Figure 15. Turk Shahi (second half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with deformed skull and winged bull's head crown, right tamga; Pahlavi inscription nycky MLKA (corrupted) Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, above their heads a wheel Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 9 JPR 227

Figure 16. Turk Shahi (second half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with winged snake crown, on top a rosette in crescent moon, right tamga; Bactrian inscription sēro Rev. Fire altar with two attendants Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 11 BHM 93.349

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Figure 17. Turk Shahi (second half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with winged snake crown, on top a rosette in crescent moon, left three-headed snake, right tamga; Bactrian inscription sēro Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, left tamga; Pahlavi inscription (year) 1 – Bactrian inscription ramino (mint name ?) Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 13 JPR 274

Figure 18. Zhulad of Gozgan (end of seventh, beginning of eighth c. CE). Drachm (Silver) Mint Amber (Sar-i Pul) Obv. Crowned bust after Sasanian model of Khusro II; Bactrian inscription zolado gōzogono, Pahlavi inscription GDH ʾpzwt´; outside the border Arab inscription bismiʾllahi, Pahlavi inscription GDH ʾpzwt´ Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Pahlavi inscription (corrupted) (year) 69 (hijra (?) = 688/89 CE) – [?]; outside the border Bactrian inscription garigo šauo / ambiro; Pahlavi inscription GDH ʾpzwt´ Alram 2016, chap. 12, no. 14

Figure 19. Turk Shahi (second half of 7th c. CE). Drachm (Billon). Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Bust with winged bull's head crown and crescent moon; corrupted Nezak legend Rev. Fire altar with two attendants, above their heads a wheel Alram 2016, chap. 13, no. 1 JPR 181

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Figure 20. Turk Shahi (first quarter of 8th c. CE). Drachm (?) (Copper). Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Bust with winged bull's head crown and two crescent moons; left and right a star in crescent moon; unclear Bactrian (?) inscription Rev. Bull with a diadem band, a star between the horns, on the flank tamga Alram 2016, chap. 13, no. 6 JPR 334

Figure 21. Turk Shahi (first quarter of 8th c. CE). Drachm (?) (Copper). Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Bust with winged bull's head crown and two crescent moons; right tamga Rev. Elephant, above tamga Alram 2016, chap. 13, no. 7 BHM 93.191

Figure 22. Turk Shahi, Zunad (?) (first quarter of 8th c. CE). Drachm (?) (Copper) Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Bust with winged bull's head crown and two crescent moons; left and right a star in crescent moon; unclear Pahlavi inscription (?) Rev. Bactrian inscription zonado flanked by two tamgas, above star in crescent moon Alram 2016, chap. 13, no. 8 BHM 93.197

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Figure 23. Tegin (after 680 – around 738 CE). Drachm (Copper). Mint in Kabulistan (?) Obv. Crowned bust with large crescent moon above the forehead; Bactrian legend tagino uōrsano šauo Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Bactrian inscription xšono u´p´ (year 480 [Bactrian era = 702/03 or 689/712 CE]) – sri šao Alram 2016, chap. 14, no. 4 JPR 265

Figure 24. Tegin. Drachm (Silver). Mint in Kabulistan (?) Obv. Bust with lion's head-crescent moon crown in three-quarter view; Bactrian inscription sri šauo, Brahmi inscription śrī-hitivira kharalāva pārame – śvara śrī ṣahi tiginadeva kārita Rev. Bust of the Iranian fire god Adur in flame nimbus; Pahlavi inscription tkyn´ hwlʾsʾn MLKA – (year) 77 (post-Yazdgerd era = 728 CE [?]) Alram 2016, chap. 14, no. 6 JPR 201

Figure 25. Tegin. Drachm (Billon). Mint in Kabulistan (?) Obv. Bust with winged crescent moon crown; Bactrian inscription sri togino šao Rev. Fire altar flanked by two winged figures worshipping; Brahmi inscription śriyā deva – paṭṭaśri Alram 2016, chap. 14, no. 5 BHM 93.220

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Figure 26. Turk-Shahi (End of 7th / beginning of 8th c. CE). Drachm (Silver) Mint Rakhvad (al-Rhukhkhaj, Arachosia) Obv. Bust with winged bull's head crown and ring above the forehead; corrupted Pahlavi inscription kdy (?) [?] Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; corrupted Pahlavi legend [?] – LHW (= Rakhvad) Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 1 JPR 1525

Figure 27. Turk-Shahi (End of 7th / beginning of 8th c. CE). Drachm (Silver / Copper) Mint Rakhvad (al-Rhukhkhaj, Arachosia) Obv. Bust with winged bull's head-crescent moon crown, on the edge crescent moons with tamga; Pahlavi inscription ybgw bhlkʾn – [?] MLKA Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; corrupted Pahlavi inscription (year) 11 (?) – LHW (= Rakhvad) Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 2 JPR 1697

Figure 28. Turk-Shahi (End of 7th / beginning of 8th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Zabulistan Obv. Bust with winged bull's head-crescent moon crown, on the edge crescent moons with tamga; corrupted Pahlavi inscription Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; corrupted Pahlavi inscription (year unclear) – [zʾwlstʾn ?] Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 3 JPR 329

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Figure 29. Pangul (end of 7th / first half of 8th c. CE). Half Drachm (Copper) Mint in Zabulistan or Kabulistan (?) Obv. Two senmurv protomes opposed, between tamga; Bactrian inscription panogolo bago xoddēo Rev. Tamga; Bactrian inscription tadono tarxano bagddiggo uarobido Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 6 JPR 282

Figure 30. Pangul . Drachm (Copper). Mint Rakhvad (al-Rukhkhaj, Arachosia) Obv. Bust with winged lion's head-crescent moon crown, right front part of a Senmurv; Bactrian inscription sri bago ddēbo, Pahlavi inscription pngwl bg hwtyp´ Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Pahlavi inscription (year) 1 – lhwt´ Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 5 BHM 93.322

Figure 31. Sandan (first half of 8th c. CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Kabulistan or Zabulistan Obv. Bust with winged lion's head-crescent moon crown; Bactrian inscription sri bago azrobddigo sandano bago xoadēo, Brahmi inscription śrī candāna vakhudevaḥ; with a subsequently added countermark Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Bactrian inscription sri bago ddēbo bagddiggo kagano sri bagi, Pahlavi inscription ʾpzwn´ [?] Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 11 KHM GR 41709

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Figure 32. From Kesar (around 738 – 745 CE). Drachm (Silver). Mint Zabul (Zabulistan) Obv. Crowned bust after Sasanian model of Khusro II; Bactrian inscription foromo kēsoro zeoro bo(go) xodēo, Pahlavi inscription GDH ʾpzwt´ – spwl [?] Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; Pahlavi inscription (date unclear) – zʾwl Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 9 KHM GR 40051

Figure 33. From Kesar. Drachm (Silver). Moving mint (?) Obv. Crowned bust after Sasanian model of Khusro II; overstruck Bactrian inscription in margin fromo kēsoro bago xoddēo kidabo tazmano xasto Rev. Fire altar with two attendants; overstruck Bactrian inscription in margin odo sarbo sabato aso imo bogdindo [?] Overstruck on an anonymous Arab-Sasanian drachm from Sistan, year 48 AH (= 668/69 CE) Alram 2016, chap. 15, no. 10 JPR 287

Figure 34. Hindu Shahi, Spalapati Deva (after 843). Drachm (Silver). Mint in Kabulistan Obv. Recumbent bull; Brahmi inscription śri spalapati deva Rev. Rider with a lance and flag; Brahmi inscription ṣahi deva Alram 2016, chap. 16, no. 1 JPR 66

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PERSIAN PALACE ARCHITECTURE, GARDEN DESIGN AND DIGITAL ARCHAEOLOGY The Role of 3D Modeling in Analyzing the Palace of ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow at Qaṣr-e Širin, Iran.

Matthew P. Canepa Johnathan W. Hardy

Introduction he archaeological features of the plain of Qaṣr-e Širin, Iran, count among the most important yet least clearly understood monuments of ancient Iran. Qaṣr-e Širin is located in the Islamic Republic of Iran’s province of Kermanshah, near the border with Iraq, a location that had dire consequences for the site’s later preservation. The ancient site and the modern city that has engulfed it lie within a curve of the Ḥolwān River, near Iran’s border with Iraq. The site’s major features include the remains of a large axial palace built on an artificial platform, known as the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, a centralized, domed structure, the Qaleh-ye Čahār Qāpū, and the Qaleh-ye Ḵosrow, a typical double-walled, bastioned Sasanian fortress.1 (Figs. 1 and 2) The ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow and Čahār Qāpū originally lay at the center of a series of enclosure walls that doubled as an aqueduct system. The enclosure is no longer existant, although its outline has been visible on Corona satellite imagery since the late 1960s.

T

1

Interpretations of the Čahār Qāpū have ranged from a palace (as in de Morgan and Bell) to a fire temple and even a church. We plan to evaluate this structure and with the larger complex of structures at Qaṣr-e Širin in a separate publication. See Schmidt 1978: 39-47; Bier 1993: 57-66; Huff 1986 [updated 2011]; Hozhabri 2013: 103-119, nn. 171-72.

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While of equal importance as Fīrūzābād and Bīšāpūr, Qaṣr-e Širin’s features were never systematically surveyed or explored using modern methods during the heyday of Iranian archaeology ( between World War II and the Islamic Revolution). By the late 1960s, parts of the complex, had been destroyed by industrial and agricultural activity. A modern canal had cut through the platform of the main palace, the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow. Tragically, this process of degradation was greatly accelerated and transformed into permanent damages with the start of the Iran-Iraq war. Qaṣr-e Širin lay right in the frontlines, and what was left of the standing remains suffered from substantial damage. 2 What was not lost from war has been eroded through the postwar sprawl of the modern border town and, just as significantly, its agricultural and industrial development.3 Needless to say, this has stunted scholarship’s understanding of Sasanian architecture and obscured the role of Sasanian architecture in the development of Islamic architecture and garden design. Because this structure never received systematic study, scholarship from the last century prudently handled it with care and engaged it only in broad brushstrokes, with the hope that someday it would receive the attention it deserved. While focused excavations and technical examinations of what remains still hold the potential to shed important new light upon the site, the destruction of the structure and the permanent loss of evidence forbid the use of traditional archaeological methods to solve many of the still-vexing questions regarding the design and elevation of the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow. Over the course of Fall 2014 and Spring 2015, the authors of the present study set out to use 3D modeling software as a means to evaluate these problems (Figs. 3 and 4). Our goals were to test the feasibility of earlier reconstructions, evaluate conflicts between the nineteenth and twentieth century documentations, and integrate the early evidence with any available open source material from the post-Iran-Iraq war period, such as archival and tourist photographs, and contemporary satellite photos. This article presents the preliminary results of our study and explores the methodological problems inherent in such an endeavor. The ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow within the Historiographical and Archaeological Context of the site of Qaṣr-e Širin. The palace of the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow at Qaṣr-e Širin is among the monuments associated with the reign of Husraw II (r. 590-628). The medieval Muslim geographers are virtually unanimous in attributing the site to Husraw II and, while work is ongoing, the results of recent thermoluminscent dating tests in the complex confirm a late Sasanian date.4 As the only Persian King of Kings who prosecuted (and nearly succeeded in) a war of annihilation against the Roman Empire, the reign of Husraw II was pivotal not only for the Sasanian Empire but the course of the history of the Mediterranean and Western Asia. Husraw II brought the Sasanian Empire to its greatest territorial extent and geopolitical 2

Mousavi 2008: 1-17.

3

Hoffmann 2008: 168.

4

Ali Hozhabri, personal communication.

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

influence and, in the process, fashioned a new vision of Sasanian kingship. Not content to merely stand at the center of the world’s sovereigns as his predecessor Husraw I had, it has even been argued that Husraw II intended to rule as, and inhabit the symbolic place of both an Iranian king of kings and Roman emperor.5 This connection to Husraw II is important for understanding its location and several of its architectural features. Husraw II undertook building projects whose scale matched the grandiosity of his ambition. Several important archaeological sites bear the marks of Husraw II’s patronage or are strongly associated with him. These include unfinished rock reliefs at Ṭāq-e Bostān, Tarāš-e Farhād and Naqš-e Rostam and architectural features at sites such as Bīsotūn, Kangāvar and Eski Baghdad (ancient Dastagerd). Within the broader context of ancient Iranian art and archaeology, Husraw II’s efforts compare admirably with even those of the most ambitious king of the Achaemenid dynasty, Darius I, whose long line of successors brought to fruition what he left incomplete. In contrast, Husraw II’s excesses and military overreach, which initiated the events that brought about Ērānšahr’s rapid collapse and ultimate destruction, left many of these monuments unfinished or precipitated their total destruction. Standing at the cusp between Sasanian and Islamic Iran, the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow occupies a pivotal place in architectural and garden history. Along with a smaller, related structure, the Hawš Kūrī palace, it would not be an exaggeration to state that the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow’s architectural and landscape features provide a major “missing link” between the great traditions of Achaemenid, Arsacid and Sasanian palace architecture and those of Islamic palaces, both in medieval and Early Modern Iran and across the Islamic world. Sasanian palaces are marked by the use of artificial platforms, barrel vaults buttressed by vaulted side corridors, vaulted great rooms, internal courtyards often with āyvans and sometimes large columns composed of brick that support vaults. They were most often constructed of baked brick in Mesopotamia and Central Asia and rough stone and plaster on the Iranian plateau. Early Islamic palaces continued to use the same construction materials and techniques as Sasanian palaces, oftentimes even using Sasanian palaces themselves as quarries for bricks or stone.6 However, the contrasts between the ʾEmārat and Abbasid palaces such as Uḵaiḍir highlight the changes in architecture that took place in the one hundred and thirty years between the fall of the Sasanians in 642 and the construction of the first major Abbasid structure in 775. Most obviously, the ʾEmārat’s emphasis on the elongated axial design, adorsed ramps and artificial terrace, presents a contrast with the Umayyad and early Abbasid palaces, whose ground plans resemble an amalgam of Roman and Sasanian palatial features all set inside a rectangular Roman castrum. More importantly, the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow’s forms are closer to what we see in middle and late Sasanian architecture at Sarvestān, Kish, Taḵt-e Solaymān, and the Ṭāq-e Kesrā

5 6

Payne 2013: 1-31.

On this phenomenon within the larger early Islamic destruction of the Sasanian topography of power, see Antrim 2012: 60.

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than the Islamic material. The site thus allows us to situate more coherently within the development of Persian architecture design elements not seen in the early Sasanian palaces or fire temples but attested at later Sasanian structures including Taḵt-e Solaymān and, especially, Sarvestān, whose attribution to the Islamic era seems to have been now refuted empirically.7 Just as importantly the site provides an explanatory link between the Islamic garden and the traditions of the great ancient Iranian palatial garden and hunting complexes, whose roots can be traced back to the great palatial ‘paradises’ of the Achaemenid dynasty (OPers. paradai̯dā- [*paradai̯da-], Elamite partetaš). The ʾEmārat’s reflecting pool, pavilions and central sight line anticipate such features in the great Ghaznavid, Timurid, Safavid, and Mughal garden complexes. Again, it is significant that much like the palace’s primary architectural design features, the ʾEmārat’s enclosure themselves bear the closest resemblance to evidence of analogous features at Sasanian palaces and estates (dastgird) than earlier or later material.8 The ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow’s enclosure wall was subdivided into multiple sections which could have had different functions. The perimeter of the outer wall measured ca. 6000 meters and enclosed an area of approximately 120 hectares (ca. 296.5 acres). The palace itself was enclosed within an inner wall that extended west from the outer wall before turning north. Documented by de Morgan, these enclosure walls had a relatively thin profile (ca. 3.6 meters wide) and did not incorporate semicircular bastions or defensive gates as was typical of Sasanian fortifications, be they brick or stone. Instead, the walls contained a very unique feature that ties them specifically to maintaining a garden enclosure or animal park: elevated water channels. In effect, these walls served simultaneously as enclosure walls and an elaborate aqueduct system that supplied water to the plants or animals nurtured inside as well as complex’s various structures. This feature will be discussed and reconstructed in greater detail in future publications. While the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow preserves the largest example of a late Sasanian palace, it is not without some contemporary comparanda that attest to analogous design features. The massive fortification walls at the site of Husraw II’s favorite palace and permanent residence, Dastagerd, survived into the early 20th century, when it was photographed. Located on the Diyala plain instead of the rocky Iranian plateau, Dastagerd’s fortification walls were constructed of baked brick. Its destruction hastened, no doubt, by the Roman army’s demolition undertaken in Heraclius’ punitive expedition, and centuries of brick robbing, the palace itself did not survive to be thoroughly documented in the 20th century. The 20th century documentation, however, does record several features that its architecture shares in common with Qaṣr-e Širin, most notably the fortification walls’ semi-circular bastions, which match the size and scale of the Qaleh-ye Ḵosrow. Similarly, its barrel vaults constructed with radial courses of brick parallel those of Qaṣr-e Širin, which are

7

Askari Chāverdi 2011: 1-6; pace Bier 1993: 57-66; Bier 1986.

8

Canepa (forthcoming; forthcoming b; forthcoming c).

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

integrated into its more abundant rough stone masonry.9 Located twelve kilometers to the north of Qaṣr-e Širin and on the other side of the Iran-Iraq border, the coeval palace complex of Hawš Kūrī was built with identical materials and methods and likely laid out and built by the same architect and builders who created the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow. The components and palatial design of the Hawš Kūrī palace present a reduced and simplified version of the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow.10 Both the palaces stand on artificial platforms and, like Kangāvar, are fronted by double stairways, which appears to be one of the hallmarks of palace architecture in the age of Husraw II.11 Like the ʾEmārat, a colonnaded ayvān led to a rectangular chamber (likely vaulted) and a square inner court from which opened smaller ayvāns.12 Smaller blocks of rooms and courts were added to the rear of the complex, which were likely domestic spaces. About 175 meters to the north, thin bastionless walls enclosed a rectangular space that measures approximately 540 meters square in satellite imagery. This enclosure is not as large as Qaṣr-e Širin or Ṭāq-e Bostān, but it is still within the same general scale indicating that they were likely used for similar purposes to these other early seventh century sites. Reinforcing this hypothesis is the fact that Hawš Kūrī’s enclosure walls connected to long aqueduct system that drew water from the river and themselves contained water channels in a manner similar to Qaṣr-e Širin. A paved walkway extended ca. 150 meters from the palace to the gatehouse of the enclosure. A similar walkway extended 175 meters east to a kiosk, suggesting some sort of viewing pavilion and (possibly) some sort of horticultural activity. We can only speculate about what was contained inside the enclosure, though its size would have been ample enough for a large garden or the type of controlled hunt portrayed in the reliefs at Ṭāq-e Bostān.

9

Agnew 1920: 305-308; Sarre – Herzfeld 1920: 88.

10

de Morgan 1897: 357-60.

11

Azarnoush 1981: 69-94; Azarnoush 2009: 393-402.

12

The features of the entranceway appears to have been more clearly visible at Hawš Kūrī given its superior state of preservation, Morgan 1897: 341; Bell 1914: 44-54.

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The date of Qasr-e Shirin is quite problematic. This largely stems from the fact that systematic, controlled excavations have never been carried out at the site prior to its levelling in the Iran-Iraq war. While the majority of textual sources from both the Sasanian and Islamic periods invariably associate the site and its structures with Husraw II, the site was clearly occupied in the Abbasid period. In the last decade Iranian archaeologists have undertaken small-scale explorations of the site. Unfortunately these have been poorly documented and published, at least at this point.13 What has emerged from these activities seems to indicate that some or even all of the ʾEmarat-e Khosrow was constructed or reconstructed after the fall of the Sasanian Empire, though its architecture differs considerably from Islamic palaces. At this point we cannot decisively say if the remains resulted from an Abbasid reconstruction of a Sasanian structure or if the complex was a completely new installation built at a site whose Sasanian remains do not survive. Yet given the fact that its architecture deliberately parallels late Sasanian architecture, we can say with confidence that this complex represents a vital link between Sasanian and Islamic architectural and royal traditions. Indeed, no matter if the Abbasids built the ʾEmarat-e Khosrow as their hunting estate, or simply rebuilt and reoccupied its platform, it would have been a deliberate and powerful evocation of the Sasanian legacy paralleled in few other places in their empire. Evidence for the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow’s Restitution Even in their present damaged and much-reduced state, the site’s fundamental organization and the general features of its primary structures can be sketched with a reasonable degree of confidence. Our methodology is primarily based on judicious comparison between the two early surveys, aerial photographs from the last century and contemporary satellite imagery. Descriptions of the medieval Muslim geographers and early modern European travelers at times offer corroborating or additional details. In establishing our methodology, we have been careful to avoid simply harmonizing the two plans, which appears to have been O. Reuther’s general approach for the reconstruction he produced for his chapter in Arthur Upham Pope’s Survey of Persian Art, a drawing

13

Y. Moradi (2012) has published a brief report of some of these explorations. He reported that he discovered as unstratified- or surface-finds, a few fragments of glazed pottery, which he compares to Samarra ware. In addition he studied a number of unstratified brick fragments, “taken from various parts of the paradise,” including the area around the ayvān. He assigned the bricks to the Abbasid period through thermoluminescent dating (without documentation) and through the presence of ceramics with a yellow glaze found in some, which he associates with Samara ware. He implies that these bricks came from the fallen vault of the ayvān and if the dating was correct, this would indeed suggest that this structure was built (or rebuilt) in the Abbasid period (p. 329). I cannot judge whether or not the bricks were found in such a way that would suggest that they were used in the vault, and the entire area appears now to been completely cleared to facilitate tourism leaving nothing stratified.

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that has had an outsized influence on later scholarship.14 Not all of his assumptions were incorrect, though some very central ones do not appear grounded in the evidence. Our knowledge of Qaṣr-e Širin’s landscape and architectural features before their subsequent degradation or outright destruction in the late 20th century depends primarily on Jacques de Morgan’s documentation of the site drawn from his 1890-91 mission to Persia and Gertrude Bell’s much shorter visit to Qaṣr-e Širin in 1911.15 In addition, 19th and early 20th century travelers’ descriptions and tourist photographs provide some new information or at least corroboration.16 These normally only describe the more prominent features of the complex as a whole and, sometimes, the aqueduct system, but every so often a random detail emerges, like a villager’s discovery of a gold statue from within the ruins.17 De Morgan cursorily surveyed the entire site and produced several plans. These include a map of the enclosure and nearby monuments, detailed plans of the ʾEmārat and the Čahār Qāpū, and studies of certain smaller features, such as the bridge and moat of the Qaleh-ye Ḵosrow and the profile of the enclosure walls themselves. Bell produced only a plan of the ʾEmārat and the Čahār Qāpū, but unfortunately did not document the walled enclosure. Nevertheless, she remarked on the several other features of the site in her text and took a large number of extremely valuable photographs. While she was aware of his work and likely referred to it in preparing her publication, Bell did not have de Morgan’s plan with her during her visit and, thankfully, later evidence suggests that it did not ‘cross-contaminate’ her ground plan. Comparisons with aerial photographs indicate Bell’s plan is much more accurate than de Morgan’s. Careful comparison with satellite images, pre-1979 aerial photographs and archival photographs of the remains themselves suggest that de Morgan did not produce a true, scaled drawing of the site, even if his plans contain the most detailed documentation of the site.18 In this we are greatly appreciative of the work of E. Hoffman, who carefully compared de Morgan’s and Bell’s site plans to a previously unpublished aerial photograph taken by Georg Gerster in 1976 and concluded that Bell’s was the most accurate with

14

Our methodology for restitution is discussed in greater detail below.

15

De Morgan 1897: 341-60; Bell 1914: 44-54.

16

There are several more omitted here whose descriptions lack any significant detail; what all visitors seem to agree on, however, is that the was unbelievably hot and the village was a horrible place to visit. See Rich 1836; Ritter 1840; Fraser 1840; Fraser 1842. Jones 1849: 249-334 (Art. XI); Bellew 1874; Bird 1891; Zetland, (Earl of Ronaldshay) 1904; Griscom 1921. 17 Zetland offers this detail before proceeding to describe a local thief executed by being immured alive. Zetland 1904, 111. 18

Since this preliminary study focuses primarily on the ʾEmārat we used de Morgan’s proportions for the enclosure wall from his site plan (plate 40); however, for subsequent publications, which will encompass the entire complex, we are in the process of developing a new plan with proportions corrected from information gained from Corona satellite imagery.

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respect to proportions.19 De Morgan’s less precise approach is especially noticeable in his site plan (his plate 40), which does not include a scale bar. De Morgan’s plan of the ʾEmārat (plate 42) does include a scale bar, but the proportions of the platform and many of its rooms often do not match Bell or the aerial and satellite imagery. In addition to deviations in relative scale and proportion, de Morgan appears to have taken liberties or shortcuts with many smaller details. While he distinguishes between walls “bien conservés” and sections that are “reconstitusé,” he appears to provide an overly-regularized rendition of several smaller features, even if well-preserved, rather than a completely precise and accurate rendering of the remains. It is important to note, however, that this does not mean that all of de Morgan’s more detailed information is untrustworthy, especially with regards to the site’s more prominent features. While de Morgan does not provide a great deal of additional information in his text that give us a view into his process of interpretation, in many cases Bell offers the necessary corroboration. In several places Bell indicates that she found evidence of features that de Morgan documented in his plan and adds more details, even if she states that she did not include them herself because they had deteriorated substantially in the intervening years. This is the case, for example, with the large columns de Morgan documents flanking the main ayvān.20 Bell clearly states that she found evidence of these columns even if their disturbed and decontextualized state did not allow her to discern a ground plan and reconstruct them in her plan. Methodologies Our 3D workspace comprises of Autodesk Inventor Professional 2015, and Autodesk Architecture 2015. We chose to use Autodesk Inventor as opposed to Autodesk Architecture, AutoCAD, or some other 3D modeling software suite for two reasons: first, Inventor allows easy file transfer and extension compatibility between all suites offered by Autodesk, and second, the design features are much more conducive to creating large-scale 3D spaces of irregular shape and characteristic. Autodesk Inventor also allows intuitive part management hierarchy, which enables us to have multiple renditions of various architectural styles present in the same 3D workspace. This ability becomes evident when viewing Fig. 8. Autodesk Architecture’s in house rendering software, in combination with the rendering software nXtRender were used to create our images. Our 3D model has been set to the geographic coordinates and elevation of the site allowing for shadows to be accurately shown on the site. Thus, choice of software for design purposes does not play a significant role in the accuracy of site reconstruction. One other reason for using Autodesk Inventor, is it features an easy conversion to the file format used for 3D printing, which we wished to have available to us in case the need ever arose for an accurate, scaled

19

Hoffman 2008: 82-83 and pl. 35.

20

De Morgan 1897: 347-48 and fig. 209; Bell 1914: 45.

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3D model.21 The authors began by creating facsimiles of de Morgan’s 1897 plan of the ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow (his plate 42), and the composite site plan prepared by E. Hoffman which integrates plates 53 and 54 of Bell (the upper and lower levels of the ʾEmārat respectively).22 The overall dimensions, length and width, of the site are within the margin of error as accrued by the transfer of non-original digital copies to paper copies. Both of these ground plans are highquality scans of the original copies, and our prints, on 11x17” standard civil engineering paper, are printed to scale from these. Without knowing the original paper size of the two site plans, it is impossible to produce an entirely accurate facsimile of the original plans. However, comparing the measurements of both plans against each other, against the stated dimensions of de Morgan and Bell in their respective works, and measurements taken from Google Earth, our dimensions match those of the aforementioned sources within an acceptable margin of error of less than 1 meter. Hoffman’s composite of Bell’s site plans specifies that a scale of 1:1000 was measured via an Aristo Geo-dreieck 1648. All measurement were taken in millimeters, and converted to meters for reproduction in the 3D workspace. De Morgan’s site plan has a scale of .8:1000. De Morgan’s site plan however was unable to be printed at 1:1000 as it would not fit on the 11x17” paper used. This has no bearing on accuracy of measurement, only that it is requires more cumbersome calculations to convert to the scaled measurement. We ultimately created our own composite plan for reference and inclusion as an explanatory figure. For the sake of continuity this plan integrates the numbering and lettering system used by Bell and reproduced in later publications. (Fig. 2) Base Dimensions The first task in relation to the actual construction of the site involved finding the overall height of the ‘lower terrace’ (Bell’s ‘Upper Level’). De Morgan’s plan proved invaluable for this task, as it features four elevation views, EW looking north, EW looking south, NS looking west and a NS looking west cross section though the center NS axis of the site. These four elevations were then used to calculate the height of the lower terrace. We have chosen to use a 6.0 m high lower terrace, as it fits within the measurements taken from the elevations. Having been unoccupied for ca. 1000 years before de Morgan’s visit, we deemed it vital to account for erosion of the top of the lower terrace as well as sedimentation at the base. Photos taken by Bell in her expedition appear to prove our erosion/sedimentation hypothesis. The dynamic nature of using 3D design software is most pertinent for the restitution of ancient structures in today’s age for two reasons. The first is that as new information becomes available due to further research on the site, the 3D model can be amended and changed accordingly, the second reason is the very nature of reconstructing a site

21

Though the lead designer has noted that the palace’s architecture might not be suitable for a northern Minnesota hunting lodge, given climactic differences. 22

De Morgan 1897: pl. 42; Hoffman 2008: plate 34.

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that is mostly missing. By having a model that is fluid, we can always change it by adding new features or subtracting others. By having such fluidity, we are no longer stuck in a specific moment in time that reflects the current research, but we are able to shift our 3D model to fit any new paradigm that comes after the completion of the project. This can be seen in Fig. 8 where four ayvān styles have all been constructed in the same 3D workspace, allowing the authors to compare and contrast the ayvān (room 1, Fig. 2) with known Sasanian sites, thus creating a more architectonically accurate model. If, for example, later research yields new evidence that adds greater precision to our height measurements, the restitution will be able to accommodate them. All of our measurements are relative to one another, and based off of the previously mentioned measuring techniques. Simply scaling the reconstruction in the X, Y, or Z axes will result in a 3D model that can integrate any new information. Evaluating Conflicts in the Early Surveys In this section we present a brief overview of the main differences between de Morgan’s and Bell’s plans and describe the rooms and courtyards that posed the biggest challenges before offering more detailed explanations and solutions below. The numbering/lettering scheme in what follows corresponds to that of Bell unless otherwise indicated. The largescale diagrammatic narratives of de Morgan’s and Bell’s plans are essentially the same. Most of the rooms are, by and large, found in the same locations, and their dimensions are roughly the same as well even if certain details differ. Where the plans diverge more profoundly is in their rendition of the upper terrace, and the gate complex separating courts U and V (rooms 82, 83, etc. Fig. 2). Bell mentions that she did not have the work of de Morgan when she visited the site.23 She later compared her site plans with those of de Morgan, coming to the conclusion that the architectural features that she was unable to clearly discern were mostly those that de Morgan marked as conjectural on his plan. Along with E. Hoffman, our own comparisons with satellite imagery and aerial photos led us to conclude that Bell’s plan preserves the most-trustworthy documentation of the ʾEmārat’s proportions and general ground plan. In addition, along with Hoffman, we have concluded that L. Bier’s earlier skepticism of the accuracy of Bell’s plans to be completely unfounded and find his intimations that she simply filled in substantial portions of her ground plan from Ukhaiḍir to be misleading and false.24 Given that Bell’s plans are the more accurate of the two, the authors have made a conscious decision to follow the site plan of Bell for most of the restitution as far as dimensionality and location are concerned, and consulted de Morgan when issues arose between placement and style of rooms/courts. In all cases, we only relied on de Morgan’s documentation of smaller details when they

23 24

Bell 1914: 44.

Bell, indeed, used Ukhaiḍir to guess at the elevation (which she did not reconstruct) and function of certain space’s features, but certainly did not fill in their ground plan from the Muslim palace. e.g. Bell 1914: 47; pace Bier 1993: 59; Hoffman 2008: 82-83. We did not make reference to Ukhaiḍir or any other Islamic structure in our restitution.

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were corroborated in Bell or other sources of evidence. Lower Terrace Courts Y-Z’: This northern ground-level extension of the site features a series of courts and rooms inside a roughly square perimeter. The two plans present an outer perimeter of similar dimensions and place the various rooms and courts in roughly similar locations. As with most other areas, de Morgan’s plan presents a much more detailed reconstruction. The two plans conflict with regards to one important feature. De Morgan’s map indicates that the northern ramp to the upper terrace is located within the confines of court Y, with the eastern wall of court Y intersecting the ramp. This would have obscured the ramp’s monumental profile and obviated any practical or ceremonial utility, as one side would be blocked by what is presumed a private space. Given that it is also the most trustworthy with regards to the placement and proportions of the foundations, we followed Bell’s plan, which keeps the functionality of both sides of the ramp as access to the grounds surrounding the palace. (Fig. 3) Careful study of Bell’s photographs of this area suggested to us that the wall in question had collapsed eastward entirely to its foundation. This may have contributed to de Morgan’s confusion. Also featured along the southwestern edge of these courts, is a ramp which communicates between room 106 and either the palatial grounds proper or with court Y. Bell’s description of this specific area is confusing, and one cannot know if the ramp descending from room 106 faces west, into the palatial grounds, or north, into court Y.25 Room 24 The plan of Room 24 and associated structures is somewhat murky. De Morgan’s and Bell’s plans show different room arrangements. We have decided to follow Bell’s plan for Room 24 in the 3D model, since it is corroborated to a certain extent by her photographic evidence.26 However, Bell’s textual account of this area is somewhat ambiguous. She states: “In the north wall of No. 106 there is a door leading into No. 24, a much ruined room about 7.50 metres square, and a door further west opening on to the roof of a short passage.”27 We have not arrived a final reconstruction of this section for the 3D model as the ‘short passage’ that she mentions is not labeled on any of her plans or photos. As our model was built it became increasingly likely that this room functioned as some sort of transition between the two levels if the aforementioned room 106 ramp descends westward into the palatial grounds. Unless our subsequent reconstructions of surrounding structures sheds any further light on this sector, however, this room may be among those that we will choose to leave ambiguous given the lack of clear evidence.

25

Bell 1914: 50-1.

26

Bell 1914: pl. 63, Fig. 2.

27

Bell 1914: 47.

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Hallways 20, 11, 12, 43, 92, 92’, 103, 81, 81’, 79, 80, all other inter-room hallways: The hallways were especially difficult to construct since we have little direct evidence of their profile. The degradation of the archaeological evidence, combined with the limited availability of images featuring the hallways in question, has led us to using a standard semi-circular construction for the majority of the arches in the structure. There are no true groin vaults (two fully intersecting arches of the same height) documented at the structure. The groin vault is not a common feature of Sasanian architecture. Instead, Sasanian architects solved the problem of two barrel-vaulted corridors or rooms meeting by either simply terminating the transverse vault against the wall and vault of the corridor or room it met (thus simply ending it before the vaults met), or ensuring that the transverse vault was lower than that of the main vault so that the transverse vault opened into the lower wall of the main room or corridor but did not transition into the vault itself (thus opening as a door or window below where the main vault springs). The ʾEmārat has multiple intersecting halls or corridors. These include corridor 103, which runs around the substructure of the terrace, corridors 92, 92’, and 81, 81’, the porticoes of courts V and U respectively, and even, potentially, the entrance ayvān and the great hall (rooms 1 and 2). The surviving archaeological and archival photographic evidence available suggests that the ʾEmārat’s architects used this standard Sasanian solution.28 Both de Morgan and Bell record semi-circular arches for the main doors and entranceways and this is the profile of the arches of the Čahār Qāpū.29 The profile of corridor 103 appears pointed, though this occurred because it was the most expedient vaulting technique for such a narrow passageway and the builders did not seem to use it for more visible entrances and exits.30 Most monumental Sasanian entrance ayvāns were elliptical or parabolic, which added to their height and reduced horizontal thrust, most noticeably Ṭāq-e Kesra.31 We, therefore, chose this profile for the main ayvān (Room 1, and Fig. 8). While most doors and vaults were constructed of rough stone, major, weightbearing arches in domed čahār ṭāqs, like room (or rather ‘gate’) 82 or the Čahār Qāpū were constructed of baked bricks. Hallways 20, 11, 12, 43 formed the communication points between upper and lower terraces at the interior of the structure. We were unable to find precise measurements of where the slope started, its length, and what the angle of descent was. Only one image by Bell shows the slope of these passages, hallway 12 being the one photographed, and we based our slope off of this.32 The angle used for the slope is slightly over 26˚. This matches

28

e.g. Bell 1914: pl. 51, Fig. 1. and pl.

29

De Morgan 1897: figs. 208 and 210.

30

Bell 1914: pl. 51, Fig. 1.

31

Reuther gives a detailed explanation of the architectural reasoning behind elliptical or parabolic arches and semi-circular arches appearing in Sasanian architecture. Reuther, Survey of Persian Art, 498-501, 32

Bell 1914: pl. 56, Fig. 1.

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exactly the slope used for the three exterior ramps, which we do have a measureable quantity for as obtained from the elevation views of de Morgan. The location of the ramps was located by starting the slope where the green colored upper terrace ended, and were the blue, lower terrace started on Hoffman’s version of Bell’s plan.33 The end of the slope was then calculated by simple trigonometry using the angle from the exterior ramps. It happened to work out that the ‘roof’ section ends slightly behind courts F and J, which are the rear most flanking upper terrace courts. So not only do these ramps form a continuum from exterior to interior, but they also are visually appealing. Room 82, 83, and surrounding rooms The monumental gatehouse dividing the courts U and V functioned as a major point of entrance to the palace, secondary only to the main ayvān on the terrace up above. (Figs. 5, 6, 7) While the available evidence allows us to confidently reconstruct it as a čahār ṭāq, many features are still unclear. We have decided to construct multiple iterations of this entranceway, and have the ability to insert them into the 3D model to check for overall continuity with the site as a whole. We are currently favoring one of similar domed design as the čahār ṭāq, but using the floor plan as seen in Bell. De Morgan’s cross-section and ground plan indicate he intended to record a čahār ṭāq. Bell, for her part, did not show any doubt that this structure was some form of čahār ṭāq featuring a dome. Bell’s photo of the southwestern corner of 82 may show the remains of the interior of a squinch springing from the cornice.34 In the text, she states, “No. 82 must have been covered by a dome, which was in all probability set over the angles on squinch arches.35” The ground plans and photographic evidence of this structure shows wall thickness and buttressing from the contiguous vaulted chambers that would not only support a dome, but perhaps also could have even supported an upper story. As a preliminary experiment we adapted the elevation plan of a typical centralized Sasanian space with a dome set on squinches, scaled it to match the archaeological evidence at room 82 and experimented with buttressing features seen at other sites, such as the exterior band of masonry encircling the lower level of the dome.36 The similarities between the ground plan of Sasanian domed structures and room 82 are very close and at this point in time it appears to be the solution that corresponds most closely to the evidence, though we are still considering the feasibility of the upper story.

33

Hoffman 2008: Taf. 34.

34

Bell 1914: pl. 61.

35

Bell 1914: 50.

36

O. Reuther, Survey of Persian Art, Fig. 159.

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Upper Terrace: Room 1 As with any Sasanian palace, the palace’s main entrance, ayvān, was the most important and imposing architectural feature of the ʾEmārat. (Fig. 3) However, with no part of the superstructure remaining intact and major discrepancies between de Morgan’s and Bell’s plans, it is impossible to reconstruct the ayvān with full confidence in its ground plan and elevation, let alone all of its architectural details. De Morgan and Bell agree in the basic length and width of the central ayvān, and both de Morgan and Bell indicate that columns composed of bricks played some role in its elevation. However, with characteristic caution, Bell did not attempt to fill in any details that were not clearly visible to her. By the time that Bell had visited the site, the two supporting northern and southern walls of Room 1 were merely large mounds of debris, indicated by the large black blocks on her plan. So while she recorded the remains of the composite brick columns, since she found them out of context, she did not attempt to integrate them into her plan.37 Without any standing remains, we have decided to take the typical elliptical profile of a late Sasanian ayvān, and adapt it to the proportions of the ʾEmārat’s ground plan. Given its more commensurate size, the ayvān used for dimensional scaling was the extant ayvān at Ṭāq-e Kesra, though we also paid close attention to the façade of the Great ayvān at Ṭāq-e Bostān for other features since it was a product of the patronage of Husraw II.38 We have decided to also mimic the crenellations as present at Ṭāq-e Bostān in our preliminary reconstruction, even though, much like the ayvān itself, nothing remains. If they did exist, it would be nearly impossible to tell from the extant rubble at the site, as they would either be constructed of the same rubble and mortar masonry seen throughout the site and be lost amongst the detritus, or of some perishable material such as wood or terra cotta. Without positive proof that the crenellations existed on the ayvān, it is pure conjecture as to their size and form and indeed their existence. Given the temporal context in which the site sits, we find it to be very plausible that both the ʾEmārat and Ṭāq-e Bostān share a similar architectonic narrative, thus prompting the presence of crenellations which mimic the height and number of steps seen at Ṭāq-e Bostān. Taking the height, width, and parabolic curve of Ṭāq-e Kesra, and translating that to dimensions of the ʾEmārat as established by Bell and satellite imagery, we arrived at a height of 12.25 meters. This puts room 1 at slightly over twice the height of the surrounding rooms on the upper terrace (6 meters), excluding room 3.39 Given its monumental size and chronological proximity of less than two generations from the ʾEmārat, it is not out of the realm of possibility that a similar design was used at both of the structures. Ṭāq-e Bostān also employs a slightly elliptical vault, though less than Ṭāq-e Kesra and it is much smaller than ʾEmārat. Since it is carved from the living rock its sculptors had license to create a profile that might not succeed if translated into 37

Bell 1914: 45.

38

Canepa 2013: 869-874.

39

Room 3 sits at 8.25 meters.

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

rough stone or brick. As is with the typical Sasanian ayvān arch, the base at the spring line is thicker than the apex of the arch. We have decided to also follow the dimensions of Ṭāq-e Kesra and employ its ratio of roughly .7:1m.40 Given the fact that the same patron constructed both the ʾEmārat and Ṭāq-e Bostān, we preferred the architectural features of the façade of the rock-cut ayvān. Bell recorded the ayvān as being free-standing with no buttressing, side corridors or transverse vaults. This is largely unprecedented in Iranian architecture, Sasanian or Parthian, and is certainly not the way the great ayvān at Ṭāq-e Kesra and Taḵt-e Solaymān were constructed. While it is also somewhat unconventional, de Morgan’s plan solves the problem of the buttressing and, if side walls are assumed, matches a wide variety of middle and late Sasanian palace, fire temple and church architecture, which incorporate colonnades. Nevertheless, Ṭāq-e Bostān and Ṭāq-e Girrah, a nearby roadside kiosk constructed out of ashlar masonry, both present a façade with single ayvān. Since they both likely stem from the reign of Husraw II, it is not out of the realm of possibility that the ʾEmārat had the same profile and façade. In addition to the version included in the bird’s-eye views (Figs. 3, 4 , 5 and 11), we have prepared multiple versions of the entrance ayvān and are experimenting with versions of each of these possibilities. (Fig. 8) Each approach to the restitution of the façade presents different challenges in evaluating the evidence. De Morgan suggests an inner row of eight free-standing columns, and one engaged on the eastern wall of room 2, and an outer row of four columns in the eastern half of the ayvān. We have replicated this in style A, and have transferred the same parabolic arch of the main ayvān, onto the arcade formed by these columns. Style A corresponds most faithfully to De Morgan’s ground plan, with a tripartite ayvān and no external wall on the northern and southern sides, though this would be unique in Sasanian architecture. The façade of Style B is reminiscent of Ṭāq-e Kesra but like Style C, incorporates a colonnaded hall, which has several precedents in Sasanian palace, fire temple and church architecture.41 Style C presents a façade similar to the Great ayvān at Ṭāq-e Bostān that has been adapted to the ground plan presented by Bell. Style D is a fusion of the de Morgan-inspired plan (style A) and the combined, implied profile of the ayvāns of Husraw II and Šabuhr III at Ṭāq-e Bostān, in which the main ayvān (that of Husraw II at Ṭāq-e Bostān) presents a stepped façade, is un-buttressed in the upper portion of the arch with two subsidiary entrances flanking. In all cases we based the columns’ height and, to a lesser extent, profile off of the seventh-century columns found at Kangāvar.42 40

This ratio of thickness at the apex to thickness at the spring line was calculated by measuring the elevation plans of Ṭāq-e Kesra, and scaling them appropriately to the ʾEmārat. 41 This is reminiscent of Reuther’s reconstruction of the façade of the ʾEmārat. Reuther’s plan of Room 1 with its closely set exterior walls (room B in Reuther Fig. 153), replicates, in a sense, the main hall of the church of Qaṣr Bint al-Qāḍī discovered by his expedition a few years earlier. Reuther, Survey of Persian Art, Fig. 153 room B, and Fig. 162 a, b. Kröger 2007: 137-157. 42

Hoffman 2008: Taf. 40.

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The ayvān presented in our current reconstruction is based on evidence provided by Yousef Moradi, who undertook cursory excavations of the site.43 The ayvān follows the same dimensions as presented by de Morgan, however columns are replaced by pillars as evidenced by the extant remains. Moradi suggests two groupings of three freestanding pillars extending to the east taking place of the double colonnade of de Morgan. Satellite imagery only further complicates the matter, as the freestanding pillars are not visible. The easternmost visible pillars are slightly wider than the succeeding columns, perhaps suggesting a structure existing to the east of the ayvān. Due to the complex, fluid nature of this ongoing investigation, we have chosen to display a hybrid of the various possibilities. The history of Sasanian architecture includes several examples of vaulted, columned halls, but no entranceway ayvān supported by columns has yet been found as indicated by de Morgan. While we have experimented with entrances incorporating evidence from his plan, at this point, we have not concluded that this was necessarily the original ground plan. Style C, the single ayvān adapted from Ṭāq-e Bostān is the simplest and (perhaps) safest solution, though de Morgan’s (more plausible yet equally problematic) documentation of Hawš Kūrī’s and Bell’s attestation of the composite columns at the ʾEmārat problematize this. Adjudicating between this and the other options will be one of the focuses of our later work. Like room 82, we hope that subsequent experimentation with the 3D design process might lead to new insights. Room 2 For room 2, the transverse hall, we have chosen to experiment with an approach that departs markedly from O. Reuther who reconstructed this hall as a čahār ṭāq. Bell’s and de Morgan’s plans, however, suggest a transverse vaulted hall. De Morgan appears to suggest four, long rectangular sections of wall or, perhaps, piers, placed in a rectangular pattern, in the center of the transverse hall, whereas Bell opts for solid masonry wall, much like her rendition of room 1. The arrangement of de Morgan’s ‘piers’ are too elongated and narrow to form a normal čahār ṭāq, and other aspects of his plan do not present the design features and buttressing needed to support a dome. At this point we have found Bell’s plan to make more sense with the available evidence, though this could change if new evidence comes to light. Current photographic evidence from the site suggest that the western wall of room 2 had collapsed outward into room 3, suggesting a downward and outward force similar to that a vaulted room would exhibit. A vaulted hall is the main feature of the standard Mesopotamian Parthian palace as well as Ṭāq-e Kesra, albeit there it is longitudinal. The main entry points on the east and west walls runs along a main axis that extends through room 2, 3, and into the western upper terrace court A/B. (Fig. 11) This axial entryway plan is seen at Ṭāq-e Kesra and the palace of Ardaxšīr at Fīrūzābād, so we are confident that our approach to this problem is fully in line with the main principles of Sasanian palatial architecture. We can also point to a parallel with the visitor’s experience of the southwestern gatehouse (Room 82), which also exhibits a markedly axial entranceway with continuous sightlines. 43

Moradi 2012.

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Room 2 is split into three distinct rooms, or sections, all covered on the NS axis by the massive vault, which features a similar curve and proportionate thickness as the main vaulting of room 1. Separating these three rooms are two walls, through which a NS axial entranceway runs through the exterior and interior walls. Following the plan of de Morgan, we have also chosen to have a ‘double arch’ on the north and south exterior walls, where the outer arch is significantly larger than the interior, through arch. As a stylistic choice, it in a sense, mimics that of the main ayvān and axial entranceway here, and at Ṭāq-e Kesra, in which a smaller arch is inset inside the larger. Room 3 The final challenge that faced us in this preliminary process of reconstructing the palace proper, was how to resolve ‘room,’ or rather ‘court’ 3. Both plans indicate four heart-shaped columns at each corner.44 Bell’s plan records four heart-shaped columns, which she also mentions in the text. In his plan, de Morgan also includes the same heartshaped columns adorning the corners of room 3. Both De Morgan and Bell assume room 3 to be the main audience hall. At first a dome seemed to be the only logical interpretation of the function of four piers arranged in a square, although this was structurally impossible given the size of the courtyard and size of the columns. The walls of room 3 are not thick enough to support a dome of such massive size, even if arcuated buttressing were present on the exterior. As our reconstruction shows, all of the vaults of the surrounding rooms, except 13, 14, and 15, are orthogonal to room 3, thus rendering them incapable of providing the necessary external support. In addition, a comparison of the amount of debris in the known courtyards as photographed by Bell, and those known to be vaulted rooms further supports our hypothesis that room 3 was a courtyard of some type.45 Bell’s photographs show that the site was still obscured by debris at the time of her arrival, but the quantity shown in the photographs is not so much to suggest the space had been vaulted.46 Photographs from recent visits to the site appear to confirm this. (Fig. 12) These indicate that debris has, at some point, been cleared from room 3, revealing features not recorded by de Morgan or Bell. It should be noted that if this was part of a controlled excavation, which is not certain, it has not been properly published. Figure 12 documents the space cleared of debris and shows the bases of two intermediate columns that line the court on all four sides. In addition to the lack of evidence of an original central roof structure, this documentation allows us to feel secure in interpreting this space as a peristyle court, of which there are numerous examples in Parthian and Sasanian palatial architecture. Reuther appears to have intuited that room 3 (court D in his plan) was a 44

Bell 1914: 45-6 and pl. 53. De Morgan 1897: pl. 42.

45 Bell 1914: compare pl. 58, a known courtyard, with pl. 61, a known covered room. The ground level of pl. 58 is clearly free of construction debris, whereas pl. 61 is under a considerable amount of debris. A better view of this can also be seen with Figs. 7 and 9, which show an exterior view of pl. 61. The courtyard is clearly free of debris, whilst the floor of room 82 is indubitably covered. 46

Bell 1914: pl. 55, 57.

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56

peristyle court as well, however with three interior columns instead of the two documented in figure 12.47 This court functioned as a transitional zone between the monumental entranceway, (room 1), the great room, (room 2), and court A/B.48 The photo published as figure 10 indicates that the center intercollumniation of each side was shorter than that of the space between each corner column and its neighbor. We have thus decided to follow that paradigm, and set the center columns to match the same width as the axial entranceway that communicates between the eastern end of the upper terrace, and the enclosed western court A/B. Palatial grounds The palatial grounds, of which only the topographic plan of de Morgan exists, were an entirely different challenge. The lack of a scale bar and information on elevation differences between topographic lines has made the task of reconstructing the palatial grounds particularly difficult. Using a bitmap image obtained from Google Earth (for no proper topographical information in bitmap form has been found to date) and imported into Autodesk 3DS MAX 2015, shows that the landscape is quite different from how de Morgan portrays it in his topographic map. This can be chalked up to the continual agricultural activity on the palatial grounds. As Fig. 1 shows, the wall runs a roughly rectangular course around the ʾEmārat, following the terrain. The Corona satellite imagery, taken of Qaṣr-e Širin in August of 1969, shows an outline of the walls location.49 A comparison of the aforementioned imagery with current satellite imagery shows extreme degradation. The next problem faced in building the larger enclosure complex was situating the ʾEmārat within the topographic map. De Morgan’s plan portrays the palace with the correct dimensions along the EW axis but distorts it on the NS axis, making it some 30 meters too wide, another example of his more ‘impressionistic’ method. The inherent inaccuracy due to the lack of scale made measurement of each wall segment particularly difficult and has introduced an error of perhaps as much as 10 meters over a 500 meter length. It is the opinion of the authors that this dimensional inaccuracy will have no effect on the interpretation of the scale and size of the palatial grounds, though we currently developing a method to ameliorate this by integrating data from the Corona imagery. The dimensions and shape of the walls’ profile were taken from de Morgan, who has an exquisite cross section of the wall.50 We created the reflecting pool located on the eastern end of the palatial grounds by adapting de Morgan’s plan, which is the only concrete evidence available for this feature. We derived the dimensions for the reflecting pool from measurements taken from de

47

Oscar Reuther, Survey of Persian Art, Fig. 153.

48

See Fig. 12

49

http://corona.cast.uark.edu/index.html#bbox=5071662,4097723,5078106,4100766.

50

De Morgan 1897: 353.

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Morgan’s site plan and scaled it appropriately by using the known EW length of the palace proper compared to the measured length on the topographic map. (Figs. 1, 5 and 11) This same process was used for the construction and placement of the pool’s retaining wall. Conclusion: Qaṣr-e Širin and the late Sasanian Topography of Power While Qaṣr-e Širin’s location does not correspond to the political concerns or building activity of the Umayyads or the Abbasids, it does fit neatly into a late-Sasanian constellation of estates between Ctesiphon and the Iranian plateau. Many of these show the marks of Husraw II’s patronage and join others that he built, enlarged or embellished. This spectacular collection of palaces, plantations and hunting enclosures stretched northeast from Ctesiphon up the Diyālā River valley and thence onto the Iranian plateau. Taken altogether, from west to east, this sequence includes Dastagerd, Beklal (and possibily Rousa), Bīsotūn, Ṭāq-e Bostān and Kangāvar. The archaeological features of the plain of Qaṣr-e Širin and associated sites in the Ḥolwān region fit into this network and bear similar marks of Sasanian architecture and planning under the reign of Husraw II, such as the adorsed ramp and platform. They generally relate to the ‘Khorasan Road,’ the old route that led from Mesopotamia to Ecbatana and across northern Iran to Central Asia. It was one of the main arteries connecting the two major parts of the empire and could control access to either. Departing from Qaṣr-e Širin, as travellers would ascend onto the Sasanian plateau they would pass Ṭāq-e Bostān and Bīsotūn. Bīsotūn lies some thirty kilometers from Ṭāq-e Bostān and fifty-five kilometers from Kangāvar. Bīsotūn, Ṭāq-e Bostān and Kangāvar are close enough that is likely they formed a larger, linked entity. Kangāvar retains evidence of a major palace, while Bīsotūn and Ṭāq-e Bostān have both yielded archaeological evidence of Sasanian hunting enclosures and water features. In addition, Bīsotūn and Ṭāq-e Bostān were sites of major royal rock reliefs, all undertaken on a massive scale. This region’s importance to the late Sasanian Empire is also underscored by the fact that several crucial battles in the Roman invasion of Heraclius and the Arab conquest took place at or between these sites, including Heraclius’ destruction of Dastagerd and the Arab victories at Jalulāʾ and Nehāvand.51

51

Theoph. 6118. Morony 1986.

Persian Palace Architecture, Garden Design and Digital Archaeology

Figure 1. Plan view of Wall, ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, and Qaleh-ye Čahār Qāpū.

Figure 2. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow ground plan, numbered using precedent set by Bell.

58

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Figure 3. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, isometric view looking southwest.

Figure 4. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, isometric view looking northwest.

Persian Palace Architecture, Garden Design and Digital Archaeology

Figure 5. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, Isometric view looking northeast.

Figure 6. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, room 82 detail, looking west from court V.

60

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THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

Figure 7. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, room 82 and court V, looking west southwest.

Figure 8. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, room 1 ayvān comparisons.

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Figure 9. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, court A/B looking east.

Figure 10. ʾEmārat-e Ḵosrow, room 3 looking west. Photo used with permission of Edgar Alphenaar, 2012.

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Bibliography

Agnew, H. C. (1920) The Palace of Khosrau II. At Dastagerd. The Geographical Journal 56/4, pp. 305-308. Antrim, Zayde (2012) Routes and Realms: The Power of Place in the Early Islamic World. Oxford. Askari Chāverdi, Ali-Reza (2011) Archaeological Excavations in the So-Called ‘Palace of Sāsān’ at Sarvestān, Fars. Sasanika Archaeology 1, pp. 1-6. Azarnoush, Massoud (1981) Excavations at Kangavar. AMIran 14, pp. 69-94. Azarnoush, Massoud (2009) New Evidence on the Chronology of the ‘Anahita Temple.’ IrAnt 44, pp. 393-402. Bell, Gertrude (1914) Palace and Mosque at Ukhaiḍir: a Study in Early Mohammadan Architecture. London. Bellew, Henry W. (1874) From the Indus to the Tigris. London. Bier, Lionel (1986) Sarvistan: A Study in Early Iranian Architecture. University Park, PA. Bier, Lionel (1993) The Sasanian Palaces and their Influence in Early Islam. Ars Orientalis 23, pp. 57-66. Bird, Isabella L. (1891) Journeys in Persia and Kurdistan. New York. Canepa, Matthew P. (forthcoming) From Paradise to Dastgird: Continuity and Change in Hellenistic, Parthian and Sasanian Royal Estates. Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. Canepa, Matthew P. (2013) Sasanian Rock Reliefs. In The Oxford Handbook of Ancient Iran. Ed. by D. T. Potts. Oxford, pp. 856-77. Canepa, Matthew. P. (2017) Methodological and Historiographical Notes on the ‘Paradise’ as an Iranian Royal Institution. DABIR 1.3:39-43. Canepa, Matthew. (forthcoming c) The Iranian Expanse: Transforming Royal Identity through Architecture, Landscape, and the Built Environment, 550 BCE–642 CE. Berkeley: University of California Press. de Morgan, Jacques (1897) Mission scientifique en Perse 4. Paris. Fraser, J. Baillie (1842) Mesopotamia and Asyria, from the Earliest Ages to the Present Time. Edinburgh. Fraser, J. Baillie (1840) Travels in Koordistan, Mesopotamia, etc. Vol 2. London. Griscom, Mary W. (1921) A Medical Trip through Persia. In Asia: The American Magazine of the Orient, 21. New York. Hoffmann, Marion-Isabell (2008) Sasanidische Palastarchitektur: Forschung, Grundlagen, Funktion. Ph.D. Diss. Lüdwig-Maximilians-Universität. Munich. Hozhabri, Ali (2013) A Proposal on the Identification of Charqapi Monument of

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Qasr-e Shirin (1): Historical Study (in Persian). Nāma-ye Bāstān Šināsī (Journal of Archaeological Research and Studies, Department of Archaeology, Faculty of Art and Architecture, Bu-Ali Sina University) 2/3, pp. 103-119. Hozhabri, Ali. Personal communication. Huff, Dietrich (1986 [updated 2011]) Architecture iii. Sasanian. Encyclopaedia Iranica online. www.iranica.com. Jones, J. F. (1849) Narrative of a Journey Through Parts of Persia and Kurdistan. In Transactions of the Bombay Geographical Society 8, pp. 249-334 (Art. XI). Klier, Klaus (2008) Jalulāʾ. Encyclopaedia Iranica online. www.iranica.com. Kröger, Jens (2007) Die Kirche auf dem Hügel Qasr bint al-Qadi und weitere Zeugnisse christlichen Lebens im Bereich der sasanidischen Metropole Ktesiphon. In Inkulturation des Christentums im Sasanidenreich. Ed. by M. von Arafa, J. Tubach, G. Sophia Vashalomidze. Wiesbaden, pp. 137-57. Moradi, Yousef. 2012. Imerat-e Khosrow: In View of the First Season of the Archaeological Excavations. In Nāmvarnāmeh: Papers in Honour of Massoud Azarnoush, edited by H. Fahimi and K. Alizadeh, 350-75. Tehran: IranNegar. Morony, Michael (1986) ʿArab ii. Arab conquest of Iran. Encyclopaedia Iranica online. www. iranica.com. Mousavi, Ali (2008) A Survey of the Archaeology of the Sasanian Period During the Past Three Decades. e-Sasanika Archaeology 1, pp. 1-17. Payne, Richard (2013) Cosmology and the Expansion of the Iranian Empire, 503–628 CE. Past and Present 219, pp. 1-31. Rich, Claudius James (1836) Narrative of a Residence in Koordisan, and on the site of Ancient Nineveh. Vol. 1. London. Ritter, Carl (1840) Die Erdkunde von Asien, Band VI zweite Abtheilung. Drittes Buch. West- Asien. Iranische Welt. Berlin. Sarre, Friedrich – Herzfeld, Ernst (1920) Archäologische Reise im Euphrat- und Tigrisgebiet. Vol. 2. Berlin. Schmidt, Jürgen (1978) Qaṣr-e Širin: Feuertempel oder Palast? Baghdader Mitteilungen 9, pp. 39-47. Theophanes 6118. Zetland, Laurence J. L. D. (Earl of Ronaldshay) (1904) On the Outskirts of Empire in Asia. Edinburgh – London.

THE TRIPARTITE SASANIAN VISION OF THE WORLD From History to Epic in Late Antique Iran Touraj Daryaee

A

rdaxšīr I, the founder of the Sasanian Empire, was an upstart and a usurper, even within his own family.1 This fact makes his career, and the way in which he rallied the Iranians around his ideological underpinnings and vision, even more impressive.2 What Ardaxšīr I established was named Ērānšahr, which, along with Zoroastrian religion, defined who the Sasanians were and what the history of the Iranians was. In this essay, I discuss the way in which religious and mythical traditions were used in order to construct a new history in late antique Iran.3 J. Howard-Johnston, in an important article, has set out the binary world of late antique, as viewed mainly through Roman sources and world-view.4 M. Canepa, in his excellent work on ritual and kingship in the Roman and Sasanian empires, has also promoted the idea, mainly through the speech of Khusrow II, that the two empires were seen as the two eyes of the earth.5 Here, I would like to argue that Sasanians did not have a binary-vision of the world, but, rather, a tri-centric world-view and a unique perception of the past, which was neither in synchronicity with what the Romans knew about their nemesis, nor with the Judeo-Christian tradition in late antiquity. Instead, this vision, was known only in the Iranian world and was well constructed by the sixth century CE. According to this unique historical perspective, the Sasanians remembered their ancestors to have ruled the world in 1

Daryaee 2010: 237-256; for an updated study, see Shavarebi 2014: 108-122.

2

The basic outlines of Sasanian history could be found in Christensen 1944; Frye 1983: 116-180; Schippmann 1990; Morony 1998; Daryaee 2008; and Daryaee 2009.

3 I have already discussed matters pertaining to Sasanian historiography, Daryaee 1995: 129-141; Daryaee 2001-2003: 1-14 and Daryaee 2006: 493-503. 4

Howard-Johnston 2006: 157-226.

5

Canepa 2009: 1.

The Tripartite Sasanian Vision of the World

66

the primordial times, and to have subsequently divided the world between the three great powers of late antiquity: the Romans, Iranians and the Turks/Chinese. Still, according to Sasanian Zoroastrian apocalyptic belief, the world should be united under a single king as it was, in the beginning. This belief was an important determinant of Sasanians’ actions and their relations with their neighbors at the end of late antiquity. In order to understand the Sasanian mytho-religious perspective of the past, one needs to look at the Avesta, which was put in its final form between the fourth and the sixth century CE.6 Jean Kellens has made the very important observation that the Avesta provides the mythical history of the Aryā or the Iranians.7 Indeed, scholars, especially historians, rarely consider the sacred hymns of the Zoroastrian tradition as the history of a people who came to be known as the Iranians. But if one reads the Avesta with a historical eye, one can deduce that the Yašts,8 specifically the Yašts V, X, XIX, provide glimpses of a narrative considered by the Sasanians as their ancient history. These hymns, along with the Wīdēwdād (Chapter I), refer to a geographical setting for the early Iranians, embodied in the axis mundi called Ērān-Wēž.9 It is significant that the Avesta was put in its final form during the middleSasanian period, very close to the time that the national history of the Iranians, the Xwadāynāmag (the Book of Lords / Kings), was also put in writing.10 So, it is no surprise that the Xwadāy-nāmag is heavily influenced by Avestan lore, geographically and historically11. It is important to note that this geographical horizon and kings and heroes of the past began to be associated with the Iranian Plateau and its late antique kings, the Sasanians.12 One can go even further and state that many of the Sasanian kings acted according to the customs of the ancient kings and potentates of the Avestan Yašt. In a sense, they were playing a part in the narrative epics of the past. How this history was constructed is a tantalizing story which I shall attempt to briefly summarize in the following pages. In a sense, the Sasanians grafted the local history of Persis, before their rise to power, with the Avestan kings and heroes, namely the Pēšdādīds and Kayānids. As already mentioned, the Avesta provided an early historical blueprint for the Sasanians. Yašt XIX or the Zamyād Yašt’s view of history is a significant evidence of

6

K. Hoffman has suggested that an archetype of the Avesta was already prepared in the fourth century CE, see Hoffmann 1975: 316-325; the sixth century seems to be the time for both the Avesta and the Sasanian Xwadāy-nāmag to have been written down, Daryaee 2003: 43-44. 7

Kellens 2005: 237.

8

For the Yašts, see Skjærvø 1994: 217-220.

9

For discussion of Ērān-Wēž see MacKenzie 2016. It is important to note that the Sasanians transfered this location from the east to Azerbijan and made it the center of their ancient home. 10

For the study of Iran’s national history, see Nöldeke 1920; Yarshater 1983: 359-480; Shahbazi 1990: 208-29; Khaleghi-Motlagh 2007-2008. 11 12

Cereti 2010: XX

See the important observations on the sacred sites which were reworked by the Sasanians, Canepa 2013: 64-90.

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this as this as one can re-read the text in Persian as late as the eleventh century through Abolghasem Ferdosī’s Šāhnāmeh.13 In Zamyād Yašt, which has also been called Kayān Yašt, focusing on the Kayānids, not only does the story of kings, heroes and villains unfolds, but the ideological underpinning of Iranian kingship is also made manifest.14 In this Yašt, we are dealing with the idea of Xvarəna, “Glory,” the symbol of sovereignty and legitimacy in ancient Iran.15 According to Zoroastrian belief, the Xvarəna is bestowed on the rightful rulers and dynasties by Ahura Mazda and his aids. In this context it is important to note that Ahura Mazda is considered to be strictly the god of the Iranians and not of any other people. As a result, only Iranians can hold the royal Xvarəna.16 In the Zamyād Yašt, the Xvarəna is called kauuaiia Xvarənah,“Kayānid Glory,” which seems to be the specific Xvarəna needed for the kings in order to legitimately rule Iran. This Xvarəna is bestowed solely by Ahura Mazda and only to the rightful rulers. This is evident in the formulaic sentence at the beginning of many of the passages in the text: xvarənah mazdaδātəm yazamaide, “We worship the Mazda created Xvarənah.” The main body of the Zamyād Yašt begins after salutations to Ahura Mazda and the Aməša Spəntas (Bounteous Immortals) and other Yazatas (Deities). The section that Oktor Skjærvø calls the beginning of the “legendary section”17 starts with Haošiiaŋha (Persian Hūšang) (XIX.25): [kauuaēm xvarənō] yat upaŋhacat haošiiaŋhəm paraδātəm The Kayānid Xvarənah which came upon Haošiiaŋha Paraδāta Taxma Urupi (Persian Tahmures) is the second ruler to gain the Kayānid Xvarəna, and then it is bestowed upon Yima (Persian Jamšēd) who managed to rule at first, but later loses his glory due to hubris. The Kauuis / Kayānids are subsequently mentioned as those to whom the Xvarənah came. The naming of the Xvarənah as a “Kayānid Glory” seems a bit anachronistic, since the Kayānids themselves only received the Glory after it had passed through the Pēšdādiān or the First Law-givers. The list of Kayānid personages who receive the glory is as follows (XIX.71): yaṯ upaŋhacat kauuaēm kauuātəm yimca kauuaēm aipi-vohum

13

On the Šāhnāmeh and history of ancient Iran, see Omidsalar – Daryaee (forthcoming).

14

Yašt XIX has been studied more than any other part of the younger Avesta. See Pirart 1992; Hintze 1994; Humbach – Ichaporia 1998. 15

See Soudavar 2005: 9-10, 20-21, also see Soudavar 2009: 424-425, and Soudavar 2010.

16

In the Elamite version of the Darius’ Behistun Inscription, Ahura Mazda is called the God of Arya or Iranians, see Bailey 2011. 17

Skjærvø 1994 (1996): 199-243.

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yimca kauuaēm usaδanəm yimca kauuaēm aršānəm yimca kauuaēm pisinaŋəm yimca kauuaēm biiaršānəm yimca kauuaēm siiāuuaršānəm (The Kauuian/Kayānid xvarənah) which came over to Kauui Kauuāta, and Kauui Aipivohu, and Kauui Usaδan, and Kauui Aršān, and Kauui Pisina, and Kauui Biiaršan, (and) Kauui Siiāuuaršān Here, we are presented with a familiar list of potentates, who appear in Middle Persian texts, the Šāhnāmeh and Perso-Arabic historical texts. In these texts they are enumerated as follows: (Persian) Kay Qobād, Kay Kāwūs, and Kay Sīyāwaš. Then, the rest of the Kauuis are named: Kauui Haosrauuah (Kay Xusrō) - perhaps the greatest of the Kayānids through his exploits and victories over demons and men - and Kauui Vīštāspā (Goštāsp), who accepted the Zoroastrian religion brought by Zaraϑuštra, making the Kauuis part of the Zoroastrian hagiography.18 This “ancestral” past is connected with the tragic murder of Darius and the destruction of the Zoroastrian priests and the Avesta by Alexander.19 Even Darius is somewhat of a mixed figure, presenting characteristics of both Darius the Great of the Achaemenids and Dārāy of the Persis tradition of the post-Alexander period.20 According to the Persian view, this post fourth century BCE history of Iran is dominated by two groups or dynasts in Persis, namely the Fratarakas and the MLKAs. The progression of these local rulers on coinage has been established by M. Alram, beginning with Dārēw / Dārāyān, son of Wādfradād; then Ardaxšahr, son of Dārāyān and Wahīxšahr, son of Dārāyān.21 The sequence of rules can also be observed by studying the legends on the coins, where the first series of rulers, including Baydād, Ardaxšhar, and Wahbarāz, are known as the frataraka.22 The rulers of the second group of rulers, or Persis, are simply known as the MLK’ “King,” and include Dārāyān and Wādfradāt. These groups, additionally, include Dārāyān and Ardaxšahr who are now considered to be part of an independent dynasty as suggested by the rule of Shayegan as

18

On the list of the Kauuis and their order and history, see Kellens 1976: 37-49.

19

On the intricate development of Darius III’s imagery and memory in the Irano-Islamic tradition, see Briant 2003: 443-486. 20

Thank to J. Wiesehöfer’s work, we now have a clearer picture of the kings of Persis after the fall of the Achaemenids, under the Seleucid and Arsacid suzerainty. See Wiesehöfer 1994; Potts 2007: 271-300, also see Callieri 2007. They have provided historical and material evidence for Persian rule in the province of Fars in the post-Alexandrian period. 21 22

Alram 1986: 172-174.

A. Panaino has dealt in detail with the Fratarakas. See Panaino 2002: 283-306. On the coinage of the frataraka now, see Curtis 2010: 379-396.

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the Dārāyānids who came to be local rulers of Fars in the Arsacid period.23 The sequence of the kings of Persis comes to an end with the early Sasanian coinage of Šābuhr on which we can see Ardaxšīr I and his prother, alongside their father, Pābag.24 Based on the orthographical evidence, Skjærvø has suggested that it was during the reign of Dārāyān II that major reforms took place, including reforms of linguistic and religious nature.25 Among these is the establishment of the fire-altars, which are the prototypes of Sasanian fire-altars, appearing prominently on the Persis coinage. If we accept Skjærvø’s suggestion, then we can speculate that the Middle Persian and Persian references to Dārāy ī Dārāyān may very well correspond to the Persis king Dārāyān II, whose reforms and prominence were recognized. Still, the memory of Persis king Dārāyān was mixed with Achaemenid Darius who could not have been completely forgotten. It was also during the time of the late Persis kings that two common Sasanian designations, that of being related to the deities and being descended from the deities, came about. The mention of Ardaxšīr I in the Kārnāmag ī Ardaxšīr ī Pābagān (VI.19), no doubt a late Sasanian source,26 as being from the nāf ī dārāy šāh may also make reference to such tradition. One might even suggest that we are, perhaps, seeing the combination of the frataraka group, starting with Dārēw, and the Dārāyān II himself. In this way, the post-Alexandrian history of the Iranian Plateau was communicated through a Perso-centric view of the past. Such historical schema begs the question of what might have happened to the Achaemenids. The Arsacids were the dynasty which was overthrown by Ardaxšīr I, and it seems that the house of Sāsān did a thorough job at eradicating them from the historical tradition. In fact, in the Iranian tradition, they are solely allowed to play a part in the romantic stories fused into the Kayānid tradition, as found in the Šāhnāmeh and other Persian epics. Sasanian intervention were so successful that, until the nineteenth century CE, the Iranians only knew very little about this dynasty. As Ferdowsī states (Šāhnāmeh VI.82-83): ‫ﺣ﮹ ﻮ ﮐﻮٮ﮴ﺎه ﮳ٮﺪ ﮶ﺳﺎخ و ﻫﻢ ﮳ٮ ﮵ٮ ﮲ﺢ ﮶ﺳﺎن ٮ﮲ ﮑــﻮ ﮵ٮﺪ ﮳ﺣﻬــــﺎٮ﮲ﺪ ﮵ٮﺪه ٮ﮴ﺎرخ ﮶ﺳــــﺎن‬ ‫﮵‬ ‫﮳‬ ‫ــــــٮ ﮵ٮﺪهام ٮ﮲ﻪ در ٮ﮲ﺎﻣــــﻪ ﮲ﺣﺴـــــﺮوان د ﮵ٮﺪهام‬ ‫ـــــﺮ از ٮ﮲ﺎم ٮ﮲ ﮶ﺴ ﮲‬ ‫ازٮـــﺮا ﺣ ﮲‬ Since their genealogy and lineage was short No worldly person can retell their history From them I have heard nothing but their name, Nor have I seen anything in the Book of the Kings27

23

Shayegan 2005: 171.

24

See Alram 1999: 67-76.

25

Skjærvø 1997: 103.

26

There are two astrological reports in the Kārnāmag which may suggest the date of its composition, especially the latter in 631 CE. See Panaino 1994: 191.

27

Ferdowsi (Khaleghi-Motlagh – Omidsalar, eds.) 2005, VI: §82-83.

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70

One could argue that it is really the Arsacids who were aware of the Achaemenids and not the Sasanians.28 Much interesting in the case of this study is the change in Arsacid imperial ideology, which pushed the former philhellens to gravitate towards the Iranian tradition, specifically that of the Achaemenids.29 One such action has to do with the use of the title Basileus Basileōn, i.e., King of Kings. On the coins of Walaxš (Vologases I), we see an altar with a man making sacrifice, an iconography replacing the canonical Omphalos of Apollo minted on the earlier Arsacid coinage.30 This gravitation towards the Iranian tradition culminated with the claim of the Arsacids to be descendants of the Achaemenids.31 According to Neusner, this claim was encouraged by the victories over the Romans, recalling the earlier Achaemenid glories, specifically after the battle of Carrhae. It was easy for the Arsacids to know and remember the Persian rulers of West Asia. Access to the records and documents about the Achaemenids would have come easily to the Arsacids. Not only was Greek known, hence providing access to the Greek historiographical tradition, but the tradition of Neo-Babylonian astronomical diaries - documents which recorded important events, mainly in conjunction with astronomical observations - was maintained until the first century CE, in a manner unchanged since the Achaemenid time.32 Also of note are the bilingual scribes in Mesopotamia who knew Neo-Babylonian along with Greek, even until the beginning of the Sasanian period.33 Both the Arsacids and the Sasanians would thus have had access to these sources. If we take these matters into consideration, there would be no wonder that the Sasanians did not associate themselves with the Achaemenids, as the preceding dynasty had already made such a claim public and known. Consequently, not only the memory of the Arsacids, but also that of their supposed ancestors, i.e., the Achaemenids, had to be omitted from the “national” history constructed by the Sasanians. Only those personages who had a function in the scheme of the Sasanian sacred history were then needed and retained. Among these were the two Dārās, two strong figures in the province of Persis. As we shall see below, their memory, however, was most likely infused with the later kings of Persis. The literary remains suggest minor respect for the Achaemenid memory in the Iranian national history. However, another important connection between the Achaemenid memory and the Sasanians was made through oral tradition. The Arsacid Parthians, who ruled Iran

28

In regard to the remembrance of the Achaemenids until the Sasanian period, see Yarshater 1971: 519; Kettenhofen 1984: 190; Kettenhofen 1994: 99-108; Kettenhofen 2002: 49-75; Wisehöfer 1986: 177-185; Huyse 2002: 297-311; Roaf 1998: 6; Shayegan 2011. 29 Neusner 1963: 56. For connections to Cyrus the Great, see Wolski 1982-1984 (ed.1988): 160; and also for Cyrus and Arsacid’s further connections, Wiesehöfer 1996: 59. 30

Neusner 1963: 47.

31

Neusner 1963: 48.

32

Geller 1997: 45.

33

Geller 1997: 49.

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between the two “Persian” Empires, had a strong minstrel tradition through which stories of the Achaemenids, along with those of the Kayānid kings, were transmitted.34 This oral tradition was already at work in the Achaemenid period when stories of kings were recited and rehearsed with songs, and the tradition indeed lasted through the Sasanian period.35 But if the Arsacids, as it is well-known, were omitted and erased from Persian historical memory, why didn’t the Achaemenids share the same fate? Well, as we will see, they did. At this point of my argument, I want to come back to the theme mentioned at the beginning of the essay, namely the unity of the world according to the Sasanian view. In order to understand this world-view, we can look at the Pahlavi literature on the primordial world empire which controlled “all of Asia.” In the Pahlavi texts, the Pēšdādiān king Frēdōn is the ruler of the world and the restorer of kingship to the Iranians. He has three sons - Salm, Tūž, and Ēraj- and decides to divide his universal kingdom among them, which results in the following episode (Abdīh ud Sāhagīh ī Sīstān 5-6): az frazandān ī frēdōn salm kē kišwar ī hrōm ud tūž kē turkestān pad xwadāyīh dāšt Ēraj Ērān dahibed būd uš be ōzad “From the offsprings of Frēdōn, Salm, who ruled over the land of Rome, and Tūž, who ruled over the land of Turkestān (Asia=China), they killed Ēraz who was the lord of the land of Ērān.36

34

Boyce 1954: 49; Boyce 1957: 12.

35

Strabo, 15.3.18. In regard to stories about Cyrus, see Xenophon, I.ii.1. Also, see SancisiWeerdenburg 1985: 462. For the pre-Achaemenid Iranian tradition of court poets, see Gershevitch 1968: 2. For the importance of oral tradition in Achaemenid and Sasanian Persia, see Skjærvø 1985: 593, Skjærvø 1998: 99-107; and Huyse 1990: 177-183; for Sasanian Persia, see Curtis 1998: 182-187. 36

The Middle Persian text, Abdīh ud Sāhagīh ī Sīstān, passages 5-6, in Jamasp-Asana 1913, translated into Persian by Daryaee, in Daryaee 1996: 534-542. The Jāmāsp Nāmag has the following version of the tripartition (Chapter IV) [in Dumézil 1973: 14]: “Three sons were born to Frēdōn: Salm, Tuz, and Ēraz were their names. He called all three together to say to them: “I will divide up the entire world between you; let each of you tell me what seems good to him so that I may give it to him.” Salm asked for great riches, Tuz for valor, and Ēraz, who had the Kāvīyān glory upon him, for law and religion. Frēdōn said: “May what each of you has asked for come to him.” To Salm he gave the land of Rome down to the sea coast; to Tuz he gave Turkestān and the desert down to the sea coast; and Ērānšahr and India, down to the sea, fell to Ēraz. At one moment … Frēdōn lifted the crown from his head and put it on the head of Ēraz, saying: “My glory is established on the head of Ēraz until the morning of the renovation of all the living world; O honored one, may the royalty and sovereignty over the children of Tuz and Salm belong to your children.” Dumézil 1973: 14. For an older translation, see Modi 1903: 115116 and most recently Agostini 2013.

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72

The Avestan material does not entail this story, which may have been part of the lost Avesta or an interpolation by the Sasanians on an ancient theme. The Šāhnāmeh of Ferdowsī, however, gives the epic narrative of this tradition (Khaleghi-Motlagh I.270-278): ‫﮳ٮﻪ ﺳـﻪ ﮳ٮ ﮲ﺤﺶ ﮐﺮد ﮲آڡﺮ ﮵ٮﺪون ﮳ﺣﻬﺎن‬ ‫﮵‬ ‫دﺳﺖ ﮐـﺮدان و ا ﮵ٮﺮان زﻣ ﮵ٮﮟ‬ ‫ﺳٮﻢ ﮶‬ ‫ﺳـﺮ ﮵ٮ ﮲ﺪ‬ ‫را‬ ‫ﻣﺮو‬ ‫ــﺎور‬ ‫ﺣ‬ ‫و‬ ‫روم‬ ‫ﻫﻤﻰ‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫ﺪرﮐﺴ ﮵ٮﺪ‬ ‫ﮐﺮازان ﺳـــﻮی ﮲ﺣـــﺎور اٮ﮲ ﮶‬ ‫ﺎورﺣﺪای‬ ‫ﻫﻤﻰ ﮲ﺣــــﻮاٮ﮲ﺪٮ﮲ﺪ ﮵ٮﺶ ﮲ﺣ ﮲‬ ‫﮵‬ ‫ورا ﮐﺮد ﺳــــﺎﻻر ٮ﮴ﺮاکن و ﺣ﮹ ــــٮﮟ‬ ‫ﮐﺴ ﮵ٮــــــــﺪ آٮﮑﻬﻰ ٮﻮر ﻟﺴﮑﺮ ﮳ٮ ﮲‬ ‫ﺮاه‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫﮴ ﮶‬ ‫﮶‬ ‫ﮐﻤﺮ ﮳ٮﺮ ﻣ ﮵ٮﺎن ﮳ٮﺴﺖ و ﮳ٮ ﮑ ﮶ﺴﺎد دﺳﺖ‬ ‫ﻣﻬﺎن ٮ﮹ﺎک ٮ﮴ﻮران ﮶ﺳﻬﺶ ﮲ﺣﻮاٮ﮲ﺪٮ﮲ﺪ‬

‫﮳﮵‬ ‫ﮐﺴـ ﮵ٮﺪ از ٮ﮲ﻬﺎن‬ ‫ٮ﮲ ﮲‬ ‫ﻬڡ ﮴ٮﻪ ﺣ﮹ ـﻮ ٮٮﺮون ﮶‬ ‫دﮐﺮ ٮ﮴ﺮک و ﺣ﮹ ﮵ٮﮟ‬ ‫ﺎور‬ ‫ﺣ‬ ‫و‬ ‫روم‬ ‫ﮑﻰ‬ ‫﮵ٮ‬  ‫﮲‬ ‫ﺴٮ ﮵ٮﮟ ﮳ٮﻪ ﺳﻠﻢ اٮ﮲ﺪرون ﮳ٮ ﮲ٮ ﮑﺮ ﮵ٮ ﮲ﺪ‬ ‫ﺤ‬ ‫ٮ‬ ‫﮳﮲ٮڡ ﮲ ﮴ ﮲‬ ‫﮳‬ ‫ــــــﺮ ﮵ٮﺪ‬ ‫ﺮﮐ‬ ‫ٮ‬ ‫ﮑـــﺮی‬ ‫ﻟﺴ‬ ‫ﺎ‬ ‫ٮ‬ ‫ــﺮﻣﻮد‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫﮴ ﮶‬ ‫ ﮲‬ ‫﮳ٮﻪ ٮ﮴ ﮲ﺤﺖ ﮐ ﮵ٮـــــــﺎن اٮ﮲ﺪرآورد ٮ﮹ﺎی‬ ‫دﮐــــــــﺮ ٮ﮴ﻮر را داد ٮ﮴ـﻮران زﻣ ﮵ٮﮟ‬ ‫﮵ٮ ﮑﻰ ﻟﺴﮑﺮ ٮﺎﻣــــــﺮد ﮐﺮد ﺳ ﮲‬ ‫ـــــﺎه‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫﮶‬ ‫﮶‬ ‫﮲‬ ‫ﻰ ﮳ٮﺮٮ﮲ ﮶ﺴــﺴﺖ‬4‫﮳ٮ ﮵ٮﺎﻣﺪ ﮳ٮﻪ ٮ﮴ ﮲ﺤﺖ ﮐٮ﮵‬ ‫﮳ٮ ﮲ﺮ راکن ﮳ٮﺮو ﮐﻮﻫــــــــــﺮ ﮲اڡ ﮶ﺴﺎٮ﮲ﺪٮ﮲ﺪ‬

When he (Frēdon) revealed his secret plan, he divided the world into three parts, one (considered of) Rome and Western Clime, the other the Turkish realm and China, third, the plain of heroes and the land of Iran, he first looked into Salm’s affair, and found Rome and the Western Climes fit for him, he ordered Salm to choose an army, (Salm did so) and left for the Western Clime, (once there) he sat upon the royal throne, and was called the Lord of the Western Climes, he then granted the land of Tūrān to (his other son) Tūr, and made him the lord of Tūrān and of China, he assigned Tūrān army (of his own), and he left with his host, Tūr came (to Tūrān) and sat upon the royal throne, (and) began to rule (literally: girded himself for the job) generously, the nobles scattered jewels upon him (as a sign of submission), and all of the magnates proclaimed him the King of Tūrān While this division plunged the world into war, in the Avesta the frawašis or the guardian spirits of the three progenitors and their people are blessed,37 these are the Aryan, the Turan, and the Sairimyan: (XIII.143): airiianąm daxiiunąm narąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide

37

Shayegan 2011: 24-25.

73

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD

airiianąm daxiiunąm nairinąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide tūiriianạm daxiiunąm narąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide tūiriianąm daxiiunąm nairinąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide Sạirimanam daxiiunạm narąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide Sạirimanam daxiiunạm nāirinąm ašaoninąm frauuašaiiō yazamaide We worship the Frauuašis of the righteous men in the Airiian countries, we worship the Frauuašis of the righteous women in the Airiian countries, we worship the Frauuašis of the righteous men in the Tūiriian countries, we worship the Frauuašis of the righteous women in the Tūiriian countries, we worship the Frauuašis of the righteous men in the Sairiman countries, we worship the Frauuašis of the righteous women in the Sairiman countries

It appears that hrōm (Rome) has replaced sairima- of the Avesta in the Middle Persian texts, hence the equation.38 This region, which was identified with Anatolia (affected by the Byzantine idea of the empire of the “Romaioi”), continued to be called Rūm in the Islamic period, such as evidenced by the he names of political entities such as the Seljuks of Rūm. In the Sasanian period, the religious tradition and the epic tradition created the background for the realities of international politics in Late Antique Persia. It is not surprising if the Romans could not understand Persian international politics, which, at times, made no sense to them. The Sasanians believed in a constructed relation of the past between them and their neighbors, the Romans and the Turks, as found in their sacred text, the Avesta. This means that while the Roman emperors called their Persian counterparts fratri meo, “my brother”39, for the Persians this gesture was not a simple sign of mutual respect, which existed at the time. Instead, if we take the Persian conception of the past into consideration, the Sasanians

38

Of course, one would easily think of the sarmat, i.e., the Sarmatians as the identification. For hrōm and sarm see Cereti 2010: 139. 39 Ammianus Marcellinus, XVII.5.3 ; see Procopius, I.xi.9 for Kawād and Justinians relations; Theophylact Simocatta, IV.11.11 for Xusrō II and Muarice.

The Tripartite Sasanian Vision of the World

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reply truly portrayed Roman emperors as their brothers: the descendants of Salm who had ruled hrōm (Persian rūm) and thus, Rome. Then the underpinning cause of the animosity among the three kingdoms, and mainly in dialogue (because of our sources) with the Romans, appear to be, at least from the Iranian perspective, a fratricide. This action, in primordial times, had brought out malice (Middle Persian kēn), which, unlike sin (Middle Persian wīnāh), could not be expatiated. According to the Pahlavi texts (Mēnōg ī Xrad), kēn is sown into lineage and remains in the lineage. Even in the Šāhnāmeh, when the dialogue between the Roman Emperor and Khosrow II is staged, this idea of fratricid is echoed.40 This fact is part of the ideological underpinnings of the late Sasanian Empire, which was used against the Eastern Roman Empire, in the seventh century CE. It may have been that the death of Maurice at the hands of Phocas, in 602 CE, called for revenge for the malice by Khosrow II,41 but the real malice or kēn was an older one. The time was right to make things right and unite the world as it had once been in the beginning of Iranian history, during the reign of Fereydūn. Consequently, a minor malice and an older malice would have been avenged through a single action. The Sasanians constructed a sacred epic narrative of their past, co-opting and rivalling their neighboring enemies, the Romans and the Turks. This vision of the past relied on the Achaemenid Dariuses based on the Zoroastrian Magi’s remembrance, and the native Persis Dārāyanīds, MLKA or King of the first century CE, and finally with the creation of the Kayanid genealogy in the fourth century CE. We should remember that the Sasanians at the time of Šābuhr I, in the third century CE, could not remember further than their third ancestor, namely a Sāsān Xwadāy (Lord). This, in fact, was also a typical tradition in the Roman world, where three ancestors are known or are provided. Then, an elaborate tradition reaching into distant past was constructed by the sixth century to remedy the situation. A history was created, reaching to the Avestan Yašt tradition. It was disseminated throughout the empire, through elaborate channels and with a single book of history, the Xwadāy-nāmag , to make sure that the Sasanian kings remained the only viable and legitimate rulers. These rulers, endowed with the Xvarrah, or the “Glory”, were to rule over what came to be called Ērānšahr as they had done so in the primordial times.42 A new dynasty, a new tradition, and a new empire was the product of Sasanian tradition, which has left its imprint for the past fourteen hundred years.

40

Ferdowsi (Khaleghi-Motlagh, ed.) 2007, VIII: §1288-1292.

41

Howard-Johnston 2010: 436.

42

R. Payne has provided the most recent observation on the impact of the Eastern tradition with the Sasanians, Payne 2015: 298.

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Bibliography

Agostini, Domenico (2013) Ayādgār ī Jāmāspīg, un texte eschatologique zoroastrien. Biblica Et Orientalia. Paris. Alram, Michael (1986) Nomina Propria Iranica In Nummis: Materialgrundlagen zu den iranischen Personennamen auf antiken Münzen, Iranisches Personennamenbuch IV, Vienna. Alram, Michael (1999) The Beginning of Sasanian Coinage. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 13, pp. 67-76. Ammianus Marcellinus (1935) Rerum Gestarum Libri qui supersunt, ed. and tr. J. Rolfe as Histories, tr. J. C. Rolfe, 3 vols., Cambridge, Mass. Bailey, Harold Walther (2011) Arya. Encyclopaedia Iranica, Ed. Ehsan Yarshater. Boyce, Mary (1957) The Parthian gōsān and Iranian Minstrel Tradition, JRAS, pp. 10-45. Briant, Pierre (2003) Darius dans l’ombre d’Alexandre, Fayard, Paris. Callieri, Pierre-Francesco (2007) L’archéologie du Fārs à l’époque hellénistique, Persica 11, Paris. Canepa, Matthew (2009) The Two Eyes of the Earth: Art and Ritual of Kingship Between Roma and Sasanian Iran, UC Press, Los Angeles & Berkeley. Canepa, Matthew (2013) The Transformation of Sacred Space, Topography, and Royal Ritual in Persia and the Ancient Iranian World. Heaven on Earth: Temples, Ritual, and Cosmic Symbolism in the Ancient World, The Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago, Chicago, pp. 319-72. Cereti, Carlo J. (1999) The Zand ī Wahman Yasn: a Zoroastrian apocalypse. ISMEO, Rome. Cereti, Carlo J. (2010) Xiiaona- and Xyōn in Zoroastrian Texts. Coins, Art and Chronology II: The First Millennium C.E. In the Indo-Iranian Borderlands, eds. M. Alram et al., OAW, Wien, pp. 59-72. Christensen, Arthur (1944) L’Iran sous les Sassanides, Copenhaugen. Daryaee, Touraj (2010) Ardashir and the Sasanian’s Rise to Power. Anabasis: Studia Classica et Orientalia 1, pp. 237-256. Daryaee, Touraj (2008) Sasanian Iran: Portrait of a Late Antique Empire, Mazda Publishers, Costa Mesa. Daryaee, Touraj (2009) Sasanian Persia: The Rise and Fall of an Empire, IB Tauris, London. Daryaee, Touraj (2003) The Idea King in the Sasanian World: Ardaxšīr ī Pābagān or Xusrō Anōšag-ruwān. Nāme-ye Irān-e Bāstān 3/1, pp. 33-45. Daryaee, Touraj (1996) Abdī ud Sāhagīh ī Sīstān. Iran Nameh 31, pp. 532-542. Dumézil, Georges (1973) The Destiny of a King. Chicago. Frye, Richard N. (1983) The Political history of Iran under the Sasanians. Cambridge History

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of Iran III, pp. 116-80. Geller, Mark (1997) The Last Wedge, Zeitschrift für Assyriologie 87, p. 43-95. Hoffmann, Karl (1975) Aufsätze zur Indoiranistik I, Reichert, Wiesbaden. Howard-Johnston, James (1995) The two Great Powers in Late Antiquity: a comparison. Ed. A. Cameron, The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East, III States, Resources and Armies, Princeton, pp. 157-226. Howard-Johnston, James (2010) Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century, Oxford. Gershevitch, Illya (1968) Old Iranian Literature. Handbuch der Orientalistik. Iranistik, Lieferung 1, Brill, Leiden, 1968, pp. 1-31. Hintze, Almut (1994) Der Zamyād-Yašt. Edition, Übersetzung, Kommentar, Wiesbaden. Humbach, Helmut and Ichaporia, Palan (1998) Zamyād Yasht, Yasht 19 of the Younger Avesta, Wiesbaden Huyse 1990. Huyse, Philip (2002) La revendication de territoires achéménides par les Sassanides: une réalite historique? Iran: Questions et Connaissances 1, Ed. Philip Huyse, Paris, pp. 297-311. Kellens, Jean (1976) L’Avesta comme source historique : la liste des Kayanides. Acta Antiqua Hungarica 24, pp. 37-49. Kettenhofen, Erich (1984) Die Einforderung des Achämenidenerbes Durch Ardašir: Eine Interpretatio Romana. Orientalia Lovaniensia Periodica 15, pp. 177-190. Kettenhofen, Erich (1994) Einige Überlegungen zursasanidischen Politik gegenüber Rom in 3. Jh. N. Chr. The Roman and Byzantine Army in the East, Ed. E. Dabrowa, pp. 99-108. Kettenhofen, Erich (2002) Die Einforderung der achaimenidischenTerritorien durch die Sāsāniden-eine Bilanz. Festschrift Iradj Khalifeh-Soltani zum 65. Geburtstag / Yādnāme-ye Iradj Khalifeh-Soltani, Aachen, pp. 49-75. Khaleghi-Motlagh, Djalal (2003) Az Shahnameh Taa Khodaynameh. Name-Ye Iran-e Bastan 7/1–2, pp. 3–119. MacKenzie, David Neil (1998) Ērān-Wēž. Encyclopaedia Iranica, Ed. Ehsan Yarshater. Modi, Jivanji J. (1903) Jāmāspī, Pahlavi, Pazend and Persian Texts with English and Gujarati Translation, Bombay. Morony, Michael (1998) Sasanides. Encyclopedia of Islam. Brill, Leiden. Neusner, Jacob (1963) “Parthian Political ideology. Iranica Antiqua 3, pp. 40-59. Nöldeke, Theodore (1920) Das iranische Nationalepos. Leipzig. Omidsalar, Mahmoud & Daryaee, Touraj (2018) Shāhnāma as a Historical Source, Encyclopaedia Iranica, Ed. Ehsan Yarshater (Forthcoming). Panaino, Antonio (1994) The Two Astrological Reports of the Kārnāmag ī Ardašīr ī Pābagān (III, 4-7; IV, 6-7), Die Sprache 36, 1994, pp. 181-98. Panaino, Antonio (2003) “The Baγān of the Fratarakas: Gods or ’Divine’ Kings?” in Religious Themes and Texts of Pre-Islamic Iran and Central Asia: Studies in Honor of Professor Gherardo Gnoli on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday on 6th December 2002, ed. C. Cereti et al., Beiträge zur Iranistik 24, Wiesbaden, pp. 265-88. Payne, Richard (2014) “The Reinvention of Iran: The Sasanian Empire and the Huns,” The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Attila, Ed. Michael Maas, Cambridge, pp. 282-299. Pirart, Eric (1992) Kayān Yasn (Yasht 19.9-96), Barcelona.

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Potts, Daniel T. (2007) Foundation houses, fire altars and frataraka: Interpreting the iconography of some post-Achaemenid Persian Coins. Iranica Antiqua, 42, pp. 271-300. Roaf, Michael (1998) Persepolitan Echoes in Sasanian Architecture: Did the Sasanians attempt to re-create theAchaemenid empire? Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia, New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Empires, eds. V.S. Curtis & al., London & New York. Sancisi-Weerdenburg, Heleen (1985) The death of Cyrus: Xenophon’s Cyropaedia as a source for Iranian history. Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce II, ed. A. D. H. Bivar, ed., Acta Iranica 25, Leiden, pp. 459-72. Sarkhosh Curtis, Vesta (1998) Minstrels in Ancient Iran. The Art and Archaeology of Ancient Persia: New Light on the Parthian and Sasanian Empires, eds. V. Sarkhosh Curtis ed. al., London, pp. 182-187. Sarkhosh Curtis, Vesta (2010) The Frataraka Coins of Persis: Bridging the Gap between Achaemenid and Sasanian Persia. The World of Achaemenid Persia: History, Art and Society in Iran and the Ancient Near East, eds. J. Curtis & St John Simpson, London, 379-396. Schippmann, Klaus (1990) Grundzüge der Geschichte des sasanidischen Reiches, WGB. Shahbazi, A. Shapur (1990) On the Xvaday-namag. Papers in Honor of Professor Ehsan Yarshater, Iranica Varia XVI, E.J. Brill, Leiden, pp. 208-229. Shahnameh of Ferdowsi (2005), ed. Dj. Khalegh-Motlagh, Bibliotheca Persica, New York. Shavarebi, Ehsan (2014) Historical Aspects, Iconographical Factors, Numismatic Issues, Technical Elements: How to Obtain a Convincing Chronology for the Rock Reliefs of Ardashīr I. Anabasis: Studia Classica et Orientalia 5, pp. 108-122. Shayegan, M. Rahim (2005) Nugae Epigraphicae. Festschrift for Prods Oktor Skjærvø. Ed. Nicholas and Ursula Sims-Williams. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 19, pp. 169–179. Shayegan, M. Rahim (2011) Arsacids and Sasanians: Political Ideology in Post-Hellenistic and Late Antique Persia, Cambridge. Skjærvø, P. Oktor (1985) Thematic and linguistic parallels in the Achaemenian and Sassanian inscriptions. Papers in Honour of Professor Mary Boyce II, Acta Iranica 25, Leiden, pp. 593-603. Skjærvø, P. Oktor (1994) Hymnic Composition in the Avesta. Die Sprache 36, 1994, pp. 199-243. Skjærvø, P. Oktor (1997) The Joy of the Cup: A Pre-Sasanian Middle Persian Inscription on a Silver Bowl. Bulletin of the Asia Institute 11, pp. 93-104. Soudavar, Abolala (2005) Soudavar, The Aura of Kings: Legitimacy and Divine Sanction in Iranian Kingship, Costa Mesa. Soudavar, Abolala (2010) Farr(ah) ii. Iconography of Farra(ah)/Xvarənah. Encyclopaedia Iranica. Strabo (1917), The Geography, Loeb, Cambridge. Wiesehöfer, Josef (1994) “Dunklen Jahrhunderte” der Persis. Untersuchungen zur Geschichte und Kultur von Fārs in frühhellenistischer Zeit (330-140 v. Chr.), Munich. Wiesehöfer, Josef (1996) ‘King of Kings’ and ‘Philhellen’: Kingship in Arsacid Iran. Aspects of Hellenistic Kingship, Ed. P. Bilde et. al., Aarhus, pp. 55-66. Wiesehöfer, Josef (1986) Iranische Ansprüche an Rom auf ehemals achaimenidische Territorien.

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Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 19, pp. 177-185. Wolski, Jósef (1988) Le titre de ‘roi des rois’ dans l’idéologie monarchique des Arsacides. Iranica Antiqua 30, 1988, pp. 161-66. Yarshater, Ehsan (1971) Were the Sasanian Heirs to the Achaemenids? La Persia nel Medioevo, Rome, pp. 517-531. Yarshater, Ehsan (1983) Iranian National History, Cambridge History of Iran III, Cambridge, pp. 359-458.

BOOKS WITHOUT RITUAL – RITUAL WITHOUT BOOKS The Mazdean Approach to the divine Liturgy between Literacy and Orality. A Reversed History of Avestan and Sasanian Scholarship Antonio Panaino

T

he scholarly evaluation of the actual role of the book in its function, use, diffusion, but also its material and immaterial impact on the cultural dimension of the Sasanian Empire is ambiguous. In fact, if we except the superficial approaches that imagined Sasanian scholarship as a mirror of Western Mediaeval Studies, with a crude devaluation of the importance assumed by oral transmission, a serious analysis of the actual role played by books in Late Antiquity Iran remains to be developed without a priori positions and preventions. Bailey’s attempt to define the importance of the religious “transmission” (paywand)1 between orality and literacy did not properly and specifically concern the Sasanian phase. This specific question was not on the research agenda of Orientalists. Before we start, we should first define the meaning of what we call "book" in Late Antiquity Iran, and, more precisely, in Persia and in its neighbouring areas. Most of the Pahlavi sources that were found, with the exception of inscriptions and papyri2 of Egyptian provenance, date from after the Arab invasion. Many of these documents were recomposed in the 9th/10th centuries AD, during the “Renaissance” period of Mazdean culture. The status of the Christian Psalms found in Bulayïq confirms the existence of a Middle-Persian translation of the Christian Bible, which was prepared during the Sasanian period, as evidenced by the linguistic data, especially the very archaic shape of the Pahlavi script. Furthermore, the Middle-Persian term daftar [dptl],3 “register, account book”,4 certainly derives from Gr. διφθέρα, “parchment-vellum”, membrana.5 This statement 1

Bailey 1971: 149-179. See also the following chapter (Dēn-dipirih), dedicated to the transmission of the Avesta (180-194). Cf. also Mancini 2011. 2

Weber 1992.

3

Cf. also Arabic daftar, diftar; Laufer 1919: 563-564.

4

MacKenzie 1971: 23; Rajabzadeh 1991 (revised in 2011).

5

Blanck 2008: 156, passim.

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clearly suggest that, despite the absence of Pahlavi mss from this period, Middle-Persian books were mostly fixed in the form of parchment codices,6 and that they were preserved in official archives, as confirmed by the interpreter Sergios to Agathias (2.27.2, 4.30.23, 4.30.5).7 According to Ctesias, parchment was also in use in Achaemenian times,8 as evidenced by the fact that the Persian “royal chronicles”9 were named βασιλικαὶ διφθέραι, in the same source. It is almost certain that ancient Persians knew Western books, for they robbed the whole Athenian library founded by Pisistratos in 480 BC., during the campaign of Xerxes. The library was returned in the year 300 by Seleucus Nikator.10 The actual use of “hideouts” in Parthia for books writing has been attested by Chinese traders.11 Although it is a legendary tradition, the Ardā Wīrāz Nāmag (ch. I, 5)12 states that “a sized/ prepared” (wirāstag) “cow-skin” or “ox-hide” (gāw pōstīhā)13 copy of the Abestāg and of its Zand, written in golden ink (pad āb ī zarr),14 was carefully preserved in the “Fortress of Scriptures”15 (diz ī nibišt), in Staxr-Pābagān. Although anachronistic, the Pahlavi text probably makes reference to realia that might have existed in later times. In any case, it would be very pertinent to underline, as firstly noted by Gauthiot,16 that Middle-Persian

6

Codices can also be made of papyri, theoretically. See Blanck 2008: 119-140.

7

While Cameron (1969-70: 115) assumed that Agathia’s statements should be trusted, Briant (2003a: 775; 2003b: 579) has substantially discharged them as a literary forgery. Huyse (2008: 149-150), on the contrary, thinks that the data collected in these Archives consisted of poor and simple lists, so trying to minimize the role of the Sasanian canchelery. In my opinion, the history of the diplomatic relations between Byzantium and Sasanian Persia does not support such a view. In addition, the existence of a correspondence between some news collected by Tabari and Arabic historians and the data preserved by Western sources, confirms the existence of a local Iranian tradition. 8

Ctesias II, 32 (Fr. Diodorus]; see ed. Lenfant 2004: 78-79 [32 (4)]. Cf. also Laufer 1919: 563; Brosius 2003; Vandorpe – Clarysse 2007. 9

About Sasanian scribes responsible of the redaction of official Chronicles, see Tafazzoli 2000: 33-34. 10

Blanck 2008: 182-183.

11

Von Gutschmid 1888: 65; Laufer 1919: 564.

12

Gignoux 1984: 145; Bailey 1971: 151-152; Wahman 1986: 76, 77, 191, 224; Belardi 1979: 25-28; 76, 88, 98. 13

See also Dēnkard M 437, 18 (pad gāw pōstiyānīhā): Bailey 1971: 154; 217; see also pust i gāv in the Tansar-nāme (Bailey 1971: 157).

14

The reference to letters of gold (e.g., aureis litteris scriptos) is attested also in Western literatures. See Blanck 2008: 129, 131. 15

On this building and its identification see again Gignoux 1985: 36, 37, 145, n. 5.

16

1915: 130.

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pōst [pwst],17 Pers. pust “skin”, Parth. pwstg [pōstag] “book, Sūtra, charter, patent”,18 Sogd. pwst(h), pwst’k, pwst’y(y), pwsty [pōst, pōste],19 “skin” (as well as “document, parchment, writing, Sūtra”),20 Khot. pūstia- “book”,21 Toch. A postak, postäk, not only corresponds to Skt. pustaka-, n. (/m.; more rare is pusta-, m., [but also f. and n.] “volume, book, manuscript” from which, also Pāli pottaka-, n., Prākrit. potthiā-, f., Hindi pothī-, f., Tibetan po-ti were derived),22 but also that these Indian forms probably derive from an Old Iranian stem of high cultural relevance like O.P. pavastā-, f.,23 “skin, parchment” (and not < O.Ir. *pōsta-/ pōstaka-, as presumed by Gauthiot), which might be the fitting translation of Gr. διφθέρα, although it had, according to Schmitt,24 also the technical meaning of “thin clay envelope used to protect unbaked clay tablets”, or more simply that of “skin envelope”. O.P. pavastā-, occurs in chapter 70 of the main Bisutun Inscription, and concerns a semantic field strictly connected with scripture. Schmitt himself chose to translate it as “parchment”.25 Other words used in Pahlavi to mean “book” were: mādayān [m’tgd’n’, M. m’dy’n], “book”,26 nāmag [MGLTA, n’mk’, M. n’mg], “book, letter”;27 nibēg [npyk’, M. nbyg]28 “writing, scripture, book”;

17

MacKenzie 1971: 69.

18

Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 287.

19

Less probable is the alternative pust, pustak, suggested by Gauthiot 1915: 31. It is reasonable to suppose that all these stems should not be completely separated by Av. pąsta-, m. (Bartholomae 1904: 904), as already suggested by Gauthiot. Although the Avestan word is never attested with reference to texts of any kind, and it would be far-fetched to postulate such a meaning for it, in the early Iranian period. Cf. also Mayrhofer 1963: 319 in the notes.

20

Gharib 1995: 331; the attestations cover more or less the many varieties of Sogdian. Cf. also Sims-Williams – Durkin-Meisterernst 2012: 162; meanings like “document, letter” are also registered. 21

Bailey 1979: 247.

22

Mayrhofer 1963: 319; Laufer 1919: 563.

23

On the relation between OP. pavástā- and Ved. pavasta-, n., “cover”, see Mayrhofer 1963: 238.

24

Schmitt (1991: 73, sub p-v-s-t-a-y-[a]) follows Benveniste 1951: 42-47, with reference also to Lecoq 1974: 81-82; Mayrhofer 1992: 105. 25

Schmitt 1991: 73.

26

MacKenzie 1971: 53; Nyberg 1974: 128-129; Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 224.

27

MacKenzie 1971: 57; Nyberg 1931: 154; 1974: 135; Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 238.

28

MacKenzie 1971: 59; Durkin-Meisterernst 2004.

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nask [nsk’],29 “bundle, bunch, division of the Avesta”; cf. Man.Parthian nask/ nasg [nsk, nsq, nsg];30 For “letter” see also frawardag [plwltk’] “letter, epistle” (also in Parthian),31 and rewāyat (Pers. rivāyat). The first stem (mādayān) is frequently marked as a plural in the inscriptions of Kirder for “records” (together with gitt [gty] “document, testament”32 and pādixšīr [p’thštr] “charter”).33 This shows that a certain level of literacy was expected from priests and administrators. This observation rules out the possibility of Royal Archives as being just literary topoi in Sasanian Persia. Rather, it seems obvious that an empire that wide, and engaged in so many international relations, would have kept adminstrative records in dedicated places. The Armenian loanword matean was used in the translation of the Bible as “parchment roll”.34 Conversely, nāmag, Pers. nāme, was the most common term used in the titles of Pahlavi books. It was often adopted in Persian literature. With regard to nibēg, used also in Parthian (with the same spelling nbyg of the Man. Middle-Persian form), we can note that it also referred to “manuscript documents”. In the Paikuli inscription,35 npyky concerns official “letters” or “documents”, but we must also consider the occurrence of Parthian dastnibēg [dstnypyk] “script-(i.e. text)-hand-(written)” (in the final chapter of ŠKZ, Pa. 30, § 51).36 Furthermore, while the apparent similarity with the Pahl. verb nibištan “to write”37 might suggest popular etymologies, we must follow Henning,38 who states that earlier Middle-Persian nipīk, later nibīg/niβīg derive (via a form like *dipika-) from Old Persian dipi- “inscription”39 (whence also Indian lipi-, probably through an Eastern Iranian dialect in which that stem was pronounced δipi-).40 Henning showed that the final -g was lost

29

MacKenzie 1971: 58; Nyberg 1974: 136.

30

Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 245.

31

MacKenzie 1971: 33; Tafazzoli 2000: 28.

32

Gignoux 1991: 106; Huyse 2008: 146.

33

Gignoux 1972: 27; 1991: 36, 39, 66-67; MacKenzie 1989: 54, 57.

34

Nyberg 1974: 129.

35

Skjærvø 1983: 94, 114; Gignoux 1972.

36

Huyse 1999: 63; Tafazzoli 2000: 23: “this is my handwriting”; Nyberg 1974: 141; Gignoux 1972: 50.

37

MacKenzie 1971: 59.

38

Henning 1957: 337.

39

It is from the same word that Middle-Persian dibīr “scribe”, Persian dabīr, Middle-Persian dibīrī(h) “scribeship”, Parthian dibīrīft, derive; the existence of schools for the training of the scribes (dibīristān) is well documented. See Tafazzoli (2000: 18-20, 27, passim) with a large number of historical and bibliographical references.

40

Henning 1957: 337, n. 1.

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relatively early, as confirmed by Syriac and Sogdian borrowings. Furthermore, in Syriac nby, “book”,was similar to another word meaning “prophet”.41 In later Pahlavi, nibīg became nibēg, probably under the influence of nibēs-, present stem of nibištan.42 While the original meaning of this word was connected to the idea of writing, the meaning “sacred scripture” gained so much importance that Persian nivē (nibē) < nibē(g) became a substitute for the word Qur’ān. By the 11th century, however, such word was made redundant, except in poetry, where it was used as a rhyme in -ē or, as Henning explained,43 as a substitute for the word Qur’ān. It is interesting to note that the Pahlavi language created a denominative verb such as nibēgēnīdan, meaning “to record in a book”.44 With regard to nask the basic meaning of “bundle” seems to make direct reference to “rolls”,45 which in turn suggests that the 21 Avestan Nasks were originally rolled up, making one wonders if the secular Jewish tradition played any influence in this context. Durkin-Meisterernst46 points out that the word, which has many spellings, was used in reference to Avestan texts, as well as for the divisions of Mani’s scriptures. In the case of the Av. compound naskō.frasa-, traditionally tranlated as “one who devotes himself to the study of the Nasks”47 and cited in Y. 9, 22 (haomō taēcit yōi kataiiō, naskō.frasʼaŋhō ˜ it makes reference to the ˚aˉŋhəṇtə, spānō mastīmca baxšaiti),48 we can seriously doubt that standard subdivision in 21 books as fixed by the Sasanian Canon, while it should concern an activity such as the comment of earlier textual divisions. On the other hand, if naska-° is indeed connected with a “material” division (in form of a bundle?) and not just with a symbolic partition, would it make reference to written bundles in an unknown script as already adopted to support the study and the memorization of oral texts? It is impossible to give a clear answer, and I have no intention to refresh Andreas’ theory. The “bundle”, in fact, could make reference to a mental representation of the text, as a circle or a spiral to be completed step by step. This remark does not deny that the traditional and basic way of learning was oral, based on questions and answers, as Huyse remarked using pertinent examples. Theological study is not the same as a liturgical training, and the continuous act of memorizing texts does not exclude or interfere with a – surely more 41

See again Henning 1957: 337, n. 3.

42

Henning 1957: 337, n. 4.

43

Henning 1957: 337.

44

Bailey 1971: 155.

45

Blanck 2008: 105-119.

46

Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 245.

47

Bartholomae 1904: 1060. Cf. also Huyse’s remarks 2008: 142.

48

Kellens 2007: 62-63: “Haoma impartit l’intelligence et la compréhension à ceux qui restent assis dans les chambres à commenter les divisions-textuelles”. A different interpretation has been suggested by Goto 2004: 133-135: “Haoma wird auch [denen] die Heiligkeit und den Rausch (die Erregtheit) zuteilen, wenn [es] die Katis(?) [gibt], die heiligen Bücher erforschend bleiben (fortdauernd erforschen) werden”; 2009: 172-174: “idem”.

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limited – recourse to written texts for exegetical reasons. The existence of these two needs is perfectly compatible with the historical reality of Late Antiquity. The discovery, in Western Iran, of texts in other languages used by different religious communities (such as Jews, Christian [of Greek and Syriac origins], Manicheans, Sabeans, Buddhists, Hindus, etc.) allows us to postulate the circulation of many varieties of books,49 such as the Western codex, or again the volumen, both in parchment or/and in papyrus, but also Indian or Indian-like manufactures, such as the pothī (i.e. the palm-leaf manuscript, basically horizontal), books with folding or pliable pages, manuscripts rolled up around a pole, etc., at least in the scriptoria or daftarān of the most important cultural centres,50 temples and academies (e.g. in Gundešābuhr).51 It is a pity that Iran does not possess a collection of mss as rich as that found in Central Asia and Western China,52 but it is not unreasonable to believe that similar kinds of sources were known in Western Iran, at least as foreign or exotic documents. We must also add that Western books were imported and/ or produced in Eastern Iran (e.g. in Afghanistan) by Greek-speaking settlers, as evidenced by the books from the library in Aï-Khanoum (II c. BC).53 Greek books were current also in the Western kingdom of Mithridates, king of Pontos, where a royal library was kept until the final defeat of this gallant antagonist of Rome.54 The central administration of the Sasanian Empire employed a few scribes, mostly bilingual, who specialised in the technicalities of translation from and to Pahlavi, and who also had the duty to read and compose letters and diplomatic documents sent to or received from foreign courts in the context of mutual official missions. Although it had already been discovered in China, paper (made from the bark of the mulberry tree) was rarely used in Sasanian times because of its high cost. The earliest mentions of paper, in Persia, date from 650 AD. Some scholars have underlined that paper was used only to record very important official documents.55

49

On the “scriptural communities”, see Stroumsa 2005, 2008.

50

About these scribes and copysts, see Tafazzoli 2000: 34-37.

51

Delaini 2013.

52

Widengren 1961: 111-114.

53

Rapin 1987; 1992; Rapin – Hadot 1987; Blanck 2008: 199, 246, 257.

54

Blanck 2008: 209. Furthermore, we should consider the later presence of important “Roman” libraries in Asia Minor, for which see Idil 1999. 55

Ghirshman 1961: 48-49, 163-64; Laufer (1919: 490, 559, 563) suggested that Russian bumága would derive from Middle-Persian pambag [pmbk’] “cotton” (as Ossetic bæmbæg, Armenian bambak, both with progressive assimilation); Vasmer (1953: 144; Russian ed. 1986: 240-241) prefers the idea that the Russian word would derive from Italian bambagia “cotton”, bambagino “of cotton”; Tedesco 1951: 581, gives better reasons to maintain the Iranian etymology. Cf. also Persian and Pāzand panba. See Floor 2005; Abaev 1958: 249-250; Nöldeke 1892: 41; Hübschmann 1895: 255; 1897: 116; MacKenzie 1971: 64.

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Recent scholarship has highlighted the importance of orality in Iran, in particular with regard to the preservation of the Avestan corpus, emphasising the endurance of a large and rich repertory from which it was possible to draw a continuous source of inspiration and/or adaptation of a number of traditional literary patterns. Thank to P. O. Skjærvø56, whose work unearthed new evidences suggesting the strength of the oral tradition in Iran, new questions have been raised in an attempt to find more solid and convincing answers. In my opinion, now is the time to introduce some additional caveats into our debate, because we must carefully distinguish between orality and literacy not only in abstract terms or with reference to undistinguished situations, but also in a determined historical framework. There is no doubt that books were never very popular in Late Antiquity,57 in the East, as well as in the West. The number of readers was limited (but not too much), and for many of them it was difficult to maintain reading speed in silence. Reading was an activity usually performed aloud. Only a handful of highly educated scholars would have been able to work, mutatis mutandis, in the same conditions of erudites from the Late Middle Ages.58 At least, this is what scholars have frequently suggested in the context of the Western world. Until the late 1960s, scholars following Balogh,59 believed that silent reading was not common practice in Late Antiquity. This point of view was challenged by Knox (1968) and Johnson (2000), who provided evidence against Balogh's theory. This new approach has been, in turn, challenged by Saenger (1997), who argues that, until Greek and Latin texts were written in scriptio continua, it would have been difficult for any reader to develop a direct and exclusive visual and intellectual process during his/her reading activities. Indeed, both ancient and mediaeval readers were compelled to adopt a sub-vocalized skipping of the mss lines, resulting in a hard-to-hear and unintelligible performance that did not encourage any form

56

Skjærvø 1999; 2001; 2003; 2005; 2007; 2012.

57

No serious discussion about the diffusion of books in Iran has been attempted so far. Nor has a detailed analysis of the degree of literacy and illiteracy in the different phases of the PreIslamic period. In the Athens of the Classical period, for instance, reading was one of the main factors of democracy. The use of the heterographic system did not contribute to make Pahlavi a simple and easy language to write, as Bausani (1980) remarked. The opposite choice made by the Manicheans certainly reflected a more efficacious action of religious propaganda; see Panaino 2004. The emergence of Christianity in the West radically changed the role and the choice of books, although we must note strong differences between Rome and Constantinople; in any case, at Rome, the market progressively lost interest for Pagan texts of high quality, while more simple manufactures for a lower social level of readers were preferred. See the various contributions edited by Cavallo (1975) on these subjects. See also Blanck 2008: 41, 54-55, 99-103, passim. On the controversial debate regarding the state of literacy in Western antiquity, see the bibliography collected in Blanck 2008: 313-315. 58

Saenger 1997.

59

1927; See also Wohleb 1929; Blanck 2008: 36-42.

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of increase in reading speed, as Flory (2007) has recently underlined. This problem has been seriously analyzed from the perspective of Classical and Western Mediaeval Studies, but it remains largely overlooked by Oriental Philology, except perhaps for a few publications in Biblical Studies. Another rare case has been presented by Charpin in his research on silent reading in the Assyriological domain, which included some interesting results.60 With regard to the Iranian domain we certainly have the right to wonder whether Persian scholars were also compelled to adopt a sub-vocalized reading. A close examination of the Pahlavi mss, although post-Sasanian (but not the papyri and the Pahlavi Psalms),61 suggests that the scriptio continua technique was avoided. The high number of Aramaic heterograms meant that many words had to be learnt by heart, making reading aloud a more difficult exercise. In fact, writing systems that require a substantial amount of training tend to be read more quickly in silence.62 In other words, logographic patterns in spite of their initial difficulty, stimulate some cognitive strength and their adoption does not make silent reading particularly difficult. For this reason, the complexity of the heterographic system should not be considered as an obstacle to the reader’s velocity when reading in silence. A possible confirmation can be seen in the apparent distinction, well detectable in Middle-Persian, between inscriptional MP. pahipursād “to read (silently)” [ptpwls’t]63 and Manichaean MP. pahipurs-/pahiburs- “to read, recite (aloud)”, [phypwrs-/phybwrs],64 which, both, according to Huyse, would derive from the two possible meanings of OP. pati-parsa-, 1) “to question (thoroughly)”, 2 “to read (used both in the sense of German “(still) lesen” as well as “(laut) vorlesen”).65 More complex is the problem of Avestan, which adopted a highly specialized alphabetic system, in which a very impressive number of phonemic and phonetic nuances were carefully registered, so that it seems to be closer to a modern scripture with diacritic marks.66 In addition, Avestan presents a scriptio continua, although the single words are divided by a clear point, also adopted for distinguishing the different sections of a compound. Paradoxically, it can separate and unify as well, so that in the present scholarly tradition it is usually transcribed only in compounds. If both methods were possible, reading aloud would have been preferred within the ritual liturgical tradition to learn the correct performative intonation. Traditionally, the performative recitation of the Avestan texts would have been executed, according to the different ritual needs, aloud or, on the contrary, in quasi-silence, as confirmed by a number of technical expressions well-

60

2011: 55-57, passim.

61

Andreas - Barr 1933; Durkin-Meisterernst 2006; Gignoux 2002; Sims-Williams 2009: 266-270.

62

Saenger 1997: 2-4.

63

Cf. Gignoux 1972: 32; Huyse 2008: 142.

64

Durkin-Meisterernst 2004: 275.

65

Huyse 2008: 142.

66

Hoffmann 1971 (= 1975: 316-325); Windfuhr 1971; 1972.

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preserved in the Avestan Sprachgut.67 If we consider, as we discussed above, that books in different languages circulated in Iran and that scribes and translators were familiar with different languages and completely different systems of scripture, relationships with books were more complex and stimulating than we have usually assumed. While the particular character of the (varieties of the) devanāgarī script probably required Sanskrit to be read aloud, as it still is the case now among modern pandits, Greek texts probably permitted both possibilities, i.e. a sub-vocalized or an aloud performance. Pahlavi and Avestan, however, present opposite problems given their radically different forms of scripture. As a living language that did not use any sub-vocalization, Pahlavi did not encourage any vocal performances, except in the context of poem recitation and songs. Treaties and manuals of astronomy, mathematics, philosophy as well as books of law, etc. could be read aloud or in silence, according to the changing situations (if the reader was alone or with students) and the ability of the reader. The most proficient scholars probably prefered a soft pronunciation, but not a completely silent one, in particular if we take into consideration the situation of the Hebrew texts.68

67

See in particular Huyse 2008: 142.

68

See the following note.

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88

We could, in fact, enlarge our reflection to include other pertinent cases such as Syriac, Hebrew69 and other Semitic languages, but also Chinese, framing all these different cases in a comparative research project involving larger scholar participation. This question also concerns the practice of the so-called Aramaeography in the Achaemenian Empire, and

69

With regard to the Hebrew tradition I had the opportunity to consult Prof. Saverio Campanini (EPHE, Paris, now at the Univ. of Bologna) who very kindly noted that Jewish scribal practices introduced the separation or spacing between different words since Early Antiquity. We could rightly wonder whether the introduction of the five final letters, originally unknown in the palaeo-Hebrew scripture, but shaped on the model of the Aramaic square characters, is a potential witness of a desire to establish a more clear distinction, at least between some words. This phenomenon might theoretically imply the existence of an earlier scriptio continua, or, contrariwise, we should observe the presence of a redundant feature (final signs + spacing), but it seems more simple to postulate that the introduction of some special letters was favoured by practical reasons in the phase of writing more than in force of a solution of reading problems. In the framework of the present discussion is also very interesting to consider that in the case of the Talmud, the oral dimension, – still now living in the structure of the sugiot (or pericopes) as well as in the introduction of other mnemonic means adopted during ceremonial discussions – , has strongly endured for centuries, so that its written version seems to satisfy more fittingly the needs of a sure and stable preservation and of a future checking than problems implied by a scholarly or exegetical need. Before the beginning of the Masoretic activity, i.e. already in the Islamic period, written text did not properly work as an objective, material medium of study. But also in those later periods, while the Mišnah was vocalized, so that it would be theoretically readable in silence (in reality it is recited or better is crooned aloud), the Talmud still remains unvocalized and left to an aloud recitation or it is murmured, but never read as, on the contrary, it could have happened in the most famous way attributed by Augustine to Ambrose. It is paradoxical that albeit we can postulate an interesting innovation at the beginning of the Jewish written tradition, i.e. the adoption of regular spacing between different words, the actual practice, current still today, points to a conservative endurance not only of the ritual preservation of the rolls (in the case of the sefer), but also in the performative elocution and by means of a remarkable recitation aloud. Campanini suggests to me that the Biblical text as the one of the Talmud, when recited in the synagogue or during the common lectures, just need the written basis only as a silent warranty of the fact that nothing more has been added or invented, while it is in the oral dimension that its force and pregnancy has been preserved and expressed. In order to be more clear and sharp we may consider that in Hebrew the text is proclaimed (qeriah) and heard (šemu’ah), but it is not “read”. Thus, in present day Israel we do not immediately realize in force of the continuous tradition that if we ask a person deep in a silent reading for instance, of a novel, what is he doing, he could seriously answer: ani qoreh (‫)אני קורא‬, which, literally means: I “proclaim” or I “declaim”.

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its repercussions on other Middle-Iranian languages, which should be developed further.70 These evidences show that, although the use of books was limited in Sasanian Iran, the Persian civilization was not illiterate for all that. Orality was not sufficient to satisfy all its cultural needs. Supportive evidences can be easily listed: we have an impressive series of Greek astronomical and astrological texts, which have been translated into Pahlavi, and again into Arabic, Byzantine Greek and Latin.71 Their number, importance and diffusion in the mss tradition suffice to demonstrate that in the framework of the Sasanian Empire a certain intellectual atmosphere was requested to read, discuss, amend, interpolate, change (sometimes with verschlimmte Verbesserungen) important Greek sources,72 and that the 70

If the Arameographic processes surely involved reading aloud, at least in the official situations in which the Persian King of Kings was speaking and his scribes were simultaneously translating his own speech in an Aramaic text, to be eventually read again in Old Persian in front of Him (S Bisutun ch. 70; cf. Piras 2012), the other scribes, who had to perform the third phase of the process, i.e. that happening in the different Satrapies of the Empire, by reading, for instance, also in Parthian, Sogdian, Bactrian, etc., did it certainly aloud in front of their political and administrative leaders, as the satrapos himself. But in the case of a large administrative bureau, where many scribes speaking different languages of the Empire where at work, the situation would have been more complex. In fact, if one scribe had to read aloud in Bactrian, many of his fellows might be in troubles, dispite the fact that it has been stated that all these people were more or less “homoglottoi” (see Panaino, 2016). Thus, we should imagine that some performances in silence were also possible or, at least, not impossible. As my colleague Prof. Campanini rightly pointed out, reading aloud would have been detrimental in cases as those in which a Sefardi man and an Askhenazi would like to study together a page of the Talmud. While they could easily follow the text together using their fingers, their different pronunciation would have caused a serious problem if reading was performed aloud. The same could be said of the pronunciation of Latin, at least if the text was not known by heart. Then, mutatis mutandis, we should reconsider the cases of the relations between Parthian and Middle-Persian, because the action of reading aloud a text could embarrass a mother tongue native speaker of a different tradition. Also, in this case, it is the cultural and linguistic level of the readers that makes the actual difference. Something more complex should have been theoretically possible for Avestan, when the text was read by a Parthian priest or by a Middle-Persian one, and worse if the performance was made by a Sogdian, etc. The accuracy of Avestan orthography probably explains the care taken to avoid the “explosion” of problems like these. It suggests a desire to keep the liturgical pronunciation unified, when possible. In any case, I still doubt that the pronunciation of Avestan could have been the same in Western and Eastern Iran, as the status of the unique Avestan fragment in the Sogdian mss tradition suggests (Gershevitch apud SimsWilliams 1976). It is clear that in the case of Old Persian, many scribal activities were performed aloud, as sugby the verb pati-frasta- “to read” (< pati-fraθ, where °fraθ means “to examine, ask”). With regard to the heterographic systems cf. Gershevitch (1979); important considerations have been expressed by Cardona 1980. 71

Nallino 1922; Pingree 1989; Panaino 1998: 19-41.

72

Nallino 1922; Panaino 1998.

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90

same activity was practiced on Syriac and Sanskrit texts as well. The transmission of the Pañcatantra to the Western World, a fundamental chapter in the history of European Mediaeval literatures,73 gained momentum when the Kalīlag ud Damnag74 as well as other stories from the Buddhist tradition, were translated into Pahlavi, as well as Syriac and Arabic. Research on this topic abund. Sasanian Iran was a crossroad of cultures in which written sources in different languages and concerning different subjects, were imported, translated, re-translated and, sometimes, exported to other places, requiring a limited but highly skilled group of scholars at work. While some were Mazdean, others were probably members of other religious traditions, so that a multi-cultural and multi-lingual circulation was normal. Most important was the role of the Christian minority, whose missionary and theological activities were impressive. On this topic, we should cite the importance of the Christian medical School of Gundešābuhr,75 where medical literature belonging to different traditions was studied, compared and/or “contaminated”, in a very seminal way. In addition, we can mention the fourth book of the Dēnkard (DkM 412.3-415.3),76 in which the Sasanian kings were given credit for their deliberate cultural re-acquisition of earlier Iranian wisdom through the importation of books of astronomy, philosophy, medicine, physics, etc.77 Christians, Jews and Manicheans played an important role in the cultural promotion of the book as a sacred manifestation on earth of the divine Creator. If we consider the importance attributed by Mani himself to scripture and to his own authorship78 as proofs to support the revelations rendered by his fellows, we understand the importance of text as an authoritative line of descent.79 Concerns for the beauty of the manuscripts or the finesse of the miniatures therein painted confirm the importance attributed by Manicheans to the external form of the written text.80 These mss present us with a new aesthetics of the written and illuminated page, a “seductive” phenomenon that was strongly condemned by Christians, in particular Augustine.81 It is also important to underline the significance

73

Cf. Hertel 1914.

74

See the bibliography collected by de Blois 1990; 1991; Panaino 1999: 53-55, passim.

75

Delaini 2013.

76

Bailey 1971: 81, passim; cf. Zaehner 1954: 145, H; de Menasce, 1958; Cereti, 1994-95: 121, 128, n. 63; Panaino 1999: 88-89; Shaki, 1981; Pingree 1968: 7-10 (with reference to Ibn Nawbaxt on which cf. Nallino 1922: 363 = 1948: 302-303); Pingree 1975: 5.

77

A comparative analysis of the various versions of the origins of the Sasanian sciences as attested in Pahlavi, Arabic, Syriac, Greek and Persian sources, is presented (with additional literature) by van Bladel 2009: 30-39. 78

Piras 2012.

79

Panaino 2004.

80

Klimkeit 1982.

81

Piras 2012: 79-84.

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of Jewish texts in Western Iran, among which the Babylonian Talmud 82 contributed to distinguish the Sasanian period as one of the most seminal eras for the Jewish community of the diasporas. If we look at the Sasanian Empire from a multi-cultural, multi-religious and multiethnical perspective, we recognize that this society had a number of centres in which the activity of book-writing and translating, as well as that of book-producing, was current. Although the main protagonists of this enterprise came from diverse background, we know that a Mazdean literate élite among them was familiar with the cultural necessity of using books and written sources. I have already mentioned the esoteric field of professional astrologers, who knew Greek among other languages. They produced a good translation of the Almagest83 and probably used an intermediate text for one of the first versions of its most famous Arabic translation. Some additional considerations could be developed apropos the Hermetic literature that also had its own importance in Pahlavi.84 Evidence suggest that novelists translated Hindu and Buddhist stories. This fact confirms the existence of a public, because these Pahlavi translations imply the presence of educated people interested in books and able to read (and/or listen to) them.85 This conclusion supports the existence of other novels in Sasanian Iran, such as the “The Book of the Enterprises of Ardašīr” (Kārnāmag ī Ardaxšīr ī Pābagān)86 or “The Explanation of Chess and the Disposition of Backgammon” (Wizārisn ī čatrang ud nihišn ī Nēw-Ardaxšīr),87 which were not strictly concerned with religious needs, but aimed at transmiting a series of aristocratic cultural and educational values. Similarly, booklets like the Xusraw ī Kawādān ud Rēdag-ē88 discuss the qualities of the ideal noble young man, who (XKR, par. 108) should engage in writing and reading. In the same work, Huyse notes89 that young priests were meant to possess a certain skill for writing properly and quickly (XKR, par. 10: xūb-nibēg ud raγ-nibēg).90 Notwithstanding its loss, we must insist on the extant references to a Gāh-nāmag (or Notitia Dignitatum), similar, as highlighted by Daryaee,91 to an Armenian text entitled Gāhnāmak, which confirms the presence of a particular administrative literature, partly comparable with the Sūr

82

Secunda 2013.

83

Panaino 1998: 36-38; 1999; 2009a.

84

See now in particular van Bladel 2009: 23-63, passim.

85

Panaino 1999: 83-91, passim.

86

Grenet 2003.

87

Panaino 1999.

88

Azarnouche 2013: 64-65, 182-183.

89

Huyse 2008: 148.

90

Azarnouche 2013: 45.

91

Daryaee 2007.

Books without Ritual – Ritual without Books

92

Saxwan “Dinner Speech”.92 This kind of Notitiae dignitatum represented an important literary genre that was later continued through other examples, such as in the case of the Byzantine Κλητορολόγιον, edited by the Protospatharios Philotheos (ca 899 A.D.),93 and surviving in a recensio embedded in the famous treaty De Ceremoniis.94 Another example include the Sasanian Corpus juris,95 which inspired a corresponding (and in some aspects concurrent) juridical production by the leaders of the Christian community of Persia (in particular with regard to the laws concerning marriage and family).96 Although these books were not in the hands of many people, it is clear that they had a limited but reasonable diffusion and importance. A certain educational level must have been required in the administration. This is patent if we consider the complexity of the procedure of checking and counter-checking the minutes of the final peace treaty signed after the Lazika War.97 During this event, six Persian and Byzantine bilingual scribes were at work. Step-by-step, they checked every portion of the agreement, making sure that every word and expression were matching. In another study dedicated to the memory of my regretted friend Werner Sundermann, I have dealt at length with this very interesting procedural event,98 suggesting that the Persians wrote the Greek text, while the Rhomaioi had eventually produced the MiddlePersian one. Only in proceeding this way would have the two delegations been absolutely certain that the two final versions of the treaty were a match. Furthermore, it is clear that in cases like these, a deep mutual cooperation was required, and that, in spite of continuous military hostile operations, the two Empires maintained and trained a good staff of interpreters, spies, observers, ambassadors and high officers, whose knowledge of the enemy was very deep, including at a linguistic level. This brief presentation is representative of the first part of the title I have chosen for this study: “Books without Ritual”. A high degree of literacy was absolutely required in a complex Empire. This was especially true in the context of religious communities, where the book was used in the context of liturgies, as well as the elites who read and composed texts for professional needs or for their own intellectual pleasure. In my discussion concerning books, I would like also to include the production of inscriptions and letters, because our problem is not simply that of establishing if Persians used something comparable to a modern material object known as a book, but if, in the form of manuscripts, etc., they had access to and cultivated a deep spiritual and intellectual relationship with writing to an extent sufficient to imply a significant personal involvement and a competence (silent

92

Cereti 2001: 174, 181; Macuch 2009.

93

Bury 1911; Daryaee 2007.

94

Moffatt – Tall 2012; Manini 2009; Vogt 1935-40.

95

Macuch 2009: 185-189.

96

Sachau 1914.

97

Panaino 2009b.

98

Panaino 2017.

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or aloud or, again, in intermediate form) in reading, understanding the contents of the sources and re-elaborating them in a way presumably higher than that of a layman in the same period. The presence of a large number of trilingual inscriptions confirms the existence of a complex problem. The Sasanians had at their disposal a reasonably well-trained group of scribes. They were in a solid position to adopt Middle-Persian, Parthian and Greek during official situations. The high priest Kirder, however, did not use Parthian and Greek, because the impact of his text would have been limited to a specific ethno-religious circle,99 in which Middle-Persian should have been clearly understood by Parthian-speaking Mazdean priests, while Greek was completely unimportant in this situation, because that was one of the main official languages of the non Zoroastrian (Western) Anērān. This does not imply that Greek was a less important language, but that it was known and used for specific functions. By the same token, the decline in usage of official royal inscriptions cannot be related to a diminishing role of scripture, as a collapse in literacy, but to political decisions of the kings and their entourage, who probably preferred to adopt other means of communication and propaganda, such as royal reliefs, as more fitting ideological “manifesto” than text, all too frequently inaccessible to the mass of illiterates. I would like to add a few words regarding Kirder’s four inscriptions. The inscriptions containing the so-called “vision” of the afterlife100 work as a narrative, which, dispite differences in interpretation, presents a complex compositional rhetoric and style. It is not a book, but it is a written literary tradition, which confirms a good level of literacy,101 and not an exclusive interest in its orality. Here, two wings join together on the same body: the oral background and the textual composition gave birth to a new text, in a definitive and paradoxical written form, which works as a document left in aeternitatem and an esoteric manual, inaccessible to both the illiterate and the laymen unfamiliar with the mysteria of its liturgical and theological contents. We can finally turn to the second part of my title: “Ritual without Books”. In fact, while Kirdir’s text simply describes an esoteric event and, as I have suggested, presents a special liturgical performance, although it was not per se a “liturgical text” (I would define it as a “perennial memorial for a very particular ceremony”), we observe that the material presence of Mazdean sources in Avestan, or strictly concerning the use of Avestan texts in their written (and concrete) form, is more or less completely absent during Sasanian time (later, their relevance remains limited). This led scholars to believe that the fixation of the written Avestan Canon (the so-called Avesta-Vorlage) was a late phenomenon102 which, according to some, happened in a period following the collapse of the Sasanian Empire. Here is not the place to enumerate all the arguments that prove wrong the suggestion

99

Panaino 2011.

100

Panaino 2011.

101

Skjærvø 2011.

102

Kellens 1998; Tremblay 2012.

Books without Ritual – Ritual without Books

94

that the Avestan corpus was compiled in a written form, with a new alphabet, during the Arabic domination. Suffice to sat that103 the invention of a new alphabet based on a scriptio plena, imitating some features of Greek, Sanskrit and Syriac, presupposed a highly educated priestly staff, similar to the one we may find in an international Empire that was in direct competition (and imitation) with Eastern Rome and, later, Byzantium. The inventors of the Av. alphabet could only have been very sophisticated intellectuals, working in a multi-lingual scriptorium, neither an illiterate person (or a group of persons), nor a man (or a limited staff of specialists) living exclusively in an “oral” dimension. They must have possessed a high degree of scriptural competence and a strong experience with written sources. Therefore, it is difficult to believe that the Mazdean Church itself was not compelled to acquire a new political dimension and role, and that it did not feel the need to compete with Christianism, Manichaeism, Buddhism, etc., in which the “Book” assumed such an essential function in the transmission of the faith and its legitimacy. Although I do not wish to argue that the western Mazdeans started to produce a written collection of religious texts solely because of external pressures, it is worth taking into consideration these foreign influences on the traditional Persian world. Another argument in favour of an earlier invention of the Avestan alphabet is connected to authority and diffusion. In my opinion, it is hard to believe that, in a conservative and traditonal society, the Mazdean western communities would have accepted the introduction of written Zoroastrian liturgies composed in a different system of transcription, without the prescriptive impulse of a central authority and an institution that confirmed the necessity for such an innovation. It is likely that the Zoroastrian Persian Church and the Sasanian Crown would have used their own authoritative voice to support the promotion of this new official version of the “religious Revelation”. Notwithstanding these observations, scholarly literature is devided regarding the existence of written Avestan texts before the redaction of the Sasanian Canon. Few scholars, as I noted before, have also tried to locate the final canonisation of the text at the very end of the Sasanian period, or after its collapse,104 explaining this action as a desperate attempt to save the most important religious documents. In this case, we can prudently say that there are sources supporting the existence of a written Vorlage of the Mazdean texts, such as Mani’s Coptic Kephalaia105 and others, that, on the contrary, deny it, as some Christian Syriac texts that insist on the incomprehensible recitation of the Mazdean priests,106 and on their compelling need to be orally trained, as they were

103

Panaino 2012.

104

Kellens 1998: 488; Martínez – de Vaan 2000: 12; 2014: 4-5; Tremblay 2012. These interpretations have been critically discussed in Panaino 2012. 105 Gardiner 1995: 13: “Zarathustra (did) not write books. Rather, hi[s / disciples who came after him, they remembered; they wrote […/…] and they read today”. Cantera 2004: 145; but cf. just the opposite opinion expressed by Tremblay 2012: 113-114. Cf. also Bailey 1971: 150-151. 106

Nau 1927a; 1927b; Tremblay 2012.

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incapable to work with written texts.107 But can these negative evidences actually be taken as a definitive statement regarding the existence or not of a written Vorlage of the Avesta? Data come from Christian authors, who remarked that the Zoroastrian priests, the Mobeds, recited incomprehensible formulas by heart instead of reading them. They stated that priests learned liturgical sources by means of oral trainings. We can believe them, but at the same time we must also conclude that this remark has nothing to do with the existence of a written Avestan text. Why? The answer is very simple. In the Christian liturgy, as in some other cultures where the embodiment of the written word is an incarnation of the divine spirit of God’s will and truth, the book is a central element of the liturgy.108 The Bible must be brought during procession. It must be kissed and venerated as the word of God. The function of the Bible and the Gospels is charged in meaning and importance. From a practical liturgical point of view, a Christian priest or a pastor cannot recite parts of the Old or the New Testament by heart during the mass or in a sacred ritual, although he might perfectly know them. The “liturgy of the word” appears unacceptable without a “liturgy of the book”. In past studies, as far as I remember, a so very simple evidence was completely mistreated and discharged. The Indo-Iranian and the Jewish-Christian religious traditions have developed two completely different approaches to the ritual dimension with regard to the use of the (revealed) word. In the Vedic, Hindu and Mazdean contexts, a priest is expected to know by heart all the necessary texts for the perfect realization of his ritual performance. In certain occasions, such as the Vedic Brahmán,109 a special priest is appointed to "repair" involuntarily mistakes committed during the material activities and the technical recitations of the texts. For a Mazdean priest, written texts are of secondary importance. They are useful as objects of study that can improve understanding, maybe through the addition (or/and the redaction) of translations (in Pahlavi, Sanskrit, Persian, Gujarati) and commentaries. Reading was not necessary to learn the performative aspects of the liturgy. In fact, it would have been an obstacle in the practical mastering of all the ritual technicalities. This conclusion is evident if we consider that texts used to train young priests, such as the Hērbedestān and the Nērangestān,110 became only composed in oral form, as was the case also of most of the Brāhmanical Vedic literature, transferred to a written version enlarged by explanatory Pahlavi translations. The use of written materials was not essential in the normal education of priests, particularly those from the lower strata. The education was traditional, i.e. essentially oral, because it was directed towards the transmission of a liturgical performative holistic knowledge of the sacrifice. It was not organized as an intellectual theological education, as we could postulate from a completely different 107

De Menasce 1938: 587; Bailey 1971: 164.

108

See, for instance, Shrawley 1913, where a large conspectus of many ancient liturgical traditions is offered. In no case are texts recited by heart. 109

Bodewitz 1983.

110

Kotwal – Kreyenbroek 1992, 1995; 2003; 2009.

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perspective. On the other hand, the statement repeated by Christian informer such as Basilios (AD. 377), who affirmed111 οὔτε γὰρ βίβλια ἔστι παρ’ ἀυτοῖς, οὔτε διδάσκαλοι δογμάτων, ἀλλὰ ἔθει ἀλόγῳ συντρέφονται, παῖς παρὰ πατρὸς διαδεχόμενοι τὴν ἀσέβειαν “there are no books among them, nor masters of doctrine, but they are brought up in an irrational custom, and the sons learn from the fathers their impiety,” is misleading. Education, as already stated, was oral, but the statement that the Persians had no books and did not write is completely false. The reference to the alleged ἀσέβεια clarifies the hostile nature of this report. A Christian author describing the standard Zoroastrian liturgical behaviour would have insisted on its strictly oral dimension by contrasting this tradition with his own completely different approach, in particular with respect to the role of the Gospels and of the sacred scriptures. It is not by chance that Mazdeans do not strictly insist on the idea of “Sacred Scripture”, but on that of Dēn, of “Religion”, which is at the same time the “soul-vision”, but also the divine theology and the textual corpus. For this reason, we have to write a reversed story of the Avestan text. The Sasanian Avesta was not scattered in pieces that survived in corrupted manuscripts.112 Rather it was the surviving manuscripts that preserved a written tradition of the liturgical texts, which were fixated for obvious reasons of preservation, as well as to train high-level priests. After centuries of orality, a group of priests would have started an “aural” stage, in which the oral composition was (orally) canonized. This process, starting in the pre-Achaemenian era and continuing until the standardization of the rituals was complete, led to a period of written canonization, in which the texts transcribed with the new alphabet, not only offered additional support for memorization and recitation, but also represented a means of preservation whose main function was to establish solid bases for the definitive creation of an institutional Canon. Thus, a whole collection of ritual texts was prepared, probably not to be read as normal books, but, as noted before, to preserve oral tradition, particularly that established in the context of the Sasanian priestly School. For higher needs, theological studies etc., a large omni-comprehensive Canon of all the attested (and selected) literature was later collected and arranged in a form that was not reflective of ritual needs, but that followed scholarly, i.e. exegetical criteria. Thus was born the so-called (Sasanian) Avesta, divided in three groups of 7 nasks each, which correspond to a more advanced phase, and that had nothing to do with the earlier aural period. The existence of these different textual levels is expected from a society in which a scholarly circle was involved into the production of a textual canonization without changing its secular tradition. I want to

111

Clemen 1920: 86; Bailey 1971: 164-165.

112

Panaino 2012; Kellens 1998.

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insist on the fact that, at a certain stage, orality and literacy were not antagonistic forces. Literacy was used for preservation and higher training, but not as a substitute of the oral source, whose supremacy remained unchanged. Thus, the myth of the ancestral copy of the Avesta destroyed by Alexander, as well as the different versions concerning its transmission,113 were probably introduced “as an aetiological myth in order to justify or make believe that the written Avesta (on hides, deposited in the ‘Royal Archive’) was an old and original phenomenon. The topos of the ‘Persian archive’ denoting the authenticity of a document can be found in Syriac texts. The necessity of creating such a myth shows that a written Avesta was not widely accepted.”114 For the same reasons, we might suspect that the scribal role attributed to earlier Mazdean men, even to Zoroaster himself, who would have performed a direct redaction of the text, was an attempt to "invent a tradition" and gain support from the most prestigious authorities. A similar process of self-promotion can be seen in the Christian tradition, where the attribution of the single canonical Gospels to the four evangelists is only based on an inner tradition, not on philological facts! In any case, the Zoroastrian liturgy continued to be performed without any direct use of written texts, but this does not exclude the possibility that priests studied them, producing an exegetical literature in Pahlavi that presupposes a long continuity and not just a short reaction in the 9th century AD. In a similar way to the Jewish tradition, mutatis mutandis, the fixation of the ritual manuscripts represented a warranty against future corruptions, a blue-print that could be consulted in case of need or in the context of theological debate. it was not a manual for children, for whom a secular technique of transmission was used, as it happens in India and Iran today. Likewise, we find that post-Sasanian priests insisted on the superiority of orality and literacy in the liturgical context, and strongly condemned bad memory (Dēnkard V 24, 13 [DkM 459, 8 ff]).115 As Samra Azarnouche reminded me,116 in Dk. V 23.13 (DkM 455, 11-12)117 writing is and remains absolutely “imperfect”. All these passages from the Dēnkard are most interesting because they contain traces of a number of questions asked by a Christian. In particular, the question concerning the reason why God chose to proclaim faith in such a strange language as Avestan and did not excogitate a way of writing a complete text of the Avesta, commending instead to memorize it. This reveals two completely different approaches to the sacred text: one Christian, the other Mazdean. The full memorization of a text, which had become partly incomprehensible even to the reciting priests, was totally unacceptable for a Christian polemist, (despite the fact that in this religious tradition people have recited prayers in languages completely unknown to them for centuries), while for the Mazdean liturgist the divine mantra was efficient and sacred per se ipsum.

113

Bailey 1971: 149-194; Ciancaglini 1997.

114

Letter from July 16, 2014.

115

Bailey 1971: 162-164; Huyse 2008: 143.

116

Letter from July 16, 2014.

117

See Bailey 1971: 162.

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From the Zoroastrian perspective, the full recognition of the qualitative difference (and superiority) offered by memory with respect to writing does not deny the practical help of the minor, but indispensable, physical support of writing. On the other hand, the interiorization of the mantra, the act of memorizing, opened a different sacrificial and liturgical path. The esoteric dimension was preserved by the full dominion of the liturgy: the text embodied was an intellectual means, and the (human) priests at work had to represent118 (and embody) the functions of a divine sacerdotal staff as gods do not read! Thus, it would not be exagerated to say that in Sasanian Iran, in particular for the Mazdean priestly elites, reading (aloud and perhaps also silently, or with a soft voice) was a secular activity, but reciting by heart was and remained the only admissible activity during the sacred ritual performance: it was the only way to gain access to a superior dimension and to speak with Ohrmazd and his pantheon.

118

In a forthcoming book I am working of a systematic analysis of the mirrored pattern that offers a direct correspondence between the sacerdotal staff of seven assistant priests plus the zaotar- and the ideal (divine) ritual staff, in which Ohrmazd was the leader of the sacrifice, while the six Amahraspand plus Srōš were the other seven priests. It must be noted that with the progressive reduction of the number of the priests who attended to the most solemn liturgies, later substituted by only two priests (the zōt and the rāspīg), also the memorization of some ceremonies as that of the Widēwdād suffered a certain damage, and progressively the use of the manuscripts for these ritual performances became current and accepted.

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Wiesbaden, pp. 70-97. Panaino, Antonio (2016), ‘Oμόγλωττοι παρὰ μικρόν. Electrum 22, pp. 87-106. Panaino, Antonio (2017) Multilingualism and Empires: Byzantium and Sasanian Persia. In Zur lichten Heimat Studien zu Manichäismus, Iranistik und Zentralasienkunde im Gedenken an Werner Sundermann. (Iranica 25). Wiesbaden, pp. 491-502. Pingree, David (1968) The Thousands of Abu Ma‘shar. London. Pingree, David (1975) Māshā’allāh: some Sasanian and Syriac Sources. In Essays on Islamic Philosophy and Science. Ed. by George Fadlo Hourani. Albany, pp. 5-14. Pingree, David (1989) Classical and Byzantine Astrology in Sassanian Persia. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 43, pp. 227-239. Piras, Andrea (2012a) Verba Lucis. Scrittura, Immagine e Libro nel Manicheismo. (IndoIranica et Orientalia, Series Lazur 4). Milano. Piras, Andrea (2012b) Ethnography of Communication in Achaemenid Iran: The Royal Correspondence. In Dariosh Studies II. Persepolis and his Settlements: Territorial System and Ideology in the Achaemenid State. Ed. by Gian Pietro Basello and Adriano Valerio Rossi. (Università degli Studi di Napoli “L’Orientale”, Series Minor 77). Naples, pp. 431-442. Rajabzadeh, Hashem (1993) Daftar. Encyclopædia Iranica. Ed. by Ehsan Yarshater. Vol. VI, Fasc. 6. p. 563 (Last Updated on line: November 11, 2011). Rapin, Claude (1987) La Trésorerie hellénistique d’Aï Khanoum. Revue Archéologique n.s. 1, pp. 41-70. Rapin, Claude (1992) La Trésorerie du palais hellénistique d’Aï Khanoum. L’apogée et la chute du royaume grec de Bactriane. (Fouilles d’Aï Khanoum VIII, Mémoires de la Délégation archéologique française en Afghanistan 33). Paris. Rapin, Claude – Hadot, Pierre (1987) Les Textes littéraires grecs de la trésorerie d’Aï Khanoum. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique, 111, pp. 225-266. Sachau, Eduard (1914) Syrische Rechtsbücher. Dritter Band. Berlin. Saenger, Paul (1997) Space Between Words. The Origins of Silent Reading. Palo Alto. Schmitt, Rüdiger (1991) The Bisitun Inscriptions of Darius the Great. Old Persian Text. (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum, Part I. The Old Persian Inscriptions. Texts I). London. Secunda, Shai (2013) The Iranian Talmud Reading the Bavli in Its Sasanian Context. (Divinations: Rereading Late Ancient Religion). Philadelphia. Shaki, Mansur (1981) The Dēnkard Account of the History of the Zoroastrian Scriptures. Archív Orientální 49, pp. 114-125. Srawley, James Herbert (1913) The Early History of the Liturgy. Cambridge. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (1976) The Sogdian Fragment of the British Library, Indo-Iranian Journal, 18, pp. 43-82. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (2009) Christian Literature in Middle Iranian Languages. In The Literature of Pre-Islamic Iran. Companion Volume I to A History of Persian Literature. Ed. by Ronald E. Emmerick and Maria Macuch. (A History of Persian Literature XVII). London – New York, pp. 266-276-287. Sims-Williams, Nicholas – Durkin-Meisternernst, Desmond (2012) Dictionary of Manichaean Sogdian and Bactrian. (Dictionary of Manichaean Texts. Vol. III. Texts from Central Asia and China. Part 2.) Turnhout.

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Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (1999) Avestan Quotations in Old Persian? Literary Sources of the Old Persian Inscriptions. In Irano-Judaica IV. Ed. by Shaul Shaked – Amnon Netzer. Jerusalem, pp. 1–64. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2001) Rivals and Bad Poets: The Poet’s Complaint in the Old Avesta. In Philologica et Linguistica. Historia, Pluralitas, Universitas. Festschrift für Helmut Humbach zum 80. Geburtstag am 4. Dezember 2001. Ed. by Maria Gabriela Schmidt – Walter Bisang. Trier, pp. 351-376. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2003) Zarathustra the Poet-Sacrificer. In Paitimāna. Essays in Iranian, Indo-European, and Indian Studies in Honour of Hanns-Peter Schmidt. Ed. by Siamak Adhani. Costa Mesa (Cal.), pp. 157-194. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2005) The Achaemenids and the Avesta. In Birth of the Persian Empire. Ed. by Vesta Sarkosh – Sarah Stewart. (The Idea of Iran 1), London – New York, pp. 52-84. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2007) The Videvdad: its Ritual-Mythical Significance. In Birth of the Persian Empire. Ed. by Vesta Sarkosh – Sarah Stewart. (The Idea of Iran 2), London – New York, pp. 105-141. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2011) Kartīr, in Ehsan Yarshater, Encyclopædia Iranica, Vol. 15, New York, pp. 608-628. Skjærvø, Prods Oktor (2012) The Zoroastrian Oral Tradition as Reflected in the Texts. In The Transmission of the Avesta. Ed. by Alberto Cantera. (Iranica 20), Wiesbaden, pp. 3-48. Stroumsa, Guy G. (2005) La fin du sacrifice: Les mutations religieuses de l’antiquité tardive. (Collège de France). Paris. Stroumsa, Guy G. (2008) The Scriptural Movement of Late Antiquity and Christian Monasticism. Journal of Early Christian Studies 16/1, pp. 61–77. Tafazzoli, Ahmad (2000) Sasanian Society. I. Warriors II. Scribes III. Dehqāns. (Ehsan Yarshater Distinguished Lectures in Iranian Studies 1). New York. Tedesco, Paul (1951) Review of Vasmer (1950) Language 27/4, pp.577-581. Tremblay, Xavier (2012) Ibant obscuri uaria sub luce : Les textes avestiques et leurs recensions des Sassanides au XIIIe s. AD en particulier d’après l’alphabet avestique. Notes de lecture avestiques VIII. In The Transmission of the Avesta. Ed. by Alberto Cantera. (Iranica 20), Wiesbaden, pp. 98-135. Vahman, Fereydun (1986) Ardā Wirāz Nāmag : the Iranian “Divina Commedia”. (Scandinavian Institute of Asian studies monograph series 53.). London. Vandorpe, Katelijn – Clarysse, Willy (2007) Archives and Inventories in the Eastern Mediterranean (23-24 January 2004). (Contactforum Koninklijke Vlaamse Academie van België voor Wetenschappen en Kunsten). Brussels. Vasmer, Max (1953) Russisches etymologisches Wörterbuch. Band I: A-K. Heidelberg. Vasmer, Max (1980) Этимологический словарь русского языка. Tom I. Moskva. Vogt, Albert (1935-40) Constantin VII Porphyrogénète, Livre des Cérémonies. Livres 1-2, Commentaire, Livres 1-2. Paris. Weber, Dieter (19) Ostraca, Papyri und Pergamente. Textband. (Corpus Inscriptionum Iranicarum, Part III. Pahlavi Inscriptions. Vol. IV Ostraca and Vol. V Papyri). London. Widengren, Geo (1961) Mani und der Manichäismus. Stuttgart.

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Windfuhr, Gernot L. (1971) Diacritic and Distinctive Features in Avestan. JAOS 91, pp. 104-124. Windfuhr, Gernot L. (1972) Some Avestan Rules and their Signs. JAOS 92/1, pp. 52-59. Wohleb, Leo. (1929) Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des lauten Lesens. Philologus 85, pp.111-112. Zaehner, Richard Charles. (1955) Zurvan: A Zoroastrian Dilemma. Oxford (reprinted New York 1972).

THE RISE OF THE SASANIANS: THE ARMENIAN EVIDENCE Giusto Traina

W

hen it comes to Armenian sources, many Iranologists still adopt the attitude of Arthur Christensen, making use of them as little as possible1. The reasons for this exclusion are not linguistic. Armenian texts do not present major complexities. Nonetheless, Iranologists looked at the Armenian evidence with suspicion, not only because these texts were not contemporary2, but also, as we will see, because they reflected what was considered as a different perspective3. Moreover, with an over-positivistic approach, some authoritative scholars tend to consider them –along with the Greek and Latin authors - to be secondary literature4. As the latest generation of Iranian scholars is

1

Christensen 1944: 77-79. See Asmussen 1991.

2

In fact, the first Armenian original written works were written around the second half of the fifth century, one or two generations after the creation of the alphabet and the subsequent elaboration of literary Armenian language. Armenian clerics eventually developed a rather refined historiography, inspired by Greek and Syriac models. See Traina 2015b. 3

As Beate Dignas and Engelbert Winter (2007: 179) assumed, ‘the testimonies of Armenian historiography are very valuable for us… however, frequently these sources show a pro-Armenian or rather anti-Iranian bias and — as they were composed during a later period — also confront us with problems of chronology’. See also Dodgeon-Lieu 1991: 9-13. 4

Gignoux 1995-1998. Professor Gignoux explained his classification of the sources in a brief, yet seminal article (Gignoux 1979; see also Gariboldi 2011: 10f.). Gignoux eventually proposed a classification of the written sources on the Sasanian empire, still largely accepted. He accorded the status of ‘primary sources’ only to Sasanian epigraphy, sigillography, papyrology and numismatics, considering less important the literary evidence: according to him, most contemporary texts show an external point of view, and the Neopersian and Arabic sources were written centuries later (his judgement on Xorenac‘i is harsher: Gignoux 1999). In a way, Gignoux’s authority vaccinated Iranian scholars against the jargonic excesses of the ‘linguistic turn’ (a similar approach may be detected in Pierre Briant’s history of the Achaemenid empire: Briant 2002). For a more constructive approach, see now Daryaee 2006.

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now paying more attention to ‘secondary’ sources5, the information provided by Armenian texts has gained in importance and is being integrated into the canon of legitimate sources, along with Iranian and the Graeco-Roman evidence6. This paper focuses on the rise of the Sasanians. The ‘Armenian file’ on this event consists of several passages from Agatʿangełos and Movsēs Xorenac‘i, the main local sources for the history of ancient Armenia, and of a Greek text translated from Armenian but inspired by Pahlavi literature, the so-called Romance of Artawan and Artašir, trasmitted by the codex Laur. Gr. VII.25, the only manuscript of the ancient Greek version of Agat‘angełos7. In Iranian studies, the analysis of Agat‘angełost and Xorenac‘i has been rather neglected, with the latter text being taken into consideration only in recent times8. Although the text of the Armenian Agat‘angełos does not raise problems of datation, it gives nonetheless a strongly biased account. In fact, the textual tradition of the Armenian Agat‘angełos is rather complicated. The Armenian version is in the form of an accepted and codified history of Saint Gregory elaborated by the post-Chalcedonian Armenian Church. A cross-comparison with the Greek, Arabic and Karshuni versions enable us to suppose the existence of an earlier version called with the conventional name of Vita Gregorii. This version may have been written before 428 by order of Sahak the Great, the last head of the Armenian Church descending from Gregory’s family. The text was replaced by the version of Agat‘angełos, but we can still find some traces of it in the VIth century Greek version, later translated in Arabic. As for the Karshuni version, dating from the early VIIth century, it can be considered as a hybridation of the two versions, although it adds some important details, especially concerning geography and other kinds of Realien9.

5

See, e.g., Daryaee 2009: xviii-xix (and now, also the short introduction by Daryaee and Rezakhani 2016). Even Ryka Gyselen, a narrow collaborator of Gignoux and a renowned editor of Sasanian seals, recently admitted the importance of literary texts (Gyselen 2009). More recently, Gariboldi (2011) notably stressed the usefulness of the difficult exercise of considering both the historical and ‘mythological’ aspects. 6

See Traina 2006 [2007]; Pourshariati 2008: 12-13; Daryaee 2009: xviii; Garsoïan 2009 [2010].

7

The English translations of these texts are respectively drawn from Thomson 1976, Thomson 2006, and Muradyan-Topchyan 2008. 8

Thomson (1984: 608) claims that ‘the History of Agathangelos is not of great value as a historical document’. See the systematic doubts raised by Kettenhofen 1995 (reviewed by Traina 1996) and, most recently, Kettenhofen 2016. A similar point of view in Patterson 2013: 179, ‘The principal difficulty with using Agathangelos and Moses is their tendency to telescope events, providing a simpler narrative for their audience but causing considerable frustration for modern scholars’. 9

See the status quaestionis in Traina 2015a. I expressed in several contributions (Traina 2006 [2007], 2012, and 2015b) my point of view on the debate about the Armenian ‘Father of History’. In short, I do not think it is useful to dismiss this author as a sheer later forger, even though the present text seems to have been edited around the IXth century.

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More problematic is the History of Armenia by Movsēs Xorenac‘i, which has a bed reputation amongst scholars, as a text full of suspected anachronisms10. In any case, the scope of this paper is not to consider the historical value of Armenian texts, but to examine their approach to the rise of the Sasanians, a period that had important repercussions on the geopolitical balance of the region. From the point of view of Arsacid Armenia, the change of dynasty in Iran was definitely a key date. The section of Agat‘angełos immediately following the preface is a sort of ‘Armenianfriendly’ version of the rise of the Sasanians. Interestingly enough, the History of Armenia starts with the decline of the Parthian kingdom, which ‘came to an end when sovereignty was taken away from Artawan, son of Vałarš, after his murder by Artašir son of Sasan’11. The usurper, a prince from the province of Stahr, managed to unify the Persians against Artawan. Artašir (= Ardašxīr) united the forces of the Persians. Artawan was eventually abandoned by them and eventually dies. Agat‘angełos does not mention the circumstances of his death (at the beginning of his account he says that Artawan was murdered by Artašir), but he promptly describes the reaction of an Armenian king called Xosrov, ‘who was second in the kingdom of the Persians, for whoever was king of Armenia had second rank in the Persian kingdom’12. In this passage, Agat‘angełos gives legitimacy to the Armenian Arsacids. In his letter to the Persian nobles, Xosrov highlighted ‘he was very grieved that they (the Persians) had submitted and accepted the rule of the Stahrian and had united with him’13. The king was not able to react, as he was not ready to wage war against Artašir. He went back to Armenia, where he prepared for war, raising a coalition of peoples: Albanians, Iberians, and even Huns. He then specifies the names of other peoples from the Caucasus: ‘Lupenians (Lp‘ink‘), Čiłpk‘ (an unidentified tribe), Kaspians and others from those regions’14, According to this account, Xosrov invaded Assyria (Asorestan) ‘as far as the gates of Tisbon [Ctesiphon]’15. With the typical epic tones of Armenian historical prose, Agat‘angełos records a chanson de geste, showing a king raiding ‘the whole country, ruining populous cities and prosperous towns. He left all the inhabited land devasted and plundered. He attempted to eradicate, destroy completely, extirpate, and overthrow the Persian kingdom and aimed at abolishing the laws of its power’16. But the nobles did not join Xosrov, ‘for they had attached themselves in obedience and subjection to the rule of

10

Among the considerable literature, see at least Gignoux 1999 and Garsoïan 2003-2004.

11

On the other hand, this text presents several Iranian motives: see Garsoïan 1976; 1982; 1994; 1996. 12

Agat‘angełos, §18, 2. See Traina 2010: 415. On the historical identity of the Armenian king in the account of Agat‘angełos, see Patterson 2013. 13

Agat‘angełos, §20, 1.

14

Agat‘angełos, §19, 4.

15

Agat‘angełos, §19, 1.

16

Agat‘angełos, §19, 2.

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Artašir, rather than to the rule of their relative and brother’17. Nonetheless, the Armenian king managed to strike back: ‘And when the Persian king saw the great size of this force bearing down upon him with enormous strength, he advanced against them in battle array. However, he was unable to resist, and fled before them. During the pursuit, Armenian soldiers cut down the whole army of the Persians, scattering corpses over the plains and roads, and inflicting cruel and unbearable suffering’18. Agat‘angełos describes the celebrations of Xosrov’s victory, paying special attention to the rich booty. The king ‘honored the sites of the ancestral worship of his Arsacid family’ and waged a new campaign, this time with the help of the ‘Tačikk‘ [the Arabs]’19. The only way to counteract the strength of Xosrov of Armenia was betrayal. Therefore, Artašir summoned ‘all the kings, governors, princes, generals, leaders and nobles of his kingdom’20. During this council, a nahapet from Parthia called Anak ‘promised to exact vengeance from his own king as if from an enemy’21. Thus, Agat‘angełos manages to connect the epic geste of Xosrov with the core of his story. Anak went to the the region of Utik‘, where Xosrov, who was planning a new attack against Artašir, had his winter quarters. As a Parthian noble, Anak was warmly welcomed by Xosrov. Then, he was able to take the king aside and kill him, together with his brother22. Is this narration reflecting sheer propsaganda, or does it contain some historical evidence? According to Dignas and Winter, ‘Agathangelos’ list of Xusrō’s various initiatives in the Caucasian regions once more points to Armenia’s geo-strategic significance, which steered the activities of the great powers in the region. However, Xusrō’s efforts were unsuccessful. In the face of the resolute actions of the first Sasanian king the initial resistance against Ardaxšīr within the Sasanian empire broke down quickly’23. Agat‘angełos’s narration was abridged by Xorenac‘i, who introduces a long section mentioning Agat‘angełos as his main source: ‘Trdat’s accomplished archivist Agat‘angełos treats briefly of him and his relatives and gives a summary account of the death of Artawan, the Persian king, the seizing of the Parthian empire by Artašir, son of Sasan etc….I have decided to rehearse the history of that time in extended fashion and in length, starting from beginning and giving a true account in full detail’24. In a further passage, concerning the genalogy of the later Arsacid of Parthia, Xorenac‘i adds that ‘Artawan … was killed by Artašir of Stahr, the son of Sasan, when he seized the Parthian throne and 17

Agat‘angełos, §20, 3.

18

Agat‘angełos, §21, 2.

19

Agat‘angełos, §23, 1.

20

Agat‘angełos, §24, 1.

21

Agat‘angełos, §25.

22

Agat‘angełos, §29-32.

23

Dignas and Winter 2007: 179.

24

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 67. See Ter-Łewondyan 1975; Topchyan 2006.

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deprived them of their ereditary land’25. Afterwards, Xorenac‘i recalls the tirade written at the end of book I against the ‘fables of the Pahlavik, which he claims to be reported by a Sasanian scribe named Korohbut, captured by the Romans during Julian’s campaign. After his capture he learned the Greek language and wrote a contemporary history, but also translated a ‘History of the First [Kings]’, composed by his fellow captive Barsuma, called by the Persians rastsohun, that is Rāst-sahwan, the ‘true speaker’26. But in fact, as usual, Xorenac‘i forces the chronology and conflates the narration of ‘Artašir' with facts concerning the military operations led by Šābur I. In the first part, he continues the account of Agat‘angełos, but adds important details on the acceptance of Sasanian rule by two branches of the Pahlav family, the Aspahapet and the Suren, while the Karen Pahlav, ‘remaining friendly toward their Brother and king [that is Artawan], opposed in war Artašir, son of Sasan’27. Several chapters before, Xorenac‘i had introduced the ‘Karen and the Suren from whom Saint Gregory and the Kamsarakan descend28. Thence follows a narration where the events narrated by Agat‘angełos are put in a chronological frame concerning the Roman emperors Philip, Tacitus, and Probus. In fact, whereas Agat‘angełos condenses the events within a shorter period, in order to highlight Xosrov’s reaction, Xorenac‘i tries to extend Ardaxšīr’s reign until the beginning of the Sasanian occupation of Armenia, which Xorenac‘i considers as an epoch of anarchy, that is, a period without any real king. Therefore it is hard to say what can be ascribed to Ardaxšīr and/of to Šābur. Some passages are of a great interest for the economic history of the region. For example, Xorenac‘i describes the reorganization of land property by Artašēs, the first king of Greater Armenia, illustrating also the boundary markers put by the royal officials: ‘four-sided stones to be hewn, their centers to be hollowed out like plates, and then they be buried in the earth. Over them he had fitted four-sided obelisks, a little higher than the ground. Of this Artašir, son of Sasan, was jealous, and he ordered the same to be done in Persia and that they be called by his own name, so that the name of Artašēs might be no more remembered’29. According to Xorenac‘i, Ardaxšīr does not touch the stelae, showing a respect which corresponds to the law of religious inviolability of terminal

25

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 69.

26

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 70 (= BNJ 695 T1). See Traina 2006 [2007]: 162. Oddly enough, the recent entry in Brill’s New Jacoby (Madreiter 2015) does not give any commentary.

27

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 71.

28

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 27.

29

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 56. Some of these stelae have been found in the territory of the modern Republic of Armenia (Khatchadourian 2007: 52, and the new findings in Hmayakyan-Hakobyan 2008; see also Biscione-Parmegiani 2010: 298; 300). The description of Movsēs Xorenac‘i may recall the shape of the stone altars at Naqš-i-Rustam, are more a sort of interpretation of earlier Mesopotamic kudurru (see Traina 2012).

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marks30. Otherwise, in another passage, Xorenac‘i mentions these boundary markers again, saying that Ardaxšīr, during the Sassanian occupation of Armenia, sent a letter to the nobles, imposing to Armenia a new tributary system. Accordingly, he ‘renewed the frontiers established by Artašēs by setting stones in the ground, and changed their name to his own, Artaširakan’. As usual, the chronology is blurred, as Xorenac‘i sets this event under the reign of the Roman emperor Probus (272-276)31. The substantial difference between Xorenac‘i and Agat‘angełos lies in their respective usage of ‘Pahlav’ genealogy in order to explain the role of Anak, allegedly the father of Saint Gregory. In one of the opening chapters of his History, Xorenac‘i mentions the archival documents kept in Armenia, written in Greek or Persian (i.e. Aramaic) script, ‘with innumerable accounts of villages and provinces and even private families and of controversies and pacts, epsecially those that concern the succession of the noble families’32. One of these archival documents may possibly be found in a passage which presents Saint Gregory’s genealogy in bureaucratic terms: ‘He, as is clear to all, was a Parthian by origin, from the province of Pahlav, a descendant of the reigning Arsacid family, From the Suren branch through his father called Anak’33. In his criticism against the ‘fables of the Pahlavik’ narrated by Barsuma, Xorenac‘i says to have consulted this work ‘leaving out the nonsense of their fables'34. He adds, 'This is not the place for us now to repeat the fables concerning the dream of Pabag, the eruption of the twisting fire from Sasan, the envelopment of the flock, the light od the moon, the prophecy of the astrologers, that is the Chaldaeans, and so on; the adulterous plan of Artašir involving murder, the stupid discourse of the magus’ daughter concerning the billy goat, and so on… We shall recount only what is certain and what pertains to true history’35. Xorenac‘i is clearly refering to some Sassanian tradition which may be partly detected in the Romance of Artawan and Artašir. According to Muradyan and Topchyan, ‘The language of the Romance is less sophisticated than that of the History, which suggests that there were two translators’36. In reality, we deal here with two different traditions. The question as stake is the Arsacid legitimacy, which is expressed in very favorable terms: ‘The Parthians, being in the greatest luck and ruling over the Persian kingdom and the Armenians and the Indians, the eastern neighbors of the Persians, as well as the very cruel Massagetae, had the following order [of ranks]. The first man in the race of the Parthians (who were later renamed Arsacids), having priority in age and being adorned with valor,

30

See Ardāy Wīrāz Nāmag, §50

31

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 77. See Traina 2001.

32

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, I 3. See Traina (2006) [2007]: 167-168.

33

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 91. See Traina (2006) [2007]: 168.

34

See Č‘ugaszyan 1963.

35

Movsēs Xorenac‘i, II 70.

36

Muradyan – Topchyan 2008, 2. See also Akinean 1947, Čunakova 1980, and Muradyan 1998.

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became the lord of the Persian kingdom. He who received the second position governed the kingdom of the Armenians; he who got the third rank reigned over the Indians, the neighbors of the Persians, and the fourth one laid hold of the kingdom of the Massagetae. This was the order [of ranks] in the race of the Parthians, who were in such luck for a long time’37. After this preamble, the actual romance starts. ‘Artawan, the son of Vałarš, a descendent of the Parthians’, is presented as ‘skilled in the art of the Chaldeans’ (another of the fabulous elements criticized by Xorenac‘i)38. Looking at the sky, he interpreted the motion of a star and exposed the interpretation to his wife as follows ‘if someone wishes to revolt against his lord and make war against him, he will immediately win, defeating the Lord”, and saying this, he fell asleep’39. The queen’s maiden Artaduxta, also present in the royal tent, explained this prophecy to her lover Artašir, who is introduced as the son of Sasan, ‘one of the grandees named Artasiras from the province Assyria’40. The king summoned the Persian and Assyrian noblemen, and gave a speech where he harshly attacked the ‘false pretentions of the Parthians who have seized the fruits of others’ labor: the Parthians exult at wrongdoing, do not stop killing without reason, and abominate Persian and Assyrian men, having stolen in among us from the land of barbarians’41. Then the nobles sent to Artawan two envoys, the ‘great chiefs and generals Zekas and Karinas’ (the last one was clearly from the family of the Karen Pahlav); the reaction of the Parthian king was highly negative, as Artawan complained his own policy: ‘I am the cause of this insolence, for I have honored some [of you] with offices and magistracy or have allowed others to become rich, by royal gifts making many people owners of estates and possessions’42. The war started. After a first battle, ‘Artasiras became stronger, because many others, too, seceded from Artabanes and joined Artasiras’. In the last combat, Artašir managed to kill Artawan with a ‘Parthian shot’, and reigned together with Artaduxta over the Persian, the Parthians and the Assyrians. This section is connected to the text of Agat‘angełos as follows: ‘These events were reported to Khosroes the Arsacid who reigned in Armenia Major: that Artasiras, son of Sasan, had seized the Persian kingdom and killed his [Khosroes’] brother Artabanes. It was added to these reports that the Parthians rejoiced more at the reign of Artasiras than that of their own fellow tribesman’43.

37

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §2.

38

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §3.

39

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §3.

40

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §5.

41

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §5.

42

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §7.

43

Romance of Artawan and Artašir, §9.

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Some elements of this story coincide with the Middle Persian text known as Kārnāmag ī Ardaxšēr ī Pābagān44, but with some important variations. The maiden is unnamed and merely presented as a kānizag, a maid but possibly also a concubine of Artawan (Al-Tha'ālibī, p. 476 Zotenberg speaks of a ‘slave’). Artawan is not versed in the art of the Chaldaeans. He obtains a response from the ‘chief of the astrologers’. Finally, Ardaxšīr does not rule Iran together with the maiden as stated by the Greek Romance, but marries Artawan’s daughter, who will beget Šābur; the same tradition is duly elaborated in Ferdowsi’s Šāhnāme. Although the Greek Romance may abridge the tradition, its comparison with the Kārnāmag and with the Arabs chroniclers shows a peculiar elaboration of the legends. In fact, the Laurentianus adds a ‘Parthian-friendly’ elaboration of the Geste of Ardaxšīr, and puts it just before the ‘Armenian-friendly’ Geste of Xosrov45. In any case, the transcriptions of the names in the Greek texts reveal an Armenian original. Such material recreated a very ancient literary pattern. As a matter of fact, the story of Artaduxta and Artašir recalls the Oriental tales reported in Classical literature from Herodotus to Nicholas of Damascus, where a special attention was given to the change of dynasty and the importance of women in periods of crisis. Can we also detect some genuine historical elements? Movsēs is complementary to Agat‘angełos, but gives emperor Philip the Arab a central role in the Roman reaction to the rise of the Sasanians46. Whereas Agat‘angełos does not cite the implication of the Romans at all, in order to highlight Xosrov’s bravery, Movsēs is more critical, and also explains that Xosrov, during Caracalla’s war agains Artawan, remained neutral47. But his interest for Philip must be taken into consideration, as two parallel texts, Šābur’s inscription at the Kaaba-ye-Zardošt and Zonaras, hint at a betrayal of the pacts in rather opposite terms: Šābur’s inscription imply an untruly attitude by Philip, whereas Zonaras (here following the Anonymus post Dionem) says that Philip betrayed Armenia48. Although blurred, the evidence seems suggest a Roman implication in Armenia for several years after the rise of the Sasanians, at least until the peace of 244. Some evidence of this implication can be detected not only in the writing of Xorenac‘i, but also in Agat‘angełos, when he mentions the alliance of Xosrov with the ‘Arabs’. Two centuries after the rise of Ardaxšīr, Armenian historians re-elaborated the story, making an exemplary case of ‘invention of tradition’. The Armenian nobles, who ruled Armenia under the control of the Sasanians, were highly concerned with the Parthian roots of Greater Armenia in order to preserve the privileges obtained under the Arsacid dynasty. The Armenian tradition paid a special attention to the Parthian identity of Armenia, giving a noble Parthian origin to Saint Gregory and higlighting the epoch-making change

44

On this text, see Grenet 2003.

45

See Widengren 1971.

46

See Traina 2003.

47

On this context, see Patterson 2013.

48

Traina 2003.

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of dynasty which subverted the balance among Armenia, Rome and Iran49. Both local and Iranian materials were eventually processed. Possibly, the Arsacids themselves still hoped to recover their domains with the help of the Eastern Roman Empire, and this may explain why, at one point, more likely during the VIth century, the Armenian tradition was translated into Greek.

49

Traina 2015c.

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Bibliography

Akinean, Nersēs (1947) Artaširi Papakani vepǝ yunarēn Agat‘angełosi mēǰ’ [‘The Romance of Artašir Papakan in the Greek Agatʿangełos]. Handēs Amsoreay 61, cc. 457-581. Asmussen, Jes P. (1991) Christensen, Arthur Emanuel. Encyclopaedia Iranica V/5. Costa Mesa, pp. 521-523. Biscione, Raffaele – Parmegiani, Neda (2010). Armenia. Missione Italo-Armena nel bacino del lago Sevan. Campagne 2007-2009. Studi micenei ed egeo-anatolici 52, pp. 297-301. Briant, Pierre (2002) From Cyrus to Alexander: A History of the Persian Empire. Warsaw (Indiana). Chaumont, Marie-Louise (1969) Recherches sur l'histoire d'Arménie de l'avènement des Sassanides à la conversion du royaume. Paris. Chaumont, Marie-Louise (1989) Sur l’origine de saint Grégoire d’Arménie. Le Muséon 102, pp. 115-130. Christensen, Arthur (1944) L’Iran sous les Sassanides. København. Č‘ugaszyan, Babken L. (1963) Hay-iranakan grakan aṙnčut‘iwnner (V-XVII dd.): Hetaxuzumner [Armeno-iranian relations (Vth-XVIIIth centuries): Essays]. Erevan. Čunakova, Ol’ga M. (1980) Otgoloski ‘Dejanii Ardašira Papakana’ v drevenarmjanskoj literature [Echoes of the Geste of Ardašir Papakan in ancient Armenian literature]. Patma-banasirakan handes 4, 196-207. Daryaee, Touraj (2006) The Construction of the Past in Late Antique Persia. Historia 55, pp. 493-503. Daryaee, Touraj (2009) Sasanian Persia. The Rise and Fall of an Empire. London - New York. Daryaee, Touraj (2010a) Ardaxšīr I and the Sasanians’ Rise to Power. Anabasis 1, pp. 236-255. Daryaee, Touraj (2010b) The Fall of the Sasanian Empire to the Arab Muslims: From Two Centuries of Silence to Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire: the ParthoSasanian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran. Journal of Persianate Studies 3, pp. 239-254. Daryaee, Touraj – Rezakhani, Khodadad (2016) From Oxus to Euphrates: the World of Late Antique Iran. Los Angeles. Dignas, Beate – Winter, Engelbert (2007) Rome and Persia in Late Antiquity: Neighbours and Rivals. Cambridge. Dodgeon, Michael H – Lieu, Samuel N.C. (1991) The Roman Eastern Frontier and the Persian Wars (AD 226-363): A Documentary History. London - New York.

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Frendo, David (2002) Cassius Dio and Herodian on the first Sasanian Offensive against the Eastern Provinces of the Roman Empire (229-232). Bulletin of the Asia Institute 16, pp. 25-36. Gariboldi, Andrea (2011) La monarchia sassanide tra storia e mito. Milano. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1976) Prolegomena to a Study of the Iranian Elements in Arsacid Armenia, Handēs Amsoreay 90, cc. 1-46 = Garsoïan 1985, x. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1982) The Iranian Substratum of the ‘Agat‘angełos’ cycle. In East of Byzantium: Syria and Armenia in the Formative Period. Ed. by Nina G. Garsoïan, Thomas F. Mathews, Robert W. Thomson. Washington, D.C., pp. 151-189 = Garsoïan 1985, xii. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1985) Armenia between Byzantium and the Sasanians (Variorum Reprints). London. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1994) Reality and Myth in Armenian History. In The East and the Meaning of History. Ed. by Giovanni Garbini, Biancamaria Scarcia Amoretti, Piero Corradini. Roma, pp. 117-145 = Garsoïan 1999, xii. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1996) The two Voices of Armenian Mediaeval Historiography: the Iranian Index, Studia Iranica 25, pp. 7-42 = Garsoïan 1999, xi. Garsoïan, Nina G. (1999) Church and Culture in Early Medieval Armenia (Variorum Reprints). Aldershot. Garsoïan, Nina G. (2003-3004) L’histoire attribuée à Movsēs Xorenac‘i: que reste-t-il à dire?. Revue des Études Arméniennes n.s. 29, pp. 29-48 = Garsoïan 2010, iv. Garsoïan, Nina G. (2009) [2010] Armenian Sources on Sasanian Administration. In Sources pour l’histoire et la géographie du monde iranien (224-710). Bures-sur-Yvette, pp. 91-114 = Garsoïan 2010, ix. Garsoïan, Nina G. (2010) Studies in the Formation of Christian Armenia (Variorum Reprints). Aldershot. Gignoux, Philippe (1979) Problèmes de distinction et de priorité des sources. In Prolegomena to the Sources on the History of Pre-Islamic Central Asia. Ed. by Janos Harmatta. Budapest, pp. 137-41. Gignoux, Philippe (1995-1998) Pour une évaluation de la contribution des sources arméniennes à l’histoire sassanide. Acta Antiqua Hungariae 31, pp. 53-65. Gignoux, Philippe (1999) Quelle connaissance eut de l’Iran Movsès Xorenac‘i?, Studia Iranica 28/2, pp. 215-226. Grenet, Frantz (2003) La Geste d’Ardashir fils de Pâbag = Kārnāmag ī Ardaxšēr ī Pābagān, Die. Gyselen, Ryka (2009) Primary Sources and Historiography on the Sasanian Empire. Studia Iranica 39, pp. 185-223. Hmayakyan, Simon – Hakobyan, Hayk (2008) Recently found boundary stelae from Sevan lake basin. Aramazd 3, pp. 181-189. Kettenhofen, Erich (1995) Tirdād und die Inschrift von Paikuli: Kritik der Quellen zur Geschichte Armeniens im späten 3. und frühen 4. Jh. n. Chr. Wiesbaden. Kettenhofen, Erich (2016) Römische Kaiser des 3. Jhs. n. Chr. in den Patmuṭiwn Hayoç des Movsēs Ḫorenaçi. In Diwan. Untersuchungen zu Geschichte und Kultur des Nahen

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Ostens und des östlichen Mittelmeerraumes im Altertum. Festschrift für Josef Wiesehöfer zum 65. Geburtstag. Ed. by Carsten Binder, Henning Börm, Andreas Luther. Duisburg, pp. 665-682. Khatchadourian, Lori (2007) Unforgettable Landscapes. Attachments to the Past in Hellenistic Armenia. In Negotiating the Past in the Past. Identity, Memory, and Landscape in Archaeological Research. Ed. by Norman Yoffee. Tucson, pp. 43-75. Lafontaine, Guy (1973) La version grecque ancienne du livre arménien d’Agathange. Leuven, 1973. Madreiter, Irene (2015) Barsuma-Chorobutus (695). Brill’s New Jacoby. Ed. by Ian Worthington. Muradyan, Gohar (1998) Artaširi vipakan hatvacn Agat‘angełyan bnagrerum [The section of the Artašir Romance in the versions of Agat‘angełos]. Aštanak 2. Erevan, pp. 46-55. Muradyan, Gohar - Topchyan, Aram (2008) The Romance of Artaban and Artašir in Agathangelos’ History. (e-Sasanika 2). http://sasanika.org/esasanika/the-romanceof-artaban-and-artasir-in-agathangelos-history-2/. Patterson, Lee E. (2013) Caracalla’s Armenia. Syllecta Classica (2013), pp. 173-199. Pourshariati, Parvaneh (2008) Decline and Fall of the Sasanian Empire: The SasanianParthian Confederacy and the Arab Conquest of Iran. London-New York. Ter-Łewondyan, Aram (1975) Agat‘angełosi xmbagrut‘yunneri harc‘ǝ ǝst Xorenac‘u tvyalneri [‘The question of the versions of Agat‘angełos according to the evidence of Xorenac‘i’]. Patma-banasirakan handes 4, pp. 129-139. Thomson, Robert W. (1976) Agathangelos: History of the Armenians. New York. (See also http://www.sasanika.org/wp-content/uploads/Agathangelos-on-Ardashir-I.pdf). Thomson, Robert W. (1984) Agathangelos. Encyclopaedia Iranica. Costa Mesa, I.§, pp. 607-608. Thomson, Robert W. (2006) Moses Khorenats‘i: History of the Armenians. Revised edition. Ann Arbor. Topchyan, Aram (2006) The Problem of the Greek Sources of Movsēs Xorenac‘i’s History of Armenia. Leuven. Toumanoff, Cyrille (1969) The Third-Century Arsacids: A Chronological and Genealogical Commentary. Revue des Études Arméniennes n.s. 6, p. 233-281. Traina, Giusto (1996) Review of Kettenhofen 1995. Mesopotamia 31, pp. 308-11. Traina, Giusto (2001) L’imperatore Probo nella tradizione armena. In Humana sapit. Etudes d’antiquité tardive offertes à Lellia Cracco Ruggini. Ed. by Jean-Michel Carrié – Rita Lizzi. Turnhout, pp. 455-67. Traina, Giusto (2003) L’Armenia nel III d.C. Note di lettura. Electrum 7, pp. 131-143. Traina, Giusto (2006) [2007] Moïse de Khorène et l’Empire sassanide. In Des Indo- Grecs aux Sassanides: données pour l’histoire et la géographie historique. Ed. by Ryka Gyselen – Bures-sur-Yvette (Res Orientales XVII), pp. 158-179. Traina, Giusto (2010) Armenische Quellen. In Quellen zur Geschichte des Partherreiches: Textsammlung mit Übersetzungen und Kommentaren. Ed. by Ursula Hackl, Bruno Jacobs, Dieter Weber. Göttingen, pp. 402-456. Traina, Giusto (2012) La production rurale dans la phase finale du royaume de la Grande

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Arménie: le témoignage de Moïse de Khorène. Antiquité tardive 20, pp. 161-164. Traina, Giusto (2015a) Grégoire l’Illuminateur en Arménie. In Des dieux civiques aux saints patrons. Ed. by Jean-Pierre Caillet – Sylvain Destephen (et al.). Paris, pp. 365-374. Traina, Giusto (2015b) Tradition et innovation dans la première historiographie arménienne. In L’historiographie tardo-antique et la transmission des savoirs. Ed. by Philippe Blaudeau – Peter Van Nuffelen. Berlin-New York, pp. 153-164. Traina, Giusto (2015c) Husraw Ier et la question arménienne. In Husraw Ie: Reconstruction d’un règne (Studia Iranica, Cahier 53). Peeters. Leuven, pp. 217- 234. Traina, Giusto (2016) Traditions on Armenia in Submerged Greek Literature: Preliminary Considerations. In Submerged Literature in Ancient Greek Culture. Vol. 2. Case Studies. Ed. By Giulio Colesanti – Laura Lulli. Berlin – New York, pp. 111-123. Widengren, Geo (1971) The Establishment of the Sasanian Dynasty in the Light of New Evidence. In La Persia nel Medioevo. Roma, pp. 711-782.

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A FATHER, A DAUGHTER, AND A SON-IN-LAW IN ZOROASTRIAN HERMENEUTICS1 Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina

The Persians … used to marry mothers, sisters and daughters, maintain ing that this is a boon to them / a bond with them (ṣila lahunna) and a charitable act (birr) to them, as well as a pious deed to God concerning them. – al-Yaʿqūbī, Tārīkh2

S

ince antiquity one of the most salacious and equally ubiquitous polemics made against the Persians was that they married their mothers, sisters, and daughters. Consanguineous or next-of-kin marriage in the ancient and late antique Iranian world was commented upon with equal parts incredulity and condemnation both in the East and the West by the Classical authors,3 Buddhist pilgrims,4 Jewish rabbis,5 Muslim scholars,6 and Syriac monks.7 Much like their predecessors, modern and contemporary

1

I would like to express my gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Bahari and the Bahari Foundation for their support of our scholarship in Iranian Studies. I must acknowledge Touraj Daryaee for his editorial patience and constant encouragement with this piece. I would also like to thank Prods Oktor Skjærvø, Sergey Minov, Salam Rassi, and Andreas Winkler for their help with this paper. Some of the preliminary research for this article was undertaken during a Fellowship for the National Endowment for the Humanities in 2010. All translations are mine unless otherwise stated. 2

al-Yaʿqūbī, i, 174, cited in van Gelder 2005: 55.

3

See de Jong 1997: 424-431; Bigwood 2009; and in particular, Frandsen 2009: 60-120.

4

See Silk 2008.

5

See Kiel 2014, 2016a, and 2016b, in particular 145-181.

6

See Friedmann 2003 and especially van Gelder 2005: 36-77.

7

See Panaino 2008; Traina 2012; and Minov 2013: 182-313.

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scholars have written apologetically8 or critically9 about this undoubtedly vexing and yet seemingly common practice that defies anthropological, psychoanalytical, and genetic arguments for the universality of the incest taboo.10 Presenting and publishing on such a taboo topic as legalized and sanctioned incest, especially one that has the moral and ethical sensitivities that incest holds for us in our contemporary societies is not easy. The intellectual challenge is particularly acute for putative ‘Insiders’ such as myself who are often faced with extra professional—familial and social—critiques for discussing such unpleasant and taboo topics.11 That being said, it is incumbent upon us to be critically self-aware enough to recognize and confront the intellectual and social challenges posed by both foreign and familiar cultures that often have norms, customs, and practices that might seem abhorrent to our most cherished personal values and social mores but that would have been or continue to be celebrated by the cultures in question. Marriage with one’s mother, sister, or daughter is just one such custom that undoubtedly strikes most of us as barbaric, but the Zoroastrian literature of Late Antiquity is unequivocally clear: incest is best; that is, it was seen as the best form of marriage that a Zoroastrian could and should contract. It is precisely at such a site of radical cultural difference that we gain some of our greatest analytical purchase, for I would suspect that many of us who study the pre-modern world do so precisely because it often does not conform to our modern sensibilities and moral valences in so many fundamental ways. That being said, the ‘Book’ Pahlavi (Zoroastrian or Literary Middle Persian) term for consanguineous or next-of-kin marriage, Xwēdōdah (Av. xvaētuuadaθa-) ought not to be conflated with illicit acts of domestic and sexual abuse perpetrated in secret by those possessing power over their more vulnerable family members. Rather, it was a legally sanctioned and religiously encouraged social practice that was celebrated as a

8

See e.g. Sunjana 1888 and Katrak 1965. For earlier literature, see West 1882: 389-430; Darmesteter 1891 and 1892: 126-134. 9

For a general overview of the sources on consanguineous marriage in the Zoroastrian world, see Skjærvø 2013; see also Spooner 1968; Frye 1985-1988: I, 44-55; Macuch 1991 and 2010; Herrenschmidt 1994; Hjerrild 2003: 167-203; d’Arx 2005; König 2010: 433-446; and most recently Payne 2016. 10

See e.g. Hopkins 1980; P. B. Adamson 1982; Mitterauer 1994; Scheidel 1996; and Hübner 2007. For a recent work on incest in the Jewish tradition in the Hebrew Bible, see Stiebert 2016. For a multi-disciplinary volume on the incest taboo, genetics, and the Westermarck Effect, see Wolf and Durham 2005. 11 For a problematizing of these categories—‘Insiders’ and ‘Outsiders’—of affiliation and positionality, see Vevaina 2016.

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hetero-normative valorization of legalized sexual unions with one’s closest relatives,12 ultimately reflecting the paradigmatic acts of familial sexual union that engendered humanity. For example, we find a list of social and moral virtues in Mēnōy ī Xrad 3.4: kū mahist kirbag rādīh ud didīgar rāstīh ud xwēdōdah “The greatest good work (being) generosity and the second (is) truth and Xwēdōdah.”13 In a similar vein, we have an enumeration of meritorious activities in the Pahlavi Rivāyat Accompanying the Dādestān ī Dēnīg (PR 8c1-2): gyāg paydāg kū ohrmazd bē ō zarduxšt guft kū 4 čiš ēn pahlom yazišn ī ohrmazd ī xwadāy ud ātaxš ēsm ud bōy ud zōhr dād ud mard ī ahlaw šnāyēnīdan ud kē abāg burdār ayāb duxt ayāb abāg xwah xwēdōdah kunēd. (8c.2) ud az ān hamāg ān meh ud weh ud pahlom kē xwēdōdah kunēd. (In one) place it is revealed that Ohrmazd said to Zardu(x)št: ‘These four things are best: worship of Ohrmazd the Lord; the giving of wood and incense and oblation (to) the fire; the satisfying of the Righteous man; and he who practices Xwēdōdah with his mother or daughter or sister. (8c2) And from all those, he who practices Xwēdōdah is great and good and the best!’14 In the examples above, we do not have explicit definitions of the incestuous nature of the term Xwēdōdah, however several Pahlavi texts do spell out such cases and I cite here Dēnkard 3.80.20-22 as an example of the intricate kinship bonds generated by the physical consummation of such unions: ud ān dō rāh ī abzōnīg-mihrīh ī frazendān pad weh-parwarišnīh ī wēš hāxt. (21) ud ēdōn-iz ān ī az pid ud duxt pus ham zāyēnd. ud rōšn jast *abrōxt hamē wēnīhēd andar āwām ī kū abēr šād ud rāmišnīg kē-š frazend-ēw ī frazend ast… ān šādīh ud šīrīnīh ud rāmišn ī az pus-ēw ī mard az xwēšīh duxt zāyēd kē brādiz bawēd ham mādar. (22) ud ān ī az pus ud mādar zāyēd brād-iz bawēd ham pidar. ēd rāh ī wēš rāmišn ī niyāyišn ī urwāhm nē [ud agar] padiš ēč zyān ī frāy az sūd ī nē-iz āhōg ī frāy az *hučihr. And those are the two roads to the love that increases from (having) children: through good upbringing and greater guidance. (21) And it is likewise as well with a son born from a father and his daughter. 12

For the legal literature on matrimony, see Shaki 1971: 322-345, in particular 335-336; see also Bucci 1978; for family law, see Hjerrild 2003; and for the most penetrating studies on Sasanian and Zoroastrian matrimonial relations and law, see Macuch 1991, 2003, 2006, 2010 and 2017. 13

Anklesaria 1913: 36.

14

After Williams 1990: I, 50-51 and II, 11.

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It is crystal clear [lit. ‘light occurs’] to be seen in this age that he is very happy and joyful who has a child from his child… That happiness and sweetness, and joy that he experiences from a son whom a man has with his own daughter and who is also the mother’s brother! (22) And (if) a child is born from a son and his mother, he is also the father’s brother. This is the road to more joy and bliss. And there is no harm from it greater than the benefits from it, nor any blemish greater than the beauty of it.15 Having set the stage, I would like to present two salient examples of Xwēdōdah from the Old Avestan16 hermeneutic genre found in Dēnkard Book 917 that problematize both the philologically reductionist and hagiographically reifying approaches to early Zoroastrian social history and historiography and the question of Zaraθuštra’s biography—hagiography. By doing so, I wish to focus our discussion beyond grammatical considerations regarding the Avestan language and translation competencies of the Zoroastrian hermeneuts in Late Antiquity and argue that in the three Pahlavi 15

Trans. after Skjærvø 2011: 205; cf. de Menasce 1973: 88. See the helpful chart with the relative merits of each nuclear kinship type in Williams 1990: II, 135. 16

The Avesta falls into two chronological layers: Old Avestan and Young(er) Avestan. The Old Avesta, occupying a ritually central position in the Yasna (‘Sacrifice,’ cognate with Sanskrit yajña-) liturgy, comprises three prayers: the 21 words of the Ahuna vairiia or Yaθā ahū vairiiō (Yasna 27.13), the 12 words of the Aṣ̌əm vohū (Y. 27.14), and the 15 words of the Yeŋ́hē hātąm (Y. 27.15); the five Gāθās or ‘poems’ (Y. 28-34, 43-46, 47-50, 51, and 53); a rhythmic-prose text, the Yasna haptaŋhāiti or ‘Sacrifice of 7 Sections’ (Y. 35-41); and the Ā airiiǝ̅mā išiiō or Airiiaman (Y. 54.1), a fourth short prayer at the end of the fifth Gāθā. For a description of the Old Avestan corpus, see Hintze 2009. 17 The Dēnkard (“Acts of the Religion/Tradition”), the largest extant Pahlavi compilation at approximately 169,000 words, comprised nine books of which only books 3-9 are extant. Books 3-5 focus on apologetics and also include aetiological narratives about the transmission of the Zoroastrian sacred texts and accompanying rituals; Book 6 is devoted to moral wisdom and advice literature (andarz); Book 7 to the life and legend of Zardu(x)št (Zaraθuštra); Book 8 is the “Table of Contents” of the Sasanian-era Dēn—the Avestan sacred corpus with its Pahlavi translations and commentaries (zand); and Book 9 contains three commentaries (nasks) on the Old Avesta (see below). The compilation of the Dēnkard was begun by Ādurfarrōbag son of Farroxzād, a leading high priest who supposedly had a religious debate with Abāliš, a heretic, in the presence of the ‘Abbāsid Caliph ‘Abd-Allāh al-Maʼmūn (AH 198-218 / 813-833 CE). The work was finally completed by another priest, Ādurbād son of Ēmēd, who, he says, reconstructed the partially destroyed work compiled by Ādurfarrōbag, and who then transmitted it to his son, Zardušt. Our earliest colophon of the Dēnkard (and Pahlavi manuscripts in general) is dated to 1020 CE. For the Dēnkard, see de Menasce 1958; Gignoux 1994; and Cereti 2001: 41-78. See most recently the perceptive articles of Rezania 2017 and Terribili 2017.

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commentaries (nasks)—the Sūdgar Nask,18 the Warštmānsr Nask,19 and the Bag Nask20— on the Old Avesta in Dēnkard Book 9, the Zoroastrian hermeneuts of Late Antiquity were actively choosing to interpret the Old Avestan base texts using non-literal, highly allusive, and ultimately tradition-constituted forms of allegoresis, which most of us philologists privileging root etymological analyses would consider to be non- or unphilological.21 In interpreting the Vahištōištī Gāθā (Yasna 53.1-9), the fifth and final gāθā or “poem” ascribed to Zaraθuštra, all three nasks of Dēnkard Book 9 utilize the incipit in Yasna 53.1—Vahištōištī (vahišta- “best” + išti-)—as the hermeneutical trigger22 nominally anchoring the commentary (Pahl. fragard) to its Gathic base text. The verbal noun ištican be derived from three roots: 1) the verb yaza- “to sacrifice”; 2) or from išaiia- “to send off”; 3) or from isa- “to seek, desire.”23 In the first two nasks in Dēnkard 9 we find xwāyišnān pahlom “the best seekings” and xwāyišnān pahlomīh “the excellence of the desires” from the root isa-, whereas the third nask interprets the title as yazišn kard (“made a sacrifice”) from yaza-.24 The first of the three commentaries, the Sūdgar Nask (Dk. 9.22.1-13), radically interprets the Vahištōištī as being about the “best seekings” of the Good Dēn and subsequently enumerates the deities and demons that come to this world at night to battle each other (Xešm and Bušāsp versus Srōš and Dahmān Āfrīn). The Sūdgar then proceeds to discuss the best exemplars of men, women and animals (Humāy,25 Barmāyun, Frašōxtar, and the Qualified Man of the Righteous). 18

See Vevaina 2010c.

19

See Vevaina 2010c.

20

See Skjærvø 1988.

21

This “creative” approach to hermeneutics cannot simply be dismissed as the loss of linguistic competence on the parts of the Pahlavi translators of the Old Avesta due to the immense passage of two millennia. As demonstrated in Vevaina 2010a: 220-221, we first find, for example, a radical recontextualization of the opening line of the Old Avestan Kamnamaēzā Hāiti (Yasna 46.1) in the Young Avestan Hādōxt Nask 2.19-20 which is later found also in the Pahlavi Ardā Wirāz Nāmag 17.4-5 and the Mēnōy ī Xrad 2.158-159, conclusively demonstrating that non-literal forms of inner Avestan hermeneutics—allegoresis—existed in the ancient world and, just as importantly, survived well into Late Antiquity and the early Islamic centuries. 22

See Vevaina 2012.

23

See Cheung 2007: 219-220, 159, and 158, respectively; cf. Humbach et al 1991: II, 238-239, which takes īšti- as 1) “vigour”; 2) “quest”; and 3) “command.” 24

Several incipits of the Old Avesta show peculiar phonetic developments. See Humbach et al 1991: I, 63, §10.6.3.2. I strongly suspect that the Old Avestan incipits as we have them, with all their peculiar phonetics, are the result of a form of “Omnisignificant” hermeneutics, for which, see Vevaina 2012.

25 For the figure of Humāy and her marrying her father Bahman in the Iranian epic tradition, see Doostkhah 2004: 436-437.

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The commentary then makes an abrupt narratological shift and provides a précis of the hubristic and ultimately failed Himmelfahrt of Kay Us—also found in Ferdowsi—as a negative exemplar contrasted with the “best-seekings” of the good deities alluded to earlier. Due to concessions of space and given that I have written on this passage elsewhere,26 I will merely summarize the hermeneutic “style” of this first nask. The Sūdgar Nask often meditates on the incipits of the Old Avesta using a hyper-allusive form of intertextuality to harmonize different “genres” of the Avestan and Pahlavi corpora, thus producing a radically non-literal commentary on its Old Avestan base text. These interpretive narratives always serve didactic purposes regardless of how opaque those might seem at first blush when one is confronted with “new” mythoepic narratives that appear to have little or nothing to do with the “original” contents of the Old Avesta which we attempt to recover, establish, and interpret using philological and linguistic means.27 The second of the commentaries, the Warštmānsr Nask (Dk. 9.45.1-11), however, takes a wholly different hermeneutical approach and, instead discusses Zardu(x)št’s (Av. Zaraθuštra-) family culminating in the marriage of Zardu(x)št with his daughter Pōručist (Av. Pouru.cistā-) who is referenced in the Avestan version in Yasna 53.328: wīst ud dōwom fragard wahištōišt abar xwāyišnān pahlomīh ī weh-dēn u-š āgāhīh. (2) ud abar mad ēstād29 ī 30 ō spitāmān ēč mānān dūdag xwarrah pēš-iz madan ī zardu(x)št awēšān ī 31 az ān dūdag dānāgīh32 ud dād-ārāstārīh33 ud dastwarīh ī mānān ud wisān34 ud zandān ud dehān padiš būdan35 pad xūbīh ī saxwan ud kunišn mardōm az abārōnīh ō frārōnīh hāxtan ud burzīdan [ud] gēhānīgān ō-z rasišn ī weh-dēn wurrōyēnīdan. (3) ud ēn-iz kū astīh kaywištāsp ud ān ī zardu(x)št kāmag36 ud az huwōwān

26

For a detailed narratological analysis of this passage, see Vevaina 2010b.

27

For fuller expositions of the hermeneutical praxes found in Dēnkard Book 9, see Vevaina 2010a, 2010b, 2011, and 2012 and forthcoming. 28 For the manuscripts and editions, see Sanjana 1926: XVIII, Text, 53-54 and Translation, 39-40 (henceforth ‘DkS’); Madan 1911: 870-871 (henceforth ‘DkM’); Dresden 1966: [673] (henceforth ‘B’); Anklesaria 1971: folio 301r (henceforth ‘DH’). 29

DH < YKOYMWN-ʾt' > ; B, DkS, DkM < YKOYMWN-yt' >

30

DH < Y OL > ; DkS, DkM < OL >

31

DH, B, DkM < Y MN > ; DkS < MN >

32

DH, DkS; B, DkM < Y W >

33

DH ; B, DkS, DkM< dʾt Y ʾlʾstʾlyh >

34

DH < wysʾn > ; B, DkS, DkM < wysygʾn(‘) >

35

DH < YHWWN-t' W or YHWWN-tn W > ; B, DkS, DkM < YHWWN-tn' >

36

DH, B, DkM < kʾmk' > ; DkS < spytʾmk' >

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frašōštar az-iš ast. (4) abar stāyišn ī pōručist37 ī zardu(x)štān pad dōšīdan ī weh-dēn pad xrad ud kardan ī ān ī dēn andarz ī hunsandīhā dādan ī tan pad zanīh ō zardu(x) št ud spurrīg-warzīdan ī kār ud tarsagāyīh ī ōy pas az zardu(x)št zanīh-iz ud tarsagāyīh ī ǰāmāsp kardan ud wazurg-mizdīh ī-š az ohrmazd pad ān dēnīgīh ud yazdān-xwešīh. “The twenty-second fragard, the Vahištōišti, is about the excellence of the desire (xwāyišnān pahlomīh) for the Good Dēn and the awareness of it. (2) And about (the fact that) the Fortune (Xwarrah)38 had come to some houses of the family of the Spitamids even before the coming of Zardu(x)št; how those from that family had knowledge and the legal organization and priestly authority by which the houses and the villages and the tribes and the lands exist; how people were lead from evil behavior to good behavior by the goodness of (his) words and deeds; how those in this world extol (him = Zardu(x)št); how they were made to have faith in the coming of the Good Dēn as well. (3) And this, too, the existence of Kay Wištāsp and Zardu(x)št’s desire (kāmag)39; and Frašōštar is from (among) the Huwōwids. (4) About the praise of Pōručist, the daughter of Zardu(x)št, for loving the Good Dēn through (her) wisdom; and her performing the injunctions 37

DH, DkS < pwlwcyst’ > ; B, DkM < pwlwcʾst’ >

The reading of the Xwarrah into Y. 53 is based on the phrase ištōiš xvarənå “quest for the x arənahs” as referring to Dǝ̅jāmāspa- (YAv. Jāmāspa-) in Y. 51.18 (the only Av. occurrence of the concept in the plural; cf. Vedic iṣtí- “seeking, desire”): tąm cistīm dǝ̅jāmāspō # huuō.guuō ištōiš xvarənå / aṣ͛ā vərəṇtē tat̰ xšaθrəm # manaŋhō *vaŋhǝ̅uš vīdō / tat̰ mōi dāidī ahurā # hiiat̰ mazdā rapǝ̅n tauuā “Dǝ̅jāmāspa Huuō.guua (chooses) that insight, (which consists) in the quest for the Xvarənahs, with Truth he chooses that power (which consists in) the possession of Good Thought. Grant me, O Ahura, that (power) which (is) yours, O Mazdā, O supporter” (after Humbach et al 1991: I, 190; differently in Humbach and Ichaporia 1994: 98; and still differently in Humbach and Faiss 2010: 157). PY. 51.18a has: ān ī frazānag dastwar ǰāmāsp ī hwōwan xwāhēd xwarrah [xwēškārīh] “The intelligent priest Jā̌ māsp of the Hwōwids seeks the Xwarrah [(his) duty]” (Malandra and Ichaporia 2013: 89). 38

v

39

E. W. West attempted to read Zaraθuštra’s putative sexual “desire” (kāmag) out of the text: “Perhaps we ought to read ‘the Spîtâma Zaratûst,’ substituting Spîtâmak for kâmak, ‘desire,’ which latter word is written on a patch by the repairer of the MS. who must have found the original word defective” (West 1892, p. 299, fn. 2). Ms. B (Dresden 1966: [673, 16], 153) and codex DH (Anklesaria 1971: fol. 301r, 9) both have kāmag plainly written. While West was a meticulous philologist (though he admittedly did not have access to DH), there does not appear, to my eyes, to be a visible patch in either B or DH. Sanjana appears to follow West’s—apologetic—reading, which has now been rehabilitated in Malandra and Ichaporia 2013: 90, fn. 6.

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(andarz) of the Dēn: happily giving her body to Zardu(x)št to be his wife (tan pad zanīh ō zardu(x)št)40 and performing all of the ‘work’ (kār)41 for him and respecting (tarsagāyīh) him. How, after Zardu(x)št she was also Jā̌ māsp’s wife and showed him respect. And how great a reward she (received) from Ohrmazd for behaving according to the Dēn and for being the property of/ belonging to the gods.” The relevant portions of the third nask, the Bag Nask (Dk. 9.67.1-4, 7 and 9), in turn, talk about Zardu(x)št’s body being inhabited [lit. ‘a guest’] by Wohuman and the Amahraspands and then they similarly discuss consanguineous marriage between father and daughter a bit later in Dk. 9.67.7 and 9.67.942: wīst ud ēkom fragard wahištōišt frāz-iš ān guft ahlaw zardu(x)št kū-š yazišn kard kē ān ī amāh yaštan humenišnīh aziš. (2) ud ēn-iz kū kē dēn pad tan mehmān ā-š wohuman ud mānsr pad tan mehmān ud mēnōy ī wehīh ī [ud] 43 paymān. (3) ud ēn-iz kū-š dēn ī weh pad saxwan ud kunišn hammōxt bawēd kē yazišn wohuman menišnīhā kunēd 44. (4) ud ēn-iz kū-š amahraspand pad tan mehmān bawēnd kē wohuman dōšēd. ēd-iz rāy čē-šān mehmānīh pad rōšnīh ud pākīh ud hubōyīh ud pad wohuman rōšnīhēd pākīhēd hubōyīhēd tan…

40 West once again attempted to excise next-of-kin marriage—Xwēdōdah—from both this text and the Ardā Wirāz Nāmag: “It seems unlikely that zanŏîh [zanīh] means ‘marriage’ here (the term being applied to her relation both to Zaratûst and Gâmâsp), unless we were to suppose that she married Gâmâsp after her father’s death, which the phrase akhar min Zaratûst [pas az zardu(x) št], ‘after Zaratûst,’ might possibly imply. And if zanŏîh means merely ‘womanly service’ here, its Zvâris [arameogram] equivalent nêsmanîh [NYŠEyh], applied to the seven sisters of Ardâ Vîrâf in AV. II, 10, may also not imply marriage…” (West 1892: 299, fn. 5). In response, Skjærvø 2013 notes that “wife-hood” definitely implies sex as seen from Dk. 8.31.6 (Ms. B, ed. Dresden 1966: [563]; ed. Madan 1911: 739; tr. West 1892: 100) that a husband should admonish his wife when she says: tō zan ham zanīh ī tō nē kunam “I am your wife, (but) I will not perform wifehood for you.” Sanjana 1926: 40 translates “filial service” (pavan zannîh). 41

As Skjærvø (2013) points out, in these texts, the terms warzīd and kār, beside their generic, ‘unmarked,’ references, also have the ‘marked’ references to sexual acts. So, e.g., we find in Āfrīnagān ī Gāhānbār 4: kē-šān andar ān mādagān māyišn… warzīd ēstēd kū-š xwēdōdah kard ēstēd “those who have ‘performed’ in desire of women, i.e., he has performed Xwēdōdah.” 42 For the manuscripts and editions, see Sanjana 1926: XVIII, Text, 74-76 and Translation, 52-53; Dresden 1966: [631-632]; Madan 1911: 934-935. 43

Not in DkS

44

B, DkM, DkS < OBYDWN-X1 >

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(7) ud ēn-iz kū-š duxt pad duxtarīh ō pidar[īh] dahēd kē ō duxt tarsagāyīh ī andar pidar hammōzēd. ēd-iz rāy čē-š pad duxtarīh ōstīgānēnīd bawēd… (9) ud ēn-iz kū *kē-š 45 ō pid duxt pad zanīh dād bawēd ēdōn-iz ō abārīg mard zan kē ō duxt ud abārīg zan tarsagāyīh ī andar pid ud šōy hammōzēd. ud ēdōniz kē zan 46 ī mard-ēw pad kadag-bānūgīh frahanǰēnēd čē zan sūdōmand zanīh ī mard pad tarsagāyīh ī andar šōy ud xūb-frāhaxtīh ī pad kadag-bānūgīh bawēd. “The twenty first fragard, the Vahištōišti, he said it forth, Righteous Zardu(x) št—i.e. he performed a sacrifice (yazišn kard)—from whom/which comes the possession of good thought of (= arising from) our sacrificing. (2) And this, too, he who is inhabited by the Dēn (lit. ‘the Dēn is a guest in the body’; dēn pad tan mehmān), he (also) is inhabited by Wohuman and the Sacred Word (mānsr < Av. mąθra-) and the Spirit of goodness (mēnōy ī wehīh) which (is) moderation (paymān). (3) And this, too, the Good Dēn is taught through word and deed by he who performs a sacrifice to Wohuman in his thoughts. (4) And this, too, that he who is inhabited by the Amahraspands loves Wohuman. And also because through Wohuman, they have in (their body) light, purity, and fragrance, their body is illuminated, purified, and perfumed… (7) And this, too, that he gives his daughter in daughterhood (duxtarīh) to her father47 who teaches the daughter respect toward (her) father. And also because he makes her firm in daughterhood… (9) And this, too, that he whose daughter is given in marriage to (her) father, in this way too, (like he who gives his) wife to another man who (in turn) teaches to (his) daughter and to another woman respect due to (her) father and husband. And in this way, too, (about) the one who trains the wife of a man in being the lady of the house (pad kadag-bānūgīh), because what is beneficial (for) a woman is being the wife of a man while having respect toward (her) husband and being well trained in being a lady of the house.” I chose these particular passages from Dēnkard Book 9 precisely because they are almost never cited in discussions of the philologically derived meaning of the Vahištōišti Gāθā, as well as to problematize the late Mary Boyce’s withering criticism of Jean Kellens’ explanation of the name pouru.cista- as « celle qui est remarquée par beaucoup 45

B, DkM, DkS < W ZNE-c AYK-š OL >

46

DkS < NYŠE-1 >

47

West (1892: 382, fn. 2) translated this as: “This, too that a daughter is given to a father for womanly service (nêsmanîh2)…” and attempted to avoid the incestuous reading by suggesting in a footnote: “In § 9 (as in Chap. XLV, 4) there appears to be no confinement of the meaning to matrimony.” Sanjana 1926: 53, fn. 2 adds West’s remark.

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» (“she who is noticed by many”) or as « celle qui est remarquée par les (dieux) nombreux » (“she who is noticed by the many (gods)”).48 She is found prominently in Y. 53.3: tǝ̅mcā tū pourucistā # haēcat̰.aspānā spitāmī yezuuī dugədrąm # zaraθuštrahē vaŋhǝ̅uš paitiiāstī manaŋhō # aṣ͛ahiiā mazdåscā # taibiiō dāt̰ sarəm aθā hǝ̅m.fərašuuā θβā xraθβā # spǝ̅ništā ārmatōiš # hudā[nu v]arəšuuā And this (Dǝ̅jāmāspa,) O Pouru.cistā, a Haēcat̰.aspid, a Spitamid, you youngest of the daughters of Zaraθuštra, (your father) assigns to you, in obedience to Good Thought, Truth and the Wise (Lord,) as a shield, Thus have counsel with your intellect, O most blessed one, out of RightMindedness accept the generous one.49 As part of his claim of young women displaying themselves in what he argued was a ritual of divine-human hierogamy in these Gathic strophes, Kellens has suggested that « Les futurs époux sont les dieux males, invites à s’unir sexuellement aux jeunes filles du cercle gâthiques… » and he went on to add: « Peut-on considerer comme un effet du hazard que la protagonist d’un rituel de marriage, fût-ce ou non une hiérogamie, porte un nom qui se réfère à son pouvoir de seduction? »50 For Kellens, the striking correspondence of Pourucista with her putative socio-ritual function is one more proof of the ahistoricity of the dramatis personae of the Old Avesta.51 In commenting on the life of the prophet and the marriage of his daughter, Boyce addressed Kellens’ arguments utilizing a rhetorical strategy that played on multiple emotional registers including sheer incredulity, sarcasm, and simple dismissiveness: “By an extraordinary piece of speculative fantasy, Kellens (Zoroastre, 69), having analysed the name Pouruchista as “She who is remarked by many”, extends this to mean “She who is remarked by numerous (gods)”; and suggests that Y. 53 ‘corresponds to a ritual of hierogamy’, with male divinities invited to have sexual union with girls of this hypothetical ‘Gathic

48

Boyce herself translates pouru.cista- as “very thoughtful” (Boyce 1975: 188).

49

After Humbach and Faiss 2010: 159-160; see also Kellens 1995: 49-54.

50

Kellens 1991: 69; “The future spouses are the male gods, invited to unite sexually with the young women of the Gathic circle… And is it only a coincidence that the participant in a marriage ritual, whether hierogamic or not, has a name which refers to her power of seduction?” English translation by Skjærvø in Kellens 2000: 93-94. 51 See Kellens 2006 for a fuller exposition of his views on the lack of historicity of the figures in the Old Avesta.

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circle’, of whom Pouruchista is taken to be the prototype. It is hard to accept that any of this is seriously intended, but such is evidently the case.”52 So, how are we to deal with Kellens’ interpretations that abut the more infamous cultural practice of next-of-kin marriage? It must be stated that the Avestan equivalent of the Pahlavi term Xwēdōdah—Xvaētuuadaθa—is not found explicitly in the Old Avesta. Yet, we do find Xvaētauuē “for the Xvaētu- (‘family’)” in Yasna 53.4b followed by vadəmnō53 in Yasna 53.5b: tǝ̅m zī vǝ̅ spərədā niuuarānī # yā fəδrōi vīdāt̰ paiθiiaēcā vāstriiaēibiiō # at̰ cā xvaētauuē aṣ̌āunī aṣ̌auuabiiō # manaŋhō vaŋhǝ̅uš # xvǝ̅nuuaš haŋhuš mǝ̅m.bǝ̅əduš mazdå dadāt̰ ahurō # daēnaiiāi vaŋhuiiāi # yauuōi vīspāi.ā “For I want to encompass him with (that) eagerness of yours with which (a woman) shall care for (her) father and for her husband, for (their) herdsmen, and for (her) family (as) a truthful woman (cares) for truthful men. (It is) the sunny harvest of good thought (which), valuing the bonds of kinship, Ahura Mazdā grants to (women of) good religious view(s) for all time.” sāxvǝ̅nī vaziiamnābiiō # kainibiiō mraomī

52

Boyce 1992: 100, fn. 63. It should be noted that Kellens’ reading has a precursor of sorts in Henrik S. Nyberg who made such arguments already in the 1930s (Nyberg 1938: 151-152). Also cf. Ṛg Veda I.124.8: añjy àṅkte samanagā́ iva vrā́ḥ “(Dawn) smears unguent on herself, like (maidens) with a choice going to assemblies” (Jamison and Brereton 2014: 288; cf. Jamison 1999: 248 for a slightly different translation). The Vedic simile with an allusion to the svayaṃvara ceremony is discussed by Jamison 1999: 248, fn. 58 in connection with Y. 53 (per the suggestion of Skjærvø). 53

As Skjærvø 2013 points out the syntax and meaning of vadəmnō is debated. Geldner suggested “the one who marries,” which was disputed by Bartholomae (1904: col. 1345). Geldner’s interpretation (see Bartholomae) was usually followed (Kellens and Pirart 1988: 190 suggest « paranymphe » and Insler 1975: 111 has “bridegrooms”), but Humbach reverted to Bartholomae’s interpretation, pointing out that “lead in marriage” is Avestan upa.vāδaiia- (Humbach 1959: II, 242-243). Skjærvø, following Humbach et al 1991, notes that the word can also be compared with Old Indic vadmán “speaker” (used of Agni, the fire) from vad- “speak,” which leaves the possibility open that Xvaētuuadaθa might contain vada- “speak” and mean “pronouncing/ announcing (somebody) as belonging to one’s own (family)” or, conceivably, one’s appurtenance to God; cf. Y. 39.5, where the worshippers utter the phrase “we circumambulate you with the ‘own-ness’ (Xvaē-tāt) of the good Xvaētu,” which is rendered in the Pahlavi as: “I am yours (tō xwēš), I am in your possession (xwēšīh).”

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xšmaibiiācā vadəmnō # mǝ̅ṇcā ī [mąz]dazdūm vaēdō.dūm daēnābiš # abiiascā ahūm # yǝ̅ vaŋhǝ̅uš manaŋhō aṣ̌ā vǝ̅ aniiō ainīm # vīuuǝ̅ṇghatū tat̰ zī hōi # hušǝ̅nəm aŋhat̰ “I speak instructions for those girls about to be married, and to (all of) you, conversing (with you). Note them in your minds and accept with (your) religious views (daēnā-), and in accordance with them, the existence which (is that) of Good Thought. Let each of you try to surpass the other in Truth, for this will be fruitful for him.”54 As Skjærvø has noted, since xvaētu here occurs outside its usual context of what is commonly thought to be a climax of social divisions (xvaētu, vərəzǝ̅na, airiiaman, and dax́iiu “family, house, tribe, and land”55), he suggests that this is, perhaps, an encrypted reference to the xvaētuuadaθa of Zaraθuštra and his daughter Pourucistā, mentioned explicitly in Yasna 53.4a-b by the sequence “to her father and master/husband (fəδrōi … paiθiiaēcā)” just before xvaētauuē: “Reading Yasna 53.4 in the context of the Zoroastrian tradition, without preconceptions about (a historical) Zarathustra’s thoughts on the matter, one can only interpret ‘father and master/husband’ as referring to the xvaētuuadaθa, probably encrypted in the text that follows. Moreover, Yasna 53.7 is commonly thought to refer to sexual activity,56 and the poem ends 54

After Humbach et al 1991: I, 193.

55

It is worth noting that the interpretation of the Warštmānsr Nask (Dk. 9.45.2) reads a similar climax into Y. 53 when it states that, “houses and villages and tribes and lands exist due to it [Xwarrah]” (mānān ud wisān ud zandān ud dehān padiš būdan). For this climax in the Avestan corpus, see, e.g., Y. 8.7, Yt. 10.18, and Yt. 13.150. See also Humbach et al 1991: I, 103-104 for a discussion of these climaxes in the Old Avesta. 56

Skjærvø’s claim regarding the ubiquity of the sexual reading is untenable since the translation in Insler 1975: 113 has no sexual connotation and Humbach and Ichaporia 1994: 104 and now also Lecoq 2016: 808 are also similarly devoid of any sexual reference contra Kellens and Pirart 1988: 190; Humbach et al 1991: 194; Humbach and Faiss 2010: 161; West 2010: 168-169. The omission of the sexual content in Humbach and Ichaporia 1994 was likely due to the highly conservative sexual politics of Humbach’s Parsi collaborator and a tacit acknowledgment of the power of the moral economies of the Zoroastrian reading public to influence our “objective” Religionswissenschaft. The return of the sexual reading of this passage in Humbach’s final English joint translation project in 2010 (with Klaus Faiss, an ‘Outsider’ once again) speaks to this politics of translation in our sociology of knowledge, a point first raised regarding this Gathic strophe in Stausberg 1998: 342-344, and rendered all the more salient with Humbach’s reversion in his final edition of the Old Avesta.

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with a curse against the evil ones ‘of bad virility’ (dužuuarəšnah; AirWb., col. 760). Since Yasna 53 is the concluding poem of the Old Avesta and so, presumably, also of the Old Avestan cosmic regeneration ritual, it is likely to refer to the final actions: the (real or enacted) sexual coupling of the priest and his daughter. This act, being the re-performance in the world of the living of the primordial coupling of Ahura Mazdā and Spəṇtā Ārmaiti, heaven and earth (thus Gray, 1904, pp. 367-68), brings about their coupling in the world of thought, which, in turn, causes dawn to reappear and makes the existence (ahu) fraša (produces fraškerd), the purpose of the Old Avestan ritual (cf. Yasna 30.9, 34.15, 46.3, 19, 50.10-11).”57 Following Kellens, Skjærvø also takes pouru-cistā, to mean “she who is noticed by many,” but he suggests that it might also imply brilliance (ciθra-), which may have been an epithet of dawn: “If so, then Pouru-cistā may have been born from her father’s ‘perfect sacrifice’ or ‘best desire’ (vahištā išti), and she unites with him now to make the new ahu, the new day and the new existence.”58 Given that the latter two nasks in Dēnkard Book 9 are in an explicitly intertextual relationship with the Pahlavi Yasna one must examine the latter text closely to see how it deals with this passage. According to Pahlavi Yasna 53.4, Pōručist is to give (bē dahišn) herself in “wifehood” (tan pad zanīh) to “her father” (pidarīh), as well as “to her own” (ō xwēšān = xvaētauuē), that is, to Jā̌ māsp, who is thought to be implied in the Gathic phrase aṣ̌aonī aṣ̌auuabiiō “a truthful woman to truthful men,” but explicitly found in the Pahlavi as: ahlaw [pōručist] ō ōy ahlaw [ǰāmāsp]59: čē ōy ān ī ašmāh uspurrīg-dōšišn [ī dēn] u-š ō pidarīh bē dahišn [tan pad zanīh ān pōručist] u-š ōy-iz pid rāy wāstaryōš 60 [kār ī kadag-xwadāy rāy] ud ēdōn-iz ō xwēšān [ā-š tan pad zanīh bē dahišn] ahlaw [pōručist] ō ōy ahlaw [ǰāmāsp] pad ān ī wohuman xwēš [frārōn xwēšīh rāy ī-š ast] sagrīh [bowandagīh ī xwarišn ud wastarg mizd ud pādāšn] ud mehēnīdār xwašīh [dānāgīh ī xwaš] ohrmazd dahišn pad dēn ī weh hamē tā ō wisp [ān ēstād ī pad dēn ī weh rāy]. For that is your complete love [for the Dēn]. And (she) should be given to her father (pidarīh) [(her) body in wifehood; that one, Pōručist]. She should for the sake of her father too, (her) forager [for the ‘work’ of the 57

Skjærvø 2013. For the divine incest of Ahura Mazdā and Spəṇtā Ārmaiti as the archetypical sexual union, see Skjærvø 2002. 58

Skjærvø 2013.

59

After Malandra and Ichaporia 2013: 90-91; cf. Dhabhar 1949: 231.

60

Malandra and Ichaporia 2013: 91 have wāstrēnišn.

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master of the house] and thus also to (her) own (family) [give her body in wifehood]: a righteous one [Pōručist] to him, the righteous one [Jāmāsp], in order to belong to Wohuman [as honest property, which is his (Jā̌ māsp’s)] satiety [having food and clothes enough (as) reward and counter-gift], and the increaser of pleasure [the awareness of pleasure]. Ohrmazd, should give (her) through the Good Dēn forever and ever to all in order [for her to stand firm in the Good Dēn].61 Clearly, the strand of the Pahlavi hermeneutical tradition that we see here in the Pahlavi Yasna understood the Avestan original of Yasna 53.4 as referring to Xwēdōdah. It is also stated explicitly in the commentaries on this strophe in both the Warštmānsr and Bag Nasks: the former being about the praise of Pōručist, Zardu(x)št’s daughter,62 who, loving the Dēn, followed its injunctions and gave her body in wifehood to Zardu(x) št; she performed (warzīd) ‘work’ (kār) and had respect (tarsagāyīh) for him, and then subsequently for Jā̌ māsp. Similarly, the commentary on the fourth Gathic strophe in the Bag Nask (where Jā̌ māsp is not mentioned) says the text is about him who gives his daughter in daughterhood (duxtarīh) to her father and that, by giving a daughter to her father in wifehood, one also teaches one’s daughter and wives respect for father and husband, as well as how a woman may be a good house-wife (kadag-bānūg). It is noteworthy that the social category of being a good “house-wife” was already understood in the Young Avesta as being intimately related to next-of-kin marriage.63 So, for example, we find nmānahe nmānō.paθnīm “house-lady of the house” enumerated with xvaētuuadaθəm in Wisprad (Visperad) 3.3: yauuānəm humanaŋhəm huuacaŋhəm ́ hušiiaoθnəm hudaēnəm āstāiia yauuānəm uxδō.vacaŋhəm āstāiia xvaētuuadaθəm āstāiia daŋ́hāuruuaēsəm āstāiia humāim pairijaθnəm āstāiia nmānahe nmānō.paθnīm āstāiia 61

Cf. Mills 1894: 379.

62

Bd. 35.56-57 states: az zardu(x)št zād sē pus ud sē duxt… (57) ud sē duxt ēk frēn ud ēk srīt ud ēk pōrčist nām būd hēnd. “From Zardu(x)št three sons and three daughters were born… (57) and the three daughters, one was called Frēn, one was called Srīt, and one was called Pōrčist” (Text, Pakzad 2005: 404-405). These three are found together in the Young Avesta in Yt. 13.139 as Frǝ̅nī, θritī, and Pourucista. 63

For the status of women in Pre-Islamic Iran, see Brosius 1996; Choksy 1988: 73-83; 2002; and 2003: 48-67; de Jong 1995: 15-41; Rose 1998: 29-54 and 2015: 273-288; Nashat 2003: 11-46; and Macuch 2009 and 2017: 135-151.

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“I establish the youth of Good Thoughts, of Good Speech, of Good Actions, of Good Daēnā. I establish the youth whose words are those to be uttered. I establish the wedding of/within one’s own family (Xvaētuuadaθəm). I establish the turning within the land. I establish the one of good creative magic who *packs in on all sides. I establish the house-lady of the house (nmānahe nmānō.paθnīm).”64 Crucially, the Pahlavi version of Vr. 3.3 has mān mānbedīn (“house-lady of the house”) with kadag-bānūg (“house-wife”) provided as its gloss: ǰuwān ī hu-menišn ī hu-gōwišn ī hu-kunišn ī hu-dēn ēstēnēm ud ǰuwān ī saxwan-gōw ēstēnēm [ǰādag-gōw] ud xwēdōdah ēstēnēm deh waštār ēstēnēm [āsrō ī ēstīdag] hu-framān pad abar-rasišnīh ēstēnēm ud mān mānbedīn ēstēnēm [kadag-bānūg] “We establish the youth of Good Thoughts, of Good Words, of Good Deeds, of the Good Dēn. We establish the youth whose words are those to be uttered [the intercessor]. We establish Xwēdōdah. We establish the one who makes the rounds of the lands [the priest who has taken up his position]. We establish (the one who gives) good commands when arriving. We establish the house-lady of the house [the housewife].”65 While we see here a number of sources extolling the virtues of Xwēdōdah, the Pahlavi texts are however not undifferentiated on this point. In the Pahlavi Rivāyat Accompanying the Dādestān ī Dēnīg 8a5 and 8o1-3 we do find an acknowledgment of the social difficulties associated with maintaining this doctrine66: (8a5) zardu(x)št guft kū ka andar gēhān čis-ēw ēn škefttar gōwēnd čiyōn tō kē ohrmazd hē agar bē ō tō guft… (8o1) ēn-iz az dēn paydāg kū ohrmazd bē ō zardu(x)št guft kū-m wad ud saxt ud 64

Trans. after Skjærvø unpublished; cf. Kellens 2007: 126-127, where he notes that the contextual sense of *pairi.jaθna- is indeterminable. 65 66

Dhabhar 1949: 301.

For PR 8a-9, see Williams 1990: I, 49-51 and II, 10-11. Cf. also Dk. 3.80, for which, see de Menasce 1973: 85-90 and more recently, Skjærvø 2011: 202-207. For the results of not performing Xwēdōdah, cf. also Dk. 6.C82 (Shaked 1979: 173).

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škeft pad čašm kū andar mardōm xwēdōdah čiyōn rawāg bē kunēm (8o2) ohrmazd guft kū man-iz ēdōn pad čašm čiyōn tō bē ēd rāy kū az har čiš pāšom ā-t tang ud saxt ma ē sahēd (8o3) pad xwēdōdah kardan tuxšāg bāš ud kasān-iz tuxšāg kunēnd. (8a5) “Zardu(x)št said: ‘Since in this world they call this a most distressing thing, how (do you answer) you who are Ohrmazd, if you are asked?’ (8o1) This also (is) revealed in the Dēn: Zardu(x)št said to Ohrmazd: ‘In my view (it is) bad and hard and strange that I should make Xwēdōdah so prevalent among mankind.’ (8o2) Ohrmazd said: ‘In my view also like yours, except for this (reason) that it is the (most) excellent thing of all; then let it not be difficult and hard for you. (8o3) Be diligent in practicing Xwēdōdah and others too will practice (it) diligently.”67 In his otherwise admirable commentary on this chapter of the Pahlavi Rivāyat, Alan Williams concluded with a literary critique: “A weakness in this ending is that there is no mention in extant scriptures that Zoroaster contracted any kind of Xwēdōdah marriage.” If one restricts the definition of “scripture” to merely the archaic Avestan corpus his analysis might be justified but if instead we view the extant Pahlavi literature as a late antique codification of the received wisdom of the Zoroastrian tradition— the Dēn—passed from apex deity to prophet and down in a chain of transmission as the Pahlavi texts themselves state,68 then what we actually have here in the Pahlavi Rivāyat is a hitherto unrecognized intertext to the two fragards in Dēnkard Book 9, which taken together with the Pahlavi Yasna clearly represent a cluster of traditional intersignifications related to Zardu(x)št’s domestic hagiography as the archetype of the pater familias in Zoroastrian society. Pahlavi texts like these that do not conform to our reductionist—root etymological—

67

After Williams 1990: I, 49, 61 and II, 10, 16-17. In the medieval Persian Rivāyats the notion of Xetyodath was then understood as first-cousin marriage, e.g., Nariman Hōšang states: “Khvetyodath is a great merit, but has fallen out of their (i.e. the faithfuls’) hands for the reason that the sovereign is not a Behdin. When this is the case, efforts should be made that marriages should be contracted among relatives, e.g., one brother’s son should be given in marriage to another brother’s daughter. If not, it is not good. The more the marriage-tie is closer, the more meritorious is it. (Hence) efforts should be made (in this direction). When first the sovereign of India was an infidel [a Hindu] it was more difficult to contract a marriage among relatives; but now the king is a Musalman and however closer the marriage-tie is, the better and more meritorious would it be” (Dhabhar 1932 [1999]: 293-294). Here we see a rare example of Zoroastrian apologetics privileging Muslim rule over its Hindu counterpart.

68

See e.g. the narratives in Dk. 3 and Dk. 4 in Skjærvø 2011: 39-43.

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understandings of their Avestan Vorlagen were simply not cited by Boyce or Kellens since they were presumably embarrassing for the former and unnecessary for the latter.69 Boyce’s critique of Kellens, the anti-traditional comparativist par excellence, conditioned by her positionality as the defender of the grand unity of Zoroastrian thought—her putative “orthodoxy”—simply falls flat since the Pahlavi texts cited here clearly suggest a textual hermeneutic rather close to Kellens’ formulation, his interpretation presumably being derived exclusively from his reading of the Old Avesta compared with Vedic and hence, disembodied from the much later Pahlavi hermeneutical literature.70 The larger historiographical point we must draw from such a protean example is the undermining of the antinomies of the expected results derived from the so-called “traditional” and “comparativist” approaches to the Old Avesta as articulated by James Darmesteter at the end of the 19th century and nuanced and rearticulated by Albert de Jong at the end of the last century.71 Despite the attendant irony of Boyce, the self-styled traditionalist, arguing against the “tradition” and Kellens, the so-called anti-traditionalist, producing an argument that would have surely resonated with the Pahlavi interpreters who saw Pōručist as giving her body to the gods, this example starkly highlights the fact that neither of them saw fit to cite the Pahlavi hermeneutical tradition as being an important source for their reconstructions of the meaning of the “original” Old Avestan (con)text. In the concluding remarks to a précis of his thoughts on the Gāθās, Kellens himself states rather wistfully: “It has never before been noted, I believe, that from Christian Bartholomae (1905) to Helmut Humbach (2010), all treatments of the Gāthās have taken the same form: edition, translation, and commentary beginning with Y 28.1 and ending with Y 53.9 (the inclusion of prayer formulas and of the Yasna Haptaŋhāiti is a recent practice). This uniformity is a sort of admission: The Gāthās have not ceased to be treated as a text to be deciphered. Still, although the decipherment remains uncompleted, the method itself has exhausted its possibilities. In the future, one can only hope to offer a few minor adjustments here and there and some ad hoc etymologies – that is, stagnation and arbitrariness. The time has come to imagine new ways of approach.”72 In my view, Kellens’ skepticism is absolutely warranted. It seems patently obvious to 69

Likewise, the lack of a critical edition likely accounts for the total omission of Dēnkard Book 9 from the Encyclopædia Iranica article entitled “Exegesis. i. In Zoroastrianism,” for which, see Kreyenbroek 1999: 113-116. 70

Kellens 2009: 49 argues for just such a point; see also Kellens 1998 for more details.

71

See Darmesteter 1880 and de Jong 1997: 39-75. See also Cantera 2004: 44-65 and Stausberg and Vevaina 2015: 1-18, in particular 4-5. 72

Kellens 2015: 50.

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me that the existing philological approaches utilizing root etymological analysis, lectio difficilior potior, and objectivist approaches to “Truth” have failed miserably to establish the text by consensus—the most basic social requirement of science. The neo-pragmatist philosopher Richard Rorty famously—and just as casually—redefined Objectivity as “an agreement of everyone in the room.”73 By Rorty’s undoubtedly provocative definition of social consensus classical philology in Old Avestan studies has been a dismal failure! A lack of consensus even on basic questions has remained the striking feature of scholarship on Old Avestan.74 My intervention within this hermeneutic morass is to simply advocate for more principled approaches to excavating the interpretive principles of the Zoroastrian theologians—their emic hermeneutics. In almost any of the other neighboring fields such a proposal would strike scholars as simply reactionary nativism and perhaps even methodologically naïve or retrograde in light of the looming presence that theology has cast on the more critical approaches to the study of religion. The pernicious nature of the profoundly Orientalist approach to Zoroastrian studies has, however, led to a largely homogenized and undifferentiated “tradition” being judged— wanting—against the standard of our “objective,” “modern” and “scientific,” “Western” philology often ignoring and eliding the interpretive dynamism of their “subjective,” “pre-modern” and “traditional,” “Eastern” hermeneutics. To borrow from the conceptual lexicon of Michel Foucault, the truth claims found in Zoroastrian hermeneutics are typically treated as “subjugated knowledges,” that is, “a whole set of knowledges that have been disqualified as inadequate to their task or insufficiently elaborated: naïve knowledges located low down on the hierarchy, beneath the required level of cognition or scientificity.”75 Foucault’s genealogical method helps us to reveal the struggles of subjugated knowledges “against the claims of a unitary body of theory which would filter, hierarchize and order them in the name of some true knowledge and some arbitrary idea of what constitutes a science and its objects.”76 From the mid-20th century onwards, texts in the Zoroastrian hermeneutical tradition on the Old Avesta in particular have been treated as just such “subjugated knowledges,” otiose forms of analysis and knowledge production, admittedly necessary for working on the “later” tradition but ultimately lacking in true utility—philological revelation— for correctly apprehending the “original” intent of the Gathic author(s)—as prophet,

73

Rorty 1985: 217-218.

74

Michael Stausberg’s ironic observation is worth quoting here: ,,Die überzeitlich-objektive Geltung der zarathuštrischen Schriften wird somit eindrucksvoll mit den ständigen Variationen subjektiven philologischen Gutdünkens kontrastiert‘‘ (Stausberg 1998: 343); see also Skjærvø 1997; Kellens 2006; and the essays on the Old Avesta in Stausberg and Vevaina 2015: 39-67. 75

Foucault 1980: 82.

76

Foucault 1980: 83.

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poet-sacrificer, or Gathic circle.77 As a philologically dominated field, the vast bulk of our scholarship in Zoroastrian studies has focused on editing, emending, and commenting upon texts in largely fragmentary corpora—salvage philology78—in an attempt to reconstruct the poorly documented earliest periods of Zoroastrianism.79 Without throwing the baby out with the bathwater we must develop a more critical—reflexive—philology by attempting to read the texts as we have them—transmitted to us with all their attendant messiness— and not aggressively amend them to what we would like them to be or cherry pick and reconstruct them in unprincipled ways to fill the gaps in our historiographical narratives lest we not heed the closing line of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s Tractatus LogicoPhilosophicus: “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”80 Perhaps most crucially, we in the field of early Iranian philology must recognize that the task of the translator of pre-modern cultures changed in the second half of the 20th century from romantic attempts to heroically recover the essence of a tradition by apprehending its origins to critically examining and showcasing the often competing and contradictory truth claims of its hermeneuts and adherents. In order to develop a more principled approach to the Zoroastrian textual tradition(s) we must begin with what I believe is the cardinal rule of scriptural interpretation: all exegesis is motivated—much like what we already believe with regard to sound change in historical linguistics—only then can we finally begin the critically pregnant process of birthing more sophisticated answers to some of our most fundamental questions about the origins and development of the Zoroastrian tradition as understood by its practitioners.

77

See Vevaina 2007: 30-34 for a brief survey of scholarly opinion on the three nasks of Dēnkard Book 9.

78

I must credit my former colleague Vincent Barletta at Stanford University for this term.

79

A point first made in Vevaina 2015: 212; for various definitions of “philology” and its applications, limitations, and value for literary study, see the essays in Ziolkowski 1990; Nichols 1990; Cerquiglini 1999; and Gumbrecht 2003. See more recently, Pollock 2009 and 2014, the most incisive works to date on the subject, which argue for philology as a global hermeneutic practice. See now Turner 2014 for a history of philology and the essays in Pollock, Elman and Chang 2015. For Zoroastrian studies, see Stausberg 2001 and, most recently, Kellens 2006 and 2009. For a general Forschungsbericht on Zoroastrian studies, see Stausberg 2008 and Stausberg and Vevaina 2015: 1-18. 80 ,,Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen,‘‘ Wittgenstein 1922: Proposition #7.

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Humankind or a Widespread Family Strategy? Journal of Roman Studies 97, pp. 21-48. Humbach, Helmut (1959) Die Gathas des Zarathustra I-II. Heidelberg. Humbach, Helmut with Joseph Elfenbein and Prods Oktor Skjærvø (1991) The Gāthās of Zarathushtra and the Other Old Avestan Texts I-II. Heidelberg. Humbach, Helmut and Pallan Ichaporia (1994) The Heritage of Zarathushtra: A New Translation of His Gāthās. Heidelberg. Humbach, Helmut and Klaus Faiss (2010) Zarathushtra and His Antagonists: A Sociolinguistic Study with English and German Translations of His Gāthās. Wiesbaden. Insler, Stanley (1975) The Gāthās of Zarathustra (Acta Iranica 8). Leiden. Jamison, Stephanie W. and Joel P. Brereton (trans.) (2014) The Rigveda: The Earliest Religious Poetry of India. Oxford. Jamison, Stephanie W. (1999) Penelope and the Pigs: Indic Perspectives on the “Odyssey.” Classical Antiquity 18/2, pp. 227-272. de Jong, Albert (1995) Jeh the Primal Whore? Observations of Zoroastrian Misogyny. In Female Stereotypes in Religious Traditions. Eds. Ria Kloppenborg and Wouter J. Hanegraaff. Leiden/New York/Cologne, pp. 15-41. de Jong, Albert (1997) Traditions of the Magi: Zoroastrianism in Greek and Latin Literature (Religions in the Graeco-Roman World 133) Leiden. Josephson, Judith (1997) The Pahlavi Translation Technique as Illustrated by Hōm Yašt. (Studia Iranica Upsaliensia 2). Uppsala. Katrak, Jamshid Cawasji (1965) Marriage in Ancient Iran. Bombay. Kellens, Jean and Éric Pirart (1988, 1990, 1991) Les textes vieil-avestiques, 3 vols. Wiesbaden. Kellens, Jean (1991) Zoroastre et l’Avesta ancien. Quatre leçons au Collège de France (Travaux de l’Institut d’Études Iraniennes de l’Université de la Sorbonne Nouvelle 14). Paris. Kellens, Jean (1998) Considérations sur l’histoire de l’Avesta. Journal asiatique 286/2, pp. 451-519. Kellens, Jean (2000) Essays on Zarathustra and Zoroastrianism. Trans. and Ed. Prods Oktor Skjærvø. Costa Mesa, CA. Kellens, Jean (2006) La quatrième naissance de Zarathushtra. Paris. Kellens, Jean (2007) Études avestiques et mazdéennes, vol. II: Le Hōm Stōm et la zone des déclarations (Y7.24 – Y15.4, avec les intercalations de Vr3 à 6). Paris. Kellens, Jean (2009) Philology and the History of Religions in the Study of Mazdaism. History of Religions 48/4, pp. 261-269. Kellens, Jean (2015) The Gāthās, Said to Be of Zarathustra. Trans. Patrick Taylor. In The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Zoroastrianism. Eds. Michael Stausberg and Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina. Oxford, pp. 44-50. Kiel, Yishai (2014) Confessing Incest to a Rabbi: A Talmudic Story in Its Zoroastrian Context. Harvard Theological Review 107/4, pp. 401-424. Kiel, Yishai (2016a) Dynamics of Sexual Desire: Babylonian Rabbinic Culture at the Crossroads of Christian and Zoroastrian Ethics,” Journal for the Study of Judaism

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47, pp. 364-410. Kiel, Yishai (2016b) Sexuality in the Babylonian Talmud: Christian and Sasanian Contexts in Late Antiquity. Cambridge. König, Götz (2010) Geschlechtsmoral und Gleichgeschlechtlichkeit im Zoroastrismus (Iranica 18). Wiesbaden. Kreyenbroek, Philip G. (1999) Exegesis. i. In Zoroastrianism. In Encyclopædia Iranica, vol. IX/2. Ed. Ehsan Yarshater. New York, pp. 113-116. http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/exegesis-i Lecoq, Pierre (2016) Les livres de l’Avesta. Textes sacrés des Zoroastriens. Paris. Macuch, Maria (1991) Inzest im vorislamischen Iran. Archäologische Mitteilungen aus Iran 24, pp. 141-154. Macuch, Maria (2003) Zoroastrian Principles and the Structure of Kinship in Sasanian Iran. In Religious Themes and Texts of Pre‐Islamic Iran and Central Asia: Studies in Honour of Professor Gherardo Gnoli on the Occasion of his 65th Birthday on 6 December 2002. Eds. Carlo G. Cereti, Mauro Maggi, and Elio Provasi. Wiesbaden, 2003, pp. 231-246. Macuch, Maria (2006) The Function of Temporary Marriage in the Context of Sasanian Family Law. In Proceedings of the Fifth Conference of the Societas Iranologica Europaea (Ravenna, October 6–11, 2003), vol. II: Ancient and Middle Iranian Studies. Eds. Antonio Panaino and Andrea Piras. Milan, pp. 585-597. Macuch, Maria (2009) Gelehrte Frauen – ein ungewöhnliches Motiv in der PahlaviLiteratur. In Literarische Stoffe und ihre Gestaltung in mitteliranischer Zeit. Colloquium anlässlich des 70. Geburtstags von Werner Sundermann. Eds. Desmond Durkin-Meisterernst, Christiane Reck, and Dieter Weber (Iranica 31). Wiesbaden, pp. 135-151. Macuch, Maria (2010) Incestuous Marriage in the Context of Sasanian Family Law. In Ancient and Middle Iranian Studies: Proceedings of the 6th European Conference of Iranian Studies, Held in Vienna, 18-22 September 2007. Eds. Maria Macuch, Dieter Weber, and Desmond Durkin-Meisterernst (Iranica 19). Wiesbaden, pp. 133-148. Macuch, Maria (2017) Descent and Inheritance in Zoroastrian and Shiʿite Law: A Preliminary Study. Der Islam 94/2, pp. 322-335. Madan, Dhanjishah Meherjibhai (ed.) 1911. The Complete Text of the Pahlavi Dinkard, 2 vols. Bombay. Malandra, William W. and Pallan Ichaporia (2013) The Pahlavi Yasna of the Gāthās and Yasna Haptaŋhāiti. Wiesbaden. de Menasce, Jean P. (1973) Le troisième livre du Dēnkart. Traduit du pehlevi. Paris. Mills, Lawrence H. (1894) A Study of the Five Zarathushtrian (Zoroastrian) Gâthâs. Erlangen. Minov, Sergey (2013) Syriac Christian Identity in Late Sasanian Mesopotamia: The Cave of Treasures in Context (The Hebrew University, unpublished doctoral dissertation). Jerusalem. Mitterauer, Michael (1994) The Customs of the Magians: The Problem of Incest in Historical Societies. In Sexual Knowledge, Sexual Science: The History of Attitudes to

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Sexuality. Eds. Roy Porter and Mikuláš Teich. Cambridge, pp. 231-250. de Menasce, Jean (1958) Une encyclopédie mazdéenne: Le Dēnkart. Quatre conférences données à l’Université de Paris sous les auspices de la Fondation Ratanbai Katrak (Bibliothèque de l’École des hautes études: Séction des sciences religieuses, vol. 59). Paris. Nashat, Guity (2003) Women in Pre-Islamic and Early Islamic Iran. In Women in Iran: From the Rise of Islam to 1800. Eds. Guity Nashat and Lois Beck. Urbana, IL/Chicago, pp. 11-46. Nyberg, Henrik Samuel (1938) Die Religionen des alten Iran. Trans. Hans Heinrich Schaeder (Mitteilungen der Vorderasiatisch-Aegyptischen Gesellschaft 43). Leipzig. = (1937) Irans forntidiga religioner. Stockholm. Pakzad, Fazollah (ed.) (2005) Bundahišn: Zoroastrische Kosmogonie und Kosmologie, vol. I: Kritische Edition (Ancient Iranian Studies Series 2). Tehran. Panaino, Antonio (2008) The Zoroastrian Incestuous Unions in Christian Sources and Canonical Laws: Their (Distorted) Aetiology and Some Other Problems. In Controverses des Chrétiens dans l’Iran Sassanide. Ed. Christelle Jullien. Paris, pp. 69-87. Payne, Richard E. (2016) Sex, Death, and Aristocratic Empire: Iranian Jurisprudence in Late Antiquity. Comparative Studies in Society and History 58/2, pp. 519-549. Pollock, Sheldon (2009) Future Philology? The Fate of a Soft Science in a Hard World. Critical Inquiry 35, pp. 931-961. Pollock, Sheldon (2014) Philology in three dimensions. Postmedieval: A Journal of Medieval Cultural Studies 5/4, pp. 398-413. Pollock, Sheldon and Benjamin A. Elman and Ku-ming Kevin Chang (eds.) (2015) World Philology. Cambridge, MA. Rezania, Kianoosh (2017) The Dēnkard Against its Islamic Discourse. Der Islam 94/2, pp. 336-362. Rorty, Richard (1985) Postmodernist Bourgeois Liberalism. In Hermeneutics and Practice. Ed. Robert Hollinger. Notre Dame, pp. 214-221. Rose, Jenny (1998) Three Queens, Two Wives and A Goddess: Roles and Images of Women in Sasanian Iran. In Women and the Medieval Islamic World. Ed. Gavin R. G. Hambly. New York, pp. 29-54. Rose, Jenny (2015) Gender. In The Wiley Blackwell Companion to Zoroastrianism. Eds. Michael Stausberg and Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina. Oxford, pp. 273-288. Sanjana, Darab Dastur Peshotan (1926) The Dînkard. The Original Pahlavi text of the Second Part of Book IX., with its Transliteration in Roman Characters, Translations into English and Gujarati with Annotations, and a Glossary of Select Words. Bombay. Scheidel, Walter (1996) Brother-Sister and Parent Child Marriage outside Royal Families in Ancient Egypt and Iran: A Challenge to the Sociobiological View of Incest Avoidance? Ethology and Sociobiology 17, pp. 319-340. Schlerath, Bernfried (1962) Die Gâthâs des Zarathustra. Orientalistische Literatur Zeitung 57, pp. 566-589. Schmitt, Rüdiger (1989) Bartholomae, Christian. In Encyclopædia Iranica, vol. III/8. Ed.

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Taboo: The State of Knowledge at the Turn of the Century. Stanford. Ziolkowski, Jan (ed.) (1990) On Philology. University Park.

THE KING IN THE MIRROR OF THE ZAND Secrecy in Sasanian Iran Arash Zeini

Introduction he origins of the Avesta, the sacred texts of the Zoroastrians, are steeped in mystery and the question of its transmission poses one of the biggest challenges in Iranian Studies. Without any degree of certainty, the oldest layers of the Avesta are commonly dated to the second millennium BCE. It is assumed that the corpus of the Avestan compositions was committed to writing and canonised after nearly two millennia of oral transmission, presumably during the Sasanian era (224–651 CE).1 At some unknown stage, the Avesta was translated into Middle Persian (MP) and provided with commentaries. These translations cum commentary are known as Zand and represent one strand of Zoroastrian exegesis.2 In the wider MP literature, the existence of the Zand is taken for granted, and the MP sources are silent as to why the scripture was translated into a vernacular. The issue is further complicated by reports of a late Sasanian royal decree seeking to limit the teaching of the Zand to priestly circles, in an attempt to shield it from misuse by heretics. Zoroastrian exegesis and its methodologies have historically not received the deserved attention. Spiegel (1860) offers one of the earliest descriptions of the Zand. Despite his efforts to integrate the Pahlavi translations into Avesta Studies, Spiegel (1860:67) accords

T

1 It is very likely that sections of the Avesta existed in written form in pre-Sasanian times. For a distinction between a liturgical and a Sasanian Avesta, see Kellens 1998. 2

One can argue that the entire MP literature represents an exegesis of the Avesta. The Zand, however, is transmitted in bilingual manuscripts of the Avesta and represents in my view scriptural exegesis in its most immediate form due to its proximity to the text it interprets.

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almost no relevance to the Zand for investigations of Zoroastrian hermeneutics.3 More recently, Vevaina (2010, 2012) has made forays into the study of Zoroastrian exegesis, particularly by examining the Dēnkard.4 In my forthcoming book, I approach the MP translations of the Avesta by assuming a new perspective grounded in theories of scholasticism, hoping to further contribute to the debate on exegesis in Zoroastrianism, and to elucidate a better understanding of the religious and cultural milieu from which these texts emerged. In this paper, I shall continue the discussion of Zoroastrian scripture and exegesis, extending the examination beyond a cross-cultural framework of scholasticism to include theories of secrecy put forward by Aleida & Jan Assmann. Scholasticism Inspired by ancient Greek philosophy, particularly logic, medieval scholasticism has its origins in Christianity.5 Cabezón (1994, 1998) has been a persuasive advocate for the application of scholasticism as a cross-cultural category in the study of religions. He argues that a process of ‘abstraction and decontextualization’ is required before the term can be used comparatively (Cabezón 1994:11) and showcases the process of abstraction in his examination of Tibetan Buddhism, establishing eight characteristics for scholasticism as a cross-cultural category (Cabezón 1994). In a later publication, Cabezón (1998:4–6) conveniently summarises those: 1. Strong sense of tradition 2. Concern with language 3. Proliferativity or textual inclusivity 4. Completeness and compactness 5. Epistemological accessibility of the world 6. Systematicity 7. Rationalism 8. Self-reflexivity Although religious exegesis is often associated with scholasticism, the secondary literature on Zoroastrianism does not consider the Zand within such a framework. When the terms scholasticism and scholastic are invoked at all in Iranian studies, it is primarily in the general sense, conveying a notion of commentary, and no attempts have been made to qualify the texts as scholastic literature. I have previously argued that Zoroastrian

3

Spiegel’s evaluation of the Zand set a trend that endured nearly a century. The negative reception of the Zand was first challenged by Shaked 1996, Humbach 1996, Kreyenbroek 1996 and Josephson 1997. 4

Although Vevaina 2010 anticipates many results of my investigation of scholasticism and correlative structures, his work is based on different theoretical models. 5

On the links between medieval scholasticism and its antecedents, see Marenbon 2010.

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exegesis shares characteristics of scholasticism as defined by Cabezón. In the following, I shall examine the fifth and eighth category in more detail. Epistemological accessibility Cabezón’s fifth category, epistemological accessibility of the world, refers to the assumption that the world is intelligible through knowledge (Cabezón 1998:5). In the Zoroastrian tradition, this category is linked with the comprehensiveness ascribed to the scripture. In an often cited passage from Dk 4 on the transmission of the Avesta, a larger section is dedicated to what Shaked (2003:71) rightly calls ‘a religious manifesto’ of King Xōsraw Ⅰ (532–570 CE).6 For our question the following excerpt is relevant: Dk 4.257 awēšān kē gētīyān ō šnāxtan ī dādār ud abdīh mēnōyān čiyōnīh ī dahišn az dādār fradom ayāftan nē šāyistan ayāb hamāg ayāftan šāyistan guft pad8 kam dānišn waranīg awēšān kē paydāgīh ī az dēn ēdōnīh ud pad-iz hangōšīdag ast ī šnāxtan šāyistan guft pad uskārgar ud ān kē rōšn nimūdan pad dānāgīh dēn-āgāhīh dāštan ud az ān čiyōn harw dānāgīh bun dēn ham pad nērōg ī mēnōyīg ud ham pad paydāgīhēnīdārīh gētīyīg ān ī kas dānāgīhā guft ka-iz-iš az kadām abestāg paydāgīh hammis9 nē dāšt ēg-iz pad paydāgīh ī az dēn hangārd kē xwēškārīh pad hamōg10 frāz ō yazadān-zādagān burd Those who say that the ones of the gētīy cannot know, in the first place, the creator, the marvels of the mēnōy ones and the nature of the creation by the creator, or that they can obtain all (that knowledge), are of little knowledge and greedy. Those who say that one can know the revelation, which is from the dēn, in the correct manner and also through likeness, are thinkers. And that one, who throws light on (the matter) through knowledge, possesses religious knowledge. And since the root of all knowledge is the dēn, both by the power of the mēnōy and through the manifestation of the gētīy, that one said wisely: even when it does not stem from a particular revelation from the Avesta, even then it should be considered as manifest from the dēn, (when) someone takes the duties in likeness (with the scripture) to the children of gods. In the above passage, the prospect of insight into the creation is not challenged, but those who deny or claim that insight is possible are degraded as people of little knowledge. The text goes on to advocate the possibility of understanding religious revelation by differentiating between two types or levels of insight. Those who understand the religious

6

This passage has been discussed in some detail by Shaked 2003 and Cantera 2004: Ch. 3.

7

For the text, see Madan 1911: 414–415 and Dresden 1966: 509.

8

Manuscript B has 〈pṯˈ pṯˈ〉.

9

Manuscript B reads

10

Manuscript B reads

. .

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revelation (paydāgīh ī az dēn) are labelled thinkers, and those who can demonstrate and throw light on the revelation through knowledge, are given the title of having religious knowledge, which seems to stand higher in the hierarchy of knowledge. What separates actual knowledge from little knowledge or greed is whether that knowledge was generated by means of the all encompassing religion. Knowledge is good and reliable, if it derives from the good religion. Finally, in Dk 4.25 the dēn is called the root of all knowledge (harw dānāgīh bun dēn). This explains perhaps why in a preceding section (Dk 4.22) Xōsraw requests visions of the mēnōy and its corporeal counterpart, the gētīy, of Zoroastrian priests: Dk 4.2211 u-mān ohrmazd mowbed ān12 xwānd xwānēm kē mēnōy-wēnišnīh andar amāh paydāgīhist u-mān frāx-čārīh mēnōy-wēnišnīh gētīy handāzag nimāyišnīhā-iz harw 2 ēwēnag spurrīg az-išān xwāst xwāhēm And we call those (people) mowbeds of Ohrmazd, who reveal to us the vision of the mēnōy. And we will request of them the vision of the mēnōy abundantly, and that also the (right) measure of the gētīy to be shown to us, both in complete manner. The above passage suggests that knowledge of the creation is possible, assuming it is deduced by way of religious knowledge. If the creation is intelligible through knowledge, and the root of all knowledge is the religion, then the religious tradition or scripture must contain knowledge required for the understanding of the world. It is, therefore, not surprising that scientific knowledge is recognised as having been part of the scripture: Dk 4.1913 šābuhr ī šāhān šāh ī ardaxšīrān nibēgīhā-iz ī az dēn bē abar biziškīh ud star-gōwišnīh ud čandišn ud zamān gyāg gōhr ǰahišn bawišn wināhišn ǰadag ērīh ud gōwāgīh ud abārīg kirrōgīh ud abzār andar hindūgān hrōm abārīg-iz zamīgīhā pargandag būd abāz ō ham āwurd ud abāg abestāg abāz handāxt Šābuhr, the king of kings, son of Ardaxšīr, collected again also the writings, which were external to the religion, concerning medicine, astronomy, movement, time, space, essence, fortune, becoming, destruction, form, good conduct and rhetoric and other arts and skills. These were dispersed in India, Rome and other lands, and he made them reckon again with the Avesta.

11

For the text, see Madan 1911: 413 and Dresden 1966: 510.

12

Manuscript B reads 〈ZK ZK〉.

13

For the text, see Madan 1911: 412–413 and Dresden 1966: 511. For a detailed discussion of this passage, see Bailey 1943: 81ff.

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While insight gained by religious knowledge seems to be the preferred mode (Dk 4.25), we see in Dk 4.19 that scientific knowledge is not excluded from the dēn and was explicitly collected and marked as that which is not religious (az dēn bē). Therefore, we can conclude that the dēn was conceived as containing scientific knowledge and insight into the universe. This inclusive character of the Zoroastrian tradition is explicitly highlighted in a number of passages in the Dēnkard, so for instance in the incipit of Dk 5: Dk 5.114 pērōzgarīh ī dādār ohrmazd xwarrah ī wisp-dānāgīh axwīg dēn mazdēsn (On) the victory of the creator Ohrmazd (through) the glory of the all encompassing knowledge of the existence, the Mazda-worshipping religion. Consistent with the account of Šābuhr’s collection of scientific knowledge, in this passage the dēn is described as encompassing all knowledge that relates to the existence (wisp-dānāgīh axwīg). A similar notion also emerges from Dk 8: Dk 8.1.615 ud čim ī sē-bazišnīh16 ī dēn-*ōšmurišn17 nigēz ast ī wisp dānišn kār ud ēwēnag ī ham dēn dānišn ud kunišn ēd ī sē ī nibišt And (of) the meaning of the tripartite counting of the dēn, the exposition is that (it) encompasses all knowledge and actions, and the manner of both the knowledge and actions of the dēn is this of the three which is written. In this way, scripture could grow to include material that dealt with non-religious matters (proliferativity). The list of arts and skills collected by Šābuhr also shows the late antique Zoroastrian tendency to view the religious tradition as complete in the sense of Cabezón’s fourth scholastic category. Thus, the detailed cosmogony and cosmography of the Bundahišn, Wizīdagīhā ī Zādspram and other MP texts are a logical consequence of the Zoroastrian views concerning the relationship between religious tradition and knowledge of the world. We can perhaps conclude that the late antique Zoroastrian exegesis viewed the world as epistemologically accessible through religious knowledge, thus associating the scripture with material whose reach extended far beyond purely religious matters such as theology. This association, however, does not explain why the Avesta was translated into MP and accompanied by commentaries.

14

For the text, see Madan 1911: 55 and Dresden 1966: 494.

15

For the text, see Madan 1911: 677 and Dresden 1966: 305. For a slightly different translation, see Vevaina 2007: 72. 16

Manuscript B reads 〈bwcšnyh〉.

17

Manuscript B has 〈MYTWN-šnˈ〉 instead of 〈MNYTWN-šnˈ〉.

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Secrets In his pioneering article of 1969, entitled ‘Esoteric trends in Zoroastrianism’, Shaked examined the issue of concealed knowledge in Sasanian Zoroastrianism, bringing to attention a subject that remains understudied till this date. Shaked argued that while Zoroastrianism was conceived as an open and universal religion in the Sasanian era, the sources also reveal an uninstitutionalised and informal categorisation of religious knowledge. He suggested that in this context the term rāz represented a higher, esoteric knowledge rather than a ‘secret’, a type of mystery, the esoteric knowledge of which was reserved for initiates and members of a higher religious rank. In 2011, in an examination of passages from the Wizirgerd ī Dēnīg (WD) and following up on Yuhan Vevaina’s work on the theory of omnisignificance, a term borrowed from Kugel (1981), Dan Sheffield suggested that Zoroastrian exegesis was driven by the idea that the Avesta contained secrets or rāz.18 So, for example, in WD 24.9: nūn pad ayārīh ī hōš ud wīr abāyēd dānistan kū andar abestāg wāzagīhā ī rāz-āmēzag wēš framūd estēd ‘Now, one must know with the aid of intelligence and the mind that mysterious utterances abound in the Avesta’. I propose to revisit the issue of secrets and secrecy in Zoroastrianism leaning on a different theoretical framework. In their monumental work on secrecy in religious traditions, Assmann & Assmann (1999:7) differentiate three types of secrets. First, ‘substantial secrets’, which are naturally unfathomable such as the secrets of the soul, love and death. Second, ‘strategic secrets’. These arise as a result of intentional secrecy and are, for instance, constructed as means of protection against persecution, or are intended as playful secrets. Finally, ‘constructive secrets’ are defined as secrets that are constituted by the observer’s curiosity. It is the viewer who creates the secret and seeks to investigate it. In contrast to substantial secrets, which are recognised but not objects of rational or even irrational analysis, constructive secrets provoke examination and are viewed as having a solution. Egyptians, for instance, viewed the secrets of nature as sacred and worthy of adoration, but did not seek to understand them. The Greeks, by contrast, were driven by a thirst for knowledge in the eye of secrets (Assmann & Assmann 1999:7). In my view, the passages I quoted in the discussion of the Zoroastrian perceptions of the epistemological accessibility of the world, show that the Zoroastrian exegetes of the late antique era acted as observers driven by a curiosity that sought to unlock the creation’s ‘constructive secrets’ by way of religious knowledge. And I believe that the idea of ‘constructive secrets’ operated on two levels. Firstly, the creation is viewed as a container of constructive secrets. Secondly, the key to understanding and unlocking these secrets is religious knowledge, which is gained through the study of the sacred word or tradition. Such a view might be reflected in a passage in Dēnkard 6, a compilation of admonitions or handarz:

18

Dan presented his work at ECIS7 in Krakow.

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Dk 6.21519 u-šān ēn-iz ōwōn dāšt kū dēn 7 parisp ast u-šān ān ī bēdom mānsar ud zand guft And they held this too: the dēn has 7 walls, and they called the furthermost one the sacred word and Zand. The passage suggests that in order to penetrate the deepest levels of religious knowledge, one ought to master the sacred word and the Zand first. I would like to propose that the exegetes approached the Avesta not so much as a sacred corpus they sought to preserve by way of translation, but as a container of ‘constructive secrets’, the deeper understanding of which would unlock the secrets of the creation. The Zand was borne out of the late antique observer’s curiosity. However, the issue is complicated by reports of a late Sasanian royal decree seeking to limit the teaching of the translations or the Zand to priestly circles in order to exclude heretics from misusing the translations. The teaching of the Avesta itself, however, was not banned. The question arises as to why the Avesta was translated into a vernacular, if its teaching was to be banned? The transmission of the Avesta Scholars have long debated questions pertaining to the creation and transmission of the Zoroastrian scripture. They mostly attribute a didactic function to the Zand, proposing that the translation project was undertaken at a time when knowledge of the Avestan language was in decline. It is presumed that by translating the Avesta the Zoroastrian priests sought to preserve their scripture from complete loss. The compilation of the canonised scripture itself is often explained by way of competition due to religious contact and rivalries between Sasanian Zoroastrianism and other religious traditions of the time.20 It is well-known that during late antiquity various religious cultures interacted with one another within a relatively small geographical confine. However, even if cultural exchange functioned as an agent of change, competition between religious elites does not sufficiently explain the dynamics driving significant processes such as the creation and transmission of scripture and canon. Moreover, the discussions of the canon’s transmission have centred around the Arsacid and Sasanian archetypes and have mainly been driven by philological and codicological arguments, contributing little to a deeper understanding of the social and historical context of the Zoroastrian tradition. In the case at hand, questions arise as to how received tradition is defined and how religious authority is ascribed to received tradition. Does exegesis at all relate to contemporary social or political issues? Cabezón’s cross-cultural framework contributes to the discussions by focusing our attention on 19 For the text, see Shaked 1979: 84. I have transcribed Shaked’s text according to MacKenzie’s system. The translation is mine. 20

See Klíma 1959: 16, 35, Bailey 1943: 80ff., 151 and Huyse 2008. Klíma 1959, for instance, views the translations as a necessary effort of the Sasanian Zoroastrians in refuting new religions as well as heretic movements during the 6th century.

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the dynamics at play between scripture, its exegesis (the Zand) and the wider Pahlavi literature. As Pollock (2006:ⅺ) importantly remarks, the history and development of a sacred language and that of a vernacular are always intertwined and impossible to study in isolation. A number of Middle Persian texts, for instance, contain reports of religious councils in which the redaction of an authoritative version of the Avesta was fiercely debated.21 According to these texts the aim of the councils was to gather and restore the Avesta, which Alexander had supposedly destroyed. By far the most complete account is contained in Dēnkard 4.17–25. According to this report, King Wištāsp was the first to distribute the scripture among rulers, with the aim of disseminating the good religion. The next king, the notorious Dārā ī Dārāyān, deposits two copies of the entire Avesta and Zand as it had been received by Zardušt for safekeeping, one in the royal treasury, one in the Castle of Scripture. Then Walaxš ī Aškānān, presumably a node of the Zoroastrian priesthood to the Parthian involvement in the process, orders the collection and memorisation of the remains of the Avesta. Ardaxšīr I follows Walaxš by redacting an authoritative version of the scripture under the guidance of the high priest Tansar. And his son, Šābuhr I, orders the collection of lost content, the redaction of a new version and its safekeeping in the royal treasury. The account continues with Šābuhr II, who invites religious authorities from all regions to a council to discuss and dispute the Avesta. It is at this council, that the high priest Ādurbād ī Mahraspandān undergoes the ordeal of the molten metal, presumably to convince the participants of the authenticity of his version of the Avesta. And finally, Xōsraw I fights and eliminates heresy, presumably the Mazdakites, and orders the study of the Avesta and Zand by all righteous priests.22 As first noticed by Bartholomae, it is likely that the Dēnkard’s report dates to the time of Xōsraw I (531–579),23 who towards the end of this section orders the following: Dk 4.24 abardom xwāhišnīhā framāyēm hammis mowmardān ī wēnāg ērtar ud huxēmtar ud weh nōg nōg asūdagīhā abestāg ud zand uskārdan ud ayābišn ī aziš ō dānāgīh gēhānīgān arzānīgīhā abzūdan We order with the highest desire that all priests who are perceptive, more noble, of good character and good, should ceaselessly study the Avesta and

21

Cantera 2004: 106–124 has most recently discussed these accounts and their academic reception in great detail. 22 For more on Mazdak and the revolt ascribed to him, see Gaube 1982, Crone 1991 and de Blois 2012 with references. 23

The king is addressed as im bay xōsraw ī šāhān šāh kawādān ‘this majesty, king of kings, son of Kawād’. Other kings are either addressed with their personal names such as dārā ī dārāyān or as ōy bay ‘his majesty’ which is reserved for deceased kings. Moreover, Xōsraw’s standing epithet anōšag ruwān ‘immortal soul’, which is reserved for the deceased, is missing in this passage، see Cantera 2004: 106.

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the Zand, again and again, and add in a worthy manner that which they have acquired to the knowledge of the people of the world. In this passage, Xōsraw not only encourages the study of the Avesta and the Zand, but suggests that doing so will result in acquired insight, which ought to be added to ‘the knowledge of the people of the world’. Here, dānāgīh does not seem to denote religious knowledge specifically, but refers to knowledge and wisdom in general. Thus, the study and dissemination of scripture and exegesis are encouraged. This is in good agreement with our previous suggestions that the exegetes were seeking to unlock the secrets of the creation. However, this decree of Xōsraw I is in stark contrast to a different account, transmitted in ZWY 2: ZWY 2.2--424 ud ān anōšag25 ruwān xōsraw26 māhdādān ud *weh-šābuhr27 dād-ohrmazd ī ādurbādagān dastwarān ud ādur farrōbāy ī a-drō ud ādurbād ādurmihr ud baxtāfrīd ō pēš xwāst (3) ud u-š paymān aziš xwāst kū ēn yasnīhā pad nihān ma dārēd bē pad paywand ī ašmā zand ma čāšēd (4) awēšān andar husraw paymān kard And that immortal soul, Xōsraw …, summoned … of Māhdād and Weh-Šābuhr Dād-Ohrmazd,28 the priests of Ādurbādagān, and the deceit-less Ādur Farrōbāy, and Ādurbād, Ādurmihr and Baxtāfrīd into his presence. (3) And he requested a pact of them: `Do not keep these Yasnas secret, but do not teach the Zand 24 The text has been edited by Cereti 1995: 80, 134. It has also been discussed by Kreyenbroek 1996: 228–229 and Cantera 2004: 161, 218 and with text-critical remarks by Secunda 2012: 322. The manuscripts have considerable differences in their readings, and Cereti’s apparatus and Secunda’s critical notes have some inaccuracies. Therefore, I reproduce the text of K20. 25

K20 〈ʾnšk〉.

26

Here and in sentence 4, the final 〈-b〉 in 〈hwslwb〉 resembles an ezāfe. As has been pointed out by Secunda 2012: 322, we can assume that text is missing between husraw and māhdādān, which is a patronymic, but not that of husraw.

27 Secunda 2012: 322, fn. 22 reads weh-šāhpūr in K20. Although from an orthographical point of view Cereti’s reading as 〈W W šhpwl〉 is correct, weh-šāhpūr is the expected name, see Secunda 2012: 324–325. 28

Kreyenbroek and Secunda assume two different priests by the names of Weh-Šābuhr and Dād-Ohrmazd. In fact, Secunda 2012: 232, fn. 32 points out a contradiction in the sources, as they refer to Weh-Šābuhr and Dād-Ohrmazd as Xōsraw Ⅰ’s mowbedān mowbed. However, if the name of the priest was Weh-Šābuhr Dād-Ohrmazd, Weh-Šābuhr and Dād-Ohrmazd would have designated the same priest. The reading supplied by K20 as *Weh-Šābuhr Dād-Ohrmazd or by DH as Weh-Šābuhr ī Dād-Ohrmazd, both support my interpretation. On the priests mentioned in this passage, see Cantera 2004: 207–220 and Secunda 2012: 324–331.

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to anyone except your offspring’. (4) They made a treaty with Xōsraw. Here, Xōsraw withdraws his initial support for the dissemination of the Zand, banning its teaching outside of a close priestly circle. It is tempting to ascribe the conflicting accounts to two competing religious schools. We cannot know with any degree of certainty the events which could have taken place between Xōsraw’s first decree and the report in the ZWY, but the latter seems to indicate that the Zand became too dangerous. But how, we have to ask, could the Zand, the exegesis of the sacred word, have become dangerous and perhaps a threat to the throne? The Pahlavi version of Y 51.5 (Vohuxšaϑrā Gāϑā) provides a clue as to how rule and religious education of the ruler were conceived by the priests: (P)Y 51.5 (c) yə̄. dāϑaēibiiō. ərəš. ratūm.

xšaiiąs. aṣ̌iuuā̊. cistā.

… who, ruling (and) holding the rewards, distinguishes the upright ones according to the established rules. kē dahišn ō ōy ī rāst rad pad pādixšāyīh kū pad pādixšāyīh ī-š ast tan bē ō hērbedestān dahēd ā-š pad ahlāyīh frazānagīh kū frazām ī tis pad frārōnīh be dānēd …which are to be given to him, who is an upright judge in sovereignty, that is, he attends the priestly school, despite the authority that he has, to him, who is wise through righteousness, that is, he knows the end of the affair through goodness. In the Av. original, the ruling one, who possesses the rewards, seems to be of divine origin, most likely denoting Ahura Mazdā, as the rewards and distinction between good and bad are usually references to the final judgement, where presumably the deity is present. The Zand, however, extends the concept of divine rule to the human domain by suggesting that the just sovereign must attend the priestly school. Had the exegetes not added a reference to hērbedestān or the priestly school, here too, the concept of pādixšāyīh ‘sovereignty, authority’ would have remained vague and abstract. Thus, the notion of best rule as that which is guided by the religion, or the dēn, is already attested in the Pahlavi translations of the Avesta. Moreover, I argue that in this passage the exegetes create a textual symmetry between the sphere of the divine rule of the deity and the worldly rule of the king, the type of symmetry that we know from a number of Sasanian rock reliefs. The significant difference between these reliefs and our textual symmetry is that here the exegetes require that the king make himself subject to priestly schooling. By defining the rules of good kingship through interpretations of the sacred word, Sasanian priests extended their authority beyond matters of theology and scripture to politics. The power and importance of the Zand in the political life of the Sasanian kings becomes evident when Xōsraw Ⅰ gathers the most senior priests of the empire and thus orders: ‘‘Do not keep these Yasnas secret, but do not teach the Zand to anyone except

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your offspring’. (4) They made a treaty with Xōsraw’ (ZWY 2.3–4). Conclusions I would like to propose that those priests who viewed the sacred scripture as a container of constructive secrets, engaging in its translation and exegesis, later concealed it strategically, to borrow the terminology from Assmann & Assmann (1999), banning its public dissemination. A project which was born out of the desire to understand the secrets of the creation, later became the source of conflict between religious and secular authorities and had to be concealed from public reach, presumably to avoid unauthorised interpretation and turmoil. Thus, two types of secrecy seem to operate in the Zoroastrian tradition. The curiosity that drove the exegesis and creation of the sacred corpus seemed to be inclusive and egalitarian in nature. However, once the political power of the Sasanian king was challenged, presumably by Mazdak and similar movements, the priests were ordered to resort to strategic secrets, restricting a deeper knowledge of the scripture to a closed circle. This view is also corroborated by a passage in Dēnkard 6: Dk 629 (214) u-šān ēn-iz ōwōn dāšt kū arzānīg bawišn pad harw rāz [pay]gār ī yazad yazadān ēg-ēw30 čiyōn mard arzānīg bawēd ēg yazadān xwad az rāz ud paygār ī xwēš āgāh kunēnd čē yazad ganzwar ī ōstwār xwāhēnd ēg-iš31 yazdān rāz ud paygār ī xwēš az kas-iz nihān nēst čē dānēh kū čand mardōm wēš dānēnd ud yazad pādixšāytar bawēnd u-šān arzānīgān būd32 ēd guft ēdōn weh mard bawēd kū-šān yazadān rāh ō tan bawēd rāz ī xīr ī xwēš awiš nimāyēnd (215) u-šān ēn-iz ōwōn dāšt kū dēn 7 parisp ast u-šān ān ī bēdom mānsar ud zand guft (216) u-šān ēn-iz ōwōn dāšt kū kas-iz nēst kē ēn dēn petyāragtar hēnd čiyōn ān ī ahlomōγ čē +jud az ān ahlomōγān kas-iz +petyārag nēst +kē +tar ī parisp ast kē bē-iz ō dēn bēdom andar tuwān āmadan ōy ī ahlomōγ pad nām ī mānsar-barīh tar ī parisp ī bēdom andar āyēd ast kē bē-iz ō dēn xwadīh ud nazdīh rasēd (214) And they held this so too: one ought to be worthy of every secret (and) the battles of the gods; then, when a man is worthy, then the gods themselves inform (him) of their secret and battles, for the gods desire a reliable treasurer. Then, the secret of the gods and their battles are not hidden from anyone, for you know that the more people know more, the more powerful the gods will be. They said that `to be worthy’ means this: the good man is in such a manner that the gods have a way into his body and reveal him the secret of their things. (215) And they held this too: the dēn has 7 walls, and they called the furthermost one the sacred word and Zand. (216) And they held this too: there is no one, who is a greater adversary to this dēn than the heretics. For,

29

For a slightly different text and translation, see Shaked 1979: 82–85.

30

B, fol. 407 has 〈ʾdynʾy〉.

31

B, fol. 407 has 〈ʾdynš〉.

32

B, fol. 407 has 〈YḤWWN-t〉. We expect 〈YḤWWN-tn〉 būdan.

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apart from the heretics there is no adversary who can come through to the dēn (from) across the furthermost wall. He, who is the heretic comes across through the furthermost wall in the name of carrying the sacred word. There are also some who reach the essence and nearness of the dēn. The message is clear: one must be worthy of the entrusted divine secret, but must also be aware that the Zand, the outermost wall of the dēn, can be misused by heretics. The consequence of this view, perhaps reflecting the political mood in the reign of Xōsraw I, is also clear: the teaching of the Zand must be concealed and made accessible to a small number of initiates only. I hope to have shown, through this admittedly preliminary discussion, that the Zand was not simply a translation project, instigated by priests desperate to preserve sacred scripture at a moment when the religion faced the loss of great linguistic knowledge. If we shift our view and, in turn, approach the Zand as something altogether different, namely as a ‘container of constructive secrets’, we may be able to discern some of the hidden knowledge it contains, affording us a glance not only into late antique Zoroastrian exegesis, but perhaps also the complex religious, cultural, and political milieu from which these texts emerged. I would like to finish this paper by observing that the historicising approach to accounts such as Dk 4 has not produced a consensus among scholars as to the historical accuracy of these reports. I am wondering, however, whether these accounts could not be read as legitimate literary witnesses reflecting the exegetes’ scholastic desire for the formation, systematic arrangement and continuous interpretation of scripture during late antiquity. If so, they would exemplify the Zoroastrian tradition’s own reflection upon the process of canonisation and qualify as candidates for self-reflexivity, Cabezón’s eighth scholastic category.

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Assmann, Aleida – Assmann, Jan (eds.) (1999) Schleier und Schwelle: Geheimnis und Neugierde. Vol. 3 (Archäologie der Literarischen Kommunikation 5). München. Bailey, H. W. (1943) Zoroastrian problems in the ninth-century books. Oxford. Cabezón, José Ignacio (1994) Buddhism and language. A study of Indo-Tibetan scholasticism. Albany. Cabezón, José Ignacio (ed.) (1998) Scholasticism: Cross-cultural and comparative perspectives. Albany. Cantera, Alberto (2004) Studien zur Pahlavi-Übersetzung des Avesta (Iranica 7). Wiesbaden. Cereti, Carlo G. (1995) The Zand ī Wahman Yasn. A Zoroastrian apocalypse (Serie Orientale Roma LXXV). Rome. Crone, Patricia (1991) Kavad’s heresy and Mazdak’s revolt. Iran 29, pp. 21-42. de Blois, François (2012) A new look at Mazdak. In Late Antiquity: Eastern perspectives. Ed. by Teresa Bernheimer – Adam Silverstein. Exeter, pp. 1-24. Dresden, M. J. (ed.) (1966) Dēnkart. A Pahlavi text. Facsimile edition of the manuscript B of the K. R. Cama Oriental Institute Bombay. Wiesbaden. Gaube, Heinz (1982) Mazdak: Historical reality or invention? Studia Iranica 11, pp. 111-122. Humbach, Helmut (1996) The Gāthās and their Pahlavi translation. In K. R. Cama Oriental Institute, second international congress proceedings (5th to 8th January 1995). Ed. by H. J. M. Desai – H. N. Modi. Bombay, pp. 259-265. Huyse, Philip (2008) Late Sasanian society between orality and literacy. In The Sasanian era. Ed. by Vesta Curtis – Sarah Stewart. (The Idea of Iran 3). London, pp. 140-155. Josephson, Judith (1997) The Pahlavi translation technique as illustrated by Hōm Yašt. (Acta Universitatis Upsaliensis. Studia Iranica Upsaliensia 2). Uppsala. Kellens, Jean (1998) Considérations sur l’histoire de l’Avesta. Journal Asiatique 286/2, pp. 451-519. Klíma, Otakar (1959) Awesta – Die altpersischen Inschriften – Das mittelpersische Schrifttum. In Iranische Literaturgeschichte. Ed. by Jan Rypka. (Iranische Texte und Hilfsbücher 4). Leipzig, pp. 1-67. Kreyenbroek, Philip G. (1996) The Zoroastrian tradition from an oralist’s point of view. In K. R. Cama Oriental Institute, second international congress proceedings (5th to 8th January 1995). Ed. by H. J. M. Desai – H. N. Modi. Bombay, pp. 221-237. Kugel, James L. (1981) The idea of Biblical poetry: Parallelism and its history. New Haven. Madan, Dhanjishah Meherjibhai (ed.) (1911) The complete text of the Pahlavi Dinkard. Vol. I & II. Bombay.

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Marenbon, John (2010) The emergence of medieval Latin philosophy. In Robert Pasnau –Christina van Dyke (eds.), The Cambridge history of medieval philosophy. Vol. 1. Cambridge pp. 26-38. Pollock, Sheldon (2006) The language of the gods in the world of men: Sanskrit, culture, and power in premodern India. Berkeley. Secunda, Shai (2012) On the age of the Zoroastrian sages of the Zand. Iranica Antiqua 47, pp. 317-349. Shaked, Shaul (1969) Esoteric trends in Zoroastrianism. In Proceedings of the Israel Academy of Sciences and Humanities (Proceedings of the Israel Academy 3). Jerusalem, pp. 175-221. Shaked, Shaul (1996) The traditional commentary on the Avesta (Zand): Translation, interpretation, distortion? In La Persia e l’Asia Centrale. Da Alessandro al X Secolo. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Roma, 9-12 Novembre 1994) (Atti dei Convegni Lincei 127). Roma, pp. 641-656. Shaked, Shaul (1979) The wisdom of the Sasanian sages (Denkard VI). By Aturpāt-i Ēmētān (Persian Heritage Series 34). Boulder, Colorado. Shaked, Shaul (2003) Scripture and exegesis in Zoroastrianism. In Margalit Finkelberg – Guy G. Stroumsa (eds.), Homer, the bible, and beyond: Literary and religious canons in the ancient world (Jerusalem Studies in Religion and Culture 2). Leiden, pp. 63-74. Spiegel, Friedrich von (1860) Einleitung in die traditionellen Schriften der Parsen. Zweiter Theil: Die traditionelle Literatur. Wien. Vevaina, Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw (2010) “Enumerating the Dēn”: Textual taxonomies, cosmological deixis, and numerological speculations in Zoroastrianism. History of Religions 50/2, pp. 111-143. Vevaina, Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw (2012) Scripture versus contemporary (interpretive) needs: Towards a mapping of the hermeneutic contours of Zoroastrianism. In Shai Secunda –Steven Fine (eds.), Shoshannat Yaakov. Leiden, pp. 465-485. Zeini, Arash (forthcoming) Scholasticism in Late Antique Iran: The Pahlavi version of the Yasna Haptaŋhāiti. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

THE BAHARI LECTURE SERIES AT THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY Sasanian Iran in the Context of Late Anitquity

Supported by The Bahari Foundation Convened by Touraj Daryaee and Edmund Herzig

Speakers 6 May

Rahim Shayegan (UCLA)

13 May Antonio Panaino (University of Bologna) 20 May Arash Zeini (Free University of Berlin) 27 May Giusto Traina (Paris-Sorbonne University) 3 June

Touraj Daryaee (Bahari Visiting Fellow, Oxford and UC Irvine)

10 June Yuhan S.-D. Vevaina (University of Oxford) 17 June Matthew Canepa (UC Irvine) 24 June Michael Alram (Austrian Academy of Sciences)

Time: 5pm, Tuesdays, Trinity Term 2014 Location: Ioannou Centre for Classical & Byzantine StudieS 66 St Giles’, OX1 3LU (except 3 June, Touraj Daryaee, which will be Held in the Okinaga Room, Wadham College, Parks road, Ox1 3PN )

Contributors (in alphabetical order)

Michael Alram Austrian Academy of Sciences

5

Touraj Daryaee Bahari Visiting Fellow, Oxford and UC Irvine

65

Antonio Panaino University of Bologna

79

Matthew P. Canepa UC Irvine

39

Johnathan W. Hardy University of Minnesota

39

Giusto Traina Paris-Sorbonne University

107

Yuhan Sohrab-Dinshaw Vevaina University of Oxford

121

Arash Zeini Free University of Berlin

149